(The following happened in October.)
One pleasant, sunny Tuesday morning around 9:30, I was sitting in the basement office of my Dallas home, reading the WSJ online. As luck would have it, I had the opinion page up on the main screen (which probably would be seen by some as prima facie evidence that much of my income should be seized and distributed to those less fortunate).
Then someone rang my doorbell, a very rare occurrence -- especially for that time of day. It turned out to be a 20-something political activist who is clearly in favor of income redistribution. Unbeknownst to me at the time, he had a partner hanging out near my backyard's access gate.
Although I've generally never been in the habit of bothering to answer the front porch intercom when I'm not expecting a visitor, I was concerned when the guy started banging on the door following a second ring of the doorbell. So I pulled up the video from my front porch camera and saw a thuggish-looking character who didn't exactly look like he was there to try to sell me anything of a legitimate nature. Additionally, he pulled out his cellphone and appeared to be sending a very quick text before walking to his car.
Now, I wasn't exactly born yesterday, and knew what was coming next. So I armed myself and proceed to a spot neat a rear window from which I could see the entirety of my back yard. Not 30 seconds later, political activist #2 entered the rear gate that he'd jimmied open. These two jackwagons were apparently not interested in waiting for their favorite progressive politicians to win elections and start reducing income and wealth disparity through the legislative process. They meant to demand fairness and social justice NOW! A more dynamic form of income redistribution, if you will.
As he slowly and cautiously approached the rear of my home, he appeared to have spotted me, even though the lights were off in that part of the house. He got the hell out of there very quickly. In any case, I was armed and quite ready to meet him at whatever he chose to be his attempted point of entry. (For those curious about such details, what I held at the moment was a Kimber Gold Match II, .45 ACP.)
I am a long-time Texas CHL holder. And, at that moment, I couldn't help thinking to myself that I sure was glad that I didn't live somewhere like Chicago or Washington, D.C. prior to District of Columbia v. Heller and McDonald v. City of Chicago!
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