So (via a link sent to me by my Reader Brad) a local choirboy sees an old codger working in his garage and decides it’s time for a little undocumented wealth redistribution. He breaks in through the window and threatens said old codger, demanding money.
Having no sense of humor about this kind of thing (we old codgers generally don’t), Our Hero pulls his gun and wastes the little fucker.
And because this happened in the United States of America and not in California, Massachusetts or New York, the old codger is not going to face any charges from the Gummint.
You can all stop that cheering, now. Me, I’m going to do a Happy Dance even though it’s 15 degrees Fahrenheit outside. I can always warm my hands on the AK-47’s barrel.
Courtesy of some smart guy (sorry, lost track of who you are) comes this excellent summary of over two dozen cases where citizens whacked goblins during 2017.
Feel free to comment on your own favorite, but mine is this one:
A man was shot and killed by his ex-girlfriend after he allegedly threatened her and showed up to her house with an “assault rifle.” The incident occurred in Florida’s Pasco County around 10:30 pm. According to Fox 13 News, law enforcement officials said 45-year-old Frank Harrison had “previously threatened his ex-girlfriend.” When she saw him approaching her home she opened the front door and shot him dead before he could enter.
Preemptive gunfire… hubba hubba.
I’m so sick of people (mostly in the Comintern media) yammering about how The Donald hasn’t achieved anything during this, his first year as POTUS (or “God-Emperor”, as one of my favorite commentators puts it).
Allow me to quote Patrick J. Buchanan, surely the sourest of conservative commentators, on the topic:
The largest tax cuts in decades. Elevation of Neil Gorsuch to the Antonin Scalia seat on the Supreme Court. A record number of new [conservative, originalist – K.] U.S. appellate court judges approved by the Senate. The U.S. is out of the Paris climate accord and out of the Trans-Pacific Partnership.
NAFTA is being renegotiated. Alaska’s Arctic National Wildlife Refuge will be open for drilling. The U.S. is at full employment, with minority unemployment near record lows. The stock market has consistently broken records, with the Dow having added 5,000 points. The Obamacare individual mandate tax is gone. Obama-era regulations have been cut and some eliminated.
Can’t add much to that, except for the inevitable:
Ol’ Pat forgot that one. All by itself, it’s a major Trump accomplishment.
The story: some Scumbag threatens Our Hero with a gun, then threatens Our Hero’s family — whereupon Our Hero pulls his gun and ends Scumbag’s criminal career for good with the assistance of some hot lead. Details here.
And of course, because this happened in Texas there will be no charges filed (the report says it’s “unclear”, but what’s crystal clear is that if the prosecutor does file charges, he’ll be tossed out of office, if not worse).
So this guy inherited a bank, had no interest in running it, and sold it for three quarters of a billion dollars. Then he set out to do what any super-wealthy Formula 1 enthusiast would do: he built his own racetrack in his backyard where he can race his $5-million collection of sports cars whenever he feels like it.
And just to add to y’all’s jealousy, the 52-year old guy’s racing companion is his 23-year-old girlfriend, the wonderfully-named Clemence Lepeyre:
I know: he’s ugly, she’s young and gorgeous; he has lots of money, she has… well, you know.
Sounds like everyone’s happy except the Usual Suspects (in this case, the envious socialists because he dares to be rich and enjoys spending his money, and the envious harpies who whine about the couple’s age difference, like he’s going to settle for some old frump about his own age lol).
To all us guys, though, this man is a god. (What else would you do with $726 million and no charitable instincts?) All he needs to make this thing perfect is an air-conditioned 500-yard indoor range somewhere. (By the way, I love the track layout: it has something for everyone and every kind of sports car.)
As I’ve often said before: money doesn’t buy you happiness, but it sure as hell buys you a better class of unhappiness. Now all I need is to buy that winning PowerBall ticket so I can test that hypothesis for myself…
In Flanders fields the poppies grow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
— John McCrae, “In Flanders Field”
…and to update the sentiment:
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
— Robert Laurence Binyon, from “For The Fallen”