They Said It Better Than I Ever Could...

These words that I write, they keep me from total insanity. -Charles Bukowski

Who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived, or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed? -Dr. Hunter S. Thompson

Oct 28, 2018

So There I Was...

No shit, ankle deep in baby shit, watching Fancy Nancy with my daughters and remembering the bad ass mother fucker I used to be.

But we'll get back to that. I've been prompted to get writing by family who tells me that they miss me writing. Well, I don't have a whole helluva lot to write about now. I'm just an average joe with an average job, I'm your average white, suburbanite slob...

So let's go back and write about a guy I used to know, We're going to go back about 10 years from now to 2008, to a place called Freeport, IL. Hole in the earth if there ever was one, but we're in the gymnasium of the National Guard Armory there and there's nothing but soldiers and we're about to embark on what might be the fucking funniest year of our lives...

"FALL IN" The platoon sergeant bellowed. He bellows a lot, he's a platoon sergeant. Look up self important in the dictionary and you'll see this guy standing behind a second Lieutenant shaking his head.

Then the trampling sound of 40 some pairs of boots hitting the floor over and over as all the soldiers of second platoon come running for wherever they had been prior to those magic words and into formation. So now you've got what was previously a gaggle of soldiers has now formed into those wonderful lines. Basically, for you civilians out there "fall in" means stand next to and behind someone until you are all next to and/or behind someone in nice little rows so you can be counted easily. Its one of the first dog tricks you're taught upon entrance into the US Army, which I will refer to for the remainder of this rag as "Mother Army" mostly because there were only two things in my life that abused the shit out of me, but I still mother and the US Army.

Anyway, the platoon daddy turns his head, looks at the first guy in the first row, also known as the squad leader and says, REPORT.

The guy looks back, he's not actually the squad leader, that guy is someplace else. Who knows where, he's a 6 we don't get to ask. Anyway, the faux squad leader says, 1st squad, all accounted for. Which is the answer you give when you've got no clue where everyone is. Truth be told, the report is typically fairly specific, at least it was in the regular army. It was usually something like this, "1SG, 2nd Platoon, 1st squad, 12 assigned, 10 present, one at sick call, one CQ off." or some shit like that. CQ is charge of quarters, basically the guys who answer the phone and make sure the drunks get back to their barracks rooms with only minor injuries all night.

This process repeats itself, 3 more times. Far as I can tell, we've got 33 of the 48 we're supposed to have. Not sure, really wasn't listening.

The platoon sergeant does the funny little pirouette, formally known as "about face" and stands at attention waiting for the Lieutenant to come on up. The lieutenant walks as fast as he can around from the rear of the formation, not gonna lie, he's got what my buddy Tony would refer to as a "duck butt" which is an ample bottom that protrudes far out from his backside making his gait a pretty funny thing to see, even more so when he's basically power walking like a soccer mom from the back to the front of this formation.

We've all got a pretty good idea of what's coming next. The commander walks to the front of the room and surveys his troops. You can see from the look of him that he's got a fairly high opinion of himself, but it doesn't change the fact that he's a 4 eyed douchbag if there ever was one. More to come on that.

The rumors have been swirling for months, who is going, where are they going, when are they going? No one knows, everyone heard from their sister's friend's brother's uncle's former roommate who heard it from the transsexual midget they were having an affair with behind their wife's back that its....Afghanistan.

The commander shouts with all the base his girly voice will muster, "COMPANY" He pauses to allow the Lieutenants to snap to attention from their state of parade rest and shout themselves, "PLATOON" Which makes me silently chuckle to myself because duck butt up in front basically took a big ole' bite out of his britches with his butt cheeks, but anyway...

"ATTENTION!!!!" His voice cracks just a bit on the third T.  He does his own pirouette, indicating he's going to turn this formation over to someone else, which throws me off. I'm a soldier, at least in formation, anything out of the norm throws me off. I mean have you ever seen a basic training company practicing "rear, march"?

Anyway, another officer comes strutting up to the front. He's big brass. You can tell by the way he walks. People don't walk that way unless they're very used to people getting out of their way, and standing up when they walk into a room.

He gets up to the front, salutes the commander, the commander moves to the side and this guy, in an actually manly voice, shouts, "ATTENTION TO ORDERS"

And all the rumors cleared themselves up real quick.....

Sep 30, 2018

Why Can't I Watch The Bears In Detroit?

I'm a Bears Fan. Have been since birth. Had I not been a Bears fan I would not have made it through my childhood as one of my family in Spartan-like fashion would have chucked me off the side of a building to make sure I didn't grow old enough to have children and infect the rest of the world with my weaknesses.

My hatred of the Packers knows no bounds. I'd rather die of some weird cancer than to live a long and healthy life as a Packer fan.

My beloved Bears have actually got a team worth watching this year. They just kicked the ever living shit out of Tampa Bay this afternoon 48-10. Which leads me to my next question. Why can't I watch the Bears in Detroit?

Blackouts and local markets and proprietary mumbo jumbo be damned. Why in the blue hell can't I watch the Bears in Detroit? I live there now, my job always picks the place I will fit in least to send me.

So I scoured the internet looking for someone I could pay to watch this game. I really did. I wanted to do it right. I wanted to give the NFL money so that I could view their product. Sounds fairly American to me. But I couldn't. There was no LEGITIMATE way for me, a life long Bears fan, who has been suffering since 1985, to watch my team which finally, at long last, is worth watching!

Now, there were no shortage of clever little work arounds that could be done and there were even a few places that would link to some streaming service that they got through, what I'm sure could be characterized as nefarious means. I could have even used a VPN to pretend I was in Europe and watch any game I wanted to, live for I think $199 per season for the NFL gamepass.

But if you buy the Gamepass in the states, you can only watch the games after they are over! The guy who thought of that little caveat should be set on fire in a dumpster somewhere.

Oh, and the Europeans have an option to just buy their team's games for $129. I'll tell you right now I'd be all over that. I'd go so high as $160. Ten bucks per game seems reasonable. I'm sure the NFL would make a pretty penny on that, plus they could bypass the networks and take the money directly from us. But since I live about 250 miles from the team and the city that I love, and have money that I'm more than willing to part with, I still can't watch my beloved Chicago Bears play.

In today's day and age I could buy LSD blotters with Marilyn Monroe's face on them. Why the hell can't I watch whatever football game I want. I'm sure it has something to do with money and someone other than me getting it, but I think there's a huge market here. All these cord cutters out there, give them an easy one stop shop to watch any football game they want.

I mean the playoffs and the SuperBowl are all on TV, why the hell can't we watch the regular season games? Fuck you Roger.

Oct 24, 2017

Welcome To The Freak Show...

I've been silent for quite a while. Not for any particular reason and for no particular reason am I coming back to bless you all with my words now.

However, not one to dwell on the past, let's get right into it.

George Carlin, whom I quote often, once said, when you're born you get a ticket to the freak show. When you're born in America, you get a front row seat.

A truer statement I have not heard and for some reason I haven't heard it used in reference to good old Donald J. Trump. Which is a missed opportunity if you ask me.

Now, why do I bring this up now and why do I choose such a loaded topic to start again? Its just whats knocking around my brain. Regardless of what you or I think of Trump, the man is still the president until such time as he quits or his incredible ego actually causes his head to physically explode. So we've got a few minutes yet...

Normally, I watch him with kind of a bemused indifference. Not because he's not a lot of fun to watch, because he is, but because its gotten to the point where all you have left is hoping he'll try something new. Something he hasn't done before. Its like watching porn and hoping half way through they'll start teaching algebra or some shit.

However, he did piss me off recently. Good ole Bergdahl is on the chopping block and the fact that he can't keep his mouth shut for nothing has delayed his sentencing. Bergdahl if you remember, from way back (Operation Where's Waldo?) is a piece of monkey spunk that I and my fellow soldiers went looking for while in Afghanistan. We didn't lose anyone, no one got hurt, luckily for us. But it doesn't change the fact that fucko the clown walked off the FOB put all of us in danger because he couldn't keep his shit wired tight and now at long last someone was about to drop the hammer on this fuck and Trump delayed it because he couldn't keep his yap shut. Just had to say something. And the defense used it to delay his sentencing for a few more days or however long it ends up being.

So, there's that.

Alright, I'm out of here for tonight. Hopefully, I'll be back tomorrow. Trying to start a good habit.

I love you mom...

Oct 29, 2016

Saint Anger...

It eats at you. It gnaws at your insides. It poisons you and your family. I can't imagine my life without it. I don't think I've ever known a day without it.

That's not true, there've been plenty of days without it. I remember them like they happened a thousand years ago. Before the war, before the pain, before the kids, and the mortgage and the responsibilities and the and the and the and the... It goes on and on forever ad infinitum.

The anger that one man can feel is truly astounding. The lack of a reason for such anger is also just as astounding. They tell you that you've got PTSD and somehow that's supposed to be helpful. Sorry Beavis, but not really. So now I know why it's there but I don't know how to get it out. The out is the part that I care about and the fact that I can't get it out just makes me all the more angry.

That fucking war was 7 years ago, for me anyway. Seems like quite a long time ago. Until I start thinking about just how far I've actually come since then. Which isn't very far. I've never been far from the FOB in my mind. It's one of those places that tends to stick with you.

Why does it have to? I want to know how come I can't control the place in my heart that's given to war? Why is the heart, at least the existential version of the heart the one organ we can't really control? I control my legs, my arms, my fingers etc. But I just can't seem to control the place in my mind occupied by this fucking war.

It dominates my days, even this far on, I am never more than a heart beat away. A familiar smell wafts by, I'm back. A sound echoes through the air, and I'm back. Words are spoken and I'm back. A child cries and I'm back. My own child cries and I'm back.

My wife tries to help me but how do I explain to her or to my family that I can't control my brain and something that happened to me before I even met any of them is dominating my mind, when I should be concentrating on them? I've got kids, kids who need me and a wife who does too, yet there's this place in my mind that is reserved just for Afghanistan.

And the fact that I can't evict it from my mind is, as best I can tell, the source of all my anger. Catholics, which I'm not, have a saint for everything. I wonder if they've got one for anger. If they do, or if they don't, Saint Anger, pray for me...

Jun 27, 2016

Chicago Sports, American Politics and Spectatoritis

So there's a disease from way back, I mean way back called spectatoritis. You can read about it HERE.

Basically, the thin and thick of it is this, we spend entirely too much time watching other people do things instead of doing them ourselves. For all intents and purposes we've become a bunch of spectators to life.

What does that have to do with Chicago sports? Simple, Chicago sports fans, like all other sports fans are spectators. Now why do I think that Chicago sports fans are more worthy of being written about than any other city's sports fans? Well, I don't, I only know Chicago sports fans because that's what I've been since I was knee high to a grasshopper.

I've come to a conclusion in my old age. The conclusion is very simple. Mediocrity shouldn't be tolerated. It really shouldn't. You shouldn't accept anything less than the best from yourself and from those around you. If they won't give you their level best they should be ruthlessly cut out of your life. I think most people can get on board with that kind of simplicity. Now it certainly doesn't happen. I mean how many of us can honestly say that we gave everything we had today, and did everything to the very best of our abilities? I'm going to say that it's less than 1%. I sure as shit know that I didn't.

Now that mediocrity and the acceptance of it is what brings me to Chicago sports. For the sake of this argument the Blackhawks have to be completely disregarded over the past few years since Rocky Wirtz took over. Take them back when the old man was running things and they'd fit right in, but the Hawks are definitely not a mediocre team. They are doing whatever they can to be the best in the league at every moment of the season. Okay, that's bullshit but they try really hard. They falter like everyone else but they put a whole lot more effort in than most Chicago teams.

What do you have left over? Cubs, Sox, Bulls, and Bears. Bulls were a dynasty at one point. Not to take away from that, but remove one player from that and they're middle of the pack at best. Bears have won only one SuperBowl, plenty of NFL championships but only one superbowl. Sox got one world series. Cubs are a monument to mediocrity.

What do all Chicago teams except for the White Sox have in common? They all sell out pretty much every home game. They all sell more merchandise than most of the rest of their respective leagues and they all enjoy some of the most fervent support among professional sports teams in the nation.

They also have some of the most miserable owners, Jerry Reinsdorf and The McKaskeys come to mind. They certainly have some of the highest ticket prices in their respective leagues and it will never get old for me telling people how much beer costs at a game in Chicago. So long as they're not from New York they look at me like I've got an arm growing out of my head.

Should we support our teams like that? I'm going to go with no. But that's my thought. I'll most likely be crucified or burned in effigy by my Chicago loving bretheren but so be it. Any team that has the audacity to charge over $100 for nosebleeds better be in the hunt for the superbowl every year. I'm looking at you Virginia!

I think the cost of a ticket should be determined by your record. It should go up and down with your wins and losses. Patriots can charge an arm and a leg for tickets, because they're worth it. Bears? Not so much.

If you're a defending champion, you get to charge a 5% awesomeness fee. If you were last in the league you have to give away all your 300 level seats.

Okay, so I may be going overboard but what I'm talking about is accountability folks. You, and I are held accountable for our actions and our sports teams should be as well.

Now politicians. In this season of presidential campaigning and the requisite mud slinging that comes along with that has basically shown the American people to be a little less than intelligent. At least if you're watching this election on Facebook which is what a whole lot of people do nowadays.

I'm not even really talking about the politicians, because at least to a point the news media holds them accountable for their words and actions. I know, I know, the media is a bunch of chuckleheads too who pretty much pander to whatever party they're looking to have win. However, at least if you want a balanced viewpoint you can watch Fox with picture in picture on MSNBC and try to listen to both and maybe come out the other end with some kind of actual information.

I'm talking about your average everyday people who spout off on Facebook daily about whatever issue and or candidate is near and dear to their hearts. Most of my friends, it's gun control. Which I care about to be sure, but I've also realized that luckily (as far as gun control is concerned) we've got a hopelessly divided nation and hopelessly divided lawmakers and so long as they all stay hopelessly divided then there isn't much to worry about. The worrying will begin when they can all get together, that's when we'll be in real trouble.

The worst part of people who are really against any kind of gun control (and I'm using gun control as an example, this applies broadly) is the level of horseshit they are willing and able to spew and believe. Example, "from my cold dead hand" This has become cliche since Charlton Heston said it, and I love hearing it from some yutz in a bar who can barely remember where he parked his volvo, or you hear it from the old guys who are having trouble controlling those tremors. Regardless of who's filthy sewer it comes out of I'd like to test that theory.

I think if you're willing to say it, you better be willing to back that shit up. Let's see if they'll stick to their guns? Send a bunch of armed cops over to their house, knock on the door and say we're here for your guns and let's see what they do. I'll give 10-1 they lay down like a $2 hooker.

Run your mouth on Facebook you had better be able to back that shit up in real life. If you're not, then shut your fucking mouth. Not to mention, it should be completely impossible to comment anonymously. You have something to say, if you're going to say it, sign your name to it. Otherwise, shut the fuck up!

Basically, all this comes down to is this. This nation has lost all sense of accountability and responsibility. Like these sports teams, we allow mediocrity. It's why there's like a 92% incumbency rate. We allow shitty politicians to get right back in office because we allow it. We allow it because no one will stand up and take the place of these fucktards. (I'm not exempt, I'm just as bad. So don't go challenging me to run for office. I'm included in all of this.) We would seriously cut down on the level of bullshit that people would be willing to spew if we held people accountable for their actions as well as their words.

You think you can run the country? Get your ass in the game.

You played 16 games and lost 12? I'm not coming to your games.

You said something about so and so on the internet? Don't be mad when they show up and smack you in the mouth.

I'm kinda losing my train of thought here, but  the principle is there. Every action, whether it be speech, writing, physical action or whatever, has an equal and opposite reaction, except when you live here, and that is complete bullshit.

I love you Mom...

Jun 24, 2016

Book Review: The Curse of The High IQ by Aaron Clarey

So I bought this book the other day, and I use the term book loosely, if memory serves the author even referred to it as an essay. It's a short read, only took me two days to get through and I wasn't trying all that hard.

Now I don't think I've ever done a book review before, but I think I might start. If nothing else it'll keep me reading which will keep me from thinking about other things.

Premise: The basis of this book is simple, there are normal people, there are dumb people, there are retarded people, and there are abnormally intelligent people.

The abnormally intelligent people account for a very small percentage of the population and the more intelligent the person the smaller that percentage gets. Now the world is built for the masses, which are the normal and dumb people in the middle of the pack and the lower end. The book basically explores all the different things that an abnormally intelligent person would deal with in trying to negotiate a world that is entirely too dull for their superior intellect.

Now if you ask me I'm a pretty smart guy. I got a 25 on the ACT test, and I've had my IQ measured at 120. Which, according to Mr. Clarey is above the 1st standard deviation of the IQ scale putting me in approximately the 91st percentile. Meaning, per the tests, I'm smarter than 91% of the people I run into everyday. Working in a prison that might push my average a bit higher but it's a special condition that skews my day.

So, by the numbers I am part of the lower IQ end of the group that this guy is talking about and some of his conclusions are valid. Yes, school has always been a chore for me. I could figure out the material within a few minutes of being introduced to it and the things that school demanded like blind conformity and sitting idly by in a classroom while the teacher wasted their time trying to teach the dumbasses that were in the room with me was tedious to say the least.

And yes, I've run into bosses my entire life who were dumber than a box of shit. 

Some conclusions were a bit sketchy, like his ideas about nihilism and sublimation. Nihilism = bad, sublimation = good. The principles were sound, but he takes it too far sometimes.

Now let's just talk you and I for a moment, I don't know very many people who think they, themselves are stupid. I'm assuming that you reading this don't think you're stupid. But that begs the question, if everyone or at least most everyone walking around thinks that they're pretty smart then how do you manage a population that is convinced of it's own superiority? Myself included, I've got a few tests and numbers to back up my intelligence claims but they are still nothing but claims. There has to be a way, other than observation to separate the intelligent, from the dull.

I would like to see a world that catered to the intelligent more. I think we may have to dispose of every television and movie producer in order for that to become reality, but a small price to pay, am I right?

I recommend the book. If nothing else it'll get you thinking about whether you are as smart as you've been led to believe. 

Were there any drawbacks to the book? Sure, like I said for the most part his evidence is anecdotal. His statistical methods are sound, but where he got the data from is another story. And then there is my chief complaint with this book and the characteristic that kept it at 3 stars.

His use of two words.

Ergo: conjunction, adverb 1. therefore.


Ennui: noun 1. a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest; boredom

The words by themselves are fine. Nothing wrong with them, he used them properly and in context, but this motherfucker could not stop saying those two words.

That being said, hearing those words over and over reminded me of Dead Poets Society. When Robin Williams character told his class that you shouldn't say "very tired" you should use, "exhausted" don't say "very sad" use "morose"

Basically, using those over and over again, regardless of how smart this cat is showed a bit of intellectual laziness that is hard to overlook when the entire premise of the book is just how smart he is and how hard it has made his life.

Had this guy busted out his thesaurus and found a couple of new words I would've been able to give him 4 stars for this, but the use those two words contributed to my ennui while reading. Ergo, he only gets 3.

Jun 21, 2016

Back from the Abyss...

So my brain and I have been duking it out pretty badly lately.

It seems like every time I come close to getting a handle on my self and my life, good ole AssCrackIstan rears its ugly head and knocks me off track.

Basically, it breaks down like this. I'll be having a nice day, got a lot done at work, having a nice conversation with the princess while the baby is running around touching everything, even stuff I was unaware was in my house, and all of a sudden BAM, cut to Waza Khwa and a set of mortars are coming in, or going out, whichever, followed by the inevitable trip in my trusty MRAP which will get stuck in some pile of shit somewhere and then some asshole who wants his 72 virgins will come by to take a shot at the title.

Then it's downhill from there. I get angry. So I talk shitty to the princess. She didn't do anything at all, if anything she's been the most wonderful person on the face of the earth by dealing so graciously with all of my horseshit. Then I get in my head, and I stay there for a while. Anyone who has followed this blog for any amount of time knows that the last place I, or anyone else for that matter needs to spend any time is in my head.

This was so much easier in Chicago. No shit, I had a counselor who was awesome. He easily saw through my bullshit and got to the heart of things, and because of that I was much more well adjusted. I even think going to see him is part of why my writing dropped off so much. I didn't have anything I needed to say, I dumped it all on him as opposed to you dear reader.

Then there were the pills that the VA was gracious enough to provide me with. Don't take that as sarcasm, I really need them. I see how I am with them and can barely imagine what I'd be like without. But since I've moved to southern Illinois now there's a VA, so no problem with the pills, but there's no Vet Centers within 2 hours of this place. I'd have to go to a civilian shrink to do this here.

Sorry, I don't want to go to a civilian shrink. I don't want to go to some guy or gal who's practice is built on helping farmers deal with their anxieties about the rain this season, or whatever. That's not the point. I want someone who deals with guys like me. And unfortunately, that's just not going to happen here.

I mean, I should probably not piss and moan too much. First of all, it's not Afghanistan, I've got a job, a wife who loves me and puts up with most of my shit, a beautiful daughter who doesn't know much other than she loves her mommy and daddy, and for all intents and purposes I've got my shit together, not exactly wired tight, but together nonetheless.

So here's hoping I can find a shrink who knows what I'm going to be telling them. And here's hoping that they know how to see through my shit and ask those questions that lead me down the yellow brick road to what's actually the problem.

In any case, I'm going to try. Like I tell all my vet buddies who get down on themselves, and it's some advice that I should most likely take myself.

"We owe it to those who died to live well. They gave their lives so we could all be free, and the most insulting thing we could do is not take their gift."

I love you Mom...

Jun 5, 2016

The Easy Way Teddy...

So what's been happening in my life? Not much, got a baby on the way, due in July or August. The wife is good, the other kid she's good, getting a little bratty but such is life. The house is good, we're not broke, food is on the table so I guess there's not a whole lot that I can complain about and yet, like so many people I spend a lot of time thinking that things should just be easier...

It shouldn't be so hard to make money, or at least it shouldn't be so hard to make enough money. Food shouldn't be so expensive. Gas shouldn't be so expensive. Housing shouldn't be so expensive, day care and blooblittyblah blah blah.

I wish it were easier to have a happy marriage. Anyone who's marriage is happy knows that one of them is a metric shit ton of work. Hard work. Sacrifice and compromise and putting everyone else in front of yourself.

I wish getting/being in shape were easier. I'd probably have to get up at 4 am now, workout for 30 minutes or so, pray to baby Jesus that I don't wake up the pregnant wife or the domestic terrorist that I call "daughter". And maybe just maybe I might drop a pound or two.

I could go on and on with this, but you get the idea.

How easy is it for me to blame the family for my shortcomings. How easy is it for me to blame the economy for my finances. How easy it is for me to blame "insert cause here".

How easy is it for us, especially us vets to blame the war or a war, or the IED or the TIC or whatever for our problems. We can blame the army for the disintegration of our marriage. We can blame everything and everybody for everything.

Was it ever supposed to be easy? I mean we all want it to be easy. Nobody wants to do hard shit. Well some people do, but they're definitely the 1%.

I am not going to try any motivational nonsense on you or anyone else. I'm about the last person who can claim any authority on that subject. But here's the thought that's been running around in my head lately...was it ever supposed to be easy?

Did the good Lord, or Buddha or the Big Electron or the sun god Ra or whoever came up with this 3rd rock from the sun and the people that inhabit it, did they mean for it to be easy?

Maybe the point is that it's supposed to be hard. Maybe we just don't know what we can take, and what we can do because we spend all our time wanting it to be easy as opposed to realizing just how hard we are or can be.

God isn't done with you. You're reading this, so God isn't done with you yet. I'm writing this so God isn't done with me yet. I'm wondering if I'm hard enough for this. That question may have been answered by that last breath I took there...

I love you Mom...

Mar 29, 2016

I'll take Detroit over Kabul any day of the week and twice on Sunday...

So, a while back I challenged myself to write 500 words a day. That didn't happen. Not even close.

Now, in the interest of not being completely full of shit I'm not going to do that. Suffice it to say I want to start writing again, I know that I should start writing again. My mental health pretty much demands it.

Where to begin...

Couple things happened since we last spoke.

  1. Mom died.
  2. Got a promotion.
  3. Moved from Chicago to Southern Illinois (may as well be Cuba)
Now that we're all up to speed let's get on with it. Every single stinking day it seems like someone somewhere is getting shot, blown up, taken hostage or some other variation of terrorist fuckery we've all come to expect.

And I'm wondering can we fight these pricks?

I'm sure we've all wondered it at one time or another. Do we, as a society have it in us to defend ourselves anymore, or have we crossed the precipice into a politically correct and morally bankrupt nation that is more worried about Caitlyn Fucking Jenner and its contribution to...well nothing than standing up and defending the nation that made Caitlyn Jenner possible?

Unfortunately, except for a few (we happy few) I think we've crossed that precipice. 

Someone scrawls Trump 2016 on a park bench and people lose their minds and are calling for charges. Muslims continue to shoot, bomb and otherwise fuck with everything and people are still calling for understanding and not to blame Islam.

Okay, I don't blame Islam. I've read their koran and it does say all that shit about smiting the necks of the infidels or alternately making them pay to practice their religion so long as they do it with the lights out and under the bed where no one can see them. But on the flipside, the Bible has some interesting things to say about what we should do with adulterers and people with tattoos and I'm pretty sure there's some nonsense in there about people eating meat on Friday...could you imagine going to hell for that?

But Muslims that's another story. It's been said before, but it bears repeating. The Muslims are the ones who are terrorizing the world. Paris, Brussels, New York, and a million other places where the body count wasn't high enough to hit Fox news. All Muslims. Not a few of this, a few of that, not a Mormon, a Christian and a Jew walking in to a bar to blow it up...nope...all fucking Muslims.

I'm reminded on a fairly regular basis by my lovely wife that racism is not something that I want to teach my children (of which there are two now. Ain't that some shit!) And she's right. She tells me that I'm better than that. On that point, I'm going to have to take her word for it.

So should I try to say all the usual bullshit about it just being Muslim extremists? Nah, because if there is one thing I know for sure, in order to rally the kind of support it will take to defeat these fucks will take an identifiable enemy.

That's where the terrorists can use our own political correctness and our seemingly undying need to be nice to everyone against us. There isn't one reasonable person on earth who would tell you that the world is a nice place. That would be the height of naivety. But when it comes to something as serious as this we still want to play nice.

I've fought this enemy. I've shot at him, and he shot back and vice versa. But even then I was hamstrung by some of the strictest rules of engagement you could imagine, all in the name of preventing the one thing that actually means anything to a Muslim terrorist...death. They may want to martyr themselves. So be it. I say we beat them to it. You want to kill yourself for your faith, no need, I'll be happy to do it for you.

Until we realize that our need to soften our language and our culture and our society until every bit of offensiveness and grittiness is removed in the name of making sure that there is not one person that feels the slightest bit disenfranchised or put upon or offended or whatever else the whiny babies are screaming about this week. That is what is going to kill us and our society. Our inability to stand up and say, no you're wrong, the United States and the western civilization that we had a huge part in building is better than the Caliphate ever was, or ever will be. 

I'll take Detroit over Kabul any day of the week and twice on Sunday...

Jun 11, 2015

A Son's Wish For His Dying Mother...

I saw you in the nursing home again today. They keep telling me it's a rehabilitation facility but I don't see any drunks around. You were sleeping when we walked through the door.

Your other son, your granddaughter and I.

It is so very painful to see you like this. I remember you when I was a kid, so strong, so vital, such a royal pain in my ass. I remember you chasing me down the block at a full sprint and catching me to boot. I remember you hitting me so hard that I had welts on my back for a month. I remember you constantly doing this and cleaning that and driving here and working there and now all you do is lay in bed and watch Fox News. (Which isn't healthy for anyone)

Your liver has failed. Which causes your ammonia levels to rise. Which turns you into a shell of a person. When your ammonia goes high you can't talk, you can't reason, you can't do much of anything but shake your head yes and no. They can keep the levels down with whatever the hell they do for you, but it's still a matter of time. New liver or prepare to evacuate soul.

You tell us that you're going to try. You tell us that you're going to give it your best shot. For chrissakes your granddaughter hasn't even turned 1 yet, and I can see it in your eyes and I can hear it in your'd rather this all be over.

I'm going to be 37 here in a couple of weeks, and I don't want to be an orphan. There's too much that I still need you for. Check that, there's so much that I still want you here for.

The baby is going to need her grammy to spoil her. There's only so much spoiling a kid can get from one set of grandparents. Ya need two to get the full effect.

I've never been in a world that didn't have you in it, and it's pretty well impossible for me to wrap my pea brain around the thought of you being gone. But it's coming. It's definitely on it's way. I'm pretty sure I saw the grim reaper reading a magazine in the waiting room, but in that place there's no way to tell who he's there for.

All I want is for you to be happy and at peace. I don't want you to have to struggle and hurt. I just want you to be at peace. Whether that's alive or dead, I want you to have peace.

There's never been much of that in our family. Some goofy shit is always going on that disrupts any semblance of calm we ever had, but that's between you and I.

When the time comes, I want to be able to put the baby on the bed with you for a few moments so you can tell her how much you love her and feel the soft touch of her hand and if we're real lucky she'll say "grammy" prior to check out time.

I want my wife to sit down next to you, so you can thank her again for being there since I'm going to need her that much more after you're gone. I want to see her kiss you and tell you she loves you. And when you thank her for the baby and tell her what a good job she did, I hope she tells you not to worry about it, she'd be happy to do it again.

I want to be able to see my brother tell you that he loves you and is going to miss you, and that he promises he'll try to do better after you're gone and make you proud of him. Then he can kiss your forehead and say goodbye.

Then I want to sit down beside the bed and hold your hand, I want to be able to tell you not to worry I'll take good care of the family and I'll make sure the baby goes to college and that she makes it to church every week (actually the wife will do that, but it'll get done.) I'll tell you I love you and I'm gonna miss you too. Ya know all the usual stuff.

Then I hope I can just hold your hand, I hope you fall asleep, and I hope sometime after that you squeeze my hand, smile just a little and then go.

No pain. No heartache (for you anyway) and no struggle.

Just calm and peace...that is all I wish.

I love you Mom...