The Tactical Life

Thought for the day:

Freedom is what everyone wants to be able to act and live with freedom. But the only way to get to a place of freedom is through discipline. - Jocko Willink

This is a departure from my usual posts, since, I do not like to talk about anything that could be construed as political crap on this thread, but this about restricting your ability to expand your knowledge of tactical awareness and future rights to self-defense. This is about having your rights violated or contained by private companies, something that can happen to anyone and anywhere. This liberal assault on the 2A and the companies that support the second amendment became personal after an organization I volunteered for was shut down with no warning.

Now, they are private and not a government organization, so that is their right. Ok, I understand, but, this is a massive threat. 190 million Facebook users in the USA, let’s say all 190 million turned their attention to one politician and screamed for him or her to change something, they would fold like a cheap lawn chair. Scary and what’s most frightening? I believe the vast majority of people, like 189.5 million, can be told what to believe by social media and they would lock step in line. Second Amendment today, freedom of speech tomorrow.

By Keith Wood:

There are 2.7-billion Facebook users in the world, and 190 million reside in the U.S. A billion people use Instagram, which is also owned by Facebook. Two-billion individuals use Google-owned YouTube and Twitter has 330-million users worldwide. Contrast those numbers with traditional news sources: Primetime broadcast viewership caps out at around 6 million on any given network. Given these numbers, and the success of social media algorithms in capturing our attention, the Big Three social-media platforms are the most influential information sources — ever. And that unprecedented influence is being wielded against the 2nd Amendment and all of us.

Comic-writer Stan Lee popularized a principle in the “Spider-Man” series: “With great power comes great responsibility.” In the context of social media, that statement might be more aptly described as “With great power, comes great manipulation.” Social-media platforms have the ability to determine what information individuals are receiving as well as the ability to censor its content. Seventy percent of the videos watched on YouTube, for example, are selected for the user by the supercomputers that powers the site — they are not chosen by the users themselves. Hence, social-media outlets have the power to alter the narrative and shape human thought, which is a scary prospect.

Tristan Harris, a former Google-design ethicist, and one of the most powerful voices highlighting the abuses of big tech, told a U.S. Senate committee “With more than a billion hours watched daily, [social media] takes control of what we believe, while discriminating against our civility, our shared truth, and our calm.”

According to the Center for Humane Technology, “social media platforms are incentivized to amplify the most engaging content, tilting public attention towards polarizing and often misleading content. By selling microtargeting to the highest bidder, they enable manipulative practices that undermine democracies around the world.” The opinions of entire populations are being swayed by powerful outlets that can alter the narrative to meet their own political or financial ends. Lies travel faster than the truth. Though two recent studies have claimed to debunk the theory that conservative content is censored more heavily than more progressive messages, our own anecdotal research has indicated that pro-gun individuals and companies are increasingly being targeted by the social media giants.

Firearms enthusiasts, influencers and even product manufacturers have seen their accounts and individual content blocked by Facebook, Instagram and Twitter for seemingly innocuous posts and statements.

Alexander Spanopoulos is a strategy consultant and entrepreneur who recently launched a company called Arrowhead Tactical Apparel (ATA). ATA was created as a brand that provides concealed carry clothing. He said, “I wanted to create the most comfortable way to carry concealed that was completely safe, that preserved the wearer’s draw position, and that supported holstered handguns of any size or weight, not just subcompacts.” ATA’s pants were an immediate success that quickly expanded to include additional product lines. He credits much of that success to social media.

“We had a booming Instagram community,” Spanopoulos told Guns & Ammo. “Our community was highly engaged, responsive, and thriving. Then we got ‘Zucked.’”

On October 20, 2020, with no communication or warning, ATA’s social media accounts went dark. Spanopoulos made multiple support requests through Facebook in an effort to solve the problem, but he received no information as to why ATA was removed from both Facebook and Instagram.

“We don’t sell weapons, we sell clothing,” Spanopoulos said. “Our posts and ads merely highlighted the features and benefits of our products. We were staying well away from anything that would be problematic. If you dip a pinky toe into the grey area of wrongthink though, big tech loves to come down on you. It’s their platform, and they can do whatever they want, but that won’t stop us from calling a spade a spade.”

Retired U.S. Army Special Forces Sergeant Major Mike Glover owns Fieldcraft Survival. He, too, has experienced tech censorship. SGM Glover spent a career serving the Special Operations community before launching his company in 2015 to train individuals and teams in outdoor survival, marksmanship, land navigation and emergency medicine.

I wanted to offer civilians training in self-defense, situational awareness, mindset — all aspects of modern survival,” Glover said. “I thought citizens could benefit from learning the process, planning and attention to detail that I learned in Special Operations. Our mission statement is to make everyday civilians better prepared for the worst-case scenario.”

After witnessing first responders being ordered to stand down in the face of widespread civil unrest in places like Seattle and Portland in 2020, Glover founded XXXXXXX as a resource for citizens. “I advocate that you are your own first response. When I saw law enforcement officers fail to respond to calls for help, I decided to take the lead in giving people a path to becoming better prepared.”

Not long after its formation, XXXXXXXXX saw its social media accounts shut down.

Glover and his organization were branded as racist and alt-right extremists, which is blatantly untrue. Glover has publicly opposed extremism.

“We lost our Facebook, Instagram and Discord accounts,” said Glover. “Not only our organizational accounts, but all of our personal accounts as well. Every single person that was affiliated with XXXXXXXXX, thousands of them, lost their accounts. They even shut down my mom’s business account because she had reposted something. She owns a salon.”

Glover’s Fieldcraft Survival accounts, which focus on preparedness are politically neutral, but they were also suppressed. And, unfortunately, it didn’t end there.

“With no explanation or warning, our Shopify business account that grosses millions of dollars and supports my 30-plus employees was deleted,” Glover added. “We lost all of the data from our website and had to start from scratch. The fact that people’s livelihoods and the things they’ve worked hard for are being mass-deleted, that’s obviously problematic. I want to make myself believe that these are are being mass-deleted, that’s obviously problematic. I want to make myself believe that these are random acts of suppression, but they’re not. It looks to be very deliberate.”

As a small business owner trying to protect his employees, Glover began searching for options that wouldn’t censor or cancel his content. So, he migrated all of his content to an application called “Locals.” At XXXXXXXX.com, he and his team are providing educational content as well as real-time intelligence that will help users avoid trouble spots in their area. This information is delivered without bias.

In addition to these blatant examples of suppression, there are also subtle methods of canceling ideas. Beyond the blocking of accounts and posts, social media outlets often use more subtle techniques to prevent firearm-related content from reaching users. It’s a practice known as “shadow banning.”

“I see it constantly,” Tim Kennedy, U.S. Army Special Forces and mixed martial artist told G&A. “I reliably cultivate 2,000 followers per day on my social media platforms. When I post something firearms or 2A-related, I find myself in the penalty box. Like clockwork, my number of followers freezes for 30 days. When I’m being shadow banned, you can’t search for my pages or content, and my hashtags don’t work. It is blatant censorship.”

Thanks to such censorship, many firearms enthusiasts are fleeing the traditional social media platforms and using less-restrictive outlets including XXXXX and XXXXX. XXXXX advertises itself as a place where users can “speak freely and express yourself openly, without any fear of being ‘deplatformed’ for your views.” It is a private-sector solution to a real problem in the marketplace of ideas. There are downsides, though, according to Kennedy. “XXXXX is great, but it can be an echo chamber for conservatives just as Twitter is for progressives. I want to reach individuals who don’t agree with me, which means that I need to be where they congregate. That means Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.”

Social media censorship is a real problem. To be clear, this is not a First Amendment issue. Constitutional freedoms only apply to government action. Private companies such as Facebook can stifle free speech as they see fit, but it doesn’t make it right. Nor does it mean that our nation’s leaders can’t play a role in reigning-in these abuses, which reach beyond the firearms community.

“Government’s job is to protect citizens,” former Google-employee Tristan Harris said. “I tried to change Google from the inside, but I found that it’s only been through external pressure — from government policymakers, shareholders and media — that has changed companies’ behavior.”

Thought for the day:

*praecepta vivendi.

Some old rules you may find useful:

• LIFE IS HARD…ITS HARDER WHEN YOU’RE STUPID

• IF ITS STUPID BUT IT WORKS…IT ISN’T STUPID

• NEVER BRING A KNIFE TO A GUN FIGHT (LAW OF GROSS WEIGHT AND HEAVY CALIBER)

• NEVER FIGHT FAIR

• THINK WAR

• EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED

• THERE IS NO SECOND PLACE IN A GUN FIGHT-WINNERS KILL, LOSERS GET KILLED, FIGHT TO WIN- TRAIN TO LIVE

• NEVER TURN YOUR BACK ON A THREAT

• YOU FIGHT AS YOU TRAIN

• LEARN IT RIGHT AND YOU’LL DO IT RIGHT THE REST OF YOUR LIFE LEARN IT WRONG AND SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE TRYING TO GET IT RIGHT

• A WARRIOR IS HARD FROM THE INSIDE OUT

• FOR THOSE WHO WANT TO WIN THERE IS NEVER ENOUGH TIME TO TRAIN

• AGGRESSIVELY SEEK ANY KNOWLEDGE WHICH WILL ASSURE MISSION ACCOMPLISHMENT AND MAKE YOU A SURVIVOR AND A WINNER

• IT TAKES A SHOOTER TO LEAD A SHOOTER

• USE A SIMPLE TEMPLATE WHEN DECIDING THE VALUE OF SOMETHING EVERYTHING EITHER HAS TACTICAL VALUE OR IT DOES NOT

• EVERY DAY, ASK YOURSELF, “WHAT HAVE I DONE FOR MY family”

• BE SNEAKY, STEALTHY, AND DO THE UNEXPECTED WITHOUT BEING DETECTED

• FRONT SIGHT….FRONT SIGHT….BY GOD, FRONT SIGHT

• DON’T CONFUSE ENTHUSIASM WITH CAPABILITY

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Gel shot at 10:00 mark.

*Thought for the day:

If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”

— Sun Zu

I overheard a snippet of conversation last week during a class room break. “Yeah, man”, “I am really getting tired of this constant shit”. Ok, I understand. You have been doing this for a long time and you are getting either fed up or burned out. So, here is my advice, either recognize what is mentally going on and take a break, coming back with a better attitude or just realize you are done. Right now, you are liability to yourself and those that depend on you.

violence

Thought for the day:

I am deviating from my usual posts this morning and taking a lesser known path. Something different during this COVID racked holidays. When I was in Iraq, I wrote a small E-book about some funny shit I saw and experienced working the street as a patrol officer. You can only watch so much AFN. I am posting the introduction and if you want to know any more about Grasshopper’s trials and tribulations, let me know and I will post more chapters.

BEFORE WE START:

I guess, for the one of two people who actually will read this little collection of stories, some background information is needed. I have been in law enforcement / military all my adult life, working local, state, and finally federal. Before reaching that exalted state of being known as “Special Agent”, I was a working street cop for several years. The stories you are about to read come from street.

All the incidents described in this book are based on actual events, however, the names and places have been changed to protect the innocent, the stupid, the depraved, the dead, and the ones still in uniform. In our legalistic society, every bullet fired from a gun and every word written on paper, comes with a lawyer attached. Hell, I even changed my own name, in case I woke up one morning wanting to sue myself.

Policing by its very nature is a regional affair. How cops would handle something in the mid-west or on the west coast would be entirely different in the south, and, this is where these little stories come from, the Deep South.

Providing a grid locking population of over 3 million in the metro area, this southern center is a Petri dish of humanity, each swimming in their own cultural juices: Whites in all shades, Blacks, Asians, Latinos, Arabs, Indians, and many of the Heinz 57 variety, in other words, a prime environment for human weirdness.

Now, if you are either sensitive, politically correct, or an employee of the U.S .State Department, you don’t want to read this book. I cannot be responsible for your bruised feelings or shocked sensibilities. Over the years, I have thought long and hard about whether or not I am a racist, and, I have come to the conclusion that I am not, I just don’t like most people.

We all have our prejudices; it’s just that most people lie about them and I don’t. I could make you a laundry list of things I don’t like, beginning with Nigerian cab drivers; I never met one who wasn’t a world class, arrogant prick or a piney woods redneck with a mullet, who didn’t have meth and guns. Don’t assume from what you read in these stories has a racist overtone, it’s just the south, and things are different there.

Now, if you are expecting to read a story about gunfights and naked women, you will be disappointed. I have focused on the funny, weird, and wacky nature of humanity, both civilians and cops. Leave the sexy gunfights to film and game producers, for, in real shootings, you are either dead, injured, or sued.

Throughout my career, I have found that people who work in the business of maintaining our society’s values, (cops, fireman, nurses, paramedics, and teachers) will always have the greatest, weirdest, sense of humor.

You have to develop this ability: or eat your gun, drown yourself in alcohol, or ingest enough Zanax to drop a water buffalo. This ability to cope will humanity’s problems doesn’t come quickly, but, like a fine aged wine; your ability to laugh comes with experience and seasoning.

Finally, you will notice that I will refer to myself as “Grasshopper”. This was a nickname given to me by my first Lieutenant, a grizzled veteran who was a fan of TV Land and an a old TV show about a Kung-Fu master roaming the west in search of a higher meaning in life. Once he found out I was martial artist and being a skinny white boy in uniform, he never called me anything else, even in roll call.

OUR MOON IN ALL ITS POETIC GLORY:

The moon is Earth’s only natural satellite, it’s one and only baby, and how does it celebrate this relationship? It’s trying like hell to run away from us. Because of a loss of orbital energy to gravity from the Earth, it is slowing moving away, possibly to plague some other alien cops.

In the early history of our planet, the moon looked about 3 times larger in the sky, because it was closer to Earth. God, I am so glad I wasn’t a cop back then, 3 times bigger, means 3 times the trouble. Ever since the Assyrians shot their arrows into the sky and Galileo turned his beady eyes to the cosmos, the moon has been responsible for more chaos than a Middle East peace summit.

It has been a lofty witness to mankind’s follies, from civilizations rising to their eventual destruction, our little floating ball of iron has seen it all, and God Forbid, let’s not leave out the fact of worshiping the moon, from the creation of Werewolves to the Harlequin romance writers.

I mean, seriously, even I can write a few steamy lines like this,” The pale shafts of moon light sliced through the old wooden window shutters, falling across her bare breasts, lighting up her swollen nipples with a pale glow”……(mmmmmmm, well . )

But for street cops, the moon takes on a whole meaning, one in which we know those gravitational tides affect our denizens with a madness that runs unabated through their little used subconscious minds. Once it goes into its final phase of plump roundness, men and women start shedding their civilized skins, like a snake in the summer heat.

Couples, who have pledged life and honor until death, start really planning the death part. Men’s balls start to grow as their minds shrink, women start down the path of a slow hormonal drift, either to kill, maim, or give birth under the roof of a squad car.

As a street cop you are right there, soaking up this residue of madness, trying to keep your walnut sized brain from overloading and turning you into some type of zombie: reeking of alcohol, and playing Halo .

“Man, what the hell is going on?

I drove to the rear corner of the precinct parking lot around 2200 and stopped under a huge live oak tree that was old enough to have seen the rise and fall of the Confederacy. I liked the tree and counted on its presence every night to add some type of sanity and stability. Our precinct house squatted like a fat bullfrog on the edge of the old city zoo. Getting out of the truck, I was often assaulted by the screams of Howler monkeys and the cries of peacocks, always a reminder of the nights coming domestic fights.

Easing out of my truck, I gently closed the door and stood still for a few moments, soaking in the tree’s wisdom and hoping some pigeon wasn’t going to shit on my uniform shirt. It was nice and quiet.

Well it was, until, I heard the rear precinct door creak open and someone bellow out “Grasshopper, is that you?” looking over the hood of my truck, I saw someone leaning his fat gut out the door. Christ, it was Sims . I have a hard time dealing with Sims, he was a 20 year veteran with the build of Porky Pig, the walk of Quasimodo, and the IQ of a crack baby, plus, he used enough Old Spice to repel mosquitoes.

(What the hell did he want?)

“Grasshopper, he bellowed, is that you?” by this time, I knew he was not going away, so I walked around the side of my truck and waved him a one fingered salute. In the dark, he couldn’t see the finger, so, slamming the door with another bellow, he marched across the parking lot in that funny little mincing steps fat men use to follow their bellies around. He was breathing heavy by the time he arrived at the oak, and was not happy about his work out of the day.

“God Damn”!” Grasshopper, can’t you hear?” What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I was listening to the tree, its song of wisdom was singing louder than your cries for attention”.

Titling my head, I looked up into the leaves and said, “See its leaves are speaking to me, see how they twist and turn, and dancing in the moon’s brilliant rays”?

Sims actually looked up and squinted through his little piggy eyes. “Damn, you are crazier than a sprayed roach”, he said, but, that’s not why I walked across this damn parking lot, Big Cynthia, told me to tell you to get your skinny white ass in her office, like now”.

At the mention of Big Cynthia’s name, I felt my balls shrink and my heart thump with a shot of adrenaline. Big Cynthia was the end result of some black sailor’s Polynesian fantasy, ending with him skipping the island, cursory of the U.S. Navy. She was a 6 foot 3 in, 220 lbs of solid man hating muscle, more than willing to stomp some skinny white boy’s ass.

‘What does she want?

‘How the hell do I know?”” I just work here, and she said to get your skinny white ass in the office”

I stared at Sims and said, “Why do you keep saying “skinny white ass”, you’re a white boy yourself.”

I watched him process that question, seeing his eyes roll back and forth like a slot machine, until finally it reached payoff, “because, Big Cynthia said for me to tell you exactly what she said, or she would stuff my ass in the lion cage”.

‘OH, ok, that makes sense”; “I understand now”, “really, I do”. “If she asks me I will tell her, you carried her orders out with a precision only NASA could appreciate.”

“Fuck You, Grasshopper. “But, it’s not me standing in front of Big Cynthia’s desk” and with final snort, he minced back into the precinct.

I took my time walking across the parking lot, doing a mental review of the past several weeks: No, I had not kept any drugs for personal use, or copped a free blowjob from one of the hookers on Crystal Street, or damaged a squad car, or shot the wrong person. Even my arrest stats were good.

(What the Hell?)

Big Cynthia was actually Sergeant Cynthia and she was the administrative supervisor on the night shift. She was also the Major’s main hatchet man or (woman), just knowing that an audience with her was usually either an ass chewing, or a transfer to the airport detail. Neither of which I wanted tonight.

( Well… Shit).

Sending a look of despair toward the moon, I entered the precinct from the back door and walked down the hallway, my combat boots echoing off the hard tiled floor. Reaching the end, I turned past the holding cells and headed to her office, located three feet from the Major’s hallowed grounds. No one got past Big Cynthia if the Major was making one of his night visits.

Her office door was open, and, I could see her typing away on an ancient keyboard. Christ, she’s bigger than the last time I saw her. I thought those rumors of her going into professional wrestling may have a kernel of truth.

I gently knocked on the office door frame and cleared my suddenly parched throat,” You wanted to see me, Sarge?”’

She took her time turning around, and, I was able to monitor the flow of muscles under her starched shirt. Christ, I thought, what a woman! And I suddenly had a mental image of her naked: smoky passion rising like a fog from her massive body; it must have lasted longer than I realized, because, she slammed a palm down on the desk and said, “What the hell are you looking at”?

Caught off guard, I scrambled to remove the powerful image and stumble out an answer,” “Nothing Sarge, just listening to your radio, thought I heard a help call”.

Her eyes narrowed, like a jackal getting ready to kill, letting that one brown eye and that one green eye pierce my subconscious. I stared at her forehead, concentrating on her one little curl of hair falling from that death’s head bun of hers, and, quite proud, that I hadn’t pissed my pants.

She broke the silence, “you’re lying, but, sit your skinny ass down, I don’t have much time”.

(Christ, I thought,” what is with this skinny shit tonight) , as I took the rickety chair across from her desk.

Hunching forward like a linebacker waiting for the snap, she penned me with those weird eyes and asked” How long you been working here?’

“About three weeks, Came over from District 4”.

Leaning back now, taking the weight off her shoulders, she reached under her desk and pulled out a red file folder, slapping it on her desk,” know what that is”? She asked.

No. but, I had a sinking feeling what it was, my latest evaluation from the commander of district 4 , he was the only prick I knew who used RED file folders, like it was some secret CIA document. (What a dickhead)

“It’s you’re eval, from Captain Martin”.

(Christ, I thought, what did he write?) Was he still pissed about that little incident of hiding his gun while he was taking a shit? Hell, he never proved it was me.

“Grasshopper, I am going to ask you three questions, answer the one that describes you the best”, “understand”? “If I am going too fast for you, just let me know when that walnut brain of yours decides to catch up”.

(I nodded my head and wondered if she was finally going to come over the desk and squash my ass, killed in the line of duty by a man hating half breed Polynesian).

“Ok, answer this grasshopper, are you a smart ass bastard who hates authority”?

“Or are you a smart ass bastard that hates Martin’s authority”?

“Or are you are smart ass bastard who hates MY authority”?

Silence.

“Sarge, I replied,” is that a trick question, something you learned in management class”?

I saw her eyes narrow again, so, I hastily screamed, “just joking!”, “just joking!, Sarge”. I eased in a calming breath. “Look, wait, it’s just that I am a misunderstood guy with a sense of humor, with a strong desire to enforce the law and do a good job for you and the Major”… ( Not bad, I thought, not bad )

Silence.

“Grasshopper, the point I am trying to make is,” you’re smart ass comments and lack of respect for authority won’t make it here”,” do you understand”?

(No, not really, I thought, because I didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about, that dickhead Martin must have really screwed me.)

Ok, Sarge, I will keep my mouth shut, and my comments on life,” I will write them down in my spare time, ok”?

Silence.

Those shark eyes are still looking at me. Finally, she burped, and said the” Major wants you in his office at 2300 hours”.

(I felt my jaw drop open, Christ, I thought, first Big Cynthia, now, Major Mad Max. Holy shit, what was going on?)

Cynthia burped again, louder this time, and said” “You can close your mouth now or flies are going to start laying eggs in there”.

I shut my mouth with an audible click and squeaked out a “why”?

As she leaned across the desk, her massive shoulders moved and sent a ripple across her shirt. I decided to shift focus and concentrate on the green eye only; the brown one looked too much like an open grave to me.

“The Major has just come back from the FBI National Police Academy for Executive Leaders, and they filled his head with new ideas on how to manage problem officers, you know, someone like you, tapping the red folder with a finger the size of a turkey sausage.” Once he saw Captain Martin’s eval, he decided he was going to try out his new enlightened methods on some smart ass like you”.

I swear, I caught a glimmer of humor in that green eye, when she said” and I think you and the Major will get along just fine, in fact, he will probably want you to date his daughter”.” Now, get the hell out and be at the Major’s door at 2300”.

2300 hundred hours: Major Mad Max’s Office

Even when I was a budding rookie in the police academy, I heard stories about Major Mad Max. He was living legend in the department, whose feats were immortalized on the level of some Greek god. Hell, he killed 5 men in the line duty some said, others said 8, or just credited him with personally wiping out every bag guy in the city since the end of the first Gulf War.

He was man who ate 10 penny nails for lunch, and shit out railroad spikes before dinner. Plus, he was crazy as a shit-house rat, possessing a quiver full of the weirdest obsessive compulsive habits known to mortal men and gods alike.

He was fanatical about his department issued vehicle. Day watch guys claimed he had it washed once a day, including the interior, personally buying a case of armor all once a week, to slather on his dashboard, seats, and tires.

He was neatness freak, not allowing any food or drinks in the roll call room (By God, you ate in the break room or not at all, clear?).You had to shine your boots so bright; they could be used as an emergency mirror. He would make random inspections at 0300 am in the morning, checking officer’s cars for contraband, dirt, and used condoms.

All, while constantly carrying a non-department approved .30 caliber carbine. The small rifle was his constant companion; so much so, that I thought he didn’t have a dick, and needed a large phallic symbol to match his reputation. It was like being a paleontologist and meeting a live T-REX, teeth up close and personal.

( Damn, what a way to start the night)

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Good stuff, keep 'em coming.

Thought for the day:

Discipulus ad bellator.

driven.PNG

Once again, I found myself standing outside an office waiting to face the executioner, ( Christ, this is like judgment day at the French Revolution, except it would be my professional balls chopped off,( although Big Cynthia would probably enjoy an actual beheading) . Except this time the door was closed, and I paused a few moments to study the brass name plate screwed into the door. Major Max Maxwell was scratched into the flimsy metal. I silently read the name, and then looking closer, noticed that it was slightly off center, just like the major, I thought, leaning a little to the left and fucked up .

As I composed my internal state to a serious don’t fuck with me look, I tried to recall if I had ever seen the major up close and personal. No, it had always been from a distance, walking around and eyeballing his vehicle, checking for squirrel and pigeon shit. He didn’t make it one of his life’s goals to check on my health and happiness.

Oh, well, time to do it suck it up, and quit acting like a virgin in a brothel . I knocked on the door and waited to hear a command to enter, what I heard was something between a grunt and a growl.

I entered the office and said, “Grasshopper reporting as ordered, sir”

It’s hard for me to describe my first impression of the physical appearance of the Major, because I had about three movie scenes flash through my subconscious: the original STAR WARS bar scene, Hans Solo talking to Jabba- the- Hut on the revised addition, and the alien customs entry port from MEN IN BLACK.

He was squatted behind his desk, with his massive, mottled, bald head, scrunched between his shoulders. He had arms too long for his short, thick torso:, covered in reddish hair, thick as an animal pelt, but, it was his eye brows and mouth that set him apart from the local Neanderthals. Those eyebrows were long, thick, tangled, and seemed to crawl up his forehead, and, God Forbid, the ends looked waxed!, while his mouth was long and curved, appearing to split his reptilian face in two, like the hash marks on a landing strip.

(No, I thought, it’s not those graphics, not something from the movies, but, it was there, I could sense it like a burp building up pressure .

What the hell was it? And then it hit me like a like a shot of meth: he looked just like that Brazilian Horned Frog from my latest issue of National Geographic. Damn, this boy was ugly, and the more I studied him, the more he morphed into a fat river frog).

I stood in the doorway and waited for those massive eyebrows to slowly reveal his eyes. They finally reached the top and he studied me like a frog watching a fly.

“Come in and sit down.”

I took the offer of a chair and sat up straight, like a little kid in front of the principal ( caught without a hall pass again, little skinny boy?)

With a mental jolt, I recognized the RED file under his hairy paw, damn; Big Cynthia had already given it him. Christ!

With a baleful look, he opened the file and said” I see you are one of Martin’s rejects, you know that wimp dumps all his problem children off on me”. The brass loves to hear him whine and bitch about manpower, but, he can’t handle what he’s got” and that’s why I got you.”

(I was wondering where this was going, so I just kept quiet, besides, I was still fascinated by those creepy eyebrows).

“Martin says, in red ink, by the way, that you are , and I am reading directly here” a good, aggressive officer, but lacks respect for police commanders, judges, officers, civilians, priests, nuns, rabbis, gays, lesbians, animals, and anything else that walks on two or four legs, end quote.”

Splitting that wide mouth a little, he just looked at me, making those eyebrows twitch like fine radar antennae.

“Well? Is that true?”

Shaking that image out of my mind, I cleared my throat, hoping to sound somewhat like a baby frog, I said” No, Sir, that’s not the way I am, Captain Martin is just being descriptive with his opinions”.

“Really, so when I called him and asked him why he was sending me another trouble making moron, he kept screaming about “someone” stealing his pistol when he was in the can taking a shit, placing it in the break room microwave, and melting cheese all over it like an overstuffed taco”.

Silence.

“Sir, that’s simply not true”…. ( Well, well, Martin changed the story, It was pigeon shit I melted over the pistol ) “Besides, Captain Martin was not able to find the dastardly bastard who did it, anyway: including having an Internal Affairs detective come out and interview everyone working that day.”

“All us guys, thought his ex-wife snuck in and done it”, I said.

Silence.

“His ex-wife is the size of a rhino; I don’t think she is capable of sneaking into a zoo, much less Martin’s office.”

‘Well, Sir.” She is a woman, and you know how devious a woman can be when she sets her mind to it”, hoping for a little male bonding.

Silence, but, I got some movement out of those eyebrows.

‘‘You know, I just got back from the FBI academy and one of the things they harped on, was the way to turn smart ass cops into professionals”.

Digging around on his desk, he came up with a wad of notes in his hairy hand and began to read each and every one, his large, thin lips moving in a silent tribute to the words.

“With a look of reptilian pleasure, he held up a wadded note, “it says here that smart asses are usually above average intelligence with a huge need to succeed, but, feel stymied because of the rigid nature of police promotions.”

“That suit of clothes fits you just perfect, don’t it, Grasshopper?”

“No, Sir, I believe the pants are a little too big around the waist”.

Silence.

(Christ, I thought, why in the hell can’t I keep my mouth shut. Why oh why, can’t I keep my mouth shut? Was it some type of rare genetic malady?)

Looking like he had swallowed a nice fat fly, the Major leaned back in his chair and gave me the double eyebrow creep, then he reached under his desk and pulled out his carbine and laid it on his desk, with the muzzle pointed at my heart.

“You know what this is, Grasshopper?”

“Yes, Sir. It’s a .30 caliber M-1 carbine, first issued in 1942 for officers and special units in the Army, they were standard issue to light infantry specialty squads and saw action in the Pacific theater, Europe, and Africa. After WW11, they were used in Korea and the early years of the Vietnam War, before being phased out by the M-16. It fires a 110 grain bullet around 2 thousand feet per second, the United States has supplied about 2 million of them to developing nations, insurgents, rebel groups, right wing religious fanatics, and anyone else we think can kill our enemies over the past 50 years.”

Silence, but, this time only one eyebrow was climbing, it waxed point quivering like a divining rod.

“How the hell did you know that?”

“I read a lot, Sir,” “anthropology, archaeology, history, science fiction, especially weapons.”” Sir, did you know that 6 thousand English longbow men killed over 30 thousand French knights at the battle of Agincourt?” “They were remarkable archers”.

Silence, but, I thought I saw a different kind of glint flash in his eyes, like turning on the lights and having a blub blow out.

“You read a lot?’ “All those things you said?”

“Yes, Sir.

He looked a little weird around the eyes to me, and then lowered the boom.

‘Are you gay?’

“What, I yelped, Gay? Of course not! Why the hell did you say that? “Sir”, I added as an afterthought.

“‘Well, it’s ok if you are, you know, I took a course at the FBI on how to manage gays, so it’s not a problem.”

“I am not gay! I just read a lot, and what the hell does reading have to do with being gay, for Christ’s sake?

“Everybody knows gays are bookworms, and, you read all that stuff, stuff no real cop ever reads”

Still mentally rocked at the direction this conversation was taking, “look I like to read, a lonely childhood and all that crap, but, I am not gay”,” in fact”,” I have more sex with women than a rat in heat!”

“Really? Are you married?”

“No”.

“Got a steady bed monkey?”

“No.”

He leaned back in his chair and looked at me with a smug expression and let the silence build, probably trying out his new FBI techniques on how to flush a queer out of the closet.

(Christ! I needed come up with something or this lunatic was going to ship me off to a crime prevention unit or worst, put me down town in the records bureau (Dumping grounds for suspect gays).

“Look, Sir, since you are my new commander”, “I guess”,” I should come clean about something you should know, so you know about it before anyone else,” I”,” I, just don’t want to get anyone else here at the precinct in trouble.”

I saw a look of horror fly across his face, at the thought of TWO gays in the same precinct, ( Christ, he was thinking, I am being overrun by them)

“You mean there are TWO OF YOU HERE? He screamed”, losing a large amount of frog spittle in the process.

‘No, No, You misunderstood Sir! It’s something else!

(I could see, he didn’t want to ask, but, the new FBI training was giving him a hell of a mental ass kicking).

“What is it?” he asked with a wet sounding swallow.

“Well, Sir, I hope this stays between us, because we both have our careers to think of, and , I wanted her to tell you first, but, you know, since you forced the gay issue, I guess, it’s time to come clean, Sir”

“Just spit it out! God Damnit”, losing some more frog juice in process.

Taking a deep breath, “Well, Sir, its Big Cynthia and I, we have been, you know, intimate…( I guess sitting three feet from her could be “intimate” somewhere on this planet ) In fact, as recently as today, Sir.”

I watched as both his eyebrows climbed to new heights, their waxed ends almost touching the first mottled patch above his shave dome.

“You and Big Cynthia, intimate?”

“Yes, Sir, I hope you are not too upset, precinct romances and all, in fact, Sir, what does the FBI say about that?

“You and Big Cynthia? He repeated.

“Yes, Sir.”

Gently he picked his rifle off the desk, and ran his eyes over the stock and barrel, like a mother frog watching the growth of her tadpoles.

(Christ!, I thought, I have went too far, the lunatic is going to shoot me)!

“You know, that is one of the best lines of crap I have ever heard, in fact, I believe that you have surpassed Martin on the bullshit meter”.

I gave him a sickly smile and tried to look sincere, hoping a little levity would derail his thoughts on me being transferred to the gay squad.

Continuing to glance lovingly at his rifle, he turned and speared me with those large bulging eyes of his and said’” “you know, why I know, that’s pure bullshit”?

I slowly moved my head a fraction to the left, and then back to the right, never taking my eyes off his rifle.

“It’s simple really, if you had been with Big Cynthia, in an (and he drawled this out in his best southern frog speak) in-in-inttttmmmate manner, you would not be sitting in my office, you would be in the hospital”.

“I guess I was just lucky, Sir”

“Un huh, just lucky my ass”. He laid the rifle back down on the table and I felt my blood pressure ease back toward normal.

“I am going to give you some points for originality”, but, and he touched that rifle again, “you start to give me problems like you did Martin, and I am going to squash you like a fly.”

(Well, he couldn’t have picked a better metaphor than that, I thought).

‘Now get to roll call, and close the door on your way out”.

“Yes Sir, you won’t have any problems with me, I only live to work and protect the fine citizens of this city.”

I got no come back from that, and left, making it about 6 feet from his office before my legs gave out and I collapsed against the wall.

(Christ, I thought, that was close)!

I glanced at my watch and saw I had about 5 minutes to make roll call, loping around the corner, I ran straight into Big Cynthia, bouncing off her huge breasts like a basketball, falling against the opposite wall.

“Grasshopper”! She screamed,” what the fuck do you think you are doing?”

‘Sorry, Sarge, just trying to get to roll call” ,Sorry about bouncing off your tits, uh, your breasts.”

“I don’t care about my breasts, you little moron, I am talking about what you told the Major!”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t pull that shit with me, I got ears like a vampire bat, I heard everything you said, about us being ”intimate” , what the fuck is wrong with you, have you lost your fucking mind?”

“Hey, I was drowning in there!, I had to come up with something crazy to get his mind off thinking I was gay!, Jesus, it was rough, you should have seen the way he was looking at me, like a frog getting ready to give birth!”

“I ought to smash your little skinny deranged ass”

Throwing my hands up in despair, I said, “Hey, I will make it up to you, I swear”

“How?”

“Hey, I will bring you a dozen fresh doughnuts from Dunkin’ Donuts in the morning, I will even buy them, instead of getting the stale ones they give us for free, I even know the lady who owns the store, I will get her to hand make them just for you!”

I saw her eyes narrow, but, her shoulders seem to be relaxing.

Going in for the kill, I said, “I will even get her to make you, your favorite kind, really, I will”

“My favorite?”

“Yes, just tell me what it is, and I will make it happen”

( A pregnant pause, if there ever was one, in fact, I thought I heard a choir singing somewhere ).

Ok, she said, ”Deal. One dozen Boston Cream, fresh, with the chocolate icing still warm, or so help me, you better quit, and move to Montana!”

(Boston Cream, how appropriate, I thought, I could just see her biting into that white icing, thinking it was my little body).

“Sure no problem, consider it done, Sarge”

I made a move to go around her to the roll call room, and she held a large hand up, like she was stopping traffic.

“Grasshopper, she said,” since you are such a knowledgeable individual, tell me, what happens after a female praying mantis gets through fucking”?

“Uh, the female kills the male and has his head for a post sexual pick me up snack “

“Correct”. Then pinning me with those weird eyes, she said” “and when you are dealing with me, you better not forget that little biology lesson”

I gulped, “sure Sarge, how could I forget that?

I turned to leave and she held up her hand again.

“There’s one other thing, “I want a large cup of coffee with those doughnuts”

“Sure ,no problem, black I presume? ”No, giving me a wide toothy smile: blonde and sweet”

(Damn!, what a night)

next up:

E.T. THE EXTRA TERRESTRIAL

2 Likes

*Thought for the day:

Merry Christmas to all. May you and your families have good health, safety, and security in the coming year.

Same to you grasshopper er @idaho.
:grinning:

Well I read your first two installments. Merry Christmas while I am at it. Interesting reads, I will see how many more I get through. A little embellished in some areas, perhaps?

Yes, it is. Just some attempt at humor using fiction.

Happy Holidays to all of you, let’s be stronger & wiser next year!

Thought for the day:

prepare

officers.PNG

Officers worked to evacuate nearby buildings before the explosion. The department identified them Friday night as Officer Brenna Hosey; Officer James Luellen; Officer Michael Sipos; Officer Amanda Topping; Officer James Wells; and Sergeant Timothy Miller.

The officers were lauded as heroes during a press conference Friday, as they “took swift action and directed people away from danger,” Nashville Mayor John Cooper said.

“The officers saved lives today,” Drake also said. “They immediately began knocking on doors, not knowing if the bomb was going to go off immediately. They didn’t care about themselves, they didn’t think about that, they cared about the citizens of Nashville.”

Tennessee Gov. Bill Lee also praised the “swift action” of Nashville police and local law enforcement after touring the site of the explosion Saturday morning.

“The damage is shocking and it is a miracle that no residents were killed,” he said on Twitter.

Respect.

2 Likes

Thought for the day:

Gladium Scientia.

Some knife thoughts. The names of the men quoted , I have blocked out because they have internet businesses and I don’t want to use T-Nation to advertise for them.

FIXED BLADE VS. FOLDER

XXXXXXXXX thinks that “fixed blades are faster on the draw, and more reliable on the strike. A folder is essentially a broken knife.” To put it another way, XXXXXXX stated that, from a self-defense perspective “carrying a folder is like carrying a firearm in condition three.” (For clarity, this is empty chamber, hammer down, full magazine in place). XXXXX went on to warn that he’s aware that many people carry a folding knife, but he has seen it fail early and often during scenario training.

“In a self-defense situation, I am likely already being choked, punched, tackled, retaining my firearm, or the like, so in order to get my concealed blade and get into the fight, having one hand free to deal with immediate danger, is vital,” XXXXX commented via email. When you break it down, the fine motor skills needed to clear a garment, draw a folder, open said folder, and getting it ready for use in the fight by orienting oneself and the weapon, are pretty cumbersome. While there are plenty of auto and spring-assisted knives out there, XXXXX warns people to “get a training version and put the reps in…but understand that mechanical things fail.” XXXXXX echoed all these sentiments, and adding that if “you’re using a knife, you’re already behind the curve.”

*“Know your laws, but also, know yourself. Train with someone that understands self-defense, use of force, and violence. Taking a piece of steel in your hand, and plunging it into skin, muscle, bone, and tendon, while getting someone’s blood on you, and feeling the life leave them, might just not be for you, and the time to find that out is not when you are between two vehicles with your ten year old child.” – XXXXXXX

I don’t know how much I agree with this. Isn’t one of the most important aspects of self defense, and something echoed often on this thread, situational awareness and being ready for violence before it happens? I mean, you just don’t wake up with someone choking you. Also, if you are getting choked, punched, etc., I think you need to address that before pulling out a knife. You can’t draw a weapon if you’re unconscious.

With that said, I do believe in incorporating weapon retention, accessing and use in training things like bjj. When training police and military it is part of the training, although not all, not even many, bjj instructors know this part of bjj as it’s old school and those that do know it tend to not teach it to civilians.

The way I read it, it was written by Leo addressing his personal preference for folding vs. fixed blades, and some practical reasons why.

It’s important to consider that someone willing to fight a cop has some serious chops already and a lot to lose for one reason or another. Like not going back to jail.

I had a few run ins with a guy in my old neighborhood growing up. The last one was a fight between him, me and another guy, in my house. After already taking some serious shots to the face from both of us (lots of drugs involved) I let my dog loose on him and she tore into him, but he did fight his way to the door and gone.

Ten years later, different neighborhood, and new dog- guess who comes walking down the street? That guy. But now he’s mouthing off to my then girlfriend, now wife- about how he’s gonna shoot my dog if she doesn’t muzzle it. I hear this and go outside, but he’s making his way down the road. Wife is scared, because in the interim I had gotten sober, changed my life, and she thought I was a nice guy. So she urges me to call the police.

The police show up and take a report. The cop starts telling me this guy is known to them, has warrants, very typical. I’m enraged. He’s walking down to the local crackhouse like clockwork every day in broad daylight, with impunity-and now threatening my household–and this guy is telling me there isn’t much they can do because they already have one guy out with broken ribs and another guy with a broken arm from a fight a week ago.

I put him in a tough spot by telling him if they don’t do something they’re going to be back later for a homicide, so it’s their move. Him now or me in a few hours. Meanwhile, wife is in the house, terrified because some dude just threatened to shoot our dog, and her boyfriend, who she thought was a nice guy is about to turn the neighborhood into a crime scene.

He was hesitant because he’s actually just a regular guy. Actually, a pretty decent one who just wanted to serve his community, stuck dealing with people like me and other guy, who have been in more bar, jail, and just being a simpleton fights than he will have in five lifetimes.

So he called for back up and they went in and got other guy. Fortunately for them it was uneventful. They aren’t all some specially trained dark ops stormtroopers like YouTube says. A lot of them are just regular people, and aren’t really all that comfortable with violent confrontation.

And they have rules. Someone with warrants and whatnot obviously doesn’t.

Prioritizing the area you live in is one helluva good first step towards avoiding violence. Then situational awareness and acting accordingly comes into play to further reduce the chances.

As to folding vs fixed blade… Neither should be counted on in a violent situation. Knives are for whittling, cutting rope, and prepping meat. Bring a knife to a gunfight, you’re fucked. Bring a knife to a fist fight you’re going to prison. Bring a knife to a knife fight, no one wins and everyone goes to the hospital. That said, I use a fixed blade when out in the mountains cause I trust a full Tang over a folding knife with a built in weak point.

This is not always true. You have to take out the word fight. We are talking about felonious assault, not fighting. I would say that a woman could legally use any weapon at her disposal to defend herself against an unarmed rapist. Be it a knife, gun or chainsaw. As far as gun v knife, that would depend on variables like distance and surprise. A knife would have been a bad idea at the OK Corral but if you are openly carrying a handgun and I want to stab you, you won’t know I have a knife until you’ve been stabbed.

There are tests actually the suggest this. The videos I saw of the testing had trained / athletic marks man and knife wielder. Knife wielder was always the initial attacker. Basically when he moved the trial began. If I remember correctly if he was within 10 feet he was easily able to land a cut in the neck area fairly accurately before the gunman could draw and fire.

Take with a grain of salt. I don’t intend on charging any gunman with a knife unless it’s the last alternative vs death.

Thought for the day:

“we are drowning in information but starving for wisdom,”

Further thoughts from the SME’s:

When asked about blade features, XXXXXXX replied – “overall blade size and how utilitarian [the knife is] is a consideration, but also ensuring the grip fits my hand, and ensure the blade fits my fighting style.” If you’re a striker by nature and trained in that domain, perhaps a push dagger might be the way to go. If you’re a wrestler or grappler, consider a Clinch Pick or HR1. XXXXXXX added that regarding size, he thinks the knife should be between five to nine inches overall, relatively comfortable, and worn in the 10 to 2 o clock position (i.e. in front of your body). XXXXXXXX also is a proponent of relatively small blades and noted that the clinch pick has a roughly 3-inch blade. This, as an aside, is legal in pretty much every state – but of course, check your local laws.

Make sure the sheath, whether it is a clip or belt loop, has a solid form of retention. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be ‘comfortable,’ but it should not be such an inconvenience that you opt not to carry it more than you do,” XXXXXXXX commented. At this time, most experts advocate for “appendix” or just to the left or right of your belt buckle. XXXXXXX thinks it has the shortest draw stroke, and it’s easily concealed by an untucked shirt.

Many SMEs are proponents of keeping the blade up front, close to the centerline, regardless of where one carries a pistol. And, as XXXXX and XXXXXX put it, “training matters” so make sure you have a trainer version of whatever you carry. “Training any combative is just a simulation. We can simulate pressure, but it’s not life-and-death, it’s not the real thing. But, you should train like it is and use an analog of your knife,” XXXXXXX remarked.

In summation, while the experts differ in the subtleties, they are united on key points: fixed blades trump folding knives, know your laws, train how you fight, find something that is both comfortable and concealable, and don’t get too hung up on the minutia – like steel type. One integral assertion is that if you’re going to carry a knife, you must train with it often and get the reps in to be effective with it, especially under pressure. Since a knife is typically a secondary or tertiary defensive tool, odds are things will not be going your way when you need to deploy it in a self-defense scenario; make sure to train, as that’s how you’ll fight. Classes by XXXXXX and XXXXXX drill this into students, and usually when you’re doing knife work, you’ll be in a compromised position – on your back, against a wall, multiple attackers on one, etc. Training is just a simulation, but the more real that simulation it is, the better equipped one is when the real thing occurs.

Some stats from Combatives:

knife attacks

"18% of the attacks we studied resulted in attacks to 4 areas or more of the body.

These areas generally were neck, arms, back and torso (front).

Over 43% of the attacks involved stabs to the front torso.

While only 18% of incidents involved an attack to the back.

Shockingly, however, in over 65% of the incidents studied, the offenders stabbed or slashed more than one area of the body.

The drawing point from this data is that any knife defense training that focuses on attacks to the midsection is a failure of training.