Leaving Punky, Guru Rick’s mother, behind as we take off to visit our mother for her 86th birthday, I had 3.5 hours with my brother. I will leave out my words, and write, from first, to last the comments of his I can recall.
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Have you thought about living with Punky? Great writing spot, great food, her friends like you, you know the neighbors, what, you have the big black guy down the street to train—I noticed she’s slipping, moving at the same speed but forgetting short term stuff.
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Yeah, my old cohort from the 82nd, we’re losing a few each year now, especially the sergeants. People not that old, bam, cancer—what is up with all this cancer. It wasn’t like this before?
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You know, I’m kind of envious—you had Rick. You guys—I never had anybody I was close to.
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Because I’m not weird, too well socially adjusted—really—I’m getting to hate people. I might retire early. You wouldn’t believe these young guys at work. I’m the oldest dude in the place—a hundred people mind you, Back is torn to shit, can’t run any more, the last marathon I did with a detached ankle tendon, stopped indoor soccer. There is only one man in the whole place that I might have trouble putting down. He’s a mixed, middle aged guy, in good shape strong. The young guys—Oh my God. They have squeaky voices, skinny legs, talk like girls. I stay in the back. I have customers—let these young guns up front. Two of these guys are back by the coffee pot and one says to the other, ‘Do you have a man wipe,’ like a girl asking another one for a tampon.
I’m like, “What, are you kidding me?”
They’re like, “We want to be clean.”
I said, ‘Give me one of those things.’ I unbuckled my pants on the sales floor reached around, wiped my ass, pulled it out and said, ‘Look, my ass is clean—i have to give it to you, it’s silky smooth—do you want this one?’ and these sissies couldn’t get far enough away.
And look at this zombie driver in front of us. Since Covid people drive in their own world, this idiot just sitting in the passing lane next to this truck, the driver of which is having control issues, lost in their little self-absorbed world.
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Bro, something is coming. We might miss it—but its coming and people aren’t ready to deal with it. We live in this big empire and people don’t get it, don’t realize how much the rest of the world hates us. Once you’ve been in the military—unless you are an idiot—you know you are maintaining an empire. Fine, there are other evil empires too, fuck Russia. But we were the ones that broke our word, said we wouldn’t have allies on their border, and there we are. And that other shit. You put your boot on a neck, you better keep it there, especially when it’s the boot of the world. We took it off, now putting the boot back on looks like stomping.
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And the three-sixty stupidity. First, an idiot takes a gun with him to pick a fight with the feds. Then, the feds, after they disarm the guy, somebody yells gun, and they light him the fuck up! Did they hire these guys yesterday? The border, goes from a million to none crossing in a day, before you even put more people there, and we are supposed to believe this shit isn’t rigged? People actually think politicians make decisions?
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Assholes in my neighborhood are either oblivious, don’t give a shit, or they spend the energy hating or loving the same guy. Meanwhile, across the street from me is a highly educated Syrian, who is in great shape, is breeding a baby a year on his wife, goes to the range every day he’s not at the gym. We talk. He knows what I am. I know what he is. We have a courteous association. But if whatever is brewing kicks off, I know he is part of an Islamic cell and he knows I know—so we will sort it out. An entire town near us is Haitian!
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After Mogadishu, the guys that stayed in, one of them went to DELTA—said that they really upped their game. Any mission up coming, is being trained on at a specific mock up. So shit goes down, its like you get a fight tomorrow with a guy that’s been sparring with a better version of you. My sergeant even took a round through the mouth training. SEALS are sexy, get all the press, the movies, but DELTA is a whole nother level. Oh, and we’re supposed to believe the drones whacking Russians are made in the combat zone—that shit’s being built over here!
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We have a meet up every year. Two of us are also in my area—one a sheriff. Two spare tanks of gas, enough ammo for the neighbor, the road block and to relieve the sheriff. Then I have to re-up. That’s on him.
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Fuck Canada. Stop talking, Mister President, and give each of us military veterans just getting by, a voucher for 500 acres, and well clear the whining Cannucks out! They actually think they have an army. We just used them as pivot point when we needed to execute at scale. Part of me can't wait for the gloves to come off. The other part of me, that doesn’t sight in the Syrian position every morning, ah, I’d just like a pain level that made minor injuries something worth looking into. You’ had a good run, almost sixty-three and still boxing—maybe I need to get back on the soccer field.
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As long as you can still slip punches, why not.
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Seriously, you haven’t slipped a punch since, 2001—bro, that’s 24 years on the wrong side of the mountain!
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It is fortunate that Tango and I have become friends after a lifetime mostly separated from each other and the teaming herd of stampeding eaters populating this vapid Planet of the Cucks.
