Dumb of me to get in the middle of this, but the bloodlust's up: Tim's statements are gutsy and right: there's no gain in self-censoring, shading one's anger to appease the goons of whatever firepower. (Bob, go to end.) Most massive firepower can't focus on or hit exclusively small targets, that's what's a lie about "surgical" strikes. Waste the countryside, yes, hit one rabbit and not the beloved dog and fellow hunter, little chance. What it takes is sharpshooting: a one shot, one target, one pig, one sticker. True, Horushi's snipe worked, it nailed an innocent, though a couple of others died to set him up for his own nailing. True, Waco worked, it charred a crowd of innocents, though a few others got plugged setting up the roast, and the 2nd roast. True, firebombing works, as does mass weaponing --nukes, chemicals and germs -- but indiscriminately, by terrorism of the masses, at the price of also terrifying the citizenry paying for the megadeath heritage. All standoff firepower is limited against the individual by imprecision of the killing machines and cowardice of the operators -- artillery, planes, ships, satellites, take your pick. They savage territory to save the operator's ass, who, as anyone knows who been around these candyass strutters, aint got what it takes to cut the guy's throat who's stabbing your eye. What's my point? Well, for lack of a better word, it's personal courage, going nuts when the time's right, the guts to not shut the fuck up when you're told to by those who're a whole lot bigger, who've got more armaments and thinks they're smarter and more ruthless and meaner and have the troops, rank and medals to back it up. Just remember that most of those strengths are for getting somebody else or a machine to do what is too fucking terrifying to do yourself directly. Do this when the monster accosts: pull your forelock, say sorry sir, then upstab the fucker's groin, as he doubles, hack the cord, he'll go down quivering, then cut out his liver, kick up his green face, squat close, show him the blob, take a bite, chew, savor, swallow, put lip to dying ear, whisper, "tasty." Go home, get a beer, stare the tube, sharpen your tool. Or as maddog Tim sez, lock and load. But look, I'm with Bob, too, my tool's philosophy gone berzerk, trash words, wags, gags, alliterations, mouth shooting. My steel weapons are locked from burglars who scare the shit out of me just by looking like ordinarily ugly wall streeters, that is, like my maddog neighbors eyeing me for junk IPO sales. Sure glad my war's long over, happily getting dimmer, easier to forget the godawful. Hey, it's veteran's day, anybody want to croak and limp to glories past?