What Is Thanksgiving?

Tomorrow, most Americans will eat too much, numb their minds watching football games, gain a couple of pounds and then call it a day.  That is the current American tradition.  The fact that this modern American tradition is antithetical to the spiritual and cultural roots of the holiday is probably unknown to most and would probably make no difference even if the religious significance of the holiday was known.

The first Thanksgiving was celebrated by religious fundamentalists who came to America to escape state persecution and Native Americans who took pity on a group of starving strangers and taught them how to survive in a strange land.  The original harvest time celebration was a sign of gratitude to God for their survival and to the Native Americans that God used to make it happen. There was joy but also piety, humility and gratitude, attributes sorely lacking in modern American society.

Thanksgiving became a national observance during the civil war when Abraham Lincoln proclaimed: "No human counsel hath devised nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God, who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered mercy. It has seemed to me fit and proper that they should be solemnly, reverently and gratefully acknowledged as with one heart and one voice by the whole American People. I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens. And I recommend to them that while offering up the ascriptions justly due to Him for such singular deliverances and blessings, they do also, with humble penitence for our national perverseness and disobedience, commend to His tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife in which we are unavoidably engaged, and fervently implore the interposition of the Almighty Hand to heal the wounds of the nation and to restore it as soon as may be consistent with the Divine purposes to the full enjoyment of peace, harmony, tranquillity and Union."

The typical Thanksgiving feast was something I never experienced in my youth.  We were poor and my Mom didn't really believe in making much of a fuss over holidays.  We might have had a piece of ham, some pork chops or maybe a chicken.  But, there were no huge family celebrations and lavish meals.  Usually it was just the three of us over a modest meal in our humble little kitchen.  But, there was thankfulness at the table.  We had a modest but adequate little house with a roof that kept us dry and a gas stove that kept us warm.  The gas stove was a luxury that some of our neighbors did not share.  We all had clothes that fit us, kept us warm and were decent enough to go out in.  There was plenty of food, even if it wasn't fancy.  We missed no meals.  We had a reliable car.  Those were all things my former sharecropper mother and "living on the road" Okie father often didn't have in their youth and they felt blessed to have them.

In the latter years of Mom's life we reverted to that pattern.  For the last fifteen or so years of her life, Mom refused to leave her home for holiday celebrations.  So, most years, Sheila and I would cook a turkey dinner at our home in Tulsa, put it in a ice chest to keep it warm and drive to Gans to eat it with Mom. Again, just three of us in Mom's humble little kitchen.  Sometimes she was grateful, sometimes she may not have been.  Mom was ill and her moods were a part of that illness. But, we did it anyway because the Thanksgiving meal is about more than having a good time and eating a good meal.  It is about faith, family, duty and honor.  I couldn't have enjoyed myself anywhere knowing that Mom was sitting alone while we celebrated.

In these past few years since Mom's death, I have had a lot of time to think about what I want from the Thanksgiving celebration.  I have no stomach for sanitized, secular, multi-cultural interpretations of a tradition with such profound Christian roots and I have no patience with people who try to force their secular corruption of one of America's most sacred religious traditions upon me.  And, for that matter, I can do without the football games and massive parades of inflated symbols of spiritual and moral emptiness. I want to freely and openly thank God for the multiple blessings he has bestowed upon us in the past year and humbly beseech his continued blessings in the year to come.  That's it. Without that, the whole tradition is nothing more than an empty exercise in gluttony and excess that I can do without.

On Sheepdogs and Liberal, Anti-Gun *ssholes

This morning, I was following and commenting on a post made by a Facebook friend lamenting the horrific killing and mutilation of 43 people by Mexican drug cartels. My FB friend is a professor and has a few liberals who follow her FB page as well.  True to the liberal playbook rules of: (1) never let a tragedy go to waste when you can spin it toward your own agenda; (2) always show America in a bad light and; (3) always blame it on your political opposition, this excuse for a person proceeded to compare the NRA to the Mexican drug cartels, implying that they were as responsible for the last American school shooting as the cartels were for the massacre being discussed.  I have to be careful when I reply to people like this because I know that answering a fool in his folly can be in itself a fool's mission.

I grew up on a rural Oklahoma ranch.  Guns were a part of our life.  The typical law enforcement response to a trouble call was sometimes measured in hours not minutes. My father's pistol was never far from reach wherever we went and there was always a wicked old double barrel shotgun on hand in the house.   The only reason any of us in that neighborhood and time were able to own cattle or anything else of value was because folks who would be tempted to steal knew that if they were caught in the act they were liable to be shot on the spot. For that matter, the only reason we were able to live on isolated acreages without fear of personal violence was because of our guns.  Samuel Colt was dead right when he called the pistol the "great equalizer."

By the time I was five, my combat veteran father had given me a pop gun replica of a 1903 Springfield and taught me how to knock down tobacco cans with it on the living room floor. He taught me the shooting positions of a combat rifleman.  He also stood me tall and made me do the complete manual of arms with it.  In the process he taught me rudimentary gun safety. By the time I was eight or so, I had a Daisy lever action BB gun. With that weapon came new responsibilities like never do damage to property and never torment or kill small animals.  At twelve or so I had a bolt action .22 rifle.  With it came more rules like watch behind your target and don't shoot a living creature unless it's a varmint or you are going to eat it.

There was never a question whether or not I would serve in the military, only when and what branch. In the world my father raised me in, men of honor served when called.  All of my father's close friends were veterans.  All of my uncles on his side were veterans.  Men of my father's generation who didn't have a darned good reason for not serving were not respected. In short, in my father's generation men were expected to be "sheepdogs."  They were expected to serve the nation and their community if necessary and also be individually capable of protecting their families, themselves and their property.  They were expected to be men of honor, courage and discipline who could be trusted with a firearm.  That was the right given to them by Second Amendment and the duty imposed upon them by that right.


The men of my father's generation were a force to be reckoned with.  You were polite to these men and they were polite to you because both sides knew that, despite their usually genial manner and easy going attitude, they had long ago proven that they were also capable of incredible courage and, if necessary, lethal violence when the situation called for it. Many of them, like my father, had little pieces of metal and ribbon to prove it.

I have nothing but pity and disgust for this new class of American man that does not share the traditional American male "sheepdog" values.  I pity them because they did not have a sheepdog father to teach them these values.  I pity them because they probably did not have the honor of serving their country in uniform.  And, I pity them because, at whatever age they have now attained, they have yet to take responsibility for their own and their family's safety.

I have nothing but loathing for people who would disarm civilian sheepdogs because they are afraid of their fangs.  I suspect that these political and cultural castrati fear armed citizens because of the deep fears, hatreds and anxieties in their own hearts. Having never been taught the honor, self control and discipline of the sheepdog culture, they project their own fear, hatred and inadequacy upon everyone else.

I have a message for the cultural castrati of our generation.  The only reason they are able to mouth their whining, bitter little diatribes and psuedo intellectual fallacies is because good men are protecting them.  They sleep better at night in their homes because the predators in their community don't know whether the house is occupied by a member of the ideological victim class like themselves or a sheepdog that will shoot them the minute they break through the door.  They are free to walk the streets in comparative safety and mouth their destructive drivel on street corners and in classrooms only because a better man is somewhere nearby to take on the duty of protecting them. The bottom line here is that the new cultural castrati can just kiss my *ss.  If they really want our guns ....

"Fudamentally Transforming America"

Barrack Hussein Obama said that he was going to "fundamentally transform America." He has. It became apparent to me in the past few days.

Last night as we drove to the movies, two fundamentalist Muslim young women literally stopped traffic on 41st street between Southroads and the Promenade during rush hour. They were clothed from head to foot in full Muslim regalia. They chose to ignore the crosswalks and jaywalk. They walked slowly with an attitude. Their total indifference to the situation they had created was apparent. It was a demonstration of utter arrogance.

Later, as we were driving to Sheila's office to take care of an errand her boss had emailed to her during the movie, a young black woman in a tiny Nissan, suddenly changed lanes in front of me from the the right to the center lane of 21st street.  I narrowly missed rear ending her.  She then proceeded to make an illegal left turn from the center lane across traffic and the center turn lane put there for that very purpose.  It should be noted that the Tulsa Police Department remains under close scrutiny because statistically it has had too many encounters with people of color and not enough with Caucasians.  I guess that means this gal has become accustomed to getting a pass on dangerous and illegal maneuvers in traffic.

At lunch yesterday, Sheila and I were watching Fox News in our neighborhood Chinese place. We didn't ask for the set to be tuned to Fox.  The Chinese proprietors watch it as matter of choice.   A story about secret relocation of illegals was airing.  I said something about it to Sheila.  I didn't say it in a loud voice or with any animus.  I was just talking to my wife across the table in a restaurant in my own neighborhood.  A middle aged Mexican man was walking close to our table.  He immediately began "harrumphing" loudly, over and over.  When I looked up, he gave me a go to hell look.  I returned the look and raised my right elbow enough for my waistband to show. His throat immediately cleared and he decided to go back to his table.


Last Saturday. I decided to suspend my boycott of Cracker Barrel for a day and have lunch there. As Sheila and I were walking in, a younger teen-aged black boy was sitting in one of the rockers and working it pretty hard. As we walked up, he stared intently at us. His look was pure hatred. I know that look. If we had been walking down a lonely street or a dark alley there would have been trouble. Older white people are often seen as prey to young blacks.  As I kept my eyes on him, I was reminded that there have been several violent incidents in the parking lot of this very Cracker Barrel and armed robberies are common at Cracker Barrel locations around the nation. I had a gun in my front pocket and was carrying a cane that is guaranteed to break a knee cap or split a skull if necessary so I wasn't worried about him. I was just saddened and wondered what in the world that child had been taught that could make him hate people he had never seen before and who had taught it to him.

Well, upon reflection the answer is pretty simple.  Barrack Hussein Obama has fundamentally transformed my America.

Methland

A while back, I read an absolutely fascinating and incredibly frightening book titled "Methland."  The book tells the story of how the illegal sale of methamphetamines literally took over a small midwestern town. The book also makes the point that this town is typical of many if not most small towns in America.  The manufacture and distribution of meth has become part of the culture.

I was reminded of this yesterday.  I was working a suspected identity theft case.  Information had come to my attention that my client's identity information had been used to attempt to purchase prescription drugs in a nearby town.  I instructed the client to go along with the pharmacy. I would then show up to pick up the drugs and demand the transaction information concerning the person who actually placed the order.

As is my habit, I made a courtesy call to the local police.  I told them that I would be in their jurisdiction shortly, where I intended to go and what I intended to do. One of the their narcotics detectives agreed to go with me when I attempted to finalize the suspected "buy."

When we walked into the pharmacy, I took a position to the left of the two cash registers where I could see what was going on behind the pharmacy counter.  The detective took a position to the right of the pharmacy window where he was partially hidden by sales displays but could still see the transaction if it took place. While the odds were extremely remote that anything bad was going to happen in this little drill, it was still comforting that the young detective had also taken a position that "covered" me nicely in case somebody did get stupid.

Of course, the pharmacy disavowed any idea of the alleged prescription and could find absolutely no information about it in their records.  They were at a loss to explain how my client's name got into their prescription system at all since he lives in another city, does not and has never used that particular pharmacy. As we were winding up our little exercise in questions and denials, a second cashier showed up and began taking customers.  What I saw next stunned me.

She was a blonde of about twenty.  She wore very brief shorts, a sleeveless top and flip flops.  She was still a beautiful girl but the marks of her future were already visible.  Her skin had the sallow pallor of a meth addict.  Her arms were tightly gripped across her chest as she tried to control her shivering on ninety degree day. Her eyes were already showing the first signs of the living dead zombie stare of a meth addict. She produced an Oklahoma state ID card that clearly indicated that it was not a driver's license.

Imagine this scene.  You walk into your small town pharmacy and two armed men are standing on each side of the counter, an aging PI in a suit and young narcotics detective in his shirtsleeves with a service weapon and cuffs showing. Our appearance screamed "cop" from a mile away.  She had to know that we could see her condition.  And still, she walked right up to the counter between us and ordered the legal maximum of generic pseudoephedrine.  While it was a perfectly legal transaction at that point, the young detective rolled his eyes in amazement as he heard it.

These folks often work in pairs.  As soon as I saw her and "made" her as an addict I looked around and, sure enough, a slightly older woman with a family resemblance, pushing a baby carriage, was about ten feet behind her.  This person was obviously in more control than the girl making the buy because she looked very worried.  But, she was also not about to have anything to do with her partner making the buy.  As we walked out the door, the young detective laughed and said something to the effect that we both knew where those allergy meds were headed.

Welcome to Methland, Oklahoma, USA.

Simbas and Sovereign Citizens

At the time, we knew very little about it.  But, during the 1960's, America diverted quite a bit of covert aid to the African continent, especially the Congo, to thwart Communist initiatives there.  We had apparently had Special Forces on the ground during the Simba Rebellion.  The stories are fascinating to read.

One of the best that I have ever read is about a Belgian paratrooper who dropped into Stanleyville to reclaim the city from the rebels who been executing white people on sight and burning their own people who didn't cooperate alive.  The trooper was attacked by a small group of Simba rebels who charged his position head on, some wearing the animal skins that were the trademark of the movement.

The trooper describes how one fellow came running at them in great loping strides, swinging a huge machete. The trooper raised his weapon and shot the guy through the chest.  When the bullet hit, the rebel's eyes grew huge in shock and then he crumpled and died.  The rebels with

him stopped and looked at him in awe for a second before they received more of the same.  The few survivors ran for the bush as fast as their legs would carry them.  The rebels were surprised because their witch doctors had told them that if they wore the right skins and had some mojo dust sprinkled on them they would be invincible to the white man's bullets.  To prove their point, they would anoint a poor bushman and then fire a weapon in the air behind him to prove that he was invincible.

Sadly, this story reminds me of the people who follow the so called "sovereign citizen" movement today. They truly believe that if they can just say the right words, they will unlock the secrets of the "hidden rights of free citizens" and be immune from government jurisdiction and the laws of the land.  And, of course, there are plenty of people ready to make a buck selling the books and even giving financial advice based upon this psuedo-legal mumbo jumbo.

The whole thing is almost pathetically naive.  In the end, legal authority either comes from God or the point of a gun.  If you have a government that does not respect God and the natural law that flows from that respect, their only remaining authority comes by force.  It is ludicrous to think that a godless government ruling by force would let itself be restrained by the Magna Carta, the common law, "hidden rules" or for that matter the type of fringe on an American flag.

Walking into a courtroom spouting that nonsense is exactly like the Simba rebel charging Belgian machine guns.  It's gonna be bloody and it ain't gonna end well for the person on the wrong side of the gun.

My Father's Gun

This is my father's gun.  It is Nazi issue Star Model B.  It was made in Spain, probably in 1943.  Soon thereafter, it was issued to a German soldier. Sometime after that it was taken from that German soldier and my father acquired it.

During the war, it was a handy gun.   Dad had little patience with pansy ass, chickenshit rules but also didn't seek out unnecessary confrontation.  This pistol looked so much like a government issue Colt 1911 that nobody would question a soldier carrying it, unlike the flashier and more valuable Luger or P-38 which would raise questions from chickenshit rear echelon officers that were uncomfortable with enlisted soldiers carrying "unauthorized" sidearms.  It fired easily accessible German issue ammunition which was lying around in piles everywhere, so there was no need to ask anyone for ammo for it. It was the perfect weapon for my father in a difficult time.

"Somehow,"  the old gun made it back to United States.  I grew up with that gun in the house.  It wasn't locked up or secured in any way.  I just knew that if I touched it, there would be hell to pay.  That was the way of things in that era.  Back then, you could spank a kid who did something stupid and Dad certainly wasn't afraid to do that.  He taught me to respect him and his rules.  Most people kept guns in the house. You had to.  The nearest policeman was over an hour away and it was a tough, tough neighborhood.

The gun was never far from him.  It was either in the bedroom or in the glove compartment of whatever vehicle he was driving.  It was one of several guns in the house.  There were strict rules about which guns I could use and which I couldn't.  But, by the time I was twelve or so, if I wanted to go hunting or carry a long gun when I walked out to check on the cattle, no permission was necessary. But, the pistol remained off limits.

When dad died, his pistol went home with me.  Mom was afraid of it, never understood it and didn't like it around her.  She was unable to understand that that old gun may well have helped Dad stay alive to marry her and make me.  And, it certainly protected us and our home well while I was growing up.  Since 1978, it has done the same job in our home.

Seventy years after it was handed to that German soldier, this gun is still doing its job. It has some surface wear but otherwise fires perfectly.  It is still a remarkably accurate and sweet firing old pistol.  This gun was made by evil people to advance an evil purpose.  But, evil was overcome by good and in the end the gun had and continues to have an honorable career protecting the lives and property of honest people.

According to Lt.Col. Dave Grossman, a former psychology professor at West Point, there are three types of men in the world.  There are sheep, sheepdogs, and wolves.  He explains it this way:

"Most of the people in our society are sheep. They are kind, gentle, productive creatures who can only hurt one another by accident."  ....I mean nothing negative by calling them sheep. To me it is like the pretty, blue robin's egg. Inside it is soft and gooey but someday it will grow into something wonderful. But the egg cannot survive without its hard blue shell. Police officers, soldiers, and other warriors are like that shell, and someday the civilization they protect will grow into something wonderful.? For now, though, they need warriors to protect them from the predators.

"Then there are the wolves," the old war veteran said, "and the wolves feed on the sheep without mercy." Do you believe there are wolves out there who will feed on the flock without mercy? You better believe it. There are evil men in this world and they are capable of evil deeds. The moment you forget that or pretend it is not so, you become a sheep. There is no safety in denial.

"Then there are sheepdogs," he went on, "and I'm a sheepdog. I live to protect the flock and confront the wolf."  ...  

Let me expand on this old soldier's excellent model of the sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs. We know that the sheep live in denial, that is what makes them sheep. They do not want to believe that there is evil in the world. They can accept the fact that fires can happen, which is why they want fire extinguishers, fire sprinklers, fire alarms and fire exits throughout their kids' schools.

But many of them are outraged at the idea of putting an armed police officer in their kid's school. Our children are thousands of times more likely to be killed or seriously injured by school violence than fire, but the sheep's only response to the possibility of violence is denial. The idea of someone coming to kill or harm their child is just too hard, and so they chose the path of denial.

The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. He looks a lot like the wolf. He has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference, though, is that the sheepdog must not, can not and will not ever harm the sheep. Any sheep dog who intentionally harms the lowliest little lamb will be punished and removed. The world cannot work any other way, at least not in a representative democracy or a republic such as ours.

Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep. ... The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog cash in his fangs, spray paint himself white, and go, "Baa."  Until the wolf shows up. Then the entire flock tries desperately to hide behind one lonely sheepdog.

Every man who is a man realizes that he has a sacred duty to be the sheepdog for his family. My father's gun is a constant reminder of that inherited duty.


  

Officer Friendly May Not Be Your Friend Anymore -- Especially if you are an old man with a cane

Recently, a South Carolina Deputy Sheriff shot a 70 year old man who reached for his cane during a traffic stop. The video follows. How anyone could have mistaken a three legged cane for a shotgun is simply beyond comprehension. Viewing the video of the scene, how anyone could have thought the old man was a threat is also beyond comprehension. Warning, this video is hard to watch.

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What is illustrated is a shocking lack of cultural awareness. The second the old man reached back into the bed of his truck, I knew that he was going for his cane. Anyone who has spent over five minutes in the parking lot of a VA hospital has seen that move a hundred times. Old white men hang their canes between the bed and the cab of the pickup to keep from having the thing rattle all over the cab while your're driving

New South Carolina Law Enforcement
training poster.  This is a cane, it is
used by old men to keep from falling.
The object on the right is a SHOTGUN.
THEY ARE NOT THE SAME.

and possibly even get between your feet and the pedals.

What is further illustrated is a shocking lack of common sense. If that cane had been a shotgun who in their right mind would put the muzzle on the ground and leaned on it? And for that matter, what is the matter with the deputy's eyesight that he can't tell the difference between a cane and shotgun?

T

But, the most sinister thing illustrated here is the change in attitude of law enforcement toward the people they serve. Some cops are now so afraid of every citizen they encounter that they are automatically in
combat mode as soon as they hit the light bar. And, even worse, federal organizations like the

Department of Homeland Security are distributing practice targets teaching policemen to shoot pregnant women, elderly men and women, etc. IN ORDER TO LOWER THEIR CONSCIENCE LEVEL ABOUT USING FORCE AGAINST THE GENERAL POPULATION.

This tragedy was very much as result of that Deputy's training. If he was so frightened that he couldn't tell a three legged cane from a shotgun he shouldn't be wearing a badge. And, I hope that old man and his wife sue the county and wind up owning the county courthouse before this is all over.

But, there is a deeper cultural problem as well.  Until recently, policemen were a part of the community. They were respected and admired for the job they did.  But increasingly, they are being armed and trained to serve as a domestic constabulary, literally an occupying force in their own country.  That paramilitary, occupying force mindset cannot help but end in tragedies like this one ... and worse that may still be to come.

The Infamous Saturday Night Special Comes of Age

(Note - to read the end of my "perfect small pistol" quest click this LINK.)

For over a year, I struggled with the defacto modern state-of-the-art backup/pocket/concealed carry pistol, the KelTec P11 9mm.  It took a chunk out of my thumb once.  It left my hand sore every time I fired it. But worst of all I could never hit squat with it.  I was all over the paper with no rhyme or reason.  I couldn't even fire enough of a pattern to figure out what to correct.

So, I went to a much larger and more expensive weapon for regular carry, a Glock 19, which, after a reasonable amount of practice, I am able to fire fairly accurately.  The 19 is the defacto weapon of choice for probably the majority of plainclothes law enforcement these days and the military forces around the world are increasingly standardizing on Glocks, particularly the 19's slightly bigger brother the 17.  The British Army has adopted the Glock and is retiring its Brownings.  But, the Glock is a larger weapon, summer is coming and I really wanted something small to just stick in my pocket in the yard, around the farm, etc. My non negotiable selection critiera were (1) it had to be dead on accurate, (2) it had to be well mannered enough that you can fire it regularly without pain, (3) it had to have excellent second and third shot recovery characteristics and (4) it needed to be small enough to hide under a shirt tail.  After a ton of research on the internet, I found something startling. Probably the most accurate pocket pistol around for non expert shooters is a less than hundred and fifty dollar Saturday Night Special, the Phoenix Arms, HP22A. Yes, it is a .22.  I was willing to pay a lot more and would have preferred a larger caliber.  But, I ordered one figuring I could always get most of my money back out of it if it didn't work out.

The target above was shot at ten yards.  Nine out of ten rounds are in the kill zone.  The tenth was a flyer. The headshot was aimed as a headshot.  I have since adjusted the sights to correct the left side error in pattern. After a year of work, I never got anywhere close to that kind of accuracy with KelTec 9mm. Granted, as target shooting goes, the pattern above is nothing to write home about.  I expect to keep my rounds within a four to six inch circle after I have gotten used to the weapon. But, for the first time out after having fired approximately a hundred rounds with the little guy, I have to say that 90% in the kill zone at 10 yards is not a bad start with a 3 inch barrel pocket pistol.  Further, the little gun fired flawlessly right out of the box.  I had one FTF and FTE out of a hundred rounds.  Not bad for a brand new gun.

The downside of the gun is that the "California" safeties on it are ridiculous and it is a royal pain to field strip. It took me an hour to take it apart, wipe off the excess oil from the factory and put it back together again. The same operation with a Glock would take about a minute.

But, all in all, I am very pleased with the little gun and am glad to have a pocket gun again.  The gun comes in either brushed aluminum or blued finish.  It also
comes in a number of different combinations.  The basic gun with a 3 in. barrel costs about $130.00.  The Rangemaster kit comes with a 5 inch barrel, an extended magazine and a cleaning kit all packed in a lockable hard plastic case.  These sell for around $160.00.  The Rangemaster Deluxe kit includes a 3 inch barrel, a 5 inch barrel, two magazines, the cleaning kit and and the lockable case.  It costs around $199.00.  It's a great value.

Granted, the .22 long rifle is nowhere near the most effective round of choice for personal defense.  However, if you can shoot well enough to place your shots properly it can be deadly.  And, .22 ammo has come a long way.  The video below shows a high powered hollowpoint .22 lr round penetrating ballistic gel, a compound which is similar to human flesh for ballistics purposes.  As you can see, the round is moving fast and creating an amazing wound channel for a bullet its size.  Don't forget that the standard rifle round for U.S. military, the .223,  is only slightly larger.



I wouldn't recommend one of these little guys as the primary self defense weapon for the average person. But, the gun you will carry even when wearing shorts and a tee shirt is far better than the larger weapon you won't carry.  And, if you do practice regularly and can hit what you aim at, a .22 can be quite effective.

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Postcript:  The reason the Phoenix is more accurate than the more expensive KelTec goes back to basics. The KelTec has no safeties and relies upon the striker fire mechanism and a long, hard trigger pull to avoid misfires.  Compromises in accuracy are a natural result of this combination.  The long trigger pull makes real accuracy impossible and the light weight combined with a powerful round make it a weapon nobody is going to fire enough to get accustomed to it.  

The Phoenix is an old fashioned, single action, hammer fired weapon.  It relies on too many safeties to prevent misfires but the trigger pull is short and relatively crisp for an inexpensive weapon.  The annoying safeties can be modified leaving a small, old fashioned, little pocket pistol that shoots quite well and is still safe enough to carry if you know what you are doing.  BTW it will half cock.  Anyone who has ever carried a 1911 or a Browning would be at home with it.  Half an hour with a Dremel tool, a tiny shim or two and some luminous sight paint to make the tiny sights light up and you have a fairly nice little weapon with a lifetime warranty.

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A later note.  Yesterday, I decided to practice drawing this little guy from Condition 3 (no round in the chamber).  This is commonly known as the "Israeli Carrry" method.  It requires you to quickly rack the slide to load a round into the chamber after the draw.  If done right it adds only half a second to the time it takes to get your first shot off and is a much safer way to carry the weapon.  This is important in Israel where it is common for citizen soldiers to carry handguns.  It also has the advantage of working on any semi auto without requiring intensive drills on the safeties of that particular weapon.  The first time I tried a "combat draw" with the HP22 I ripped a chunk out of left forefinger.  I naturally went looking for the problem and saw it immediately.  The top of the hammer drop safety had not been finished completely and was razor sharp. So, if you are following this saga while considering buying an HP22 be advised you will probably need to spend an hour or so with a Dremel tool or a piece of emery paper to take the sharp edges off some of the roughly finished parts on the weapon.

The New Dark Ages

In coffee shops, diners, churches and living rooms, many men and women of deep religious and political conviction are having the most serious conversations of their lives.  The conversations all seem to reach the same conclusions even though different words may be used.  These common conclusions are:

1.  The United States of America has been the subject of a coup de etat affected through abuse of the electoral system.

2.  The current President of the United States has no legal basis to govern because of both his failure to meet the constitutional citizenship requirements for the office and his illegal actions while in office.

3. The institutions of government are being illegally used to further the socialist goals of the coup de etat and both political parties are complicit.

4.  The President of the United States is now serving as a dictator by ignoring both the constitution and the other branches of government designed to offset his power.

5. Due to the complicity of both political parties, the normal legal and political remedies such as impeachment and de-funding by congress are unlikely to succeed.

These five common conclusions leave the American Christian and devout Jew in a very difficult place. Armed rebellion is inappropriate.  But, further cooperation with the system is unconscionable. The hard question then is "What are we supposed to do now?"

The first question that comes to my mind is should we do anything political at all?  The Book of Jeremiah teaches that there are times when God's judgment has been pronounced and it is sin to oppose it.  Jeremiah was imprisoned and nearly killed for refusing to go along with Israel's continued war against its enemies when God's judgment had already been pronounced.  America's current sins are at least as bad as ancient Israels. One preacher friend of mine regularly quips, "If God doesn't judge America now, he owes Sodom and Gomorrah an apology."  Increasingly, I wonder if America hasn't crossed the line of God's judgment and we are simply waiting for the cup of his wrath to be poured out.

In his prophetic little book "Against the Night, Living In The New Dark Ages" Charles Colson wrote:  "God has ordained three institutions for the ordering of society: the family for the propagation of life, the state for the preservation of life, and the church for the proclamation of the gospel. These are not just voluntary associations that people can join or not as they see fit; they are organic sources of authority for restraining evil and humanizing society. And the family, state, and church, as well as the closely related institution of education, have all been assaulted and penetrated by the new barbarians." (p. 69 - emphasis added)

If the institution of the State is lost as some believe it is in America, then perhaps the biblical model from Jeremiah is timely again.   If that is the case, perhaps we should be training our people and marshaling our resources for a time of captivity. Perhaps it is time to concentrate on those institutions that are left where we can have more influence, faith and family.  History has taught us that these institutions are remarkably durable and are capable of functioning effectively almost indefinitely even in a hostile state.  But, it would be a mistake to assume that a simple retreat from the political arena would be all that is involved.  The practice of the faith and the preservation of the family in a hostile state almost always involves bitter and costly conflict with that state.  In America circa 2014, such a retreat would not be a simple laying down of arms but rather a strategic retreat designed to let the completely corrupted political system run its inevitable course without the assistance and complicity of the faithful.

In his "Letters and Papers from Prison" Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, "We are not to simply bandage the wounds of victims beneath the wheels of injustice, we are to drive a spoke into the wheel itself." This is a profound strategy in one sentence. First, we are called to rescue the victims of the state, to do everything in our power to help and sustain them. But second, we are called to refuse to allow the crushing wheel of state to continue rolling over them with our assistance.

What does this mean in practical terms? Here a few examples. Christian doctors and nurses should refuse to participate in abortions and refuse to serve with doctors who perform abortions or euthanasia. Christian pastors should refuse en masse to either perform homosexual marriages or allow them to be performed in their churches. Christian business people should refuse to do business under circumstances that violate their faith and conscience. Christian school teachers should refuse to teach the theory of evolution unless discussion and presentation of other theories of creation are allowed as well. They should also refuse outright to participate in "sex education" programs that advocate pre-marital sex and homosexuality. Christian delivery drives should refuse to deliver to abortion clinics and other businesses that violate their faith and conscience. Christian leaders should be quietly organizing underground institutions to continue training pastors, elders and deacons in the true faith. They should also be organizing escape networks and safe houses for the persecuted.

In the past, American Christians have substituted what they believed to be political opposition to these inherent evils for personal and practical opposition. This seemed to work well because there was never any personal cost involved. Voting for a so-called "pro-life" politician (the sum of whom have managed to do absolutely nothing to stop abortion in over forty years of political wrangling) is a lot less costly than actually defying the system and refusing to be complicit by silence in its evils. This so called "retreat" from politics would grind the wheels of the already overburdened "justice system" to a halt by the sheer number of cases involved and send a strong message to politicians as well.

Political participation by the church on social issues has been a miserable failure. We have lost on every issue. It was a powerful pain killer fed to the patient to mask the true symptoms that were being left untreated. It is time to realize that and do what we should have done to start with, quietly and peacefully refuse to play their game anymore.