I haven’t update the general public on the battle with Pacific Northwest National Laboratory in a long time. I needed to keep things quiet for a while. I can give out a few hints now.
I grew up on a farm and we had a few head of cattle at various times. And sometimes I helped my nearby uncles with there many head of cattle. When you are herding them often they don’t want to go where you want them to go. You could be herding them to the corral for branding, castration, and slaughter. Or you could just be herding them to greener pastures. Most of the time they don’t know what your intentions are but sometimes you are pretty sure they know it isn’t greener pastures because they really resist going where you want them too. In these cases you have to give them some “encouragement” in the form of a dog nipping at their heels, a switch, or even just yelling at them. It’s rare that anything more than this is necessary. It’s pretty amazing when you think about it. You can yell at them and they will willingly walk into the corral where they have no escape from your branding iron and your knife. They simply can’t think that far ahead. The short term discomfort of dealing with a dog nipping at their heels or the sting of a switch on their rump is sufficient to persuade them to commit to their own undoing.
It was just over 11 months ago that I began the journey that I knew then would last years. I didn’t really know how or if I would reach my desired destination and to a certain extent I still don’t. What I do know is that they just stepped into my corral. It two weeks ago, just before Boomershoot, that I picked up the first of the letters from one of my attorneys from my P.O. Box. I picked up the second one last Sunday. And then yesterday I discovered some information that nearly made me go dancing in the street (this is from someone that despises most dancing). If you were to read the letters you would think there was no good news about my quest for justice in those letters but you would be wrong in thinking that. Just as you would be wrong if you thought the cow I just tried hit with my switch jumped and ran away, toward the corral, without my switch touching her escaped my intentions. Yes, using the metaphor, repeatedly switching the felons at PNNL would bring a certain amount of pleasure. But that’s not the real goal–I want them branded, castrated, and slaughtered. They might still break out of the corral, but their lawyers, dancing out of the reach of my switch, put them within reach of my branding iron and knife. It will be different lawyers of theirs that will have to deal with my branding iron and knife and that will curse the lawyers just doing their job who only knew about the sharp teeth of the snapping dog and the sting of my switch. The new lawyers didn’t get involved until the corral gate was shut behind them.
In an abstract sort of way I feel sorry for someone that could have gotten away if they only had played their game a little differently. If only they could have seen far enough ahead and had communicated better with others. If only they had known I wasn’t their ordinary adversary and they hadn’t been so careless in their felonious assault against me they almost for certain would have gotten away with it.
It may be that I have a mild form of Aspergers Syndrome and this probably contributed to my downfall at PNNL but it also gives me the incredible focus, persistence, and intensity they, almost for certain, have never dealt with before. This isn’t something abstract for me and I don’t feel genuine pity about them not getting away with their crimes. It’s not only very personal but it has tremendous potential to affect the entire gun rights movement. This isn’t just about compensation for the nearly catastrophic impact on my life and my family. If I play my game correctly it could easily affect every gun owner in the state of Washington and possibly every gun owner in the U.S. Thinking they were striking a blow against one gun owner, political activist, and N.R.A. firearms instructor they may have given us an opportunity to make unimaginable gains.
There are still years of work ahead of me in this roundup but I can now start heating my branding iron and sharping my knife. In my minds eye I can now see the smoke and steam boiling off my branding iron as it sears their flesh, I can see their bloody testicles in my bucket, and I can see their hides drying on the wall of the barn. All just as I did so many years ago when helping my uncles with their cattle.
I’m sleeping better than I have in a long time.