Good morning, class.

Today’s lesson is about a wee bit of social engineering that should be a part of your glove box in your vehicle, or your bug-out bag.

It is:  the Media Pass.

Easily found by simply inserting the search term “media pass template” into any search engine, a Media Pass (or Press Pass) is an inexpensive, low-bulk item that can — note the use of the word “can” — get you out of medium- to large-scale “social unrest situations”.

This little darling has been used as far back as the 1970s to smooth the way through more than one coup d’etat.

Your template needs to have the following:

1)  MEDIA and/or PRESS in big block letters;

2)  About a quarter of the surface in a contrasting, eye-buzzing “LOOK AT ME” colour;

3)  Your picture; and

4)  The word “FREELANCE”.

We use the “Media” and/or “Press” for obvious reasons; the contrasting colour, less so.

In the situations where we will need this — demonstrations, random mobs, demonstrations disguised as random mobs, etc., the emotions of the people you will be encountering will be running a skoshy bit on the high-side.  Adrenaline, endorphins, teenage hormones, all will be rampaging about, and will be having various effects upon the visual acuity of the participants.

When the pimply-faced, patchouli-reeking, little antifa hippie has tunnel-vision from the excitement, the bright colour will help to draw his eye to the pass — where he will be able to actually read the word “Press” or “Media”.

Your picture is there to give the pass the appearance of propriety.

No matter how tempting, don’t put the name of a big Media Corporation on your Press Pass.  If there are representatives from a big corporation there, you can get snitched out in a hurry; big media corporations can get (civilly) irritated with you pretending to represent “their good name” (har, har, har); and last, but probably most importantly — some demonstrators in these Current Unpleasant Times consider Big Media Corporations to be part of the [Insert Catchy Noun Here] That They’re Fighting Against, thus drawing unwanted attention.  Use “Freelance” instead.

The utilisation is quite simple.

You find yourself staggering out of a watering hole, having enjoyed a fine evening of companionship to the point that you missed the warning signs of an imminent Mass Social Disruption, and you find that not only have the protesters spun themselves up into a Righteous Passion, but the local gardai have put up barriers and blockades to the point that climbing into your pickup and taking the crunchy way out is contra-indicated.

Reach into your glove box, grab your Media Pass, a notebook, and a writing instrument; stare purposefully at the crowd/mob/ demonstration/ riot, and move along the periphery of the crowd/ mob/ demonstration/ riot, pretending to take notes, and waving your Media Pass at anyone who takes notice of you.

As soon as you get to a point where you can duck, disengage, and Beat Feet Away From The Stupid, do so.  If there’s a barricade in front of your Newest Favourite Alley, waving your Media Pass at the cops manning said barricade will frequently get you past it.

Now, remember two things:  1)  Don’t put your name on your Media Pass.  There’s a good chance it will fall off — or get ripped off — and now the demonstrators and/or local police have a record of your presence at the riot.  That’s a good way to invite a sub poena.

2)  I said to grab a notebook and a writing instrument for a good reason.  Several folks will opine that you should be waving your cell-phone about to properly blend in with freelance media.  Don’t do this.  If you lose your cell-phone, there’s too much personal data on there for comfort.  Also, taking pictures of folks out for some freelance socialism gets their attention — which is exactly what we don’t want.

Pretend that you are Carl Kolchak.  Scribble furiously, and cut and run at the first opportunity.

Thus endeth today’s lesson.

LawDog

… pack your bum with salt and have a nice widdle up a rope?

Kroger has decided to pull gun magazines from its shelves.

This one is personal.

I have friends — good friends — who make their living by way of those gun magazines.  Friends who publish them, friends who edit them, friends who sell stories to them, friends who sell pictures to them.

Friends who rely upon the sale of those magazines for a positive cash-flow.

When your little social-virtue-signalling hissy-fit threatens the livelihood of my friends, you can bet your last dollar that I take it personally.

Kroger is done, as far as we here at Rancho LawDog are concerned.

And just in case any of my Gentle Readers are feeling particularly articulate, here is the link allegedly allowing people to voice their concerns.  Since I can’t figure out a way to present the back of my hand to the Kroger Board of Directors, I think I’ll pass, but y’all have at.

Oh, and here’s a link to all the companies that Kroger hides behind.

Pfagh.

LawDog

Part of my personal belief system is the certainty that the time of each of our deaths was written when we were born; and can not be changed.

Where you die, whom you die with, those can all be changed to a greater or lesser degree. 

How you die and what you die for … ah.

This I learned from my father long before Herger the Joyous lectured about death and fear on the silver screen.

Understand that when it is time for you to die, you are going to die.  Whether you believe — as I do — that your time was written, or you believe that we are only allotted a certain number of breaths or heartbeats, or you believe that the gods blink, and the lights go out … you are going to die sometime.

You cannot change this.

You can, however, change how you die, or what you die for.  You can change what your death is for.

When your time to die comes up, and there’s some critter standing there with a box-cutter, or a hammer, or an AR-15 — understand that if it is your time, you are going to die shot in the back, or you are going to die getting trampled by panicked fellow citizens, or you are going to die from a stress-induced heart-attack … but it is your time, and you are going to die.

It is far better to die screaming your defiance and beating a critter’s head in, than to die cowering in a dark closet, with the smell of piddle and vomit filling your nostrils.

This is true for men; it is true for women, for high-school students —

— and it is doubly true for those who swore an oath to protect their fellow citizens.

If you so fear death that you are unable to change how you meet death — you need to re-evaluate your life.

And if you are a peace officer, and you aren’t prepared to die well … not only should you re-evaluate your life, but you need to turn in your badge and seek employment doing something else.

When violence comes, and brings your death with it — die well, for that is the only thing you can change about your death.

LawDog

We have learned that not only did the School Resource Office (a trained deputy sheriff) not enter the active shooter scene at the recent Florida shooting, but three or so Broward County Deputies were also waiting behind cars outside.

Words cannot describe how sickened I am about this.

In 1999, the shootings at Columbine High School forced a seminal change in the law enforcement response to active shooter scenes.

Prior to 1999 the standard response was to surround and contain the shooter, while waiting for SWAT to arrive.

This changed after Columbine.  Some agencies state that the first four officers on scene will enter and engage the shooter.  Some will do it with the first two.  Still others have the first responding officer do the entry.

Regardless of the number, the response is always the same — make entry and Old Yeller the critter ASAP.

Columbine — the genesis for this policy — was nineteen years (19) ago.  There is no excuse for any peace officer in the United States to not know that the best way to deal with an active shooter is to get in there, find him, and stop him.  No excuse.  None.

In 2006 — 12 years ago.  Bloody hell — I banged off a thought about bright lines in which I opined that every adult should sit down and decide where the line was at which point they would use Deadly Force against another mother’s son.

My opinion on this matter goes double — a hundred-fold — for those who put on a badge.  Before you get out of the Academy you should have decided where that bright line was.

And I’m here to tell you:  if that bright line isn’t on the proper side of “shooting up a school full of kids” then don’t you dare pin on that badge.

I’ll go so far as to say that there is no dishonour in turning in your badge after the Academy if you realize that you can’t walk into an on-going gunfight and shoot the critter pulling the trigger in the face until he changes shape or catches fire — as long as you do it before the actual bullets start going “bang”.

If you come to me — or your boss — on a quiet afternoon and say, “I’ve thought about it, and I don’t think I can do the needful to save kids” then all honour to you, and I wish you peace and happiness in another profession.

But if you wait until the bangs and the stinks and the screams are in progress to decide that you just can’t do it … you, sir, are a useless oath-breaking bucket of squid chum, who is parasitising a position, a uniform, and a salary that could be held by someone who can do the needful.

And — quite frankly — if you wear a badge, and you hide behind a car while children under your protection are getting killed, you should have the common [deleted] decency to take your sidearm, find a quiet country road somewhere, and Do The Proper Thing.

Nothing but the back of my hand to you — all of you.

LawDog

We’re back from the Life, the Universe, and Everything symposium (for brevity’s sake:  LTUE), and I’ve had a bit of time to digest the experience.

In one word:  wow.

My only previous writing convention has been LibertyCon — twice — so my actual con experience is rather limited; together with my screaming introversion had me fairly twitchy about attending.

I needn’t have worried.  LTUE is a bigger version of LibertyCon, differing only in that LTUE tends to focus a little more on the nuts-and-bolts of writing, but with the same laid-back, small approach to the thing.

And a group of LibertyCon regulars who saw us come in, and waved us over. That sort of thing will give you the warm fuzzies.

Most of the time there were two — or more — panels that I really wanted to attend, but they were being presented in the same time period.  And in the few times that there was a period in which there was only one panel I wanted to see … it was either standing room only, or the room was too full, and they’d shut the doors.

All-in-all, a good problem to have for a literary convention.

Speaking of panels, one that I particularly wanted to see had Larry Correia and several other authors on it.  As the doors shut, it was rather noticeable that Larry was the only speaker up there.  The others never showed.

So, there’s my buddy up there, talking about how there’s another author in the room, an author who could help him out … and I realize he’s looking right at me.

Now, for someone with a full Murderhobo Beard™, the International Lord of Hate has some really big puppy-dog eyes.  Almost pitiful, really.

And then I noticed that I was moving up the the table and sitting down.

Fortunately, I hadn’t wrapped my tongue too far around my eyeteeth when J.L. Curtis and Peter Grant showed up, and were immediately drafted.

I’m not sure that the panel we produced was what the con had intended, but we did our best — and I found myself actually having fun.

Herself  and I have been hugged (Sarah Hoyt and the Lovely Mrs Correia™ give the best hugs), and fed, and hugged, and chided, and hugged.

I finally managed to give Brad Torgersen one of my books. I shook hands with L. E. Modesitt — with-out looking like too much of an idiot (I hope). I had breakfast with the Hoyts. I watched a intense children’s doctor go through costume changes as he gave a first-class presentation on abuse. I drank really good whisky and swapped stories. I ate world-class BBQ.  I met more really good people than I can count.

I relaxed.

It was a good weekend.  Herself and I will definitely be back.

Now, I’m going to hide in my dark house and sleep for a week.

LawDog

Someone just e-mailed me the “Gun Rights Cake” analogy, exclaiming that I needed to read it.

No, I really don’t.

Man, if I had a nickle for every time that piece of my work was e-mailed, Facebooked, or Twitted without attribution, I’d be one of the wealthiest men in Texas.

I don’t mind it getting passed around — I am kind of proud of it — but I’m getting bloody annoyed by the sheer number of folks hinting — if not out-right stating — that they were the ones who came up with it.

I wrote it eight years ago in this post. Not any “Bentley”, or “Robert”, or “Rupert”.

I re-wrote it three years later here.

Grr.

LawDog

Herself and I are about to head out on our first leg of the trip for the Life, The Universe, and Everything Symposium.

This should be … interesting.

While we’re gone, here’s the complete audio of the Armadillo Story from The LawDog Files:

Enjoy, and we’ll see you when we get back!

LawDog

At breakfast this morning we learned that a Dallas Grand Jury has no-billed the Dallas PD officers who used a robot and some C4 to blow a gunman straight to hell.

Good.

By way of Lady Tam, we also learned of a fascinating read about that particular dust-up. Long read, and somewhat harrowing, but worth it.

LawDog

Just out of curiosity, what would my Gentle Readers feel about The LawDog Files being rendered as a graphic novel?

I ask, because the publisher of my little scribblings has started a one week contest to produce one or more graphic novels from a list of titles.

The idea being that you donate money to the project — the more money you donate, the more bennies you get — and those who donate money will vote on which title from the list will become a graphic novel.

While my first book is on the list, any of the books there would be a fantastic as a comic book.

If you’re interested, pop over and take a look.

LawDog