While not a Righteous Shooting (an ordinary citizen wasting a goblin), this shooting is certainly righteous.
Executive summary: Scumbag waves a gun in a woman’s face as she’s sitting in her car. She calls her husband and the cops. Cops arrive, find said scumbag who points the gun at them, whereupon they shoot his ass dead, tra-la, tra-la.
I know that part of East Texas quite well. This is not a population you would want to mess with. As the goblin discovered.
From Theodore Dalrymple:
“There is often more heroism in a life of quiet decency than in one of flamboyant deeds; but our minds are like those of bower birds, attracted to the bright, shiny, meretricious, and sensational.”
I wish I could write like that. The thought isn’t even central to Dalrymple’s essay; it just sits there, like a beautiful flower at the side of a busy interstate.
One way that British pubs have tried to cut down on hooligan behavior is to ban the kinds of clothing that the typical hell-raiser wears: hoodies, sweat pants (“track suits”) and so on.
I like this trend.
So you can imagine my response when I read this sad little tale:
Jo, from Paris, was on the hunt to sample some traditional Scottish food and drink with her husband. They decided to head for the George IV Bar after hearing rave reviews from locals, Edinburgh Live reports.
Jo said: “My husband and I are from France and for a first night in Edinburgh, we really wanted a nice pub where we could eat food and listen to music at the same time.
“The place was very well noted and the food looked delicious so we tried to get in. My husband was refused entry by the security guard that deemed his pants ‘inappropriate for a restaurant.’
“Very disappointed and I definitely won’t recommend it. We’re currently eating at a pub that doesn’t have live music, too bad for us, but at least we are welcome and we’re eating well.”
The response:
However, the bar’s general manager hit back, writing: “We have a policy of no tracksuits/cottons/jobby catchers in the bar in the evenings.
“Many bars in Edinburgh have the same policy. We work hard to cater for our clientele.”
Once again, my policy of always dressing well when traveling is vindicated.
As it happens, I’ve been to the George IV a couple of times, and it’s a lovely place — not the least because it’s free of trashy yobs and their equally-trashy cock holster girlfriends. And the food is brilliant.
Add the George IV to your “the next time I’m in Edinburgh” list. I’ll be going back, for sure.
I absolutely ruled in the late 1970s… the first few years, not so much because I was still figuring out which end was up and what all these things were to be used for. If you know what I mean. But by 1975… hubba hubba.
My old VW panel van wasn’t pimped up like the above, but it worked just fine all the same. (I had a bumper sticker on the back which read “Go ahead and laugh — your daughter may be inside”.) It looked like this, but was more of a bamboo color:
And then there was the music… even the bad ones are better than the crap we hear today.
I carried a Colt Combat Commander, my .22 pistol was a Beretta Model 75, my .22 rifle was a Winchester 63, and my hunting rifle was the old Israeli Mauser in 7.62mm NATO:
…… 
Simpler times, easier life. I miss the 70s, a lot.
Yesterday we hosted the family for our traditional Christmas breakfast:
…but that was yesterday.
Today is Boxing Day, which for our family is as important as Thanksgiving.
Oh yes… ’tis the time that famille du Toit has its Christmas Day dinner (a day late but certainly not a dollar short): roast beef, roast potatoes and Yorkshire pudding, this year all ably prepared by Daughter and hosted by the Son&Heir at his place.
See y’all tomorrow.
…from Santa’s favorite elf:
