Mark Steyn on the New York St George's Day Parade.
St George's celebrations are still outlawed in England under Draconian measures dating back to the Blairite regime. In the late 20th century, many Scottish families - the Blairs, Browns, Cooks, Darlings - settled in England, seizing the rich pasture land of north London, driving the local chieftains from the Palace of Westminster, and forcing the native population to work in servile, degrading jobs such as "Leader of the Opposition". Many still speak of the effete decadent sadistic viceroy, Lord Irvine, who had entire herds of cattle slaughtered merely so that he could use their hides to wallpaper his en suite bathroom.
And on Virginia Tech's "Gun Free Zone" (which I blogged here).
I live in northern New England, which has a very low crime rate, in part because it has a high rate of gun ownership. We do have the occasional murder, however. A few years back, a couple of alienated loser teens from a small Vermont town decided they were going to kill somebody, steal his ATM cards, and go to Australia. So they went to a remote house in the woods a couple of towns away, knocked on the door, and said their car had broken down. The guy thought their story smelled funny so he picked up his Glock and told 'em to get lost. So they concocted a better story, and pretended to be students doing an environmental survey. Unfortunately, the next old coot in the woods was sick of environmentalists and chased 'em away. Eventually they figured they could spend months knocking on doors in rural Vermont and New Hampshire and seeing nothing for their pains but cranky guys in plaid leveling both barrels through the screen door. So even these idiots worked it out: Where's the nearest place around here where you're most likely to encounter gullible defenseless types who have foresworn all means of resistance?
Answer: Dartmouth College.
I'd not heard of the Dartmouth murders. Like Perry and Dick planning their Mexico trip, Jim and Rob had it all worked out. They'd even dug a grave for their prospective victims.
From Crime Library :
Jim's backpack contained duct tape and rope and they had hunting knives in their boots when they walked to an isolated house on Goose Green Road. Rob would knock at the door, say his car had broken down and ask for help. Jim would crouch in the bushes, a ski mask covering his face, until the door opened.
A few miles from Chelsea, it was a home purchased by New Yorkers Andrew and Diane Patti to stay at when they wanted to experience rural life. Diane had not accompanied Andrew on this trip. He was at the home with his son Andy, 11, and their poodle Roxie.
At about ten that night, Rob severed the phone lines. Then he banged on the door.
Patti did not like the insistent sound of those knocks. A lifelong gun lover, he reached for the Glock pistol he wore on his right hip and unsnapped its safety latch. Pushing aside the blind on a window above his front door, Patti saw Rob.
"What's up?" Patti asked.
"I have car trouble," Rob said. "Can you help me out?"
Something about this stranger troubled Patti. "No," he replied.
"Do you have jumper cables?" Rob asked.
"No," Patti said.
"Let me in. Can I use your phone?"
Again Patti refused and Rob persisted, "C'mon, let me use your phone."
Certain this was a ruse, Patti told his son to get away from the front windows. Then Patti brought the gun up to the window.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," Rob said. "I just want to use your phone."
Patti said, "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll call Ward's Garage for you."
"OK," Rob said. "Please do that. But please do that now."
Patti went to the kitchen and picked up the phone. The line was dead. He told Andy to come with him and they raced upstairs to try the other phone. It was also dead. Patti was terrified. Not only had someone cut his phone lines but the stranger wanted him to know his phone was dead. He feared it was an attempt to lure him outside into the darkness where he could be attacked.
Father and son went back downstairs where they huddled on the living room floor. As time passed, little Andy got sleepy and Patti put his son on the sofa and covered him with a blanket.
Patti sat on the floor with his gun in his hand. He was awake when daylight broke, allowing him to see that danger was gone.
Homophones Strike Again...
7 hours ago