176 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
176 lines
11 KiB
Plaintext
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_____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________
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| ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ |
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| | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | |
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| | /________/ | | / / /________/ | |
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| | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | |
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| |________________________________________________________________| |
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|____________________________________________________________________|
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...presents... Self Defense
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by THE NIGHTSTALKER
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>>> a cDc publication.......1991 <<<
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-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
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______________________________________________________________________________
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It was 1970, and I was in Vietnam as a civilian defense contractor. I had
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thought I'd lucked out on the draft. I had a bad back (or at least that's what
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my cooperative doctor said in a letter) and I was employed by a defense
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company. Draft? Vietnam? Hah! I'm safe here in the States! Yeah, well.
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They needed someone who had some skill with firearms and explosives to insure
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the safety of a secret project that was installed in a forward firebase. I fit
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the bill. Swell.
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It was a bright and humid afternoon in Saigon as I and my fellow
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contractors left the bar. They were drunk, I wasn't. (I don't drink when I'm
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armed. Booze and firearms do NOT mix.)
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There is something in the brain that tells you when someone is looking at
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you, or at least it'll tell you if you are listening for it, as I was. There
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had been a spate of driveby assassinations in Saigon of late, with Americans in
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civilian dress a particular target. Someone was looking at me and I knew it.
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I scanned the area and there they were. Two teens on a cheap Honda motorcycle.
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They gunned the motor and began their run. The passenger pulled a MaT 49
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sub-machine gun from his shoulderbag and aimed at us/me.
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They are right, those that say that time slows down in a gunfight. It
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seemed like I had all the time in the world, perhaps I did, all things
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considered.
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My left hand pulled the hem of my shirt up as my right hand reached for
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the grip of my .45 automatic pistol tucked in my belt to the left of my belt
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buckle. The kid on the cycle is raising his machine gun as I flick off the
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thumb safety of the pistol. My body falls into the Weaver stance as my left
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hand cradles/supports my right hand which holds the pistol. The kid on the
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cycle has the MaT 49 shoulder stock jammed into his right shoulder. I wonder
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when he did that, as I don't recall seeing him unfold it. My right index
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finger is on the trigger and my sights are centered on the forehead of the kid
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with the machine gun. I tighten my finger and the gun jumps and thunders
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twice. The back of his head explodes as the high velocity hollowpoints blow
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through the bone and tissue. His eyeballs bulge and blood and brain tissue
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explode from his ears. I alter my sights and put three rounds into the chest
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of the kid driving the cycle. He falls backwards and both bodies fall from the
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cycle into the street; the motorcycle falls over a few feet from their bodies.
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From what I gather, the whole affair took less than 10 seconds. In 10
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seconds, two patriots, defending their country from a foreign invader, were cut
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down before they could strike a blow for their country. At least, that's how
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some would see it. I tend to look at it as a pair of terrorists trying to kill
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three unarmed Americans. It's all in how you look at it, I guess.
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Fast Forward 15 years to Chicago. A young Black woman is entering the
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foyer of her apartment building. It's after midnight. She's put in a hell of
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a day with a lot of overtime, but there was something that needed to be
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finished. She gets her mail and has her keys in her hand. She's tired and not
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paying attention. The first creep with the knife has his arms around her and
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the knife at her throat in an instant. The second creep with the cheap gun
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shows it to her and tells her to shut up.
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They look at her mail and see that she lives on the second floor. They
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take the stairs, as her apartment is close to the stairway. As they drag her
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up the steps, they are pawing her body. Her blouse is ripped open and her slip
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and bra pulled down. Her breasts are fondled and her nipples painfully
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squeezed. Her skirt is pulled up, her pantyhose ripped open and her pubic area
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fingered. They inform her that she will be raped, sodomized, tortured and
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murdered.
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They easily open the two locks on her door and pull her into the unlit
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apartment. A hand again gropes her crotch and a finger seeks her vulva. It is
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truly Now or Never.
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She recalls the many hours her old boyfriend spent teaching her unarmed
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combat and the first rule of life or death fighting: DON'T PANIC! Her jaws
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tighten and her teeth bite through the flesh of the hand over her mouth. She
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has actually bitten a chunk of muscle from the hand! She spits out the tissue
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as the creep holding her loosens his grip from the pain. Her knee slams into
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the testicles of the creep who is trying to insert a finger in her vagina. As
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he doubles up in pain, her other knee slams into his face, breaking his nose.
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She brings her raised leg down hard, embedding the high heel of her shoe into
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the top of the foot of the creep who was holding her.
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She knows the layout of her apartment intimately. The darkness is her
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ally now! She kicks off her shoes and runs for her bedroom. A powerful set of
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magnets holds a .45 semi automatic pistol under her bed. She grabs the pistol
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and switches on her bedside lamp, tilting the shade towards the bedroom door,
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directing the light away from her and towards the door. She rolls over the bed
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and kneels behind it, the pistol held in a two handed grip, her elbows braced
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on the mattress. She waits.
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The two creeps decided that she is NOT going to get away with this, and,
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seeing the light from her bedroom, run towards the opened door.
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They enter and stop short. They are confronted not with a terrified,
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cowering victim, but with an armed, confident woman. She fires twice, with a
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fraction of a second between shots as she adjusts her aim. The two bodies hit
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the floor almost as one. The mess is incredible. Two rounds, two headshots.
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Blood, brains and bone fragments everywhere.
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The police showed up minutes after her slightly hysterical 911 call. The
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police were very solicitous of her condition and treated her with kid gloves.
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The two dead creeps were not-so-petty criminals with long records of burglary
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and rape arrests. Both had spent more time in prison than out. Since there
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were deaths involved, the DA's office was called. An investigator was there
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within 30 minutes. (The young woman, knowing full well JUST how the rat chews
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the cheese, was a BIG contributor to the Chicago Democratic Party. A call to
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her local ward captain after she called the police insured that certain
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'courtesies' would be extended to her.) The investigator looked at her torn
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clothes, listened to her story, and was informed about the records of the two
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creeps. He also considered her status as a woman with a good job, as a regular
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contributor to the Party and her skill with her 100% legal pistol.
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"Justifiable Homicide during Self Defense!"
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She was taken to the hospital for an exam and to be treated for the
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mauling she endured. Scratches and bruises for the most part. She was sedated
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and put to bed for the next 24 hours. The police carted away the bodies and
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left the name of a cleaner who specialized in removing the blood and smell of
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dead bodies from rugs and carpets.
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I am proud to say that it was I who taught her those things that saved her
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life. The unarmed tactics that got her away from them and the pistolcraft that
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ended the careers of two criminals. The gun she used was the same one that
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saved MY life 15 years earlier, given to her as a going away gift. She still
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owns the gun, practices with it once a week at the gun club near her home in
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California. (She moved a few years afterwards. She was tired of the cold
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winters and had a great job waiting for her in San Jose.) With the exception
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of a few new springs and magazines, that venerable old Colt Government Model
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1911-1A .45 semi automatic pistol is unchanged, save for a small bit of
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engraving she had added to the slide, in front of the ejection port. A little
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poem that Sam Colt, peace be upon him, had engraved on his early revolvers.
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"Fear No Man, Regardless Of His Size, Just Call On Me, I'll Equalize!"
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The same quote is also engraved on MY Colt Government Model 1911-1A .45
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semi automatic pistol these days. It was a Christmas/Birthday gift from my old
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girlfriend.
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Gentle Readers, I would ask you to keep this little narrative in mind,
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when next you hear from those who feel that citizens do not need firearms for
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protection, that the police will protect you from the criminal element, that a
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firearm in the house is dangerous. Without that pistol, a woman whom I still
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love, a woman who is a decent citizen and a productive member of society; this
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woman would have been raped, tortured and murdered by a pair of creeps who
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should have never been released from prison, yet were paroled and given yet
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another chance to reform and become 'good citizens'.
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_ _ ____________________________________________________________________
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/((___))\|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|NIHILISM..............517/546-0585|
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[ x x ] |Paisley Pasture......916/673-8412|Ripco II..............312/528-5020|
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\ / |Tequila Willy's GSC..209/526-3194|The Works.............617/861-8976|
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(' ') |Lunatic Labs.........213/655-0691|Condemned Reality.....618/397-7702|
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(U) |====================================================================|
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.ooM |Copr. 1991 cDc communications by THE NIGHTSTALKER 07/20/91-#174|
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\_______/|All Rights Pissed Away. FIVE YEARS of cDc|
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