My Uncle Tony owned a paint store. Actually, he pretty much owned most of the block the paint store rested upon, and since his methods of vermin removal was a tad odd it was a good thing he owned most of the block.
Once a month he'd load up his .22 rifle and go rat hunting. Traps and poisons were for folks too squeamish to take matters into their own hands, and he liked, um, he liked killing things. With firearms. Especially with firearms. I was never so proud as when, at the age of 7, he asked my Dad if it was okay for him to teach me how to eradicate rats. Being both a WWII AND Korean Vet, of course my Father said yes, as he was worried I'd been raised too mamby-pamby anyway and my taking up a rifle to shoot the heads off of things that needed to have their heads shot off was just find and dandy with him.
Back in the mid to late 50's one could purchase ammunition at any hardware store in Manhattan, and once a month Uncle Tony and I would stock up on .22lr then head for his storerooms and alleyways. After a while, the nice old man who owned the nearby hardware store would even sell me the ammo, and that pleased Uncle Tony to no end. Boy fetching his own bullets and loading his own magazines into his own rifle meant the boy was learning to be a man and, if for nothing else, that's what old men were supposed to teach boys how to do.
Part of this soliloquy is to inform the casual reader that NYC wasn't always the bastion of liberalism that it is today. Far, far from it. NYC sent the most men to our wars, and the men came back hardened to the realities of life, not like the majority of today's big city males who think that jaywalking when no one is looking is the quintessential essence of bravery itself. But the older men retired from taking care of the world, moved to Florida, or outright died, and the liberals saw their big chance then took it in a NY second.
The Gun Control Act of 1968 put an end to hardware stores stocking ammunition or rifles or small caliber guns in places like NY. What was once a city that featured neighborhoods quite capable of protecting their own became ripe for the pickings and the pickings were good and lots better than having a real job. The streets became far less safe; grandmothers stopped walking to the parks to feed the pigeons, especially at dawn or dusk, then mothers stopped doing so as well, then full grown men did too.
I had a birds eye view of what happens to a town that surrenders itself to the criminal element, and by the time I returned from my first war it wasn't the town I grew up in so I had no home town anymore. That wasn't so bad, since I had been enthralled with the wanderlust and wouldn't be home all that much anyway but the handwriting for me was on the wall, bigger and bolder than any subway station graffiti.
Manhattan was, and is, a great place to visit but for me living there was out of the question. When the time came for me to end my life's work, at a relatively early age I might add, since running up and down hills to chase down rats who needed eradication is really a young man's job and old men get moved from rat-killers to pencil-pushers and no way, Jose, so when the time came I needed me a new home town.
There are those among us who say that moving away isn't the manner in which to fight back against the simpering hordes of metrosexuals who neither want nor need to act like men, but take it from me that's prime bullshit. Los Angeles and/or NYC, or Detroit, or Chicago, isn't changing anytime soon and it doesn't matter how much a man wants his freedom back, it simply isn't going to happen. Not there, not now, maybe not ever. The Pilgrims left for the New World because they were brave enough to do so, not because they were cowards. It certainly isn't easy to lock, stock, and barrel your way to another clime and place but, as was once said, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.
To my mind, staying in Manhattan meant being a part of a problem that had no solution. Being an enabler, being someone who talked the talk but slithered away come time to walk that walk. I tried the Midwest but found it to be even worse than NYC in its own way because most of the folks were so very happy to be so protected by their Sheriffs and politicians and as long as no one messed with their shotguns or hunting rifles, all was well.
Sweet Moses on a pogo, but even Australia had passed anti-gun legislation so severe as to effectively disarm the entire country, so staying there after I'd moved there wasn't going to be fun. Hells bells but if I wanted to be ANYBODY's subject I might as well head back on "home" where folks at least had the common sense to drive on the correct side of the road.
Texas, or Florida. Texas back then didn't have a Castle Doctrine and Florida not only DID have one but had paved the way for concealed carry so Florida it was. Plus, shoveling snow had lost a helluva lot of its luster, so Gunshine State here we come.
Far from perfect here; open-carry is a no-no and even though lots of us fight for it, it's not in the foreseeable future. The Miami environs might as well be Cuba-North and that sucks too (and a BIG part in the denial of open-carry). But a man can still almost feel like a free man where we live and that's the most important thing.
So here's my advice. There are some places that are close to returning to the United States of America so by all means stay and fight like your life depended upon it. Because you CAN make a difference there.
You CAN'T make a difference in LA or NYC or any of the other dirty places mentioned so it might be time to stop being an enabler for the enemy.
If the above video of this seemingly nice man just saying what any man should be saying gives you chills, then it's WAY PAST your time to go, because when the commonplace seems like nirvana you've outlasted your welcome.
I like the guys at I Hate The Media. Really do. But I'm feeling sorry for them more than liking them lately and that's why I stop by less and less.