I think I'm going to start carrying a sword.

Yes... I think I have decided - I am definitely going to follow through with this plan. I'm going to carry a sword at my hip wherever I go from today forward. I think I might have to go for a bastard sword (because really, knowing me, is there any other kind that suits me better?), and I shall name it "Harold" after Harold Ramis.

And the only reason I am going to start carrying a sword is because lately, I have had SUCH a hankerin' to say to people "Have at you!" And really, you can't scream "Have at you!" at people while wielding anything other than a sword, now can you?

Try to imagine the following scenario: You are walking in the city, and someone tries to MUG! you. You manage to get the jump on your assailant, and now you are holding a revolver on this bastard (the mugger, not Harold) who has just attempted to take your wallet. Now, you have had quite enough of the attempted mugger's smart mouth, and you plan to plug him twice in the chest and once in the head (you know, just to be sure... Like in the movies). And right before you do, you scream, "HAVE AT YOU!"

You know what that attempted mugger's last thoughts are going to be? They're going to be "Uh... What the FUCK?!? Did this guy just yell 'HAVE AT YOU!' to me?!? Who the hell says stuff like that? He's holding a gun... Shouldn't he have said something like "DIE!" or "I'm going to bust caps in your person!" or something at least moderately sinister?" and then he's going to groan and bleed and die and stuff. And when he finally gets to hell and Satan reads his last thoughts so that he can set up an appropriate little personal hell for him, Satan's going to be like, "Wait - did that dude yell 'Have at you' right before he shot you with a gun?" And he's going to sigh and shake his head and say "Jesus... That's corny." And then he's going to ship the guy off to the icepicks-under-tonails-marathon room.

And that's unfortunate.

But if you were wielding a sword, it'd be an entirely different matter. I can imagine one day in traffic, someone cuts me off just to make it 10 feet further ahead in the perpetual traffic jam that also goes by the name of GA 400. I loudly yell, "This is an outrage!" and I slam the shifter into park and I leap from my vehicle. I reach back into the driver side door to fetch Harold the Bastard Sword (because wearing Harold on my hip while in the car would most certainly result in my severing a leg... Which, honestly, would probably cause less blood loss than when I shave them for cycling. I don't know how you ladies do it every few days. You have my utmost respect). I carry Harold in my right hand as I galavant up to the offending vehicle, and as I take a thrusting stance, I scream, "HAVE AT YOU!" and I plunge my Bastard sword into the driver's side door of the bad guy, impaling him through the gut and causing him to bleed to death in traffic - and for what?!? Ten extra feet advance on the highway!

And as Satan reads that bastard's mind (the driver, not Harold) to get his last thoughts, he'll smile devilishly to himself and say "Yeah... Now THAT's what I'm talkin' about!" and then he'll send him to lane-cutter-offer hell, which I like to think involves crawling across a gravel roadway which has roofing tacks mixed in with the limestone for all of eternity. Because they deserve no less.