I stole this, but had to post it. Here is the Author. About the author: Skip Coryell Skip Coryell lives with his wife and children in Michigan. He works full time as a professional writer, and The God Virus is his eighth published book. He is an avid hunter and sportsman, a Marine Corps veteran, and a graduate of Cornerstone University. For more details on Skip Coryell, or to contact him personally, go to his website at skipcoryell.com . I almost feel guilty about writing this article, because it’s going to be way too easy. Kind of like clubbing a defenseless baby Harp seal. But what the heck. Here goes. Recently, the internet has been buzzing with the video of two nineteen year old men who busted into an internet café brandishing a pistol and a baseball bat. They proceeded to destroy property and terrorize the citizens by herding them like sheep. Unknown to Duwayne Henderson and Davis Dawkins (the wolves – the perps) there was a sheep dog protecting the flock named Samuel Williams. He was an old dog (71) but he still had a few tricks and a few sharp teeth (380 caliber teeth to be exact). Without hesitation, the old man stood up, rushed over, and shot the bad guy straight in the behind. Then he followed them out the door shooting as he went. There is a poetic justice to that. In a later interview, Henderson was quoted as saying, “I feel horrible. It doesn’t feel good. It makes you think about life’s decisions, and how you should live your life.” (Ya don’t say, Sherlock. You tried to mug an old man and he put a bullet in yer butt. Talk about the mother of all suppositories!) Henderson also said, “The gun was broken and rusty and wasn’t loaded. Nobody was going to get hurt.” Note to Henderson: The first rule of a gun fight is: Bring a gun (a functioning gun). Second rule – bring bullets. I teach concealed carry classes here in Michigan, been doing it for twelve years now and I love it. I’ve witnessed an interesting trend the past few years in the demographics of my classes. The majority of my students are now age 50 and older. That’s right, more and more old farts are starting to fight back. I’m fifty-four years old, so I can relate to the trend. (And I’m not so sure I like it.) For instance, when someone calls me “Long in the tooth,” they’re not referring to my dental condition. It’s usually an insult meant to make me feel old and useless. I started feeling my age about ten years back. Gravity is indeed an unstoppable force, and this was proven when my body tissue migrated from my chest and shoulders to my midsection. Muscle isn’t the only thing I’m losing. Oh, how I yearn for the days when my barber would say those precious words. “Your hair’s getting too thick again.” Of course, my hair is still there, it’s just moving faster than an illegal alien over the Rio Grande. I now have a venerable jungle of hair in my ears, nose and on my back. I’m starting to feel like “The Human Fly” more and more these days. There are other things I’m losing too, but I don’t recall what they are just now. (Yes, that’s a joke.) Getting old really does suck! It’s a cruel, resilient process of gain and loss I’m losing hair on my head and gaining it in my ears. I’m losing muscle and gaining fat (everywhere). And to top it all off, I’m gaining experience and losing my mind. But it’s not all bad. There are parts of me that keep getting bigger: my prostate, for example. Just five years ago I can recall standing at the urinal next to an old man who peed like the energizer bunny. He just kept on going and going and going… I wanted to reach over and slap him and say, “Just go, for Pete’s sake and get it over with! People are waiting in line.” In retrospect, time, it seems, is not without a sense of justice. If prostates were geographical, mine would be nicknamed Texas. Because, you know, everything’s bigger in Texas. So there are a lot of things happening to me these days that I really don’t like. You young guys will be saying at this point, “Shut up old man! Get on the treadmill!!” But I find myself amazed at my lack of ambition and energy. It seems the older I get, the less I want to move. More and more I’m becoming Newton’s “object at rest”. Truth is, I feel like a pocket watch that needs rewinding. Problem is my get up and go has got up and left. Despite all these changes taking place in my body, inside my head I still feel like the 18-year-old boy who took on Marine Corps boot camp and won. I just don’t view myself as 54 years old. The Bible says, “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” I can relate to that. Recently I was out cutting and hauling wood with my 15-year-old son. He kept saying, “Dad, are you alright?” He was being nice, but I just wanted to ground him to his room. So I’ve learned that Clint Eastwood was sage when he said, “A man’s gotta know his limitations.” Nonetheless, my 18-year-old spirit continues to write checks my 54-year-old body just can’t cash. I’ve had to make some changes in the way I go about my day-to-day life. The way I handle my personal protection is a prime example. I shoot a smaller handgun now, and I’ve changed from the Weaver stance to the Chapman. I’m more alert when I’m out and about, knowing that I’m less likely to prevail in a physical confrontation, and that I no longer have the ability to outrun most attackers. I also avoid high-crime areas. I have become a staunch believer that old farts should all carry guns, just to keep the young wolves honest. As a concealed carry instructor, I teach my retirees that flight is usually not an option. When you’re faced with a life-threatening attack, you have to bring the gun into play in order to survive. But the one ray of sunshine I have for them is this: The young, bad guy doesn’t expect you to fight back, and that’s your greatest advantage. All of us old military geezers know that if you have the element of surprise, you can overcome superior numbers and superior firepower. I guess that’s why all us old farts love the way Samuel Williams shot the butt off young Duwayne. It’s not that we’re sadists, it’s just that, at our age, we have to take any hero we can get. And let’s face it, those two man-boy bad guys weren’t all that smart. It’s almost like they didn’t think it through. During the interview, young Duwayne said, “I turned around to run and my leg gave out. That was when I got shot. I hit the ground, and he was still shooting. I thought I was going to die.” Note to unintelligent, young felon: Duwayne, you thought you were going to die, because you were going to die. The only thing that kept you alive was your speed. So, despite the hair in his ears and the flab around his middle, the fire in Samuel William’s gut is still raging. So don’t be messing with us old farts. It’s true that we were once young warriors, but now we’re too tired to run away, so chances are we’ll just shoot you. It saves us time and energy, and we have very little of both remaining.