The $266 Billion Defeat
Jews Jaws Nine
Shark America One
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 173 (Expect a major quake in the 120s)
Note: Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2007
Looking for the Peru-Chile Event
Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle--
Today's Code: "Stop, Look, Listen"
It was a quiet day in Smallville. Sure, the cowardly American came by and pounded on my wall in the middle of the night (but this is America and that is treated as legalized evil) but daytime, when it takes courage, no, all was quiet on the Smallville front.
The chain of events I expected to break Hell loose today did not take place.
That is, I was not attacked by the dogs owned by the psycho-fascist "man" at 316 Second Street when I took the garbage can to its pick-up location and retrieved it a few hours later. It has been common for me to be attacked by his dogs as I walk by 316 second, and i carry a pitchfork in defense.
The dogs were kept out of sight until after I retrieved the garbage can today, and even then they were more subdued.
It was their attack and my pitchfork-defense that I expected to bring the battle into the open.
Over at 302 Third Street, where the psycho-fascist who took a shot at me Saturday lives, things were quiet, too.
I saw the van into which the shooter had passed the gun just before it drove off. I had been unable to describe the van clearly to the deputy, so I drove to 302 Third Street and wrote its license number down. Handicapped California plate, 16605, dark blue Chevy Tahoe.
The van is registered to the coward's father, a man who lost a leg in Vietnam, but I do not know who was driving it, who spirited the weapon away..
Perhaps I should step back and review the shooting incident.
I had told you about my two current duties of cutting down grass with the sling blade and loading rocks into a wheelbarrow and depositing them in one pile..
After supper Saturday, perhaps about 6:30, I had taken the wheelbarrow to the back side of my home and was picking up rocks when the bullet came from the area of 302 Third Street and rushed by me breaking the sound barrier as it did.
It had been just two months shy of 40 years since I had heard the sound of a bullet buzzing by, and never from such short range, and it took me a few minutes to realize what had happened.
If you picture the battle map I have given you, the approximate square of some five acres and my home in the middle; I was near the rear edge on one side of the property and 302 would be on the rear edge of the other side of the property. The distance the round traveled before it passed me would be about 30-40 yards.
This may sound strange to you, but bullets have never bothered me; but the shrapnel of mortar rounds always did. Go figure.
After the bullet passed I loaded a few more stones into the wheelbarrow and delivered them to the pile of stones In front of my home.
This may sounds strange to you, too, but having realized I had been shot at by the cowardly psycho-fascist "man", I then I took my sling blade and the wheelbarrow to an area of tall grass about 20 yards directly in front of the coward's back door, which is in fact his main door.
I watched with interest while both he and a girl who might be his daughter, about nine years old, stared at me incredulously as I wheeled the wheelbarrow (with the sling blade in it) directly toward them
(That the girl was staring at me in such surprise made me think she had witnessed the psycho-fascist shoot at me and had expected me, as he had, to run and hide.)
As I began cutting the grass while looking into the coward's eyes, the cowardly American went into his home for a moment and came out, seemingly concealing something at his left side, like a football player bootlegging the ball, and walked over to a vehicle with a boat on a trailer attached to it; then the vehicle drove off.
It was apparent he was handing the gun over to the person driving the van, which makes me think the driver of the van became at that point, if not before, an accessory to the felony of attempted murder.
So, I think there were at least two witnesses to the shooting, the girl and the driver of the van.
In addition, because the cowardly psycho-fascist "man" at 316 Second Street is an ally of the shooter in their mutual attack on me, he shares the felony.
To explain, say two guys go together to rob a liquor store, one waits in the car and the other goes in, the one who goes shoots the clerk, both are guilty of the shooting.
While the cowardly psycho-fascist "man" at 316 Second Street enjoys the pleasure of torturing me, he was not expecting to risk prison for it, and now he suddenly finds himself in over his head; and I suggest that, Dear Reader, is why he did not let his dogs menace me today.
Sorry to disappoint you. I had promised all Hell would break loose today; and frankly I am a little disappointed myself.
It happens. You fix bayonets and get ready to go over the top, and the whole damn hullabaloo is called off.
Shark America One
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 173 (Expect a major quake in the 120s)
Note: Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2007
Looking for the Peru-Chile Event
Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle--
Today's Code: "Stop, Look, Listen"
It was a quiet day in Smallville. Sure, the cowardly American came by and pounded on my wall in the middle of the night (but this is America and that is treated as legalized evil) but daytime, when it takes courage, no, all was quiet on the Smallville front.
The chain of events I expected to break Hell loose today did not take place.
That is, I was not attacked by the dogs owned by the psycho-fascist "man" at 316 Second Street when I took the garbage can to its pick-up location and retrieved it a few hours later. It has been common for me to be attacked by his dogs as I walk by 316 second, and i carry a pitchfork in defense.
The dogs were kept out of sight until after I retrieved the garbage can today, and even then they were more subdued.
It was their attack and my pitchfork-defense that I expected to bring the battle into the open.
Over at 302 Third Street, where the psycho-fascist who took a shot at me Saturday lives, things were quiet, too.
I saw the van into which the shooter had passed the gun just before it drove off. I had been unable to describe the van clearly to the deputy, so I drove to 302 Third Street and wrote its license number down. Handicapped California plate, 16605, dark blue Chevy Tahoe.
The van is registered to the coward's father, a man who lost a leg in Vietnam, but I do not know who was driving it, who spirited the weapon away..
Perhaps I should step back and review the shooting incident.
I had told you about my two current duties of cutting down grass with the sling blade and loading rocks into a wheelbarrow and depositing them in one pile..
After supper Saturday, perhaps about 6:30, I had taken the wheelbarrow to the back side of my home and was picking up rocks when the bullet came from the area of 302 Third Street and rushed by me breaking the sound barrier as it did.
It had been just two months shy of 40 years since I had heard the sound of a bullet buzzing by, and never from such short range, and it took me a few minutes to realize what had happened.
If you picture the battle map I have given you, the approximate square of some five acres and my home in the middle; I was near the rear edge on one side of the property and 302 would be on the rear edge of the other side of the property. The distance the round traveled before it passed me would be about 30-40 yards.
This may sound strange to you, but bullets have never bothered me; but the shrapnel of mortar rounds always did. Go figure.
After the bullet passed I loaded a few more stones into the wheelbarrow and delivered them to the pile of stones In front of my home.
This may sounds strange to you, too, but having realized I had been shot at by the cowardly psycho-fascist "man", I then I took my sling blade and the wheelbarrow to an area of tall grass about 20 yards directly in front of the coward's back door, which is in fact his main door.
I watched with interest while both he and a girl who might be his daughter, about nine years old, stared at me incredulously as I wheeled the wheelbarrow (with the sling blade in it) directly toward them
(That the girl was staring at me in such surprise made me think she had witnessed the psycho-fascist shoot at me and had expected me, as he had, to run and hide.)
As I began cutting the grass while looking into the coward's eyes, the cowardly American went into his home for a moment and came out, seemingly concealing something at his left side, like a football player bootlegging the ball, and walked over to a vehicle with a boat on a trailer attached to it; then the vehicle drove off.
It was apparent he was handing the gun over to the person driving the van, which makes me think the driver of the van became at that point, if not before, an accessory to the felony of attempted murder.
So, I think there were at least two witnesses to the shooting, the girl and the driver of the van.
In addition, because the cowardly psycho-fascist "man" at 316 Second Street is an ally of the shooter in their mutual attack on me, he shares the felony.
To explain, say two guys go together to rob a liquor store, one waits in the car and the other goes in, the one who goes shoots the clerk, both are guilty of the shooting.
While the cowardly psycho-fascist "man" at 316 Second Street enjoys the pleasure of torturing me, he was not expecting to risk prison for it, and now he suddenly finds himself in over his head; and I suggest that, Dear Reader, is why he did not let his dogs menace me today.
Sorry to disappoint you. I had promised all Hell would break loose today; and frankly I am a little disappointed myself.
It happens. You fix bayonets and get ready to go over the top, and the whole damn hullabaloo is called off.
posted by Virgil Kret at 8:44 PM
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