HomeJoinMissionAbout UsLinksActivism

The Tragic Cost of Complacency

By Mike Straw

On February fourth 2004 in Riverdale Illinois, complacent fourteen-year veteran detective William Rolniak was murdered with his own “government”-issued firearm by un-handcuffed twenty-seven-year-old Adrian Humes as he was being transferred from an interview room to the lockup area.

What had the illustrious mister Humes been arrested for?

Nothing that would raise a veteran detective’s concern: merely home invasion, kidnapping and attempted first-degree murder.

Where do you spend most of your time?

If you’re like most people, you spend fifty percent at home, thirty-three percent at work, and seventeen percent in your vehicle.

These are all places we, complacently, feel comfortable and secure. Are we?

Pick up any disinformation media newspaper or view any propagandized TV “news.” You need look no further than these pages.

How many times have we seen headlines screaming, “Slumbering homeowner awakens to armed intruder,” or “Armed thugs smash door, terrorize residents.”

Not one of the innocent children, who trusted their unconstitutionally-disarmed, condition white parents, kidnapped out of their own bedrooms, some at gunpoint, have ever returned alive, or in the case of Elizabeth Smart, undamaged.

We’ve all seen the headlines about illegal shootings, stabbings, bombings and other mayhem at workplaces throughout our nation, undeterred by a plethora of mala prohibita laws or mercenary proxy-guardian “police.”

Not a day goes by without another sordid tale of another vicious carjacking, abduction at knifepoint, or other illegal assault while anxiously getting into or out of your vehicle.

According to a Department of “Justice” report in March 1999, between 1992 and 1996, an average of almost fifty thousand carjackings occurred each year. In about ninety percent of them, an illegal weapon was employed.

A study by the Illinois mercenary proxy-guardian state “police” of 1994 to 1996 carjackings showed most were gang-related.

Recently, in my sleepy little town, a middle-aged woman out for a walk was illegally assaulted and raped by a threat described as a white male in his early twenties, weighing one hundred ninety pounds, about five-foot- five, with what professional Raymond mercenary proxy-guardian “police,” college graduates all, publicly described ad nauseum on the local cable channel as a “stalky” build-no, I’m not kidding-thought to be a serial rapist.

In complacent condition white, she observed an unknown male sauntering along the side of the road just ahead of her.

Quickly assessing the stranger, she blissfully continued to ignorantly stroll, within arm’s reach, past the potential threat, whereupon he simply reached out and grabbed her by the neck, striking her so violently that responding paramedics described her state of alertness as “unconscious.”

Undeterred, the ignorant victim failed to possess, let alone utilize, a single defensive tool-not even a single canister of defensive pepper spray.

This rape, attempted abduction and murder took place on Scribner Road, the very street the local mercenary proxy-guardian “police” station is located on!

You can be illegally assaulted anywhere: at the mall, in a restaurant, or at the convenience store.

In April 2002 in Bedford New Hampshire, kicking and screaming, an unarmed woman fought off a burly man who illegally shoved her into her car at a Wal-Mart parking lot about one P.M.-in broad daylight-after she returned from shopping and was caught on a store video surveillance camera.

In a striking departure from the party line, Bedford mercenary proxy-guardian “police” captain Thomas Burke, who was impotent to prevent the crime said, “She fought him off violently and finally scared him away. After viewing the tape, we are very concerned... God knows if she hadn’t fought him off what would have happened.”

Like lightning, since illegal violence had already struck this particular geographic location, we may now safely assume that no further illegal violence will ever occur in the vicinity again, right?

Wrong: in September 2003, a Bedford New Hampshire mercenary proxy-guardian “policeman” exchanged shots with a threat in the parking lot of a strip mall adjacent to the Wal-Mart.

The officer was wounded, the threat was killed. So much for assumptions.

On September first 2002, a sixteen-year-old female and a nineteen-year-old male in the Concord New Hampshire Wal-Mart parking lot were kidnapped by James McLaughlin, thirty-seven, who approached the unarmed teens as they were leaving.

He asked them for a ride: the teens first said yes, then changed their minds.

McLaughlin then illegally forced his way into their vehicle, held a serrated folding knife to the girl's neck and ordered her boyfriend to drive to Shaw's supermarket, where the nineteen-year-old gave McLaughlin sixty-eight dollars, and the teens escaped.

Isn’t there anyplace “safe?”


This latest illegal assault in my town took place within sight of the mercenary proxy-guardian “police” station.

How many illegal sexual predations have taken place inside churches, erstwhile houses of refuge, by priests?

These horrors are made possible only because the predatory criminal knows that he controls the terrain for the brief period of time he plans on taking to complete his heinous crime.

It could be your vehicle, a stairwell, a bathroom, a hallway, a briefly unoccupied office, parking lot, or even a church or mercenary proxy-guardian “police” station that the predatory criminal is in control of for the fleeting interval of less than five minutes.

It’s solely your responsibility to foil his evil plot: no other person on earth can be reliably certain to arrive before the predatory criminal has the opportunity to complete his wicked offense, no matter how intensely you desire it to occur, not the unconstitutional standing Army, the mercenary proxy-guardian “police,” your well-meaning relatives, friends or bystanders.

First, you can accept some responsibility for the illegal assault for not being sufficiently aware of your surroundings and anticipating it, but now that it’s underway, how can you reverse it?

It may be as simple as convincingly yelling “fire!” repeatedly. Why “fire?” Why repeatedly?

Remember Kitty Genovese? No one will “get involved” just because you need it, but if they believe either they’re in danger, or conversely, that there’s no danger to them, then they’re happy to come and ogle someone else’s troubles.

In today’s noisy world where more hearing-impaired and distracted folks are ambling about, one plea may only elicit a response of, “did I hear something?” It may take several repetitions to break through to their murky consciousness.

It may take a lot more than a panicked yell: it’s your responsibility to teach every member of your household how to escape the clutches of a three-hundred pound monster unarmed, harmless women and innocent children included.

They can all learn Jeet Kune Do and they can all learn to use a Kubotan®/Persuader®/mini-Maglite®, but first, they need to learn that the world isn’t Barney’s and Mister Rogers’ neighborhood, it belongs to the narcissistic gentleman with the horns and tail, and he delights in pointing his minions in your direction under the auspices of the clever Mister Murphy.

That’s why they all need to not only comprehend, but incorporate the life-saving principles enshrined in Lieutenant Colonel “Jeff” Cooper’s essential book, “The Principles of Personal Defense.”

You’re daily mislead by all that you see and hear: that predatory criminals are really noble Robin Hoods, that vicious thieves have a “code of honor,” the bloody Mafia gets no pleasure from “enforcing,” that bad guys can’t hit what they shoot at, or that they’re generally incompetent.

All that you’re allowed to see in movies and on TV has been filtered through the perverted lens of malicious social fascism: what they allow to be presented to the public is merely a reflection of their greatest fears, their nightmares, how they perceive us.

You never see examples of ordinary unorganized Militia members protecting themselves and their precious families because in the debased world they permit you to observe, there are no legally defensively armed unorganized Militia members!

Every person not wearing a uniform who possesses a firearm may as well be wearing a black hat.

Their stereotypical caricatures of threats are as distorted as their depraved philosophy.

Any examination of facts will quickly point out the utter absurdity of their immoral view.

In every Western movie (now, cop drama), the hero’s heard to say, “Shucks, it’s just a flesh wound.”

In real life, he died of the infection from that adynamic peripheral injury due to substandard or nonexistent medical treatment.

In the movie “Black Hawk Down,” one highly-trained elite Ranger tells the others that “the sammies (Somalis) can’t shoot for shit.”

The number of casualties that the U. S., the greatest unconstitutional standing army on the face of the earth, suffered at the hands of mere ragged, ignorant, third-world rabble was nineteen of the highest-trained, most experienced soldiers killed and eighty-six more wounded, two multi-million dollar helicopters, described by command sergeant-major Eric Haney, a founding member of Delta Force and author of “Inside Delta Force” as “damn tough birds,” blown out of the sky and three more badly damaged, as well as several expensive vehicles destroyed and damaged.

The end result of that little scrap was that cowardly lion (lyin’) Clinton turned tail (get it?) and ran just one week later, and the mighty u. S. hasn’t been back since. The day is annually celebrated like July fourth here. Thanks, Bill. I feel your pain.

You know, it’s the only time I can think of that Bill “the zipper” ever pulled out.

The bloodthirsty FBI took on a shabby pair of bank robbers with overwhelming numbers and firepower, confidently holding to the popular maxim that “bad guys can’t shoot straight.”

On April eleventh 1986 in Miami Florida, FBI agents Benjamin Grogan and Gerald Dove were illegally killed; Gordon McNeill was seriously injured by gunshot wounds to the right hand and neck; Edmundo Mireles was seriously injured by a gunshot wound to the left forearm; Gilbert Orrantia was injured by shrapnel and debris produced by a bullet near-miss; John Hanlon was seriously injured by gunshot wounds to the right hand and groin after stopping wanted bank robbers Michael Platt and William Matix.

Platt and Matix, while they were out target practicing, had stolen the car by illegally killing its owner.

The pair was illegally equipped with a twelve-gauge shotgun with a modified pistol grip stock equipped to fire eight rounds; a two-two-three-caliber Ruger mini-fourteen self-loading carbine with thirty round magazine; and two three-fifty-seven-caliber pistols.

Subsequent investigation revealed that the audacious robbers practiced more often than the “professional” agents.

Armchair quarterbacks have unfairly criticized Platt and Matix as rank amateurs because in the heat of battle, what Clausewitz refers to as “the fog of war,” Matix, intently focused on the deadly threat in front of him, was unaware that the muzzle of his pistol was only inches from Platt’s head.

The resultant discharges deafened Platt.

Less than ten years later, the identical scenario was replayed in Mogadishu Somalia, this time by Peter Squeglia, the company armorer, who pointed his fully-automatic assault weapon across the cab of a five-ton truck, right in front of the driver, and squeezed off several rounds.

It wasn’t even the only such incident that day: Lance Twombly and Shawn Nelson, two of the nation’s most highly-trained and experienced elite Rangers, did the same thing twice, and instead of a mere pistol, the offending weapon was a machinegun!

This occurred after they were left behind as a result of lack of communication.

Later that day, Paul Howe observed Nelson firing a pistol at the window of the house Howe himself had just cleared.

Nelson had previously observed someone moving in the window. It was Howe!

Of course, deafness wasn’t the only injury inflicted by accident that day: another highly-trained and experienced soldier, eighteen-year-old Todd Blackburn, fell seventy feet from a helicopter while descending a rope and another, already-wounded Adalberto Rodriguez, was run over by the five-ton truck John Maddox was driving.

Everything was going wrong. The only medevac team discovered they’d left their medical kits behind!

Bear in mind, these are the best the U. S. has to offer. So much for “professionals.”

In Miami, the complacent agents participated greatly in their own demise by first, anticipating the use of their weapons and unholstering them, negligently leaving them loose on the vehicle seat, in obvious violation of Newton's first law of motion, “ An object at rest tends to stay at rest and an object in motion tends to stay in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force,” so the firearms were driven under the seats when the vehicles stopped abruptly, then by stopping the vehicles on dirt, throwing up a smoke screen of dust, obscuring the threat’s actions, and by bright sunlight broken by stark tree shadows further confusing the agent’s image of the action.

The battle itself lasted just over four minutes.

Criminals in prisons (“attending college”) constantly seek out new and better techniques to improve their skills.

They’re routinely taught to counter every move a typical complacent mercenary proxy-guardian “policeman” would use on them, from vehicle stops to escaping handcuffs.

They’re being taught in prison to disarm officers, even from standard “safe” frisk positions; to shoot through concealment; the employment of disguised and expedient weapons; generally, to survive.

Some criminals have gone so far as to write a “training manual” on how to be a better bad guy for other criminals.

Have you seen and recognized the cost of our complacent society’s utter failure even to address the issue of self-protection?

How many times do you hear on the malicious evening social fascist “news” about an honest, hard-working unorganized Militia member successfully protecting himself, his beloved family?


The iniquitous social fascists have succeeded in turning us into a nation of ostriches, just like every other species of prey, blindly hoping with our heads comfortably entombed, that the terror will be obliging enough to pick someone else, this time.

Have you ever watched a “nature” program on the “public” disinformation media TV channel (you know, the same ones who illegally extort your hard-earned tax dollars, then haughtily demand that you ”donate” even more of your money!) where an animal is stalked, assaulted, killed, and eaten in the midst of an entire herd of the same animals: its relatives, friends and neighbors?

What did they do about it? Nothing!

In light of the dismal public record that the depraved social fascist networks have all donated money to extremist victim disarmament organizations and have all publicly broadcast programs parroting the spiteful social fascist line, its “Rather” obvious that these “independent” news agencies have all conspired to withhold this vital information to the public they represent, so it can serve their unholy social fascist agenda!

Where’s the outrage?

Using our innocent, smiling children as a mean political excuse and deceitfully labeling it “firearm safety” casts false light on the truth.

Looking critically behind the symbolism and false promises, when examined, all you’ll get in return for giving up your precious, irreplaceable rights is extremist victim disarmament and greater social fascist tyranny,

How can wicked social fascists claim they want to help, when they deny our innocent children life-saving training?

They’re the cause of our future’s demise!

Their true agenda isn’t to stop maliciously-labeled “firearm violence,“ but to use our unquestioning children as their illicit vehicle to irrationally disarm law-abiding unorganized Militia members.

In reality, they‘re malevolently commanding, “We want your legal defensive firearms!”

The heinous social fascists have succeeded in selling us a bill of goods; of allowing us the distinguished privilege, now that that distasteful business with the iceberg is behind us, of polishing the brass on the Titanic; they’ve convinced us that what we want most is exactly the lie they offer, that “other people,” who aren’t even present, are better relied on to “save” us from immediate deadly peril.

Henry Thoreau observed, “Most men (the ninety-eight percent who choose to be sheep) lead lives of quiet desperation.”

Without even reasonable hope of self-protection, is it any wonder?

What effect does such monstrous tragedy have on the innocent survivors of it, the precious children?

According to psychologist Doctor Dennis Klass of Webster University in Saint Louis, “You can’t protect kids from death. We do a disservice when we try.”

Columnist Russell Baker sums up the brokenhearted children’s feelings: “After [my father’s death] I never cried again with any real conviction, nor expected much of anyone’s God except indifference, nor loved deeply without fear that it would cost me dearly in pain. At the age of five I had become a skeptic.”

Uncomprehending children inexorably slide into deep depression, incapable of vocalizing their confusion and emptiness, aching with loneliness and inconsolable grief in the face of heart-rending trauma of unendurable magnitude.

Psychologist Maxine Harris, author of “The Loss That Is Forever,” believes the death of such a monumental figure in a naïve child’s life “registers as a ten on the [child’s] emotional Richter scale.”

They fantasize that other wily children whisper about them, saying, “That’s the kid with the dead father!”

They, incorrectly, believe that they “don’t fit in,” are “different, “ they “don’t belong.”

Not having intensely studied and come to terms with the material laid out in Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’ exceptional book, “On Death and Dying,” they stall in the denial phase, often responding to the sight of their dead father with words like, “that’s not him,” convincing themselves that their beloved parent is really still alive, merely someplace else, setting the stage for bitter disappointment later in life.

They become lethargic, superficial, “on the fringes of human relationships,” emotionally devoid, telling themselves, “What does it matter?

Some, feeling inadequate, go as far as to improperly blame themselves, heaping unmerited guilt upon themselves for no good reason, even contemplating suicide, even years later.

“I don’t get into relationships, fearing the loss of someone,” said one adult survivor.

“Your whole life changes instantaneously. I was blown away by the whole thing. It was not something that had ever entered my realm of possibility,” said another.

“He was the anchor of my life -it was a tremendous blow… something essential got ripped away. There was a huge vacuum in the middle of my life,” recalled a third.

Psychiatrist Doctor Calvin Colarusso, author of “Child and Adult Development,” believes fathers play an irreplaceable role in building confidence in their devoted sons.

A 1978 study documented the link between the untimely death of a parent and the failure to develop a successful career, stating, “feelings of insecurity, inadequacy, emptiness, and -especially -guilt can inhibit functioning” after the loss of a parent.

Children under age three when their fathers die, like John Kennedy Junior, tend not to remember the event; those between three and eleven experience “differentness” and the loss of leadership, remembering and re-experiencing acute pain of the loss.

Those between twelve and seventeen feel ambivalent but recognize the permanentness of death.

Even grown children, between thirty-three to fifty-five, experience rising concerns over their own mortality in the years following the parent’s death, becoming emotionally erratic or seeking dramatic changes in their lives.

Is this the legacy we wish to bestow upon innocent children because we were too cowardly to protect them -and ourselves -from evil men?

Can you pick out those in society maimed and scarred by violent crime?

Not only the widows and orphans, but what about those pitiable souls who are only emotionally destroyed, those who were only threatened with death, those now forever too timid any longer to ever again venture forth, even in broad daylight.

Those whose husbands, wives, children, fathers and mothers were illegally raped, beaten, stabbed and shot by the Terminator’s older, meaner brothers, who discovered at last, at the very moment they were ferociously violated, that “the evil social fascists lied!” -who then had to bear the sad charade of “Sorry, our hands are tied,” from the very impotent “officials” they negligently entrusted the safe-keeping of their cherished loved ones to.

Go to the emergency wards and see the interminable stream of casualties -the broken, the destroyed -and then examine the look of absolute hatred on the faces of mercenary proxy-guardian “police” and doctors towards you for merely suggesting that even one of these gory casualties would have been better off by resisting the unwarranted crimes of predatory violence illegally perpetrated against him.

These illegal assaults aren’t perpetrated by sentient beings with feelings and consciences; they’re done by inhuman monsters.

As you gaze upon the gratuitous carnage they’ve inflicted on disarmed innocents, ask yourself this telling question: if the tools employed had been teeth and claws instead of illegal firearms and knives, would the damage have been any less?

Sadly, the answer is no: these vicious assaults may as well have been done by four-legged animals.

Why do they do it? Were they provoked? No. They do it for fun.

Pay the local morgue a social visit. Ask to sit in on a few cheery autopsies -I’m sure they’d love the company. You breathe.

See what damage a baseball bat or an iron pipe will do to your relatives, friends -and to you.

Visit the cemeteries -especially during a funeral, and witness the unfathomable depths that inconsolable grief can attain.

It isn’t like on the disinformation media TV -it never goes away. It always hurts. It constantly aches. A wound that never heals.

It may dull with time, but there’s still an unappeasable ache for that irreplaceable personality that you stood before God and Man and pledged your lifelong support to. It’s eternal.

For the remainder of your tortured existence, you’ll forever see the exquisite face of your beloved violently wrenched from you, and you’ll see it repeatedly, each time you close your weary eyes: what of their hopes, aspirations, plans for the future, their talents and gifts, contributions to humanity?

As with abortion, another state-sanctioned form of murder, we destroy the invaluable contributions to Mankind by its best and brightest: another Einstein, the next Pasteur, a cure for AIDS; if nothing more than the ability to interact with fellow humans who feel and think, who, like the prisoners in National Socialist concentration camps, realizing that they would never live to see freedom again, swapped extravagant recipes for elaborate desserts they’d never eat -you can see the actual smuggled papers in the poignant book “In Memory’s Kitchen” -I, personally, would have enjoyed having the opportunity to share with, and to learn from these undeservedly doomed individuals.

Why did they diligently sacrifice, sweat and strive, confidently save and energetically invest themselves so wholeheartedly in the shining futures they’d convinced themselves would come to be, when any sub-human animal can at any time he wishes, illegally wrest it from them forever, irreplaceable, on sheer whim?

Isn’t it every man’s right to toil and contribute, to eat and love and dream, to feel the warmth of the sun on his face and know his offspring are secure before he evermore falls beneath the cold soil?

Pray that you’re never in the position, as I have, of witnessing an innocent wife’s tragic outpouring of inconsolable grief as, seeing her beloved husband’s pupils finally dilate and forever fix in the terrible permanence of death, her last cry to her faithful companion of many comforting years is a tearful, “I love you!” paying no heed to the radio still incongruously playing in the background.

The song that just happened to be playing at that precise moment was “How Can I Live Without You,” by Leeann Rimes.

For some strange reason, that particular detail still sticks with me.

Her tears should only ever be of joy, and not frustration, hopelessness and despair.

A man should never have to go home to a cold, empty house, listening to the dull metronome tick of his future slowly passing away, listening to the dismal moan of the chill wind, watching the vapid sunlight die unmourned on the bloody debris-strewn floor where he’ll forever constantly relive the greatest tragedy in his life, blaming himself, asking, pleading, desperately bargaining with his God, if there were only one thing he could have done, could have changed, to have the ability to alter, to prevent, the horrible tribulation that’ll now displace what was once his joyous life.

There was. The mindset of a permit-holder may have forestalled events.

Yet, these defeated folks too angrily reproach you for suggesting that it didn’t have to happen -because it didn’t.

In the eternal winter of night, when sleep refuses to come, when life is pointless, where the demons gleefully assail the tortured, abandoned family as they, despondently, constantly examine their despairing souls, they know in their hearts that they couldn’t bear to look at themselves in the mirror of reality because they know -they know -that had their permanently departed nearest and dearest soul mate possessed a permit, and the mindset that accompanies it, they would at this moment not be trembling in grief and sweating in frustration.

They now know their lives, and the evil words of mendacious social fascists, to be nothing but a damnable rotten fabric of stinking lies, and yet still obstinately refuse to face the truth, instead angrily lashing out at any who would dare suggest that their beloved’s noble sacrifice for humanity was in vain, their soaring hopes and aspirations to be everlastingly imprisoned in a worm-eaten corpse, forever rottenly smiling at them from six feet beneath the grime-encrusted soles of their shoes, because if they actually admitted it even to themselves, then, of course, how could they then live with themselves?

Do you love your family? Why would you put them through this if the justifiable immediate means to prevent it were before you?

Afterwards, when the terrible enormity of this tragedy overwhelms you, your thoughts will then, too late, undoubtedly turn remorsefully to “what could I have done to avoid this?”

You’d gladly exchange anything: your possessions, mere baubles; your very life, a waste, now that your precious loved one can’t share it with you; your hollow principles, a sham; just to once again see the dear hope and radiant pride of your days -suddenly, a simple, convenient tool to save an innocent life doesn’t seem so absurd now, does it?

As a man, you’d physically stand unflinchingly before your cherished family, proudly shielding them with your very being; you’d gladly exchange your existence for their suffering -but why should it be your life, not the loathsome, worthless predatory criminal’s?

Is his contemptible life more important, or valuable than yours -or your devoted family’s?

By courageously sacrificing your life, stubbornly sparing his, will he then suddenly become a pillar of the community?

Be as cold as the grave and calculating as the immoral social fascists who cruelly dominate your life and those of your precious family: whose life is more valuable -his or yours?

Does the world really need another professional murderer, rapist or thief, or would we all be better off if the innocent artist, enthusiastic poet, jocular entertainer or dedicated scientist survived at the cost of another unwanted predatory criminal?

Do you cringe in light of the Biblical admonition to turn the other cheek?

Fear not, and discern wisdom: that particular reprimand was in response to a mere insult, not a life-threatening assault.

Concerning predatory criminals, the Bible wisely advised an eye for an eye: don’t become emotionally involved and descend to the level of craven villains, but swiftly mete out justice equal to the level of the crime.

Not a hand and a foot for an eye, or a life for an eye, but instead, righteously, merely the offender’s eye for your innocent eye.

Soldiers, law-enforcement, firefighters, doctors, and paramedics routinely engage daily in this deliberation -its called triage: judging value and deciding who’s to die.

I put it to you plainly: if you were God, which would you leave alive?

As Shakespeare wisely educates us, we should replace grief with wrath.

The enemy can’t be taught to like us or respect us. What he must be taught now is to fear us.

The trick is knowing how far to go.

Pietro Aretino put it best when he said, "Angry men are blind and foolish, for reason at such time takes flight and, in her absence, wrath plunders all the riches of the intellect, while the judgment remains the prisoner of its own pride."

Martin Luther King’s non-violent civil rights movement predictably stalled in the 1960s, at the height of his popularity, because whites didn’t fear blacks, regarded as mere property: former slaves, and therefore, less than human.

Meaningful social progress only occurred when groups like Stokely Carmichael’s legally defensively armed Black Panthers took up the call of courageous black leaders like the brilliant Malcolm X’s “whatever means necessary!” and recalcitrant whites were confronted by riots.

Enshrined as Biblical principle, “Fear of God is the beginning of wisdom” can also be applied to His instruments.

“I won’t play God!” you fearfully cry.

Edmund Burke judiciously counseled, “Among a people generally corrupt, liberty cannot long exist. All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing. Nobody makes a greater mistake than he who does nothing because he could only do a little. The People never give up their liberties but under some delusion. The true danger is when liberty is nibbled away for expedience, and by parts.''

Your shameful failure to make any decision is your decision, dooming you, or your innocent family, while the Boston or Hillside strangler, or Richard Speck, or Ted Bundy, or “Mucko” McDermott, or Mohammed Atta, goes gaily along, with the tacit complicity of the evil state, smiling innocently, confidently plucking disarmed victims like flowers, as he gratefully savors the coppery aroma rising from their wet, shining, freshly mutilated bodies like fragrance as delicate as a newly-picked rose.

The difficulty with anger is that it’s unfocused.

It must be redirected into purpose with emotion in accordance with the Biblical imperative that whatever you do, “do it with your whole soul.”

There’s a knife-edge difference between resolutely steeling your heart against evil and shutting down completely, emotionally dying of cardio-sclerosis: hardness of heart.

It’s right and proper to justly shut out the phony pleas of predatory criminals, but we shouldn’t ever let them create a wall around our tender feelings for those we love and protect: the very thing that causes so much strife and suicide among mercenary proxy-guardian “police” -the “us v. them” mentality.

According to the Boston Globe, three hundred mercenary proxy-guardian “police” officers committed suicide in 1994 alone!

Take, for instance, one particular event: the memorial ceremony -not to be confused with the materialistic extremist victim disarmament money-grab “concert” and phony “telethon” -for the thousands of unconstitutionally-disarmed World Trade Center victims.

Could you dispassionately gaze upon the uncomprehending, overwrought surviving family members of those thousands of innocent souls whose unfulfilled destinies were illegally stolen from them on September eleventh 2001 and not have your heart go out to them in their undeserved bereavement?

Could you view the telephoto shots of the man and woman clinging to the blazing, blasted-open remains of their office, deciding to desperately hold hands in terror and then jump to certain death, in preference to being incinerated?

Do you suppose that her final words to that man she chose to end her life with were, “please don’t hurt me?”

What kind of twisted, sick “society” allows conditions that force disarmed innocents to such monstrous decisions?

A social fascist nation predicated on the proliferation of evil mala prohibita “laws.”

In the midst of wading through gruesome tragedy, how is it possible not to be overcome by it?

Only by not placing your heart in its midst. Only by consciously redirecting your thoughts to other, better things.

Think of only heartening things: thoughts of love, beauty, the images that wrest our struggling consciousness from the base, ugly realities of the scenes we face daily.

We may have to be physically mired in a world of evil, but our hearts don’t have to: they can aspire and transcend everything physical and emotional: our Founding Fathers did it, and we yet reap the unmerited rewards.

Our unmitigated grief will never be assuaged until those responsible for it are eliminated so they’ll never inflict such unwarranted suffering ever again.

Consider for a moment the lonely teen-age special forces operator freezing in the mountains of Afghanistan, searching for a vanished threat, tired and hungry, thinking only of home and family as the strains of “I’m Already There” by Lonestar wafts from a tiny speaker tuned to Armed Forces Radio.

It’s not revenge: it’s justice.

I’m not talking of vigilantism, where those unaffected by the crime make uninformed decisions about events they have no personal knowledge of, but rather the logical conclusion of a series of cataclysmic events unmistakably obvious to its participants.

We’ve long been misled by evil social fascists that we’re incapable of morally dispensing justice: “that’s a job for a judge and jury!”

Distilled to its essence, it’s the same lame argument: you’re incapable of responsibility: you require an elite class of super-intelligent, benevolent dictators to determine every step in your brief, insignificant, sheep-like existence.

Which dictator would you choose? Hitler? Stalin? Tse-Tung? Amin? Hussein? bin Laden? Clinton?

If it happened to you, or you witnessed it happen to your family, what further obfuscation is required?

You have the moral right to immediately correct the injustice.

Only the evil social fascists would place obstacles to that justice in the path of the righteous, labeling it “fairness” and “impartiality.”

All they’re trying to do is create a “shadow of doubt” to allow their heirs to perdition, the predatory criminals, who do with impunity what the evil social fascists are unwilling to do with their own blood-stained hands: destroy our way of life, one heinous crime at a time.

You won’t see the emotional end of this carnage on disinformation media TV or in the papers either, because, well, it doesn’t get ratings, you know?

The sponsors don’t like it. Why uselessly stir up the ignorant peasants?

The same evil social fascists who’ll spend their lives and fortunes trying to save the bales, the whales, the birds, the bees and the bugs won’t spend a cent or a second saving you. You’re not on their approved list of species.

They’d never soil their delicate hands actually touching people, volunteering at the hospital or as E. M. T’s, and the first words, by rote, almost by instinct, from their lying mouths are, “violence is never the answer,” but those are the same ghouls you can count on encountering when you show up to help at a scene of illegal violence, and who, giggling, titillate themselves compulsively viewing videos with gruesome titles like “The Faces of Death,” as they heedlessly snack on extravagant delicacies in affluent splendor, yet are the first to callously turn away in a real case of need, mewing, “let the mercenary proxy-guardian ‘police’ handle it.”

You must seek it out for yourself. Take part. Make it your own.

If you’re an impassioned patriot and not a brutal, cold-hearted social fascist, you’ll never again turn away when you know you have the tools, skills, and ability to make a life-saving difference.

You’re responsible enough to own a fire extinguisher and a first-aid kit.

Complete the circle of “public service” tools. Get a permit.

Death is the great separator. You’ll come to realize these ill-fated, disarmed victims suffer the loss of destiny.

There’s a memorial to the Unknown Soldier.

There’s a statue of the patriotic flag-raising on hellish Iwo Jima, an appropriate name meaning, “sulphur island.”

There’s another one for Viet Nam veterans.

The flag raised at the scene of the World Trade Center attack was stolen by mercenary municipal employees off a privately-owned boat, and was subsequently turned into a memorial sculpture and a “government” stamp to commemorate the deaths of mercenary municipal employees who were merely doing the job they contracted to do for pay.

There’s even a “’Law-Enforcement’ Officer’s Memorial.”

Where’s the long-overdue memorial to unconstitutionally-disarmed Kitty Genovese, to hero Sandy Javelle, to resolute Todd Beamer, to the millions of unquestionably totally innocent Americans, private citizens all, who were betrayed to their deaths by their very “government” in the guise of its grinning evil politicians who treacherously swore duplicitous oaths to their naïve faces to protect them?

There is a memorial to all those innocent unconstitutionally-disarmed victims.

It’s called Washington D. C., “D. C.” standing defiantly for “Dominion of Criminals” and not much else, and it symbolizes, with a crime rate higher than war-torn Northern Ireland, all that’s wrong with the miniscule value we place on our law-abiding unorganized Militia members, and how the promises enshrined in the Constitution that comprise the very fabric of society have been silently voided by the evil social fascist elite intent on subjugating us in the exact same manner that the National Socialists seized power.

By legal election.

Each day the number of disarmed victims swells, the invisible mountain of blameless smiling skulls increases: your mothers and fathers, your sons and daughters all incessantly cry from their needless graves for swift justice that’ll never occur, each day the torrent of innocent blood grows endlessly, roaring in the pain-wracked ears of the grieving survivors, and will continue to do so until you decide that we should no longer suffer incessant, steaming, blood-spattered terror at the hands of our elected servants, and at last install honest, decent, hard-working, patriotic unorganized Militia members like ourselves, finally dedicated to a functioning Bill of Rights -all the rights, all the time, for all the People!

The Founders, practical men all, knew the best way to keep “government” out of our lives, out of our pockets, was to constantly carry the immediate means to justly secure that liberty-legal defensive firearms.

Are we more intelligent than they?

e-mailprint version

AFA Tough