First, read the article. The first few sentences will suffice.
This is why my greatest fear is that my dad will get Alzheimer’s and it will kick in right when I can’t find the spare key. Only Dad’s more likely to have a .45 or a 20 gauge near the door.
The best part may be how the dude sat in his chair and waited for the chump to come up the stairs. If this was a game of 007 Goldeneye, you’d accuse him of peeking at someone else’s screen. Or at least camping. But that’s how WWII vets do it. It killed Germans. It killed Japs. And it kills punks from Richmond.
And with all this talk about “stopping power”, lil’ ol’ rimfire makes it happen. While I’m looking at magnum cartridges, +P loads, full metal jackets, hollow points, and stinger rounds, Grandpa “served under Patton and thought he shoulda slapped that soldier harder” brings the thunder with a single shot from a .22. I mean, holy crap – did this guy spend his whole life at the single-shot .22 range at scout camp or did he hunt wolves in the far north with his grandpa when he was just a boy? I can’t believe I wanted cutbacks on medicare – we need this guy alive as long as possible.
Not that he needed the gun. I’m sure if the .22 was any farther from his chair, this guy probably would have just thrown his empty beer can and somehow killed the loser.