“I got my “Judge” for Texas rattlers; it also makes a great ladies’ home defense weapon.”
You’re looking down a cavernous muzzle and you think, “I’m in a heap o’ trouble. This ain’t no dumb city slicker on the other end of that shiny Taurus revolver. If he’s packing ‘ 00’ buckshot or Colt Longs, I’m dead meat.” Then the homeowner speaks, slow and clear, so there’s no mistakin’ his intent. “Do you really need my TV, or do you figure you’re the Cable guy?”
Your lips are dry yet you manage a feeble grin, “Is this your thin-screen?”
The homeowner’s enjoying this a whole lot. He could hold point with his Taurus .45/.410 all day long. He’s already given you more breathing space than a bungling idiot and thief deserves. He cuts you a ton of slack. “Okay, put the TV down, real slow.” You do it.
“Now, back up. Hands up!” You follow his commands like a whipped puppy.
The homeowner dials 911 and waits.
“Yes, ma’am,” the homeowner drawls, savoring the moment. “Got me a burglar here in my home. Yes ma’am, that’s right, standing right here in front of me. Yup, better send a patrol car over pronto to 104 Willow.” He hangs up and watches you sweat some more.
Snarling, he asks, “You think you can jes’ break into my house?”
“No, sir,” you moan. “Please don’t shoot me,” you beg. A puddle forms on the floor, spreading out from ‘round your tennis shoes, stained yellow, soiling the man’s swept carpet.
“Aw, shucks,” the homeowner groans. “Look what you’ve gone and done!” You say, “Mister, I’m real sorry. I’ll clean it up…” You begin to lower your trembling hands. By now, your knees are knocking so hard, it sounds like someone’s at the front door. “No, you don’t,” the homeowner growls.” He motions with the business end of the pistol, “Put ‘em up!”
Dutifully, you reach for the sky. You hear the sirens, and you’re glad to still be alive.
The sheriff leads you handcuffed to the squad car, and you stare at the gun in the old man’s wrinkled hand. You jes’ gotta know. “What you got in that thing, mister—.410 three-inch magnums or .45 Colt Longs?” “Does it really matter?” The homeowner grins.
“No, sir, but I just got to know.”
Where you’re headed, you’ll have lots of time—years—to think about the contents of that Taurus, the ammo, in that danged pistol.
The old man winks. “Three-inch magnums. You didn’t have a snowball’s chance, kid.”
And you head off to jail, back to the Big House—mad you got busted—glad to be alive.
Taurus makes one of the better self-defense and ‘snake-charmer’ pocket guns available.
The Taurus 4510 Judge would be my choice of gifts beneath the tree this Holiday Season—the 3-inch, double-action, five-shot, stainless-steel version, with fiber-optic front sight and patented “Ribber” grips. But there’s a ton of choices to be had in Taurus revolvers—in caliber, barrel length and grips. What makes the Taurus .410 Revolver so cool is that it handles .410 buckshot (00 or 000), .45 Colt Longs and the new, devastatingly lethal Winchester SUPREME Elite round, with its plated BB’s and cylinder projectiles—take your pick, depending on the mission. I used my Taurus on west Texas rattlers with No. 7 bird shot—to lethal effect.
I got my “Judge” for Texas rattlers; it also makes a great ladies’ home defense gun. Either way, bad guys watch out—the Judge is back in town, slimmer, lighter, deadlier. Hunting from a ground blind, The Judge can make the difference between a great deer hunting experience—or a night in the Emergency Room, after an encounter with a rattler or copperhead. Introducing: the Taurus Model 4510, The Judge, coming soon to a home near you!
Bad guys BEWARE.