When Zip Met John
Posted By Randy on September 20, 2014
“If violent crime is to be curbed, it is only the intended victim who can do it. The felon does not fear the police, and he fears neither judge nor jury. Therefore what he must be taught to fear is his victim.” ~ Jeff Cooper, Principles of Personal Defense
If you hang out here, you will either know, or come to know, of my venomous hatred for those who prey on others they see as being weaker than they are. Whether they seek to take away material things they haven’t earned, or find their self worth in bestowing hurt, I brand them all the same. For illustrative example, I invite you to read what’s here and here.
And after that, read about this brief encounter.
When Zip Met John
By LFM
John was in his sixties,
And he liked to go for walks
That took him through a wooded park,
Then down along the docks.
He had a knee that hurt to bend,
And pained him all the time.
A present from his army days
When young and in his prime.
Zip was barely twenty and
His nickname tells the tale.
Both a speedy motherfucker,
And as skinny as a rail.
Zip had trouble with his hands
From which his days would stem:
Items that were not his own
Were prone to stick to them.
And so it went that Zip and John
Both came to meet one day.
For Zip had come to notice John
Go limping on his way.
An aged cripple ripe to rob,
To beat and cripple worse.
Old and weak, no right to keep
The money in his purse.
Zip slipped to the pathway
And he matched his pace with John.
He planned to close and take him down
A little further on.
Zip now quickened up his pace,
His knife poised to attack …
And then he saw but clear blue sky
As thunder echoed back.
John still walks his walks today,
But Zip, he sees him not.
Though John no longer walks so good,
He’s still a decent shot.
I am figuratively standing up and cheering this one! ( If I really stand, I can't reach the keyboard) In fact, it resonates with me on a couple of levels, but the one tied to my memory was that one night my father, who was in his 60s, was walking to a small 'Mom and Pop" grocery store to get a loaf of bread. He lived alone, as my Mom had passed away several years before. He had no car, and although he knew he could call me and I'd go for him, he still wanted to feel that he was not entirely dependent on others. besides the little store was only three blocks from his home. Two young thugs met him on the way,knocked him down, ripped his pants pocket from his thin old trousers, and ran off with their prize. Three dollars cash, and a five dollar 'food stamp', which was all that he had. When he called to tell me, I went to check his cuts and bruises then went hunting, but had no luck. All that to say – cheers to John and all his armed brethren who are willing to pay back predators, blow for blow with a copper jacketed bonus for extra points. Ooohrah!
What a story! And unfortunately one that plays out all too frequently in the streets as well as private homes invaded by hoodlums in dire need of culling.