thawtcriminowitz

7:38 AM (10 hours ago)

Hey James how's it going bro. Hey have a question. You mention a lot that anyone of our pigment will be arrested and thrown away for defending ourselves with a firearm which is blatantly clear currently. My question is what are the legal benefits of defending ourselves with a blade?

James LaFond

5:48 PM (0 minutes ago)

to thawtcriminowitz

Will answer as an article, asap—like now.

Thanks bro.

I'm sick and training and hiking and foraging.

Hope you are well.

peace

james

As always, a question about how to avoid being scalped gets my top priority.

The blade is the second most risky weapon—legally—that one could use.

The most risky is the firearm.

That said, there has always been an intense hatred of the blade in America, as our judicial sensibilities are strictly elite merchant class who outlawed even the gentleman's sword, and our middle class jurists have traditionally been members of the "gun culture."

For the many legal problems with the blade see The Violence Project, or The Logic of Steel, or Being a Bad Man in a Worse World.

Here I will cover current advantages of using the knife over the gun, keeping in mind that the use of either weapon will mark you as a pariah in this sissy world—if you are a paleface.

-1. Proximity: If the aggressor is close enough for you to stab, slash or slice, you have proven that you were in imminent danger in terms of proximity. The need to use a gun at a distance and the need to use the blade closely, means that the prosecuting attorney will not be able to lean on the fantasy of intervening space as providing safety with a blade as they may with a gun.

I recommend letting the foe grab or strike you before striking with a hidden hand.

Never show the blade.

-2. Friendly fire: It is very difficult to accidentally discharge your knife and cleave your wife, dog, neighbor or child and almost impossible for the blade to travel all the way through the aggressor and then strike a bystander—unless we're getting medieval up in here. It is also difficult to shoot off your foot with a blade while drawing it.

Practice a simple, gross-motor-draw carry position and pack a back-up blade for your offhand and in bad circumstances a backup for the primary hand.

-3. Control: You can stop the blade before cutting his neck open at the last instant if you notice him submitting as reality Grins wickedly into him. However, grabbing that 9mm slug with your off hand and plucking it back is generally out of the realm of the possible. In case you are mistaken in your need to use lethal force, you have the ability to do a last moment correction.

For intended stabs in defense, I recommend doing this only when you are in the grapple or have been rocked by a strike or face a weapon. When dealing with an unarmed group grab your lead aggressor first and stab him so the others cannot see and use him as a post to get to the secondary aggressor. You must bleed at least two, or the others are witnesses to your crime.

-4. Sound: Knives do not ignite and make popping and banging sounds and alert police listening posts and busy-bodies with smartphones to your action. Using a blade gives you more time to run, much more time to avoid and escape the responding PIGs.

-5. Lack of shock: People who are shot tend to know immediately, in large part because they heard the weapon discharge or saw it. Properly used, the blade is a hidden weapon. Most of those who are stabbed did not know they had been stabbed and wondered at why they suddenly lost function or energy or wind.

For maximum loss of function and maximum legal sustainability, do not strike multiple times, but stab and then rip until a bone kicks you out. States' attorneys regard more than one strike with a blade as intent to kill. You just want this guy to stop attacking you. So occupying his hands trying to keep his guts from washing down the sewer drain is conducive to that goal.

-6. Concealment: Knives can be hidden from the PIGs more easily than guns. They tend to be good at spotting both. But they don't know much about blades and the blade generally has a quarter the depth, a third the width and the same length or less than a typical handgun.

Remember how the PIGS always used to profile ebons and pull them over just for breathing?

I do.

Well, that was because ebons committed most violent crimes and were highly likely to be carrying drugs or a weapon. It used to be the primary job of the police to keep those people in line.

That is no longer their job.

The remaining aspect of their job is to keep us from defending ourselves and to enforce social norms, like social distancing and mask cultism.

It is imperative that cops do not think you are armed. Cops are more afraid of ivories with guns than ebonies with guns, because they know which shade of their coworker tends to flunk range qualifications and get passed on through after failing and who is a dead shot.

-7. Ice over Fire: This is the reason I am alive and free—the only reason. People who draw guns for defense against people without deployed firearms, are bound by custom and even law to begin speaking to the aggressor and making demands. The handgun-armed defender is plagued with social interaction responsibility in a combat situation, which is way fucking retarded and typically, cinematically American. This is based on the historical legality of using a gun for defense in this nation. Have you ever heard a cop on video pointing a gun ever, ever, even once, sound cool?

No, they are all freaking the fuck out.

This is mainly due to the requirement for them to talk in a combat situation.

Imagine if you had to talk when you grappled or boxed or stick-fought, if it was a requirement—like it is in kendo, the most retarded combat sport—to call out your target before you strike?

Imagine what a shit state-of-mind you would be in?

Only 1 in 1,000 boxers pull this off at the pro level. Jack Johnson could say, "Package bein' delivered, Massr Jeff," while he was beating Jeff's ass, because he was a 1 in a 1,000 fighter. Us mortals can't pull that off and stay cool.

Verbalization in combat usually negatively effects a fighter's frame of mind.

It might be a good idea when your band of pirates needs to go momentarily insane boarding the HMS Douche Bag, to scream like devils to overcome the fear of being ripped apart by grapeshot. But the nuance required of what is essentially wilderness warfare, in which the gods of Civilization are always poised to punish the winner, requires sustained COOL, not a moment of berserk fury.

Pre-contact cool.

Contact cool.

Post-contact cool.

Not, "Blah-blah-ba-fuck-you-badguy—bablam!"

That is not cool.

That is not sustainable.

The cool calm of the gunfighter has been negated by self-defense doctrine and the legal maze of persecution that awaits the successful gun defender.

That verbal escalation of violence that occurs whenever a Bantu argues or a cop makes demands works together to instill hysteria and poor judgment in both and bring things to an often unnecessary lethal conclusion.

The urban Bantu boy is trained by his mamma to argue and escalate argument to hysterical aggression. If she is lucky, like Freddie Grey's mom, she hits the lotto.

Only the middle class suburban Bantu boy has the mythic "Talk," about being civil with the PIGs and he is rarely a Reparations Recovery Agent, being more likely to have attended college than you or I, pallid, working scum that we are.

The PIG is trained to begin a confrontation as verbally violent as possible, which maximizes physical escalation.

These two brands of cowardly idiots have thus been set on a collision course by their feminized indoctrination.

The knifer, the blade man—the pariah in the shadows of the gun culture—never had any operating doctrine other than silence. For he did not want to get shot as the idiot bringing a knife to a gunfight and knew that in the Sissy States of Murica, there was never a legal notion that defense with a blade was proper.

Every one of the many, many times I have laid hand on blade while being attacked by a group or an individual, I became cool, calm, calculating and adopted the attitude of the killer, not the defender. It is the spiritual link between the blade and the blade man—the same link that exists between the hunter or sniper and his rifle, the link that once typified the gunfighter of old, who is now the panic-stricken, spraying and praying hoodrat or PIG of today. The one time I pointed a gun at five hoodrats trying to drag my son from my house, and had to make a verbal demand that they leave, I went insane—I think I was talking about eating dogs, raping mommies and burning houses down as I went over the edge.

Perceptive man-hunters with intact instincts—meaning most ebony yeti-hunters—sense this. I have seen it on their faces by night dozens of times, when after cornering me, tracking me, threatening me, charging me, and running me down, all of a sudden they felt that something was terribly not going their way.

He might call the cops on me on Northern and Glenoak.

They might make a joke and apologize on Northern and Glenoak.

They might say, "Pointy," and abort their declared mission to "Bank Santa Clause," on Northern and Glenoak.

They might say, "Wach'yo pulin' a gun on us or sumptin?" on Holabird and Cedar.

They might say, "Nah," and walk the fuck off on Harford and Hamilton.

He might say to his cohort, "My bad. Wrong white man," on Loch Raven, behind Universal Pizza.

They might silently back away at Old Eastern Avenue and Eastern Boulevard.

The lead man might choke and skip off like Peter Pan on Middle River Bridge even as his wingman drew his blade.

They might turn on their bikes and peddle in the other direction on Old Harford and Moore.

The little bastard might swallow hard and pocket his blade after seeing the murder in my eyes on North Boundary and Grey Haven.

They might turn to that old hipster bitch letting her designer dog out to shit on the sidewalk and ask her to call the cops on me for pulling a gun on them based on the steel ping of my unseen gravity blade at Hanover and Fort...

One example:

I was approached by two Bantu warriors for a mugging at Stemmers Run and Old Eastern Avenue. I believe they had just been indicted into a Youth Impi and were doing ethnic cleansing work, with something less than Shaka's—fame be upon him—heroic work ethic.

I evaded and sought darkness in the lot of a closed store.

The hitter followed me.

I turned to look over my left shoulder so that he would not see my right hand slip into my back pocket and palm the razor there.

He continued into my trap, away from his partner, who was not fooled, having a better angle on my right hand and barked out an order, "Nigga, is you stupit! Get-jo-ass back 'ere!"

Rubber stamp thumps up in Wakandan Valhalla:

Yeti hunting license suspended by Reparations Recovery Training Officer, for failure to detect Ivory Deviltry, 2014.

Now, if I had a Concealed Carry Permit, I would have been legally bound to draw, present and then begin issuing compliance demands to my hunters, like an elk turning on a couple of wolves and declaring that his hooves and antlers were deadly rather than luring them into a defile where he could gore them one at a time before the rest of the pack showed up...

The psychology of the gun has been utterly corrupted by our sick society.

The psychology of the blade—never sanctioned by this sissy society in which most men refuse training in non-gun combat based on their insistence that the gun is their god and savior—is intact.

Only among top military and paramilitary practitioners is the psychology of the man-killer alive and well in the world of the gun.

But among tens of thousands of tested criminals, the spiritual link between the man and his demarcating tool remains.

That tool is Man's eldest object of synergy, his very first purpose-made partner, his sacred link with the Kosmos, by which he may return unworthy meat-sacks for recycling—the blade.