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When the Wrong Thing Feels Right
Yeti Waters Discusses Surfing the Urban Apocalypse: 7/15/2022: Part 1
© 2022 James LaFond
[Crackpot comments in brackets.]
Been practicing walking the route to school with the boys to get em ready for the next school year. 
[This is a very good idea. They should carry razor blades in case someone grabs them. I’ll work with them on razor use when I get there.]
This afternoon next to the 711 on Powell a big scary tweaker tried to jack me while we were on our walk. 
[People who would not mess with you alone are attracted to targets who have women and children to care for. This makes you distracted, tentative, indecisive. With your attention split, he has the initiative and the latitude.]
Six foot three, muscular, fit, and probably 15 or 20 years younger than me. 
[This is why you can never be unarmed. You can always run into a bigger version of you or a meaner version of you. You play guitar, right? Get a really cheap, heavy guitar, some star-shaped 70s metal piece of junk. Sling it from your shoulder and use it for a pole-ax. Once threatened, never threaten, but strike. You are living in an open city where you have the latitude to drop homeless dudes and not even have to run.]
Dude ran up into my face asking what the fuck I just said, demanded the $20 I owed him and promised to beat my ass if I didn't pay him. 
[A fire extinguisher would have been great—beat him with it and then spray his face while he is down so he can’t see where you go. Really though, I like the pry bar for breaking arms and legs—don’t hit the head—he’ll die.]
We were stuck at the intersection crosswalk.   
[If you had a windshield scraper and brush you could have stabbed him in the face or raked his eyes with the brush and then shoved him in front of a moving vehicle.]
I said nothing, kept my eyes on his hands and walked away once the light changed. 
[This was a good, reasonable way to handle it. Him saying that you said something and making up the $20 thing, was all to get you engaged in an argument so he could build justification for hitting you and hopefully hit you in the chin while your mouth was open or talking.]
Real good chance this dude woulda fucked me up if we got into it.  
[If he is younger and more athletic, then head butts to the face are a good tactic. You can do this while grabbing him. Once you grab him you want to get both hands on one hand. Let him hit you with one hand while you snap fingers in half on the other hand. Another idea. You and the yetisons have a dozen pair of boots and shoes inside your front door. Those are big shoes. Carry a boot with you and use it as a flex-club. Hold the toe in your hand and hit with the heel, or hold the back of the upper and slap with the toe of the sole.
[Don’t forget missile weapons. Get a collection of half bricks and practice throwing them in the yard. Extend the left hand one foot to one yard from the foe face. Throw right over your extended hand. You will usually hit and if you miss you follow with a back leg forward shift, just like a baseball pitcher, and close with him as he turns to save his face from the brick.]
When we got home, I changed clothes, put on a hat and a covid mask, grabbed the pink tee ball bat from the yurt and jumped in the old car to go find this dude.  I was hoping that he would not recognize my new appearance and thereby give me a better chance of surprising him with a weapon. 
[This was a responsible and responsible act. It’s a bit civic nationalist for my taste; it’s a little too socially conscious. You want this guy attacking others. This was a social thing, you being pissed that this guy disrespected you in front of your sons. Bottle that anger and keep it in you. I left the industrial T-cane in the yurt. Walk with a cane man, always have it with you when you are with your sons and use it for breaking ankles, knees and feet. It is a four foot warhammer.]
I drove around for awhile but didn't spot him.
[That was kind of risky, getting your vehicle involved, that is the easiest way to identify you. If you don’t like the cane, buy a hickory ax handle. And use it for walking your sons. They make you a target. They bring the heat, just like a woman. This is why I only walk with one at a time, because one will listen to me better and is easier for me to keep track of, as they distract each other. You can train them better for walking with each other, by taking turns walking with them. Without actual tactical training, groups of three never coordinate well unless they have committed dozens of crimes together.]
It sucks to admit to myself that I was challenged and did not accept the challenge. 
[Getting beyond the American challenge mentality and the idea of fighting is hard for most men. Fuck John Wayne. He was the original cuck that taught us to kneel to cruel Aunt Karen. The correct survival attitude is that you do not accept any challenges and that when you are touched you escalate the violence far above what was offered.
[He touches you, you push him in front of a bus. He punches you, you rake out an eye. He crabs you, you snap all of his fingers in half. Even better, if he verbally threatens you, you smash his knee into bone meal with heavy steel. The fact that he is bigger, younger, fitter—any advantage he might have—demands that the court of your psychopathic opinion sentence him to a worse beating. Consider a sjambok. Sean whipped me one stroke down on my shoulder a month ago and the shoulder blade is still aching. This is where being a big guy like you in a city of pussies, has served you ill. Start thinking from the disadvantage.]
Not because of the law, it was weakness retreating in the face of strength plain and simple. 
[His strength is the trap you lay for him; back up and sucker him in as you pull that foot length of pipe out and shatter his jaw.]
I'm not sure what drove me to go looking for him. 
[To be continued, Hamslice—bringing readers back with your woe here. Your suffering is appreciated!]
Of course, I will have emailed this to Yeti waters in mid July.
At Midnight
harm city
Hunting Feral Meat-Puppets
thriving in bad places
uncle satan
within leviathan’s craw
masculine axis
dark, distant futures
the combat space
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