This time last year, I was getting ready to take my math credit course at a local community college, and I needed a pad for working out my algebra problems. LawDog gallantly gave me one of his half-used old notebooks and I used the remainder for my scribblings. Today I was going through my backpack, making ready for my Anatomy and Physiology I class which begins Tuesday and I pulled out the old notebook. In my frenzy for the subject last year, I never read what Himself had written in the beginning of the notebook, and today I find rich meat-food lay therein. Of course, occasionally, someone says in person (or I note in his comments) that he should publish a volume, and though I do not nag, I will mention the same about once a year or so. I’m not kidding when I say I held my sides with mirth whilst reading some of his notes taken in class. I implored and he conceded to allow me to post just one here, and I must say I feel guilty hoarding the rest of the lot to myself. I hope you’ll enjoy this tiny taste:

“Be the guiding light.” Hell, I’m usually the on-coming train. And I’m good at it. Which could be a good thing or a bad thing, depending on how you look at it.

This is beautiful.

I have often said that the gun community is not quite like any other, and this young lady quite succinctly sums that up.

Well done.

LawDog

The Texas Alcohol Beverage Commission has nifty little official warning signs posted, that I have been noticing for some time, but one of which kind of kicked over my giggle box.

The signs in question read:

Drinking any type of alcohol while pregnant can hurt your baby’s brain, heart, kidneys and other organs and can cause birth defects.

The safest choice is not to drink at all when you are pregnant or trying to become pregnant.

IF YOU MIGHT BE PREGNANT, THINK BEFORE YOU DRINK.

This particular sign is above the urinal.

In the men’s loo.

*blink, blink*

Rest assured, chappies, that if I might be pregnant, I will most certainly stop drinking. Right after I call the National Enquirer.

LawDog

Apparently there’s a personal injury attorney in Tampa, Florida (who may or may not be named “Simon”) who has retained a spam-bot for the purposes of spamming the comments of blogs.

Found some of that spam in several comments here, point-of-fact.

Now, I’m not a big fan of defence attorneys, because over the past couple of decades they’re usually hinting broadly to twelve complete strangers that I’m a liar, incompetent, a lair, crooked, a lair, racist, a liar, poorly educated, a liar, misogynistic, a liar, sadistic and that I lie through my teeth.

On several occasions they weren’t hinting, and on at least one really memorable moment the tile-crawler hit most of the points above.

All the while knowing that not only was I not any of the above, but knowing for a fact that his client was guilty as hell.

Like I say — not a big fan.

However, our Republic needs defence attorneys for our system to work. And — truth be told — when they are maligning me to a jury and insulting me to my face on the witness stand, they’re just doing a necessary job; it’s not personal (most of the time); and (most of them) don’t really believe that I would violate my oath.

So, I will needle them on this blog, I will write elaborate comparisons to sharks and other creatures, but I do not indulge in elaborate fantasies involving a defence attorney, a dark alley, a wombat, a sack, and a jar of grease.

Personal injury attorneys, on the other paw …

… They’re the lawyers in “Lawyer-proof triggers”.

They’re the reason that my cup of coffee says, “WARNING: CONTENTS MAY BE HOT”.

The label on a go-kart that says, “CAUTION: THIS PRODUCT MOVES WHEN IN USE”? Personal-injury lawyers.

Neutered chemistry sets? Wimpy slides on playgrounds? “No Swimming” signs at the local watering hole? High dive platforms removed from the YMCA pool? Ban on rat-busting at the city dump? Proof-against-everyone-except-children pill bottle lids?

Thank a personal-injury lawyer — or the fear of one — for all of the above.

That feeling that the entire world wants to wrap you in bubble-wrap and only let you have stuff made from Nerf? Personal-injury lawyers.

Near as I can tell, personal-injury lawyers are primarily responsible for sky-high insurance rates, increasingly louder screams for tort-reform and the entire State of California.

“The officer used a blackjack against my client. If he had used an ASP, there wouldn’t be any need to sue.”

“The officer used an ASP baton against my client. If he had used OC spray, there wouldn’t be any need to sue.”

The officer used OC spray against my client. If he had used a TASER , there wouldn’t be any need to sue.”

“The officer TASER’d my client. We’re suing!”

Sweet haploid Judas on a crutch!

I’d like to put into print some of my fantasies involving personal-injury attorneys, particularly the one that makes the police psychologist back slowly out of the room … but someone named “Simon” in Tampa, Florida would probably sue me.

Grr!

Spam-bot fail! Get off my blog!

LawDog

I have seen the teaser trailer for The Hobbit, and after listening to the song of the dwarves that I have read so many times in print …

… I am experiencing a serious urge to gather up my hat, walking-stick and handkerchief, and run to catch up with the dwarves.

I want to have an ale in Hobbiton, walk the halls of Rivendell, explore Mirkwood, watch the sun come up from the docks of Lake-town, and take on Smaug — preferably with a Stinger MANPADS.

*sigh*

Instead, I guess I’ll just go to work.

Bugger.

LawDog

I’m at a karaoke bar with my beau and he flatly refuses to sing “dirty deeds done dirt cheap” with me. I’m inclined to pout.

Herself

Lady Tam has discovered the Streamlight Microstream, one of which has been living in my left front pocket for ages.

It is, indeed, a handy little light — even more-so if you stoke it with a lithium AAA dry-cell, rather than the standard alkaline version — but the pocket-clip might leave a little to be desired.

I say this, because I was recently in the north of the Texas Panhandle as part of a convoy To Somewhere Interesting. We had stopped at a convenience store to do the needful, and were loading up for the final push when MattG and Tam pulled across the fuel pad, pointing and making yelling faces.

Turns out that a mischievous gust of Panhandle breeze had plucked my Microstream out of my pocket and was rolling it across the parking lot.

This is actually the second of these little jewels I have carried, because the first disappeared out of my pocket … somewhere … probably under similar circumstances.

Since you can find them for between $13 to $19 dollars on-line, and I had gotten at least that much use out of it fairly quickly, I wasn’t as torn up about the loss as I would have been if one of my Surefires had done the same.

And I really don’t know how Streamlight could make the pocket-clip any better, come-to-think.

Anyhoo, good lights, but watch them if you clip them to a pocket, like I do.

LawDog

Apparently there has been some Internet kerfuffle involving officers being videotaped by citizens. Seems some officers get their Hanes all up in a half-hitch about it — to the point of pulling some truly feather-legged stunts.

Why?

And I’m asking that question of both sides, by-the-by.

I ask the officers because, well, duh. If you’re not doing anything to be ashamed of, why do you care if someone videotapes you?

The advent of the dash-cam was a turning point in modern police work. It has cleared more cases and exonerated more officers than any other single instrument in history.

The only problem with the dash-cam is that it has a relatively narrow field-of-view … which is fixed. Once the cruiser is parked, the dash-cam can’t move.

And I’m here to tell you, when critters decide to resist, or evade, or get really squirrelly, most of the time it doesn’t happen on the hood of your cruiser.

So, now you have a dash-cam that’s going to follow you, that you don’t pay for, that the tax money of the citizens of your County doesn’t pay for, that pays for it’s own maintenance, supplies it’s own parts … where’s the downside?

Hell, if someone wants to follow me around on patrol with a video camera I’d probably hand him a ride-along sheet and offer to buy him coffee.

Remember, children, even as officers we have the Sixth Amendment right: “to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor.”

Allegations of minor misconduct by officers are on the rise. By “minor misconduct” I mean complaints that officers were unprofessional, or rude, or abrupt, or any number of things that can ding your personnel file.

Hell, I know of a neighboring department that opened a file on an officer because someone complained that the officer “displayed his tattoos in a menacing manner.”

Call it Death by Nibbling Ducks.

And here we have someone with hard evidence that can either show that the allegation is a distortion, is an exaggeration, or is an outright lie; or it can show the totality of the circumstances of the event.

As long as you are abiding by your oaths … like I said: where’s the down-side to this?

As for the citizens …

… I love you to death, I will happily buy you coffee, I will insist that you take this card with the direct line to Infernal Internal Affairs, as well as a map to their lair office, I will probably send you “Thank You” notes — but, I think you’re crazy.

For Freyja’s sake, I hope you never video anything Really Good.

I won’t ask you your name when you first start following me — because it’s not really any of my business.

However, the moment Anything Good happens in your presence, you’re no longer A Citizen, you are A Witness; and it becomes my duty to demand your name, address, and date of birth.

I will not seize your camera — unless someone is heading for the Emergency Room, or room temperature, and even then I’ll probably just wait for the detectives to seize your camera.

And that’s the worst thing I could do to you. I’ll let you noodle about for “Chain of Custody“, but you’re going to learn to hate that phrase.

Another one you’ll learn to hate is: subpoena duces tecum.

Just for giggles some time, look up the Latin translation of that phrase, and understand that judges have no sense of humour at all about it.

My friend, you see that person with the big white grin in the thousand-dollar suit sitting next to the defendant? You know why that suit costs a thousand dollars? Because it has to be specially tailored around the dorsal fin.

When Mama’s Little Dumplin’ who ain’t never done nuffin’ except sing in the choir, deliver home-cooked meals to the disadvantaged, and rescue kittens is accused of resisting arrest/assault on public servant/retaliation against a public servant/domestic violence/drive-by shooting/armed robbery/fill in the blank here …

… your video of the incident, or of the victim, or of the crime scene is going to become an important part of the case against Mama’s Little Dumplin’, because juries just looooove videos.

And the tile-crawling shark defence attorney knows that juries just looooove videos. So he (or she) knows that if he wants to earn his retainer he’s (or she’s) is going to have to get the video either thrown out, or discredited on the stand.

Welcome to the prosecution. This is the witness stand. Yes, that is a bulls-eye on your chest. With appeals and the probably inevitable civil trial, you could be here for years.

Love ya. Shift starts the usual time on Monday. If you’re late, I’ll swing by the Stab-and-Grab on Main every so often so you can catch up.

LawDog

Victor Borge had a classic skit in which he added punctuation marks to conversational speech:

For some time now, whenever I speak of a well-known maker of tactical gear, I have been adding a verbal exclamation mark to the name. A habit which has, no doubt, confused a great many people.

I have just now figured out that Mr. Borge is responsible for it.

Heh.

Sorry, Blackhawk. Or, rather, Blackhawk-ffsstt-pck.

LawDog

Chipotles are chili peppers — usually jalapenos — which have been allowed to ripen to the point that they’re starting to lose moisture, then allowed to dry over a smoky wood fire for some days.

Come to think, chipotles are to chilies much as jerky is to beef.

Anyhoo, chipotles add a nice, smoky bite to various recipes, and are a staple of Southwestern and Tex-Mex cooking. However, if you don’t do your own chipotles, you generally have to buy them in a can, which can be a bit of a pill when you just want one chipotle for your pot of beans.

Yes, I realize that you can get ground chipotle powder. Not the same.

Recently Herself and I discovered Clemente Jacques Chipotle Topper.

Oh. Mah. Gawd.

It’s a squeeze bottle of pureed chipotles in a nice little adobo sauce, and it sits on your ‘fridge shelf and lets you squeeze as much — or as little — goodness into your pot of beans, or chili, as you want.

Turns out, it’s also good on hamburgers, chicken planks, BBQ, fish fingers, any steak you had a “whoops” with, and probably burritos and such.

A warning, though: if a house-guest grabs the wrong bottle and doses his french-fries with not-ketchup, that first bite is going to be a bit … dynamic. Warnings for anyone coon-fingering the ‘fridge looking for tomato sauce are probably advisable.

LawDog