The only way we are going to beat the Islamic radicals is a bullet between the eyes. Anytime and anyplace we could find ourselves being attacked. If we are lucky and survive the initial attack and have time to regroup. And I mean regroup by taking any cover available and chambering a round in our handgun. Then maybe we have a chance of being in a decent defensive position and possibly going on attack. Maybe it is a macho fantasy to envision myself being in a position to fight back. Possible I would cower under a dead body, frozen with fear, not even the balls to pull out my handgun (I just wrote that to appease you). But at least there was an option. Die or kill.
Do we live in a new era of “not carrying a handgun” is irresponsible? Ignorant of how to use a weapon, when our enemy is highly trained in military grade weapons.
A weapon is the middle finger to people trying to kill us.
The showdown is coming to the USA. Will we be ready when the suicide bombers don their explosive vests and slap a magazine in their AK-47s and drive to the local Starbucks, mall or grocery store.
We now find ourselves the hunted. They learn our habits. Where we congregate to get a higher kill count. Stalk us and kill us. Our blood running into the street gutter is the their trophy. If offered no escape they blow themselves up.
So now we are in a unique dilemma of not knowing who the enemy is that walk among us. Traitors. Assassins. If you happen to survive an attack and get your sweaty hands upon their neck. Pull out your knife and split their chest down the middle. Rip their heart out while it beats the blood of hate. Roast their heart over a flaming pit. Say a toast and dine on victory. Let them cower in fear when the hunted become the hunters.
Get trained and get armed. Now!
Get ready I’ve got a hunch, a gut feeling that our life here in the USA is about to change. For the worse.
The cold wind is howling in the dark night. Islamic radicals are making plans. We have been invaded without a shot fired. The curtain is ready to fall.
The time is 1:41am on a Thursday morning. The days coffee woke me up and yelled “Write”.
To many bums in the library strung out on crystal meth walking in circles. Whispering in the corners, “Trident missiles launched from submarines off the coast of Cal-i-for-nia,” to themselves.
Gasoline is under 2 dollars a gallon and the cars are getting bigger. People are getting fatter. The price of guns and ammo is higher. Bruce Jenner is a woman. The same 20 songs are playing on the radio day and night. No one is home.
Does anyone know how to turn their firewall on in their computer? When the power grid goes down I guess it won’t matter. Facebook silent and the 1.5 billion hiding in the closet or jumping in front of trains. Cannibalism.
The rich withdrawing the dollar to burn and keep warm. The poor cold and tired of eating dogs and cats.
Stay away from the coffee. Reminder to myself. Goodnight.
Spanglish is a form of speech that results from an interaction between Spanish, a Romance language, and English, a Germanic language, used by people who speak both languages or parts of both languages. Spanglish is not usually considered a language itself, but rather an overlapping and mixing of Spanish and English lexical items and grammar. Spanglish is not a pidgin, because unlike pidgin languages, Spanglish can be the primary speech form for some individuals. Spanglish can be considered a variety of Spanish with heavy use of English or a variety of English with heavy use of Spanish. It can be more related either to Spanish or to English, depending on the circumstances.
The term Spanglish was first brought into literature by the Puerto Rican Salvador Tió in the late 1940s, when he called it “Espanglish”.
It occurred to me wandering through the labyrinth of bookshelves in a bookstore, in the religious section. That we are still looking for god. But then again whatever god you are looking for is probably on that bookshelf.
I walked out with 4 books:
Who wrote the new testament.
The great escape manual.
Die to live.
Tales of a shaman’s apprentice.
Skimming though them put more doubt in my mind about ever finding god. Probably the “Tales of a Shaman’s apprentice” was something I could relate to. Choke down a couple peyote buttons and you’ll probably get as close to finding god as you can before you take your last breath on earth.
Someone told me that hospice was now in their home taking care of their mother. “Please pray for my mother,” she asked me; Scribbling her mothers name on a piece of paper for me. Well I passed the paper on to a religious person and I bowed my head and remained silent during the prayer.
The moon, stars, floating planets in space. Jews. Beauty. Death. Insanity. Money. Stuff like that. Keeps me searching.
God is in the bookstore.
Which is not unusual.