God, Guns, and Rock & Roll by Ted Nugent Click here to return to book details PART 1 A strong body makes the mind strong. As to the species of exercises, I advise the gun. While this gives moderate exercise to the body, it gives boldness, enterprise and independence to the mind. Games played with the ball, and others of that nature, are too violent for the body and stamp no character on the mind. Let your gun, therefore, be the constant companion of your walks.       -Thomas Jefferson Firearms stand next in importance to the Constitution itself. They are the American people’s liberty teeth and keystone under independence…. From the hour the pilgrims landed, to the present day events, occurrences and tendencies prove that to insure peace, security and happiness, the rifle and pistol are equally indispensable…. The very atmosphere of firearms everywhere restrains evil interference-they deserve a place of honor with all that’s good.      -George Washington Had America continued with the quality control of disciplined gun safety education as did our forefathers up through the 1960s, coupled with commonsense law enforcement and a justice system that recognizes something resembling justice, we would not have to be scrambling for such apparent damage control now.       -Ted Nugent When in doubt, whip it out.       -Nuge CHAPTER 1 Screeching tires screamed in my right ear as burning rubber erupted just outside my open taxicab window, and I instinctively recoiled and spun to see the cause. The green Chevy shortbed pickup truck’s off-road suspension rocked and rolled as it stopped and angled sharply across the congested rush hour traffic lanes of Collins Avenue. Stinking, rubbery, blue smoke billowed from the extended wheel wells of the still bucking half-ton. Immediately, two shirtless, muscled men catapulted from the cab, leaping up and over the tool-filled bed, yelling outrage at the occupant of the small, silver Japanese car they had just cut off. A tall, young, dark-haired Cuban-looking man unfolded his lanky frame from the cornered vehicle, and my eyes zeroed in on the black fanny pouch he wore slightly off center at his waist. Only a coward would want fewer good guys with guns on the streets in today’s world. Only a fool would support-much less design-such a policy of helplessness. Just moments before, easing into a wonderful night with my lovely wife Shemane, I had been in standard “Condition Yellow.” That is a state of relaxed awareness, a condition one trains to maintain so as to be not just cognizant of one’s surroundings, but ultimately prepared for the unexpected. Now, I was jolted instantly past phase two of my training, Condition Orange, and headfirst into full-blown Condition Red. Knowing of the recent dramatic increase in concealed weapon permits issued here in South Florida, I instantly thought “GUN!” My tactical law enforcement training kicked in. Powerful, soul-driving instincts came alive and, with my left hand, I swung open the left, curbside door, shoving my precious wife to cover behind the only bullet-stopping shield available-the rear wheel of our gridlocked cab. At once my right hand flipped open my cell phone and I punched #1, speed dialing 911. I yelled intensely to the taxi driver to get down as the dispatch operator came on. My eyes clicked to eagle mode and peered intently at the escalating clash as the two muscular attackers bowled over their target with violent force. Slammed to the concrete and already bloody, the overwhelmed young man somehow thrust both hands into his belt pouch as fist after fist nailed his head and upper torso with machine gun-like repetition. I figured, “This is it, here comes the gun.” But instead of producing just a gun, he flailingly yanked both a gun and a police badge at once. Knowing all too well the statistics of cops being slain with their own guns (one in six), my fear and awareness intensified and went into overdrive, proportionate to the escalating confrontation before me. Clueless, sheep-like citizens were now gathering around the bloody fisticuffs, gawking as if it were a cockfight. Meanwhile, a stainless .357 magnum was wildly whipping about, as the off-duty Dade County policeman was struggling to control his revolver and fighting for his life. Bloody fists were flying like mad dog, muscle-driven pile-drivers-the skinny cop was bloody, his shirt pulled up over his head, and he was being thrown about the pavement like a rag doll by the powerful duo. Maybe two or three seconds had transpired thus far when I responded to the 911 operator, overemphasizing my diction and resolve to deliver the urgency and clear details of my potentially lifesaving message: “A PLAINCLOTHES POLICE OFFICER IS BEING ASSAULTED BY TWO SHIRTLESS CAUCASIAN MEN ON THE EAST CURBSIDE OF NORTHBOUND COLLINS AVENUE AT THE ROYAL HOTEL DRIVEWAY. THEY ARE FIGHTING FOR THE POLICEMAN’S GUN. MY NAME IS TED NUGENT, AND I AM A SPECIAL DEPUTY FROM GENESSEE COUNTY, MICHIGAN. I AM SIX FOOT TWO, CAUCASIAN, WEARING SHORTS, A YELLOW SLEEVELESS SHIRT, I HAVE A LONG PONYTAIL, I AM ARMED AND GOING IN TO HELP THE OFFICER. SEND POLICE AND AN AMBULANCE IMMEDIATELY.” In nonstop motion I flipped my Motorola cell phone shut, instructed Shemane to stay behind the wheel beside the cab, pocketed my phone, made sure my Glock Model 20, 10mm handgun was clear and forward on my right hip for optimum access, whipped open my sheriff’s badge in my left hand, and charged forcefully into the melee like a mother grizzly sow protecting her cubs. I could taste rage, fear, blood, and terror. I was 190 pounds of broiling adrenaline. All systems, 100 PERCENT, DUMP NOW! Full Bluntal Nugety. The MotorCity Madman in his prime. Somewhere inside me a prayer gushed forth. My vision was a laser beam, and I distinctly saw only the three players in a tunnel surrounded by haze; my eyes riveted on the spinning silver handgun. My mindset was ridiculously clear. If the two assailants got control of the cop’s gun, I would be ready and obligated to use my law enforcement training in the use of deadly force to neutralize the threat and save the officer’s life and other innocent lives. So with flamethrowing eyeballs wider and wilder than my Cat Scratch Fever album cover photo, crazy-ass rock ’n’ roll hair flying, and my loudest, most insane Double Live Gonzo spit enhanced screams, I yelled at the top of my petrified lungs, “STOP, POLICE! GET THE FUCK BACK, POLICE!!!,” nearly shoving my badge clean through the face of the closest guy. To my utter astonishment and relief, both perpetrators actually ceased their aggression, let go of the cop, put up their hands, and backed away from their fallen, bloody victim. Criminals celebrate when politicians clear the path for their destructive ways. At that moment a covey of uniformed officers converged on the scene from all directions, both on foot and in patrol cars, like angry killer bees and immediately and conclusively took control. Luckily, my gold sheriff deputy shield identified me readily as a good guy, for the responding officers had guns drawn, pointing at all of our faces, eyes afire, thus escalating my fear a few more notches into the stratosphere. I was beyond uncool. At any moment I would surely turn into a puddle of foaming piss and hair. All responding officers were wildly aggressive with the two perps, slamming them violently onto the hoods of the patrol cars, three on one. They handcuffed them and shoved them into the police cars. A virtual whitewater rapids of adrenaline still ran amok. I stuck around just long enough to give a long, hyperventilated, and detailed statement to one of the officers. Then Shemane and I celebrated our tenth anniversary as calmly and enjoyably as could be expected after such an intense adrenaline-infested experience. My head verily spun with the possibilities that might have been. Certainly, if it were not for the gun in my belt, law enforcement training, instantaneous decision-making awareness, and attitude to do the right thing, there is no way in hell I would have ever gotten involved in such an outright deadly dangerous situation. But I did, I do, and I will. I could do it because I had the necessary tool for the job at hand. My primary instinct and drive to survive dictated all my actions. Without a means to defend-without the Glock loaded and ready with sixteen rounds of Cor-Bon ammo riding ever ready in my Galco holster-I would have been as helpless as the rest of the defenseless public standing by without a clue. To my mind, it is wholly irresponsible to go into the world incapable of preventing violence, injury, crime, and death. How feeble is the mindset to accept defenselessness. How unnatural. How cheap. How cowardly. How pathetic. Only a coward would want fewer good guys with guns on the streets in today’s world. Only a fool would support-much less design-such a policy of helplessness. When President Bill Clinton lies about putting 100,000 new cops on the streets, but refuses to allow millions of dedicated, trained law enforcement and licensed citizen warriors to carry their guns legally across the country, the writing is on the wall. In Congress, House Resolution 218-Community Protection Act-would remedy this foolish situation, but Al Gore, Bill Clinton, Sarah Brady, Janet Reno, Charlie Schumer, Bill Bradley, Dianne Feinstein, and their antihuman ilk will have none of it thank you. Criminals celebrate when politicians clear the path for their destructive ways. The options for me that day were blatantly obvious: (1) stand around like the other helpless souls and stare, (2) hide and whimper, (3) run, or (4) put a halt to the unacceptable situation, neutralize the violence, and save innocent lives. The only way possible is with a warrior attitude and a gun. Any questions? Dial 1-800-NUMBNUT. Next. Price: $19.96 - Click here to order from Amazon: Click here to return to book details