“What would you do if we jumped you, Mr. Lofthouse?”
My response was always the same. I’d say, “I wasn’t trained to fight. The Marines trained me to kill and that’s what I did in Vietnam. So, I will do my best to kill anyone who attacks me. If you or anyone else wants to jump me, do your best to put me out of action as fast as possible, because I’m going to do everything I can to kill the first person inside my reach.”
“You can’t do that,” was the common response. As if the rules or laws in this “politically correct” country were on the side of the criminal, bully or gang banger. Although the death penalty is another topic, it seems that those politically correct and properly anointed people that go out of the way protecting the rights of hard-core violent criminals should be boiled in oil. After thirty minutes naked in boiling oil from toes to chin, if they live, we do what they want.
What bothered me the most was that I couldn’t carry a weapon. In Vietnam, I carried several weapons and grenades. Several times, I had a grenade launcher.
