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An Incident in My Incremental Death
How A Feminist Will Get You Killed
I once stood over Fire Starter, grinding his hand into the gravel of the parking lot behind the bar with the treads of my black Sketcher work boot, across the street from the store I managed. Having kicked his gas can across the lot and drawn my razor, promising to skin him alive if he ever threatened another one of my customers again, he cracked and threatened to call the cops on me, to which I slathered, as I shook my tie in his face, "They'll believe the tie!"
Fire Starter scampered away toward his gas can and I charged him with the razor, to which he ran off course down the alley behind Miller Motors. I threw the gas can over the adjacent fence and snarled after him as he limped down the alley. Not killing him, having to eat that spent adrenaline, took some of my life: minutes, hours, days—I know not. I died a little that night. Two years later I resigned the job after hundreds of such incidents, not wanting to stroke out over such filth as Fire Starter, who since 2007 until the very eve of 2017, has been permitted to wander in search of victims with his gas can and assortment of lighters by Baltimore City and Baltimore County Police. He quietly terrorizes people sitting in their cars on supermarket and drug store parking lots...
This morning, deeply disappointed over yesterday's writing output and under the influence of a powerful muscle relaxer, which has enabled me to walk again, but has rendered me muddy-headed, as well as being tired from the cycle of antibiotics I am taking to clear up the persistent sinus infections that have plagued me for 30 years of working in refrigerated workspaces, I joined a friend of more than three decades for a half hour bird watching date, as we ate each our cup of cottage cheese.
I trust this person implicitly in a moral sense. But, she is a woman and can not therefore be trusted to survive, but to fall witlessly before whatever threat comes her way. Furthermore, being a feminist, my friend, who I'll call I Am Woman, henceforth IAW, will never take a command from a man, but rather, must be, according to her lifetime of cultural conditioning in our unsustainable lie, be a full partner to all decisions, especially where her car is concerned and we were seated in her car.
A Present Tense Relation
IAW can sense I am ready to go, but wants to discuss one more thing concerning her daughter-in-law, hoping I might hold forth the nugget of wisdom that will help her manage that sticky situation.
Then, as we sit in the empty supermarket parking lot, I see Fire Starter 12 paces away, walking towards me.
I will not be held hostage and threatend in her car.
I'm not suffering this fool and I'm not getting burned either. So, when he gets two paces away, he dies.
That's the rule.
Unfortunately, he doesn't seem to recognize me and keeps coming.
I can control my adrenaline in such a situation.
I have not mastered it though. This adrenaline will release, either just when it is needed, or after the danger is passed and I eat it, permanently damaging my body in ways I little understand but have often sensed.
11 steps away:
"Roll, now!"
IAW looks at me in hurt disbelief, demanding an answer before she does any such thing.
She seems seems hurt.
9 steps away:
"Move, now!"
IAW begins to ask why, not even moving her hand toward the ignition.
She is growing angry.
7 steps away:
I growl in a deepening rage, "Move this car, now!"
She now holds a fearful look in her face, wondering it seems if my disrespect of her and her property are signaling a break in my sanity.
5 steps away;
I grab my knife hilt, snarl, began to reach across my body to open the door and begin my lunging, backhand face stab from the icepick grip, "Move the car or I kill—he's diverting—move, move, fucking move the car!"
3 steps behind the car:
She seems worried about backing up into him and I snarl, psychotically, "Move out, now!"
Too late to save me from a man slaughter charge had he not broken off his approach and diverted, IAW is finally acting like a woman was designed to act when in danger in the presence of a protective man, obediently obeying my commands to turn, accelerate, etc. and we are away from Fire Starter, adrenaline eating into my stress-rusted, survival-pitted soul.
Had we been on foot, the first time she had denied my order I would have stepped on her ankle and shoved her face into the grass before launching myself at this piece-of-shit, armed extortionist. But we were in her car, in her fantasy land, so, had Fire Starter not veered off, I would have been punching holes in him while she screamed, thinking I was killing some innocent panhandler because I was sick of talking about her daughter-in-law.
As it was we rolled up the street, as I snarled at her, "Never fail to go when I say go. A car has only one protective function, mobility. That fucker pins people in their car and threatens to burn them up if they don't hand over money. I've dealt with him before."
As it is, this is a good reminder to me, that the other women with whom I socialize, such as my sister, will have to be coached in advance, that when I am their passenger and I speak a command with urgency, that their failure to comply could mean our lives. I know three people, personally who have been killed sitting in parked cars, one of them was my friend's sister who looked at him stupidly when he saw the guy walking up behind them and he told her to drive over the sidewalk in front of them. She took a bullet in the back of the head while she asked him why and he managed to run off, eating none of the sprayed lead.
I know now, that if I am ever in a life or death situation with I Am Woman, that she will be shoved to the ground if we are on our feet or slapped if we are seated in her car, before the orders are growled at her. If she does not respond immediately I will attack the threat with lethal force.
Women are women and women my age are all but untrainable under our current delusion. If you are a young guy with a wife, please drill with her, verbal drills will be enough. If you are under thirty the grid will go down in your lifetime and being with the kind of woman that needs you to explain things to her will get you killed almost immediately. A woman behind the wheel and a man with a weapon could be the perfect survival team, but not if she's a feminist. If she is, you are already dead, unless you are willing to unilaterally snuff out the emerging threat. When on foot with a woman a commanding hand on the back can start her moving to where she won't be in your way. You should train this as a danger cue with her knowing that your hand on her back means "listen and obey or die."
This was a very unhealthy morning for me. My heart is just beginning to slow to an even pace. This is one of the reasons why management, law enforcement and security people—as well as people who live in high stress environments—die young, often just dropping over dead or stroking out for no apparent reason. I kept my cool and saved my adrenaline while he was a threat, but when that passed the unsatiated urge to snuff his life out had to manifest itself in this simmering rage.
Thriving in Bad Places
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MockingbirdDecember 30, 2016 12:41 AM UTC

If I was you, I'd go and work out heavy ASAP after that. The exertion should quell your rage/adrenaline and tire you out.