Tag Archives: Salior

Veterans Day Blues

They’ve gone and done it, and I let them come over the wall, through their high powered magnifying glass they shot at me with questions, I returned fire. I was having quite a bit of anxiety about it but the reporter was cordial and not pushy, talking about the last eight years always brings up a bit of fear and loathing but it’s free therapy and if even one person reads it and gets help then good.

How can we beat the stigmas surrounding PTSD? Keep talking about it.

-F

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un-American at the pump?

The car needed gas and the tire light came on! Well shit, wife needed to be back to work soon so being the Knight in shining armor that I am I took those keys and drove the heck out of that car all the way to the local service station all 200 feet or so away. What a daunting task, but I made it, I got to the pump, went inside, made a contribution to the gas that would soon keep that 4 cylinder piece of awesome on running then returned to the pump to conduct some self service. I didn’t fill the car up all the way and proceeded inside to make a claim with the merchant behind the counter. They proceeded to make the proper arrangements and off I went back in the jungle. Upon my return a motorist behind me was angry yelling out the window, get going, thanks for talking so long, go kill yourself or something to that affect. Then it happened there was a Bruce Banner / Hulk transformation, Flynn quickly with all the pain and anger in the world turned into Staff Sergeant Riley, a proven veteran with the skills and moxy to take down any enemy on command. It started rushing through my bones to the core, I was a Scout again, observing, interpreting, talking appropriate action in the action of orders. I struck hard and fast like a .50 caliber round from a high powered snipers rifle, GAME ON!

The motorist was an aging blonde, with the manicured nails you would find on an Irish / Italian woman of the 70’s and 80’s who felt empowered by the idea that her beloved was some sort of secret behind the scenes mafioso and the attitude to match. Her skin appeared to be burnt like a piece of toast that sat too long in the toaster, a little crispy with hair that could only have been dyed with that cheap dye you find at your local grocery. Words were exchanged, it started with a simple “mam, could you back up a few feet so I can get out?”, “no, you should have moved earlier before you went back and forth inside, i’m not moving”. That cunt, I proceeded to berade her with vulgar language followed by laughter. How could she be so obtuse? An old man tried to chime in and I cut him off quick, “mind your fucking gas old man”, he thought getting my plates would be a good idea, ofcourse it was, I had just murdered her first born, robbed the local bank then made a point to strike a defenseless woman and kick an old man while he was down. I surley was the devil incarnate. I left the service station enraged but satisfied that i had served my base instincts, exchanging excrement back and forth like monkeys at the zoo, our ancestors of another time. Oh the experience, the therapeutic value succumbing to the small slice of primordial DNA. I would do it again, why not, if that’s what this baboon responded to, than I to should give in to what’s natural.

The problem isn’t me, not friends or family, they know the truth and have a concept of the horrors of war and what we bring back with us. It’s the other primates that get their information from their brothers cousins dads friend who knows a guy who knows a guy that informs them. They no WE must educate everyone. I can get therapy and my closest primates can be educated. But not the masses. There are fewer of us vets walking around compared to previous wars. They had power in numbers in WW2 and Korea and Vietnam got swept under the local bridges of our towns left to pan for copper and nickel bio-survival tickets from the local pedestrian who would rather leave their pocket change than hear them speak. But a 20 old something living with the horrors has no voice, sHe has programs to help but who helps those that do not understand?

I wish that evil little bacon faced woman the best. We exchanged poo. No one got hurt. Until we start living cooperatively with some manners, a smile on our face and a song in our heart than a little poo flung now and then with no repercussions is a win win in my book.

What say you?