Saturday, March 24, 2007

Alone With The Dark

There are some folks out there who are lacking a humor-gland, or have a humor-tumor and find it difficult to separate fact from plaything. Most of the time I do strive to be serious, but a place without fun is a desolate place indeed, sort of like the blogs created by Miss Priss (copyright Lemuel Calhoon).

When I speak of self-defense issues you can count on such offerings as being accurate to the best of my knowledge, and any misinformation or outright stupidity is due to my own incompetence, but never intended to be duplicitous or an outright obloquy. Being close to human, this means the attending frailties attach themselves with a vengeance and lets face it; I do have a life and appreciate rather than direct ill will towards the efforts of others to correct a misstatement. We are, as they say, in this together. But to prevent future disagreements with those I otherwise respect, from now on in I'll attach a "humor" acknowledgment at the end of a post that was intended to be funny, or stretched a point to usher in a grin. My cousin Sal the shyster lawyer says that anyone with the time and effort to fuck with a nobody online just 'cause they don't agree with something, is cruisin' for a legal bruisin', because blogs are afforded the same 1st Amendment rights as any frickin body, so fuck off asswipe.

Yes, the Brooklyn School of Law and Professional Sanitation is a hard taskmaster, but I have found the graduates to be as clean as they are dishonest, just like an attorney should be.

Caveats aside, there was an hilarious altercation I'd like to pass along so here it is. Due to the vagaries of genetics, I find myself in the throes of what the medical profession likes to refer to as Middle Adulthood, and with very little gray hair to show for all these years of fussbudgetry. Built to frighten a gorilla in the darkness and with no outward indications of frailty, it is the unusual individual that accosts me, and to be quite honest it happens as often as Halley's Comet. I'll often turn to Lisa and ask if I'm smiling because...and this is something I learned late in life...what passes for a grin where I grew up CAN be construed as a vicious snarl in venues sporting a more gentile demeanor. I never realized, pity the fool I am, that when someone would offer to take a snapshot and utter the ubiquitous, SMILE, then remain frozen in time it was because what I thought was the father to a chortle was construed as I'm-prepared-to-suck-the-marrow-from-your-riven-bones.

Formalities then aside, I've learned to take heart to the fact that when the little people appear distressed, it is my fault, and not necessarily an indication of soon to be conducted lessons from them in the martial arts.

"Need yo money man now"

I'm sure that most of us when posed with a tongue-tripping rendition of the above would respond with HUH, but since I'm always geared to be pleasant but stand ready to kill all I meet, a cocked eyebrow was all I could muster. One can always hope that there is a tussle in the offing because exercise is important to us all, but the fact of the matter is we are civilized and therefore first ready to excuse rather than abuse. My non-verbal reply was met with a repeat of the above, and a step closer was taken.


My space. No, it isn't that blogsite for girls, but the area we feel most comfortable calling our own. When intruded upon, there really are but two responses, run or stun, and when the fat black man made it clear he was robbing me I knew there was a God. Raising my offhand to inhibit closer approach, my stronghand drew an ugly little Glock 27 just as a quite filthy stiletto quite magically appeared in mugger-to-be's dirty grasp.


No. I wasn't reaching for my wallet. His visions of Ripple dashed, the wavering blade halted in mid-threaten, and B'Cool, man, hissed from his feted lips while a step backwards prepared him for full retreat. Dohn shoot me man was fuckin with ya led me to believe, sadly I might add, that there'd be no postmortem tonight, so a pleasant enough (under the circumstances) get the fuck away from me or I'll kill your black ass was rewarded with a vigorous nod and proof positive that there is a definite trait inherent to American blacks that affords them a distinct edge in footspeed. It was over in a matter of seconds, and I suppose added to the list of concealed carriers who merely show a gun to end a threat, but who do I call?

I'd hate to fuck up the database.

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