You never know how your day will turn out.

Or... A damn good reason to get in shape - and stay in shape.

After dinner, I decide to stop by the supermarket for some apples and lemons. I turn left into the parking lot and park in the first space at the end of mall. Some people cruise the lot, looking for a space nearest the store’s entrance. Not me. What a waste of time and energy.

I'm listening to an interesting discussion on talk radio. I sit in the dark lot flossing my teeth, waiting for their conversation to end. (That’s right, I carry an open container of dental floss in the car.)


Something hits my driver’s side widow. I look up to see some guy with a huge mustache standing there yelling. He’s looks about 5’ 10”, 30-35, dark clothes. Hard to tell, it’s dark. I wonder if he’s in trouble or something.

I open my door to see if I can help. I must get UP from my little Honda, not DOWN - like from an SUV.

Before I can even stand up this guy lunges and grabs me around my neck in a headlock.

Suddenly, my mind flashes back to age 7-8, wrestling with my brother. My mind automatically searches for a solution that worked in prior similar situations, searching, searching, searching...

Strange. At another level I'm thinking, WHY is this is happening? WHAT is this all about? I'm thinking he must be insane or on drugs.

At yet another level, I dispassionately watch this whole scene from “above.” Fearless, out of body. Watching, watching... slooooow mooootion.

I'm pinned between the door and the car frame... the stranger's left arm locked around my neck. He reaches around with his right arm and claws my eyes. My contact lens pops out.

Now, blind in the dark...

I suddenly realize this is serious! I must DO something. FAST! But what?

Have you ever been in a survival situation where you must come up with something fast? You have no time for penetrating analysis, no time for cautious planning. You MUST take immediate action. And it better work!

I have no room for fancy sweeps, kicks, or punches. Still, I must get this crazy son of a bitch off me. NOW!

I feel my primeval lizard-brain kick in. With pure animal instinct I launch my most savage and primitive counterattack. I am now an enraged tiger!

Suddenly, the attacker retreats screaming in agony.

I thank myself for every minute I've spent training at the health club since 1965.

About then, someone drives through the dark lot shouting, “I called 911.”

The guy is still screaming in pain, making earsplitting threats, and demanding money. I recognize his barrio/prison jargon from TV "Cops" shows.

But, now I'm on my feet and ready to act if he tries another attack... I sense that he's afraid now and keeping his distance.

…As it turns out, this is just the beginning...

I am now worried about the cops. Why? I'm likely to be arrested for defending myself, given today's political correctness toward our precious "guest workers," you know... "the immigrants who do the work Americans won't do." (The "immigrants" who now do the work this American performed to work my way through school.)

Soon enough the cops arrive - along with the fire department. Government agents with overwhelming force. There's also an ambulance and paramedics.

I wonder why the attacker didn't flee when he could, but he is still screaming - and trying to impress the cops with his injuries.

I've got a bloody nose and I'm bleeding from a scalp wound from hitting my head on the door jam.

The cops handcuff the attacker, interrogate us, take photos, try to find my contact lens (impossible)...

They don't approve of my defense. I remind them that this was not a sanctioned, refereed fight. This was a dangerous, unprovoked attack in the dark by an unknown psycho.

At last, the cops assume that, at my age, I'm not likely to pick a fight with some punk criminal street thug in a dark parking lot. They decide to let me go - but not home. They tell me I MUST go to the hospital in that ambulance.

From my seat in the ambulance, I see the cops surround the still screaming attacker who's blaming me for the whole incident.

Now I'm sittin' here in this hospital's hallway.

I haven’t been to a doctor, clinic, or hospital for 20 years. Funny, I'm thinking this is only a minor inconvenience compared to the daily brutalities in Iraq. They ask my name. From their computers, they pull up "medical records" containing all personal information like Mom's maiden name, DOB, and SSN (Slave Surveillance Number). Can you say "police-state-shadow?"

Soon, an attendant leads me to a restroom and hands me a paper gown. OK. I see myself in the mirror. Scary. My shirt is covered with blood front and back. Blood, but no pain. Superficial wounds, really.

So, I clean myself up a little, put on the paper gown, and return to my seat in the hallway.

After a while, the attendants examine me, take my pulse and pressure, put a plastic cast on my nose, give me an appointment with some doctor, then let me go - after I put my bloody clothes back on.

So now I'm walkin' back to my car after 1 AM.

Alone on the street, I am glad to be out in the fresh air. I have a general idea where I am, but I can't see a damn thing in the dark without my contact lenses. I soon discover that drivers who see someone covered with blood in the middle of the night make a hasty exit. I don't blame them.

Like Colonel Custer said as he lay dying after the Battle of Little Bighorn (aka Custer's Last Stand), "I guess you couldn't really call it a BAD day!"

After 45 minutes of wandering, I finally find my car and drive home.

About a week later, I visit the doctor who must re-break my nose in order to straighten it. That's really fun, what with all the needle-injections in my face and inside my nose.

But the worst is yet to come.

The ambulance company bills me at the rate of $4,000/mile. The doctor and hospital send me bills me for $thousands more.

A lawyer laughs at the thought of suing a migrant worker.

The government charges me $15 for a 1-page Police Report.

And the illegal alien thug criminal eventually walks free. But, I'll bet he never forgets the night he attacked a "helpless" old guy in a dark parking lot.

Isn't that special?

And the moral is...

It pays to stay in shape. It's never too late ... to start. Many folks my age would collapse in a heap upon being assaulted because they are out of shape, untrained, and likely taking dangerous "FDA Approved" prescriptions that I wouldn't touch with a frozen rope.

Couldn't happen to you? I was not in a "bad" neighborhood. House prices: $750,000 and up.

Are you in shape? It's one thing to think about tigers; it's yet another thing to live like a tiger. Be a tiger.

PS: About 90 days later...

Another "guest worker" steals my identity and all the money from my account.

Meanwhile, politicians and our so-called Commander in Chief in Washington District of Criminals refuse to protect our borders.

"...Milton Friedman said that a country cannot have open borders and a welfare state. Even less can a country welcome multicultural immigrants whose loyalties reside elsewhere. Open borders for terrorists means a police state for citizens.

"Rome fell when Romans came to view their government’s predations as worse than those of the invaders. Will this be America’s fate? Will our government do us more harm than the terrorists?"

-- Paul Craig Roberts, co-author, The Tyranny of Good Intentions: How Prosecutors and Bureaucrats Are Trampling the Constitution in the Name of Justice.

Heads up: Freedom is not free. The government has its arm around your neck. Are you going to be a tiger? Or collapse in a heap? You decide. Get in shape!

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