I don't have a battle cry. But when I was 8, a neighbor boy my age threw a rock and it went through my cheek a little bit. It just popped through on the inner side. He was in the wrong, had started the incident, was smaller than I and knew we wouldn't fight. He had a great baseball arm, and he'd used it. My brain went red and black with rage. I hopped over the shrubs and was on him in an instant. I had him on the ground and was pummeling him. I wasn't going to kill him but there was punishment for what he'd done. I tried to think of something to call him, some bad stuff to add to his ticket.
"You dirty Jew," I screamed, "dirty Jew", over and over again.
A passerby saw what was happening. It looked bad. The smaller child was defenseless and was being beaten because he was a Jew. This was a nice middle class neighborhood.
"Get off him!" A guy in his 40's yelled. He grabbed under my arms and lifted me off.
"You don't understand- he's the bad guy, he did this, he started it."
"I don't care, it's over, you won, you can't keep hitting him."
"What!?? Do you see this? Do you see the hole in the side of my mouth? He did that. He threw a rock. He's a bastard."
He looked at the hole.
"Don't cuss," the man said, "why were you calling him a Jew? That's bigoted, what's wrong with you?"
"I dunno. What's a Jew anyway?"
"What?"
Yeah, what's a Jew? I called him that because I knew it was a bad name."
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When I owned my first handgun, a Ruger 41 Blackhawk Bisely, I'd imagined saying, "and a bit of the Bizz it is for you." Or, "give him the Bizz."
but today I don't want nothing to do with killing anyone unless I have to, and I don't have a battle cry.
You know what it is? I'd probably scream, "God Damn you." Because he'd forced me to come to this.
I guess you don't really have a battle cry for a robber. The prosecuting attorney examining you for murder would believe a battle cry indicated a certain zeal and premeditation about burgulars. No battle cries allowed in the house.
munk