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#1
posted to rec.boats
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My Guns, My Celebrity and the Punks who want it
Time to repost this, I guess.
I originally posted it to rec.autos.driving 9 years ago. Entirely forgot about it, until the recent gun posts here. Since I still believe that DOHC is overkill and needlessly complicating for the typical family car, I thought the best line was "No torque." I always enjoyed tweaking the Honda guys. It was essentially written to show my affection for my 1988 Chevrolet Celebrity. Great, great car. Had close to 180k basically trouble-free miles on it then. Some took it as something else. But let's not get into "intentional fallacy." ************************************************** *************************** Well, it's been a busy week in my neck of the woods, a seemingly peaceful suburb of Chicago. But things aren't always what they seem to be. On Monday, as I was pumping gas into my '88 Celebrity, two punks approached from another pump. I put my hand in my jacket pocket and gripped the snub-nose S&W .38 I keep there for just such emergencies. The punks looked at me, saw that I was ready for them, and steered clear of me and my car as they went to pay for their gas. I kept an eye on them as they returned to their Ford Expedition, and they nervously glanced my way as they gave me a wide berth. That Expedition costs more to support than an addiction to crack cocaine, so it pays to be wary when a driver of one gets too close. When two punks work together, it's elementary math to figure they can arrive in one car, but leave in two. By packing my iron, I thus kept my car on Monday, and prevented at least a felony auto theft, and possibly a murder or kidnapping and sodomy. Me: 1 Criminals: 0 On Tuesday I stopped at the 7-11 to pick up the April issue of True Police Stories. As I was leaving, a punk was entering. He wore a long coat, and had both hands in its pockets. The cashier, a sultry young woman, looked a bit nervous at being alone with this new customer, so I decided to get a hot dog. The cashier was happy about that. She gave me the dog, with mustard and onions. The punk was still looking around, moving into every one of the short, low aisles of the store. I leaned against the counter by the Slurpy machine and slowly ate the hot dog, using only one hand, as I watched the punk. My other hand held the .38 in my jacket pocket. The punk kept glancing at me, no doubt hoping I would leave. He saw that I kept one hand in my pocket, and the hope drained from his face. The cashier, feeling confident because of my presence, shouted to the punk, "Can I help you?" The punk was startled that this little lady should shout at him, and nervously glanced over at me. I just stared at him, while I slowly chewed a bite of my dog. Then the punk said, in a quavering voice, "Uh, do you have Super-absorbent Tampax?" I stopped chewing my dog, and the room was filled with silence. Finally, the cashier loudly said, "Sorry, we're all out." The punk just dropped his head, and hurried past me out of the store. I finished my dog as I looked out the store window. The punk jumped into a Jeep Wagoneer and hauled ass. It didn't take too much imagination to realize that had I let the punk get the upper hand, he would have left driving my Celebrity. I turned to the cashier, and tipped my hat. She smiled broadly at me as I turned to leave the store. "Hey, honey", the cashier called to me as I reached the door. I turned around, and saw that she had her fingers to her lips, as if blowing me a kiss. Then she said, in as sexy a voice as ever touched my ears, "You've got mustard on your mustache." I wiped the mustard off with a finger, and said, "Thanks, baby." Looking at my finger, I added, 'Had some chopped onion on there too, sweetheart." I left then, knowing that she would be there waiting for me when I came back next month for the May issue. Packing iron had saved the day again, preventing a robbery, felony auto theft, and quite possibly rape, torture, kidnapping, sodomy, and a double homicide. Me: 1 Criminals: 0 Today. Wednesday. I stayed home from work, since last year there had been a daytime burglary in my neighborhood on a Wednesday. About 11:00 AM, as I sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the magazine I had purchased yesterday, my dog started barking by the front door. I grabbed my kitchen .38 from the countertop (I keep a piece in every room, mostly .38's), and put it in my pants pocket. I looked out the peephole of the front door and saw a punk approaching the house. He had disguised himself as a mailman. Of course I know my mailman, and the usual substitutes. I had never seen this guy before. I told my dog to stay put, swung the door open, and was on the porch before the punk reached it, with my hand in my pocket gripping the kitchen .38. The punk stopped on the second step of the three-step porch. He looked up at me curiously, and saw I was ready. I just stared at him. The dog kept barking behind me. The punk looked down at the leather bag he carried, lifted its flap, and reached inside. Like greased lightning, my hand came out of my pocket with the .38 and I cocked the double-action as I swung it around behind me, concealed but at the ready. The punk froze, having heard the unmistakable sound of a well-oiled ..38 being cocked, then slowly lifted his head to look at me. I recognized fear in his eyes. The street was silent. Even my dog had stopped barking, as he too knows that sound. Whatever hardware the punk had planned on pulling from that bag was forgotten, and he said to me, in a shaking voice, "Are you V-Victor Smith?" I just nodded once. "I'm g-going to g-g-give you your m-m-m-m-mail,", he stuttered. "You just go ahead and do that. Punk", said I. Very slowly then, the punk pulled from his bag a packet of "mail" bound by a rubber band. I took it from him with my free hand, and glanced at it, keeping my peripheral vision ready to pick up any sudden movement from the punk. The "mail" consisted of sale flyers from a few of the local grocers. The punk looked at me once more, then slowly turned around and walked away, with each step growing a bit longer and quicker, so that by the time he reached his car, a riced '98 Civic putt-putting away at the curb, he was running like a striped-ass gazelle. He jumped in the Civic, gunned it, and popped the clutch, stalling it. No torque. He cranked it over to restart as he looked at me, then finally pulled away, shifting like mad, clashing the gears and trailing a cloud of blue smoke. He was one lucky burglar. If he had pulled from that bag any real 1st-class mail addressed to me, that would have told me had stolen the U.S. Mail, and I would have plugged the SOB. As it was, I just went inside to the kitchen, and poured myself a fresh cup of coffee. Being armed and prepared had once again stood me in good stead. Had this punk been the only one armed, he could have tied me up or killed me, possibly sodomized me, and ransacked my house, then set it on fire. He probably would have found my car keys and the garage remote, which were hanging on a cup hook in the kitchen, and stolen my Celebrity. So again, by simply exercising my Constitutional right to keep and bear arms, I prevented breaking and entering, burglary, theft, and quite possibly murder, kidnapping, sodomy, arson, and grand theft auto. Me: 1 Criminals: 0 The only reason I'm telling you guys about this is because some of you don't believe that armed citizens are preventing crime somewhere in this great land of ours every minute of the day. By looking at my very real examples of what an armed law-abiding citizen can accomplish, in just three short days, in the crusade against crime, I hope you will see the light. Note that I did not once fire a shot. Indeed, not one of these punks even *saw* my weapon. I didn't report any of the many the crimes I stopped. Why should I? It's enough for me to know that crime *can* be stopped if we are prepared to do it. And believe me, this is not an exceptional week, but about average. I am eagerly waiting to see what new challenges Thursday will bring. Sincerely, --Vic |
#2
posted to rec.boats
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My Guns, My Celebrity and the Punks who want it
"Vic Smith" wrote in message ... Time to repost this, I guess. I originally posted it to rec.autos.driving 9 years ago. Entirely forgot about it, until the recent gun posts here. Since I still believe that DOHC is overkill and needlessly complicating for the typical family car, I thought the best line was "No torque." I always enjoyed tweaking the Honda guys. It was essentially written to show my affection for my 1988 Chevrolet Celebrity. Great, great car. Had close to 180k basically trouble-free miles on it then. Some took it as something else. But let's not get into "intentional fallacy." ************************************************** *************************** Well, it's been a busy week in my neck of the woods, a seemingly peaceful suburb of Chicago. But things aren't always what they seem to be. On Monday, as I was pumping gas into my '88 Celebrity, two punks approached from another pump. I put my hand in my jacket pocket and gripped the snub-nose S&W .38 I keep there for just such emergencies. The punks looked at me, saw that I was ready for them, and steered clear of me and my car as they went to pay for their gas. I kept an eye on them as they returned to their Ford Expedition, and they nervously glanced my way as they gave me a wide berth. That Expedition costs more to support than an addiction to crack cocaine, so it pays to be wary when a driver of one gets too close. When two punks work together, it's elementary math to figure they can arrive in one car, but leave in two. By packing my iron, I thus kept my car on Monday, and prevented at least a felony auto theft, and possibly a murder or kidnapping and sodomy. Me: 1 Criminals: 0 On Tuesday I stopped at the 7-11 to pick up the April issue of True Police Stories. As I was leaving, a punk was entering. He wore a long coat, and had both hands in its pockets. The cashier, a sultry young woman, looked a bit nervous at being alone with this new customer, so I decided to get a hot dog. The cashier was happy about that. She gave me the dog, with mustard and onions. The punk was still looking around, moving into every one of the short, low aisles of the store. I leaned against the counter by the Slurpy machine and slowly ate the hot dog, using only one hand, as I watched the punk. My other hand held the .38 in my jacket pocket. The punk kept glancing at me, no doubt hoping I would leave. He saw that I kept one hand in my pocket, and the hope drained from his face. The cashier, feeling confident because of my presence, shouted to the punk, "Can I help you?" The punk was startled that this little lady should shout at him, and nervously glanced over at me. I just stared at him, while I slowly chewed a bite of my dog. Then the punk said, in a quavering voice, "Uh, do you have Super-absorbent Tampax?" I stopped chewing my dog, and the room was filled with silence. Finally, the cashier loudly said, "Sorry, we're all out." The punk just dropped his head, and hurried past me out of the store. I finished my dog as I looked out the store window. The punk jumped into a Jeep Wagoneer and hauled ass. It didn't take too much imagination to realize that had I let the punk get the upper hand, he would have left driving my Celebrity. I turned to the cashier, and tipped my hat. She smiled broadly at me as I turned to leave the store. "Hey, honey", the cashier called to me as I reached the door. I turned around, and saw that she had her fingers to her lips, as if blowing me a kiss. Then she said, in as sexy a voice as ever touched my ears, "You've got mustard on your mustache." I wiped the mustard off with a finger, and said, "Thanks, baby." Looking at my finger, I added, 'Had some chopped onion on there too, sweetheart." I left then, knowing that she would be there waiting for me when I came back next month for the May issue. Packing iron had saved the day again, preventing a robbery, felony auto theft, and quite possibly rape, torture, kidnapping, sodomy, and a double homicide. Me: 1 Criminals: 0 Today. Wednesday. I stayed home from work, since last year there had been a daytime burglary in my neighborhood on a Wednesday. About 11:00 AM, as I sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the magazine I had purchased yesterday, my dog started barking by the front door. I grabbed my kitchen .38 from the countertop (I keep a piece in every room, mostly .38's), and put it in my pants pocket. I looked out the peephole of the front door and saw a punk approaching the house. He had disguised himself as a mailman. Of course I know my mailman, and the usual substitutes. I had never seen this guy before. I told my dog to stay put, swung the door open, and was on the porch before the punk reached it, with my hand in my pocket gripping the kitchen .38. The punk stopped on the second step of the three-step porch. He looked up at me curiously, and saw I was ready. I just stared at him. The dog kept barking behind me. The punk looked down at the leather bag he carried, lifted its flap, and reached inside. Like greased lightning, my hand came out of my pocket with the .38 and I cocked the double-action as I swung it around behind me, concealed but at the ready. The punk froze, having heard the unmistakable sound of a well-oiled .38 being cocked, then slowly lifted his head to look at me. I recognized fear in his eyes. The street was silent. Even my dog had stopped barking, as he too knows that sound. Whatever hardware the punk had planned on pulling from that bag was forgotten, and he said to me, in a shaking voice, "Are you V-Victor Smith?" I just nodded once. "I'm g-going to g-g-give you your m-m-m-m-mail,", he stuttered. "You just go ahead and do that. Punk", said I. Very slowly then, the punk pulled from his bag a packet of "mail" bound by a rubber band. I took it from him with my free hand, and glanced at it, keeping my peripheral vision ready to pick up any sudden movement from the punk. The "mail" consisted of sale flyers from a few of the local grocers. The punk looked at me once more, then slowly turned around and walked away, with each step growing a bit longer and quicker, so that by the time he reached his car, a riced '98 Civic putt-putting away at the curb, he was running like a striped-ass gazelle. He jumped in the Civic, gunned it, and popped the clutch, stalling it. No torque. He cranked it over to restart as he looked at me, then finally pulled away, shifting like mad, clashing the gears and trailing a cloud of blue smoke. He was one lucky burglar. If he had pulled from that bag any real 1st-class mail addressed to me, that would have told me had stolen the U.S. Mail, and I would have plugged the SOB. As it was, I just went inside to the kitchen, and poured myself a fresh cup of coffee. Being armed and prepared had once again stood me in good stead. Had this punk been the only one armed, he could have tied me up or killed me, possibly sodomized me, and ransacked my house, then set it on fire. He probably would have found my car keys and the garage remote, which were hanging on a cup hook in the kitchen, and stolen my Celebrity. So again, by simply exercising my Constitutional right to keep and bear arms, I prevented breaking and entering, burglary, theft, and quite possibly murder, kidnapping, sodomy, arson, and grand theft auto. Me: 1 Criminals: 0 The only reason I'm telling you guys about this is because some of you don't believe that armed citizens are preventing crime somewhere in this great land of ours every minute of the day. By looking at my very real examples of what an armed law-abiding citizen can accomplish, in just three short days, in the crusade against crime, I hope you will see the light. Note that I did not once fire a shot. Indeed, not one of these punks even *saw* my weapon. I didn't report any of the many the crimes I stopped. Why should I? It's enough for me to know that crime *can* be stopped if we are prepared to do it. And believe me, this is not an exceptional week, but about average. I am eagerly waiting to see what new challenges Thursday will bring. Sincerely, --Vic My hero! Do you wear a bulletproof vest on your outings? |
#3
posted to rec.boats
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My Guns, My Celebrity and the Punks who want it
On Thu, 23 Apr 2009 05:27:46 -0500, Vic Smith
wrote: Time to repost this, I guess. Bless you. I hope everyone takes the time to read. |
#4
posted to rec.boats
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My Guns, My Celebrity and the Punks who want it
On Apr 23, 3:10*pm, jps wrote:
On Thu, 23 Apr 2009 05:27:46 -0500, Vic Smith wrote: Time to repost this, I guess. Bless you. *I hope everyone takes the time to read. Fiction? That's what you base your position on? Seems about right. |
#5
posted to rec.boats
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My Guns, My Celebrity and the Punks who want it
On Apr 23, 6:38*pm, wrote:
On Apr 23, 3:10*pm, jps wrote: On Thu, 23 Apr 2009 05:27:46 -0500, Vic Smith wrote: Time to repost this, I guess. Bless you. *I hope everyone takes the time to read. Fiction? *That's what you base your position on? Seems about right. By Gosh, that's the funniest, most entertaining OT post I've ever read on this forum. Or... could you have been serious!? Hahahahahahahahahaha. Dale www.FishWisher.com |
#6
posted to rec.boats
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My Guns, My Celebrity and the Punks who want it
On Apr 24, 12:57*am, jps wrote:
On Thu, 23 Apr 2009 18:38:23 -0700 (PDT), wrote: On Apr 23, 3:10*pm, jps wrote: On Thu, 23 Apr 2009 05:27:46 -0500, Vic Smith wrote: Time to repost this, I guess. Bless you. *I hope everyone takes the time to read. Fiction? *That's what you base your position on? Seems about right. Vic's fiction is based on the sort of paranoia you dweebs feature in your underdeveloped brains. Suburban Jack Bauers, fantasizing violence, polishing paranoia in their dimbulb heads. *The action adventure version of Baywatch. Like I said, it's fiction. Granted, there may be a handful of individuals that have thoughts similar to that, but 99.99% of the gun owners do not. Your assigning of this type of thinking to them is... fiction. Only in your mind, and those of your ilk. So once again, your position is based on fiction. Your own personal delusions. |
#7
posted to rec.boats
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My Guns, My Celebrity and the Punks who want it
"jps" wrote in message ... On Thu, 23 Apr 2009 18:38:23 -0700 (PDT), wrote: On Apr 23, 3:10 pm, jps wrote: On Thu, 23 Apr 2009 05:27:46 -0500, Vic Smith wrote: Time to repost this, I guess. Bless you. I hope everyone takes the time to read. Fiction? That's what you base your position on? Seems about right. Vic's fiction is based on the sort of paranoia you dweebs feature in your underdeveloped brains. Suburban Jack Bauers, fantasizing violence, polishing paranoia in their dimbulb heads. The action adventure version of Baywatch. Yeah, it's kinds like Taxi Driver. "You tawkin' tuh mee?" There's a confidence that is indescribable when I am carrying in questionable situations. It transcends reality, therefore, I, we, usn's, have to veer into fictions so smaller brained people can grok it. You get it now, Sparky? How'd you like to have been sitting in Luby's Cafeteria having lunch when ..................... or that McD's in California .......... or countless other sites of carnage and fictional violence. Google it, moron. Have whatever ****in kind of day you were going to have anyway. Steve |
#8
posted to rec.boats
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My Guns, My Celebrity and the Punks who want it
On Fri, 24 Apr 2009 07:49:20 -0600, "SteveB"
wrote: "jps" wrote in message .. . On Thu, 23 Apr 2009 18:38:23 -0700 (PDT), wrote: On Apr 23, 3:10 pm, jps wrote: On Thu, 23 Apr 2009 05:27:46 -0500, Vic Smith wrote: Time to repost this, I guess. Bless you. I hope everyone takes the time to read. Fiction? That's what you base your position on? Seems about right. Vic's fiction is based on the sort of paranoia you dweebs feature in your underdeveloped brains. Suburban Jack Bauers, fantasizing violence, polishing paranoia in their dimbulb heads. The action adventure version of Baywatch. Yeah, it's kinds like Taxi Driver. "You tawkin' tuh mee?" There's a confidence that is indescribable when I am carrying in questionable situations. It transcends reality, therefore, I, we, usn's, have to veer into fictions so smaller brained people can grok it. You get it now, Sparky? How'd you like to have been sitting in Luby's Cafeteria having lunch when ..................... or that McD's in California .......... or countless other sites of carnage and fictional violence. Google it, moron. Have whatever ****in kind of day you were going to have anyway. Steve What you don't understand is the odds of that happening while you're there are infintessimal. The odds are several orders of magnitude higher that you'll get hit crossing the street, t-boned driving through an intersection, or drown falling overboard. Think your gun will help? Moron. |
#9
posted to rec.boats
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My Guns, My Celebrity and the Punks who want it
"jps" wrote in message ... On Fri, 24 Apr 2009 07:49:20 -0600, "SteveB" wrote: "jps" wrote in message . .. On Thu, 23 Apr 2009 18:38:23 -0700 (PDT), wrote: On Apr 23, 3:10 pm, jps wrote: On Thu, 23 Apr 2009 05:27:46 -0500, Vic Smith wrote: Time to repost this, I guess. Bless you. I hope everyone takes the time to read. Fiction? That's what you base your position on? Seems about right. Vic's fiction is based on the sort of paranoia you dweebs feature in your underdeveloped brains. Suburban Jack Bauers, fantasizing violence, polishing paranoia in their dimbulb heads. The action adventure version of Baywatch. Yeah, it's kinds like Taxi Driver. "You tawkin' tuh mee?" There's a confidence that is indescribable when I am carrying in questionable situations. It transcends reality, therefore, I, we, usn's, have to veer into fictions so smaller brained people can grok it. You get it now, Sparky? How'd you like to have been sitting in Luby's Cafeteria having lunch when ..................... or that McD's in California .......... or countless other sites of carnage and fictional violence. Google it, moron. Have whatever ****in kind of day you were going to have anyway. Steve What you don't understand is the odds of that happening while you're there are infintessimal. The odds are several orders of magnitude higher that you'll get hit crossing the street, t-boned driving through an intersection, or drown falling overboard. Think your gun will help? Moron. Well, I guess I could just sit there and watch the shooter shoot person after person and not be able do a damn thing about it but wail for gun control. Yes, I do think my gun would help. I can tell you're young and idealistic, and have never been in a situation where someone has really threatened your life. Steve |
#10
posted to rec.boats
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My Guns, My Celebrity and the Punks who want it
On Fri, 24 Apr 2009 19:47:41 -0600, "SteveB"
wrote: "jps" wrote in message .. . On Fri, 24 Apr 2009 07:49:20 -0600, "SteveB" wrote: "jps" wrote in message ... On Thu, 23 Apr 2009 18:38:23 -0700 (PDT), wrote: On Apr 23, 3:10 pm, jps wrote: On Thu, 23 Apr 2009 05:27:46 -0500, Vic Smith wrote: Time to repost this, I guess. Bless you. I hope everyone takes the time to read. Fiction? That's what you base your position on? Seems about right. Vic's fiction is based on the sort of paranoia you dweebs feature in your underdeveloped brains. Suburban Jack Bauers, fantasizing violence, polishing paranoia in their dimbulb heads. The action adventure version of Baywatch. Yeah, it's kinds like Taxi Driver. "You tawkin' tuh mee?" There's a confidence that is indescribable when I am carrying in questionable situations. It transcends reality, therefore, I, we, usn's, have to veer into fictions so smaller brained people can grok it. You get it now, Sparky? How'd you like to have been sitting in Luby's Cafeteria having lunch when ..................... or that McD's in California .......... or countless other sites of carnage and fictional violence. Google it, moron. Have whatever ****in kind of day you were going to have anyway. Steve What you don't understand is the odds of that happening while you're there are infintessimal. The odds are several orders of magnitude higher that you'll get hit crossing the street, t-boned driving through an intersection, or drown falling overboard. Think your gun will help? Moron. Well, I guess I could just sit there and watch the shooter shoot person after person and not be able do a damn thing about it but wail for gun control. Yes, I do think my gun would help. I can tell you're young and idealistic, and have never been in a situation where someone has really threatened your life. In fact I have. A gun would have done no good. Vic's story is especially well-suited for you. |
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