I love and respect my father—it’s hard not to respect someone with that much firepower and a solid post-apocalypse plan—but I wish he had wrestled aligators and snakes and swam with 200 pound stingrays. In fact, if he called me up tomorrow and said that was his plan for his (not quite here) retirement years I would put a camcorder and defibrillator on my credit card, pack my bag, butter some popcorn and get ready for the show. I’d also encourage him to blow whatever meager inheritance my sisters and I might have waiting in the wings on the project because there is no way whatever we’d blow the money on could compare to watching my father try to cop an Australian accent shouting “Crikey!” while wrestling an aligator. Nothing.
A man of faith in a godless age is hitting Americans where it hurts.
Mr. and Mrs. American Spectator Reader, let P.J. O’Rourke talk sense to your kids.
In Britain, defending your property can get you life.
It won’t take long for conservatives to scratch this presidential wannabe off their 2008 scorecard.
Was the President done in by the economy, or by the politics of the economy?