Thursday, January 24, 2013

The Monotonous Languor Of A Projectile Wound

I was listening to a bit of that Bon Jovi song, "You Give Love A Bad Name". In the song, reference is made to being shot through the heart. I take that to be a metaphor, but I got to think about its literal meaning. Of course a wound like that is fatal, and so one hopes strenuously that it may be avoided. If it can't be, then it hopefully happens only in old age after a lifetime of accomplishments. I wonder though if it could be dealt with either while young or old.

Just how would I endeavor to survive such a wound? Body armor might serve well. These days, it's fairly effective and less restrictive of movement than it might have been once. It's rather expensive, but what price is to be put on one's life? If I had the money and a reasonable belief that I might be so targeted, I would gladly put the money down and enjoy the peace of mind that comes from knowing that you won't die from a bullet through the heart.

There might be cheaper ways of dealing with the issue. I think that Clint Eastwood's Man With No Name survived by concealing an iron plate beneath his poncho. That would have drawbacks such as weight and the aforementioned limited movement, but it would surely work. Teddy Roosevelt had a bundle of papers and his glasses case where a shot nearly felled him before a speech in Milwaukee. I could manage that, or something similar like a bible.

Let me stress again that I don't anticipate get shot in any fashion at any time. I don't assume that I'm loved by all, and I certainly must be a real irritant to some, but I expect that even those least disposed to like me can refrain from addressing their grievances with a gun. Should that change, I shall revisit the matter and redouble my mental efforts in coming up with just the right solution. I fully intend to die some distant day in peace.

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