I read this around 10 years ago, but do not remember who wrote it. And my remembering is not verbatim. It was written by a former radio operator with an American advisory unit in the Delta, who had been in-country less than a month.
I was 18, standing in a rice paddy
The first time they tried to kill me.
I was much older when they tried it again
The next day.
I have not seen an opinion on Russia-Ukraine from AOC. Has no one shown her where those are on a map?
“Jen Psaki says Biden wants to reduce our dependence on foreign oil by using green energy, not by expanding U.S. energy production.”
Truly, you
can’t fix stupid. The best way to stop the stupids is to vote then out of
office.
From The Tennessee Star
Feb. 21,
2020 -- “Vladimir Putin doesn’t
want me to be President. He doesn’t want me to be our nominee. If you’re
wondering why — it’s because I’m the only person in this field who’s ever gone
toe-to-toe with him.”
“I’m going to stand up to him,” Biden told his supporters in a fundraising video. “He’s a bully.” Send me to the White House, and
Putin will know “his days of tyranny and trying to intimidate the United States
and those in Eastern Europe are over.”
“Not only has he (President Trump) failed to sanction or
impose any kind of consequences on Russia for this egregious violation of
international law, Donald Trump has continued his embarrassing campaign of
deference and debasing himself before Vladimir Putin,” Biden told supporters during a virtual town hall.
2014 interview: “I said, ‘Mr. Prime Minister, I’m looking
into your eyes, and I don’t think you have a soul.’” Biden then said Putin
replied with a smile: “Then we understand each other.”
https://tennesseestar.com/2022/02/24/commentary-for-decades-biden-promised-he-could-handle-putin/
Those small plastic floaty things called "kayak" should be called "canook," since they resemble a canoe more than a kayak, and, if overturned, toss the operator into the water, unlike a real kayak, which keeps the operator inside until he/she brings it back upside, where it belongs.
I’ll believe it when I see it, which is not likely since I do not watch CNN.
Meanwhile,
the soap opera of CNN and billionaires deciding what we see on the screen continues.
https://thepostmillennial.com/cnn-to-change-course-and-start-acting-like-a-news-channel
No fuss suicide available in easily accessible kit.
“Those
seeking euthanasia in Switzerland now have the option to use a 3D-printed ‘death
capsule’ called the Sarco, Oddee reported on Dec. 7.
“Philip
Nitschke, founder of Exit International, an Australian company, explains how
the pod works: A patient enters the coffinlike capsule, closes the lid (which
includes a large window), answers a few questions, and then activates a series
of events with a single button.
“At
that point, the chamber is flooded with nitrogen, but the occupant will not
feel like they're suffocating or choking, he says.
"’There
is no panic. The person will feel a little disoriented and may feel slightly
euphoric before they lose consciousness. Death takes place through ... oxygen and
carbon dioxide deprivation.’
“After
five to 10 minutes, the patient is deceased.
"’The
machine can be towed anywhere for the death,’ Nitschke said. ‘It can be in an
idyllic outdoor setting or in the premises of an assisted suicide organization.’"
https://www.jewishworldreview.com/0222/news_of_the_weird226882.php
'Sex offender wanted for shooting sheriff's deputy breaks into home with Trump 2020 flag flying outside -- and homeowner kills him in shootout'
https://www.theblaze.com/news/sex-offender-wanted-for-shooting-sheriffs-deputy-breaks-into-home-with-trump-2020-flag-flying-outside-and-homeowner-kills-him-in-shootout
The incident was, of course, in Florida. You would think the now dead dude might have considered "Trump supporter might be armed," but if he'd had any sense he wouldn't have been a criminal.
Who knew in his English heart that only Englishmen were suited for ruling the world. All others were in one of two categories: Those who assisted England, and those ruled by England.
"Let it be clearly understood that the Russian is a delightful person till he tucks in his shirt. As an Oriental he is charming. It is only when he insists on being treated as the most easterly of western peoples instead of the most westerly of easterns that he becomes a racial anomaly extremely difficult to handle." -- MacMillan's Magazine, April 1890.
Russia is a criminal enterprise. Russia has always been a criminal enterprise – before the czars, during the czars, even more criminal under the Bolsheviks and then the Communists, under the presidents since the USSR fell apart.
Ukraine is
less a criminal enterprise, although only by a degree or so. Kyiv founded
Russia. Vikings founded Kievan Russ and the Ukraine. “Viking” was a job
description for member of a criminal enterprise.
Cossacks
were bandits.
Russia, the
great land mass and not just the lines on maps, has always been up for grabs.
He who conquers, rules.
Lace-shirted
American diplomats and addled politicians do not know the kind of steppe criminals
they are dealing with.
Vera and Shetland are British TV police procedure dramas and novel series by Ann Cleeves. I enjoyed the series and decided to check my Nook Book for her works.
I will not
buy any of Ms. Cleeves’ books. The reason is quite simple: I will not support
any person or organization involved in propagation of homosexuality.
That
decision comes from reading about one of Ms. Cleeves’ books, The Long Call, which
in TV form “follows Detective Inspector Matthew Venn
as he returns to his religious hometown in Devon with his husband for his father's funeral,
only to find himself investigating a local murder.”
I will not pay for any book, TV show or
motion picture with “his husband” or “her wife” describing the main character.
In an episode of CBS Survivor, one contestant, a retired New York City police detective, said, "I'm gay. That's who I am." My wife said, "Why would someone want to identify himself by a sex act?"
My response was more blunt: "You're gay. That means you suck d***." And, according to the man's own words, that is who he is. Not a long-time police detective, but a man who sucks d***.
New York Times editorial, Sept. 2, 1939
‘Germany
Draws the Sword’
As
a result of yesterday’s events, surprising in their swiftness to many who still
had hopes that a conflict in Europe might be at the last moment avoided, a
state of war now exists between Germany and Poland. Danzig has declared itself,
and been accepted
by Hitler, as part of the German Reich, and the German Army has attacked Poland
and bombarded some of its cities.
General mobilization
has been declared in France. The curtain seems to have lifted on what may be
the worst drama in the history of our modern civilization.
At this writing it
cannot be said that the conflict has yet become a general one, but there seems
to be virtually no hope of avoiding this if Great Britain and France make good
their pledge to Poland, so often reiterated. The madman has unsheathed his
sword, with Poland as his first victim.
Let all those who believe in democracy, and in justice, try to keep cool and courageous and do their duty in face of this calamitous decision.
https://www.nytimes.com/2013/10/14/opinion/14iht-op1939sept02.html
What that
says is, “We have no idea what is going on. Everyone hope for the best.”
The final paragraph seems to have been added on, perhaps by an editor who decided "The madman has unsheathed his sword..." just a bit too accusatory of Herr Hitler.
A Virginia sheriff's office is thanking a goat for assisting deputies during a foot pursuit with a fleeing suspect this month.
The goat, named Gracie, helped two deputies flush out a suspect
they were chasing on Feb. 13, according to the Henry County Sheriff's Office.
Capt. Scott Barker said Deputy David Parnell came across the
suspect while investigating a domestic assault case in the Fieldale area of
Henry County, the Martinsville Bulletin reported.
After telling the suspect he was under arrest, the suspect fled
on foot, leading Parnell to chase him through a fence line and across a field,
Barker said.
During the chase, Barker said a goat from the property joined
the deputy.
https://www.foxnews.com/us/virginia-sheriffs-office-praises-goat-assistance-chasing-suspect
Link at
Valor Guardians.
From Gun
Free Zone
'Biden’s DOJ
ENDS Trump national security program set up to combat Chinese espionage
following complaints it discriminated against Asian-American professors and led
to failed prosecution of academics'
And:
'Biden touts
Chinese-backed company at Made in America event'
A Chinese
company owns 8 percent of MP Materials, which owns and operates Mountain Pass
Mine, “the only operating rare earth mine and
processing facility in the United States.”
The Trump
anti-espionage program, DOJ says, “was preventing universities attracting top
talent.”
https://gunfreezone.net/apparently-10-for-the-big-guy-buys-you-an-entire-country/
Robert Kincaid came back to the war because of a woman. Kincaid told the story his fifth day with the platoon, the night of the day Hueys came to an LZ and took the platoon to Fire Base Angelique.
The platoon had been more then a month
in the bush, and all of us looked forward to down-time, even if comforts at
Angelique consisted only of showers and a small PX tent. Water in the showers
was warm if you got there in the afternoon, when the sun heated the steel
containers that held water for the showers. If you got there too late, the water was new and cold.
Fire Base Angelique covered four hundred
acres of a large clearing northwest of Tay Ninh City. Jungle surrounded
Angelique. The jungle was not as thick as in a Tarzan movie; large trees and
underbrush mostly. A village once was in the clearing, and the cleared area had
been rice paddies. The village was destroyed during the French war, almost
fifteen years before. There were two wells where the village once was. Now,
water purification trucks sat near the wells. The trucks were equipped with
pumps and filters and chemicals to purify water pumped from the wells and into
two large rubber-lined containers the size of swimming pools. The armored cav
troops of Second Squadron and the artillery batteries each sent a water truck
to the pools every day. Operators of the water purification detachment filled
the trucks, and the trucks returned to the troop areas and battery areas and
filled the shower containers and water trailers. In dry season, Chinook
helicopters brought additional water in 500-gallon rubber blivets.
Along with the cav troops and the rifle
platoon, four artillery batteries occupied Angelique. The artillery batteries
had 105-millimeter towed howitzers, 155-millimeter self-propelled howitzers,
eight-inch howitzers and 175-millimeter long guns. The sixteen guns fired daily
at pre-planned targets or on-call targets when units in contact with NVA or VC
required support and at night fired harassment and interdiction (H&I) at
places VC or NVA might use as assembly areas. The 175-millimeter guns sometimes
fired on called targets in Cambodia.
The afternoon of the first day the
platoon was at Angelique, the troop supply truck made runs to the PX tent.
Three large CONEX containers filled with cases of beer sat near the PX tent.
The beer was Pabst Blue Ribbon, Hamm’s, Carling Black Label and Miller High
Life. Two other CONEXes held cases of soda -- Fresca and Tab mostly -- and a
few cases of Coke if you got there early enough. Every soldier had a ration
card and could buy two cases of beer a week. That first day, Hunter and Wizard
volunteered to buy beer. Billy D, Kincaid and I bought sausages, beef jerky,
crackers and cookies. Next day, we would switch purchases.
After settling in the squad tent and
cleaning weapons and scraping mud from jungle fatigues, we waited for dark.
Sergeant Reid and the LT wouldn’t let us drink during the day.
After supper, Bull and Snooze went off
to the NCO club, a large tent with a plywood floor and a bar, a dozen or so
tables with chairs, and a stereo system. The other five of us in Second Squad
went to the bunker beside the tent. Wizard went inside the bunker and passed up
a poncho buttoned together and the neck hole and bottom string tied and filled
with beer and ice. Kincaid and I had scrounged the ice from the mess tent.
Outside the wire, there were beer stands, small businesses run by Vietnamese
civilians. Those places sold ice in long blocks made at ice houses in the
nearest big town and brought to the stands in Lambretta cycle buses or regular trucks.
The blocks of ice the Vietnamese sold were packed in rice husks for insulation
and always had bits of rice husk stuck to them, even though the Vietnamese
washed off the ice before selling it. Nobody put ice bought at the stands in a
canteen cup, but ice from mess halls was clean enough to use that way. That
night, we didn’t intend to put ice in our cups, but it was good to have clean
ice and not the Vietnamese kind made with water from who knew where.
Billy D took the poncho from Wizard and
lay it on top of the bunker. He untied the string at the bottom of the poncho and
passed out cans of cold beer. Hunter always had the church key, and he passed
it around. Everybody took that first sip of beer, the best sip, and lit
cigarettes, except Kincaid. He didn’t smoke. “Bad for your health,” he said
when somebody offered him a cigarette his first day with the company. Hunter
laughed when Kincaid said cigarettes were bad for your health. “Sheeit,” Hunter
said. “You see anything around here ain’t bad for your health?” Kincaid had
smiled and said, “No sense pushing the odds.”
We sat on the bunker in a kind of half
circle, facing out, and Hunter sitting on the middle top of the bunker beside
the poncho. The beer was good, and the cigarette I smoked didn’t have that
funky taste of out in the bush when the day was too hot and I’d already smoked
too many cigarettes. In the bush, the only good cigarette was the first one of
the morning, when I drank C-ration instant coffee from my canteen cup, or
coffee cooked at the mess tent and brought out in a mermite can with the rest
of breakfast when we got a hot meal.
Nobody said anything for a while. The
heat of the day was mostly gone. Night wasn’t yet dark enough for people on the
perimeter to get spooky and start firing at VC who weren’t there or pop
hand-held flares to try and see the VC who weren’t there. The night was too
early, too, for VC sappers to sneak through the wire. VC sappers were good at
that, usually waiting until after midnight, when people in the perimeter
bunkers were sleepy. Sappers got through wire maybe fifty percent of the time.
The really serious sappers stripped naked and eased between concertina and
underneath tanglefoot, dragging satchel charges. When past the bunkers, good
sappers would throw satchel charges into command bunkers if they found any.
Ammunition dumps made good targets, too. Anything behind the perimeter bunkers
was a good target, even if what blew up was a squad tent full of sleeping
soldiers. Sappers hadn’t tried the wire at Angelique for a month or so.
After a while, Hunter said, “We need
more people. We’re short three.”
Billy D said, “Shoot, I heard in the
armored cav, sometimes they go out, they only got three people on the tracks.
Supposed to have four, but they go out with three and nobody on one of the
machine guns.”
“You need somebody on all your guns,”
Wizard said. “I wouldn’t want to go out, not have somebody on a gun.”
Hunter said to Kincaid, “You’re the
first new guy we got in two months. Course, you’re not exactly a new guy.”
“I guess not,” Kincaid said.
None of us knew much about Kincaid. He’d
done a tour with the Americal, farther north. He was from Virginia, and the
five days he spent in the bush before we came in to Angelique, we could tell he
knew what he was doing.
Billy D asked, “How was it in the
Americal?”
Kincaid took a sip of beer. “Fucked up.
We worked a lot of villages. There’re more villages up north, near the coast.
You go in a village, everybody hates you. They don’t look at you. It’s like you
don’t exist.”
“Hearts and minds,” Hunter said, and
Kincaid laughed.
“Fuck,” Wizard said, and the disgust in
the word was our disgust. He made a weird laugh. “Like folks say, you grab em
by the balls, their hearts and minds got to follow.”
Kincaid said, “Where there aren’t villages,
you get mines. Lots of mines. Sometimes it seemed we lost a man a day, people
not watching where they put their feet. Down here, there aren’t many villages.
You see somebody in the bush, most likely he’s NVA.”
Wizard laughed. “When he’s dead, he’s
NVA.”
“There is that,” Kincaid said.
Hunter asked the question we all wanted
to ask. Hunter was that way. There was nothing oblique in his approach to
anything. “Why’d you come back?”
There was irony in Kincaid’s laugh.
“Well, you might say it was because of a woman.”
We paid attention then. All of us.
Nobody in the squad had seen a round-eye since two doughnut dollies came to
Angelique two months past. The girls were kind of cute, and they had light
brown hair and eyes that smiled. They laughed a lot, too, and it had been far
too long since anybody heard a girl laugh.
“Uh-hunh,” Hunter said. “This woman, she
had a boyfriend, maybe a husband, hunh. That’s the only reason a man’d come
back to this shit.”
“She was divorced,” Kincaid said. “I
don’t know if she had a boyfriend.”
Billy D said, “She was a older woman.”
He shook his head. “They say a older woman, she knows what she’s doin.”
“Who says that?” Wizard said. “Who’s
this ‘they’ everybody talks about?” He turned in Billy D’s direction. Wizard
and Billy D were always jawing at each other. “Somebody you know screwed a
older woman, told you she knew what she was doin? Must’ve been somebody you
know, cause I know you ain’t had no older woman.”
Billy D couldn’t let the remark go by.
“Hey, Man. You don’t know who I screwed, who I ain’t screwed. Maybe I screwed a
older woman, that’s how come I know they know what they’re doin.”
“You ain’t screwed a older woman, Billy
D,” Wizard said. “I know you, Man. If you’d ever screwed a older woman, you
woulda told us.”
“Well, maybe I keep some shit to
myself,” Billy D said. “Maybe I don’t tell you everythin.”
“Sheeit,” Wizard said, but Hunter
stopped the argument.
“You two shut the fuck up,” Hunter said.
“I asked Kincaid a simple question, you two butt in. I ain’t asked neither one
of you shit, and you got to argue like what you think is important.”
Wizard drew on his cigarette. Billy D
sucked beer and then crumpled the can. “He started it. All’s I said ...”
“I don’t care,” Hunter said. “Shut the
fuck up and let Kincaid answer the question.”
Kincaid smiled. “What was the question?”
he said, and we all laughed, except Wizard and Billy D. Kincaid got another
beer. Hunter passed the church key. “Thanks,” Kincaid said. He punched holes in
the can, then handed the opener back to Hunter. “Like Billy D said, she was an
older woman. About thirty-three, thirty-four. Somewhere in there.” He sipped at
his beer and stared into the night.
Wizard broke the silence. “What’d she
look like?”
“Tall,” Kincaid said. “Maybe five-foot
eight. Slender. Red hair, green eyes.”
“Man,” Billy D said. “A red-headed
woman. They say ...”
Hunter jumped in before Wizard could
start the argument again. “Shut up, Billy D.” He turned toward Kincaid. “Tall
woman, huh.”
“Yeah,” Kincaid said. “She was a fine
looking woman.” He sat on the edge of the bunker, his wrists hanging inside his
knees. “I’ve always had a weakness for fine looking women.”
Hunter laughed. “Who doesn’t?”
“The thing is,” Kincaid said, “I just
can’t turn down a fine looking woman.”
“Well, shit,” Wizard said. “You Rudolph
Fuckin Valentino or somethin? Women always crawlin all over you?” He looked up
at me. “Tom, you ever turn down any? I mean, just because a girl ain’t some
beauty queen or somethin?”
I thought about the question a few
seconds. “Nope. Don't remember ever telling a girl get lost cause she ain’t
pretty enough.”
Wizard laughed. “You took too much time
thinkin, Tom. You been out with that many ugly girls?”
“There ain’t no such thing, Wizard,” I
said. “I mean, in my entire life of nineteen years, I’ve seen one ugly girl.”
Wizard slapped a knee. “You ain’t been
anywhere, then.”
Hunter’s voice was quiet when he said,
“Wizard.”
“Yeah?”
“Kincaid has the floor.”
“Okay,” Wizard said. “Okay. Go ahead on,
man. Tell us how fine women always throwin themselves at you, you got to beat
em off with a stick.”
Billy D didn't let that remark pass. “Ol
Wizard knows all about beatin off.”
“Billy D,” Hunter said, “I swear,
between you and Wizard ... You just like my sister’s kids. Both of you. Don’t
know when to shut up. If I have to say anything else, I’m really gonna be
pissed off.”
Billy D raised a hand. “Okay, Man.
Okay.”
Hunter looked at Wizard. Wizard raised
both hands. “I ain’t sayin nothin.”
“All right,” Hunter said. “I think you
can tell us the rest, Kincaid.”
“There’s not all that much to it,”
Kincaid said. “After I left the Americal, I did my thirty days leave and
reported to Fort Riley. In the middle of Kansas. It wasn’t where I expected to
go, and it damned sure wasn’t what I put on my dream sheet. There’s Belvoir in
Virginia, Camp Pickett and A.P. Hill. But I get sent to Kansas. After a while,
I got tired of Stateside duty. Regular army shit, you know? A notice came down,
the army needed people for escort duty. I put in for it, got accepted.”
“So,” Hunter prodded.
“It was strange at home,” Kincaid said.
“It wasn’t like I expected it to be. Everything was different. Everybody was different. It was like a place
I’d been before, but it didn’t feel like home.” He took a long swig of beer.
Billy D said, “You see any girls? Ones
you’d been out with, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Kincaid nodded. “I did. But they
were different. I didn’t ask any of them out.”
That was a thing we didn’t want to hear,
the girls back home were different. What we wanted when we got home was for
everything to be the same. Except maybe people would appreciate what we had
done, look up to us a little. We didn’t want any of that war hero stuff like
some of the people from World War II did when somebody mentioned a name and
some guy would say, “Yeah, he was a hero in the war.” More than anything else,
we wanted the girls to say, “Wow, you’re back,” when we got home.
Nobody said anything for a while after
Kincaid said the girls were different. I drank at my beer, lit another
cigarette, then said, “What kind of escort duty did you do?”
Kincaid looked at the dark ground. “Body
escort,” he said. “Funeral detail.”
“Shit,” Wizard quietly said.
That was another thing we didn’t want to
know about, didn’t even think about.
Wizard quickly said, “I don't mean you
were wrong to take that kind of duty, Man.”
Kincaid nodded. “I know. It got me out
of regular duty. Inspections, guard duty, field exercises.” He laughed. “The
company I was in, half the guys had just got back, they’re waiting to get out,
and the army had us pulling field exercises. I don’t know what war they were
training for. It wasn’t this one.” He drained his beer, got another can and
punched holes in the top. “It wasn’t bad duty. Usually, there were eleven of
us. An OIC or NCOIC, seven for the firing squad, two flag folders and a bugler
for Taps. Six from the firing squad were pallbearers.” He laughed. “Remember
what the drill sergeants used to say in basic? Fuck em all but nine. Six
pallbearers, two road guards and one to count cadence. Sometimes we didn't need
eleven. Sometimes the local VFW or American Legion provided the firing squad.
Sometimes men from the guy’s family or his friends were pallbearers. Sometimes
they’d have a kid from the high school band play Taps.”
Billy D said, “My uncle J.T., his
funeral was like that. The VFW did all that stuff.”
“Yeah,” Kincaid said. “In towns where
there was a VFW or Legion post, we were always invited for drinks. They
wouldn’t let us pay. There were always girls and women, too. At the viewing and
at the funeral. See, the service member’s body is never allowed to be alone.
There has to be a soldier in uniform with the body at all times. That’s what
the regs say, and that’s what we did. At least one of us was always with the
body, even during viewing. That’s when it was worst, though. You get relatives
there, and you know they’re asking themselves why it had to be him and not you.
Mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, they’re always nice to you, but you
know they’re wondering. I mean, we’re there, in Class A uniform, ribbons and
all the accouterments, some of us with CIB’s, all of us with combat patches. We
made it, why didn’t he? Anyway, my last one, six weeks ago, we were in this
little town in Nebraska. Spring Hill, or something like that. I had the
midnight til oh-two-hundred shift at the funeral home. The funeral home owner
gave Sergeant Miller a key so we could get in and out. All the family had gone
home about ten. It was around twelve-thirty when I heard a knock on the back
door. I wasn’t supposed to leave the room, but I figured maybe it was somebody
who needed in the funeral home. I went to the back and opened the door. A woman
stood on the step. She was all in black. Black dress, black shoes, a little
black hat and a black purse. She said her name was Verna, and she was an aunt
of whoever it was in the casket. She said she knew visitation was over, but she
had just got to town and would it be all right if she just stepped in for a
minute or two. I said, yes, ma’am, that will be all right. I locked the door
when she was in. I led her to the room. She stood there, looking at the casket.
She asked if I would open the top part. I said I couldn’t to that. It was one
of those remains not for viewing things. I said it in a nicer way than that.
She said she understood. She started talking then, about how when she was
growing up she didn’t like the town. Right after she graduated from high
school, she went to Omaha, attended business school there. She got a job, met a
man and got married. She said it didn’t work out, so she filed for divorce. She
hadn’t been back to Spring Hill since the divorce. Her sister, Jimmy’s mother,
frowned on divorce, she said. We talked a little longer, and then she took off
her little black hat. She pulled a pin from her hair, and all this red hair fell
over her shoulders. She didn’t say anything, just took my hand and led me from
that room and to another room, an empty room. There were chairs and a long
couch in the empty room. One thing led to another, and pretty soon we both were
naked and on the couch, going after it like we didn’t have a care in the
world.” Kincaid drank at his beer.
“Well,” Hunter said, “I ain’t sayin I
agree with where you did it, but, hey, when you get a chance to get some, take
it.”
Kincaid nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
He laughed. “Hell, when she took that pin from her hair and her hair just kind
of spilled all over her shoulders, I wasn’t thinking at all. I knew what she
wanted to do, and I wasn’t about to argue with her. Anyway, when it was all
done and we lay there, breathing hard, I heard a voice from across the room. It
was Sergeant Miller. I don’t know when he came in. Verna and I weren’t exactly
paying attention to anything except each other. Sergeant Miller stood in the
door, and he said, ‘You about done there?’ I didn't say anything, I just got up
and started putting my uniform back on. Sergeant Miller said, ‘Who’s this? Some
hide you picked up?’ Verna said, ‘I’m Jimmy’s aunt.’ She lay there on the
couch, not all embarrassed. Sergeant Miller was, though. He said, ‘Oh. Well,
ma’am, I suggest you get dressed and allow Specialist Kincaid to return to
duty.’ He walked out of the room. When I was dressed, I went back to the room
where the coffin was. I guess Verna got dressed and left. Sergeant Miller was
in the room with the casket. He didn’t chew my ass or anything. He just said,
‘You left your place of duty.’ I said, ‘Yes, Sergeant.’ He said he wasn’t going
to mention any of what happened to anybody. There was no need to embarrass the
family, he said. Then he said, ‘But when we get back on post, you will
immediately apply for transfer. Somewhere, anywhere.’ He said the post
personnel NCO was a friend of his, and the transfer would be expedited with
unusual speed.”
“Well,” Hunter said, “the Man don’t like
it when you fuck up. And you did fuck up.”
“I did that,” Kincaid said.
Billy D said, “Ol Jimmy didn’t care. I
mean, if he’d been in your position and you’d been in his, you think he’d of
passed it up?”
Wizard laughed. “Billy D, for once I got
to agree with you. There ain’t a one of us wouldn’t have done what Kincaid
did.”
Kincaid said, “That’s not the weirdest
funeral I was at. I mean, yeah, I screwed up, and I’m paying for it.”
“What,” Wizard said. “You had a funeral
and two women threw themselves at you?”
“It wasn’t like that at all,” Kincaid
said. “Two weeks before, we’d done a funeral at some little town in Missouri.
We attended the services at the church, and when we were at the cemetery, the
deceased’s mother came up to Sergeant Miller. I was standing nearby, and I
heard her say there was a problem. Sergeant Miller asked what the problem was,
and this woman said ... she said, ‘One of those soldiers is colored. We can’t
have a colored soldier at my boy’s funeral.’”
“No shit?” Hunter said.
Kincaid nodded. “That’s what she said. I
wanted to walk over and ask her what she thought her son might have to say
about a colored soldier at his funeral. I mean, the dead guy was a grunt, you
know? But, that wouldn’t have been the proper thing to do.”
Hunter asked, “What happened?”
“Well,” Kincaid said, “Sergeant Miller
talked to the soldier in question, Specialist Sam Parsons. Parsons was from
Georgia. I don’t know what Parsons really thought, but he told Sergeant Miller
that if it would make the mother happy, he wouldn’t participate in the
service.” Kincaid drank at his beer. “Like I said, things are different back
home.”
From When I Went to Vietnam, an unpublished manuscript.
From Sputnik News
"The archeologists found traps
made for hunting gazelles, made up of long converging stone walls meant to trap
the gazelles so that they could be killed more easily.
"Because of the site’s circular
hut-like dwellings and large quantities of gazelle remains, the archaeologists
believe that these Jordanian hunters from the Stone Age were not only hunting
for their own needs, but were also trading with neighboring settlements."
Girl’s retired NJ po-leece father killed earlier stalker who shot his way into family home
From Gun
Free Zone
Miguel says: “If
she makes one video a week that’s $85,000 per year. An adult salary and
the emotional maturity of a teenager is a bad combination.
“This whole situation is fucked.
“Absolutely fucked and someone else is going to get
hurt.”
https://gunfreezone.net/stop-pimping-your-pedo-bait-daughter-and-this-sht-wont-happen/
Miguel
is right in this respect: The whole thing is screwed all the way around. The
girl and her parents are representative of the “I can do anything I want, and I
am not responsible for anything that happens” attitude prevalent in American
entertainment, politics and social platforms.
More accurately, sitting in a rocking chair and looking through the lanai screen.
Ducks
landing on the pond. Some flare and make nice, soft landings. Muscovy ducks
sometimes come in fast, skim the surface and then land like a skier and push
water like a sail boat, across half the pond. Show offs.
From the
street, two Sandhill Cranes striding slowly across the grass, stepping onto the
pavement, walking leisurely to the other side, leading with their long neck.
Sandhills seem to realize they have right of way.
Reminds of a
joke: A citizen calls a state wildlife department and says the department
should move the Deer Crossing signs, because too many deer are being hit.
Another
outdoor observation: Years ago my wife and I were on the Pennsylvania Turnpike.
Some areas have “Watch for Falling Rocks” signs. The rocks I saw sitting on the
shoulder of the highway, you could have watched them all the way from the high
hillside to the highway and not stopped one inch of their progress down.
Likely to become a Democratic Party goal:
Democrat Rep. Ruben Gallego (AZ) called for seizing the trucks of protesters headed to Washington, D.C., and then giving the property to businesses looking to grow.
"Perfect time to impound and give the trucks to small
trucking companies looking to expand their business," Gallego tweeted in
response to the following news headline: "Trucker convoy could shut down
DC Beltway tomorrow."
From Maggie’s
Farm.
From Gun Free Zone
LawDog’s
latest PSA:
I
don’t know who needs to hear this, but:
Anytime someone who is not a blood relative tells
your child, “You can’t tell your parents about this,” that should be an
immediate red flag.
Your child should immediately be removed from that
person’s influence, and that person should be driven from their position of
power.
Yes,
I am talking about teachers. And doctors. And priests. And nurses.
And
politicians. And police.
There
can be an innocent reason for a blood relative to want parents not to know
about a forbidden movie, or a dessert, or a range trip, or a thrill ride, or
any number of other things.
There can also be terrible reasons for blood
relatives to want parents not to know, but those aren’t the point of this post.
THERE IS NEVER A GOOD, VALID REASON FOR A CONTRACTED
EMPLOYEE OR PUBLIC SERVANT TO WANT YOUR CHILDREN NOT TO TELL YOU SOMETHING.
NEVER.
People
who request that of your children are a threat, and your children are not safe
in their presence.
Period.
Full stop. End of story.
https://gunfreezone.net/lawdogs-latest-psa-you-cant-tell-your-parents-about-this-is-a-red-flag/
"This investigation will go on for months to come. It has many many different streams from a federal level from a financial level from a provincial licensing level to a criminal code level from a municipal breach of . . . court order level. It will be a time consuming and complicated investigation that will go on for a period of time. . . "
From Maggie's Farm.
Our feds have held January 6 "insurrectionists" for more than a year, without bail. Who is taking suggestions from whom?
Coming to a national capital near you.
From Gun Free Zone
Police
stopping cars in downtown Ottawa “simply ask(ing) for your reason for
travelling in the area.”
Ottawa police chief: "If
you are involved in this protest, we will actively look to identify you and
follow up with financial sanctions and criminal charges. Absolutely. This
investigation will go on for months to come."
Trudeau says MPs who vote
against the Emergencies Act indicate that "they don’t trust the government
to make incredibly momentous and important decisions.” (Guess who is next on
the government’s list of bank account seizures, property confiscation and sale,
CPS taking your kids?)
“Ottawa police are now
going after local business owners who served the truck drivers, like (a) coffee
shop that served coffee to them, thanks to tips by local residents. They are
forcing them to close.” (“Thanks to tips by local residents.” See, your
neighbors are turning in treasonous violators. Are you still certain you know
of no one who has made statements against the government?)
But competition will not utilize traditional infantry squads.
From military.com:
“The new competition will not use traditional infantry squads,
which typically have two teams of four soldiers, with each of those teams led
by a noncommissioned officer and then a squad leader in charge of those two
NCOs.
“Instead, the competition will use five-person squads, with two
NCOs in charge of three junior troops. A sergeant first class or staff sergeant
will lead; the squad will also have a sergeant or a corporal as team leader,
along with three junior enlisted soldiers. Though staff sergeants traditionally
lead infantry squads, the higher rank has been authorized for units that are
typically led by an E-7.”
Sergeant Major of the Army Michael Grinston said, “It’s not
going to be perfect. … But we’re going to do it anyway.”
Okay. Let’s have a Best Squad in the Army. Yea! Yea! But we’re
not going to use a TO&E squad. We will have an E7 squad leader, a second
NCO, and three other soldiers. Two NCOs leading three Joes.
Just an opinion: As formulated, this idea sucks. Another
opinion: Other combat arms MOS will be pissed because, once again, infantry is
getting the publicity and awards. Speaking as a former infantry NCO, you other guys can
eat my dust.
This is an example of what often happens when a new guy takes over. He/she goes through all the innovations put in place by his/her predecessor and then eliminates and/or replaces ones he/she never liked in the first place.
Some
companies, anything they can get away with…
From Sputnik
News
The UK sent over 200 containers illegally to Sri Lanka to dump waste
generated from British hospitals, hotels, and mortuaries between 2017 and 2019,
but a scandal broke out when hazardous materials – and body parts – were
detected.
Sri Lanka has returned the last batch of 45
containers of garbage to the UK from the CICT terminal in the Colombo Port.
Thousands of tonnes of garbage were loaded back
onto the "Ever Genius" ship that left port on Monday evening.
Of course, no one knows anything. The company that moved the containers
said it ”only acted as the logistics service provider for the party and had no
involvement in the nature of the cargo.” So, no one at the company asked, “What’s
in the containers?” Sent to Sri Lanka, 263 containers. Returned to UK, 45. Yep.
Everything is fine. Nothing to see here.
By Megan Fox
Excerpts: As a woman, I’m offended when a man puts on a dress and
pretends to know what my struggles have been as a biological woman. The hell
you do. A woman is biology. It is experience. It is not a costume. And any man
attempting to put on that experience without having lived it is appropriating
my sex. We are told that cultural appropriation is wrong and racist.
Appropriating the appearance of a woman and then gaslighting other women to
accept you as one of them is sexist. Get out of here with that. Stop trying to
take over women-only spaces. We need protection and safety from men. We need
places to go where no men are allowed. Our girls need their sporting events to
be segregated for their safety and fairness. Enough of this madness already!
Grammar also matters. The English
language is hard enough; mixing up plural pronouns with singular people who
want to be called “they” and “them” is a bridge we will not concede. I’ve taken
some heat over my And Just Like That (Sex
and the City reboot) reviews because I will not call their non-binary
character Che Diaz “they.” But this is the hill I’m willing to die on. I did
not study my ass off in school to learn the proper usage of pronouns to have
twenty-year-old attention whores destroy the AP style manual and make it ten
times harder for ESL students to learn to assimilate. Absolutely not. Call
yourself whatever you want, but we will not be forced to call you by your
preferred pronoun because this is a free country and you cannot compel my
speech.
Link at
Maggie’s Farm
Until a few days ago, a friend worked for an international banking and investment company. Her clients were not ultra-millionaires; most had investments in single-digit millions of dollars, a few had tens of millions. My friend worked her best to ensure her clients got the top deals possible and in keeping with established laws.
A couple of
weeks ago, my friend had a meeting with the manager of the local branch of the
international company. They talked about office operations and principles. Near
the end of the meeting, the manager told my friend, “Your standards are too
high. You need to lower your standards.” Through the local office, the manager
is responsible for hundreds of millions of dollars of other people’s money.
When hearing
that, I thought, “No, no. When you are entrusted with someone’s life savings,
you must operate with the highest of standards. There can be no other way of
doing your job.”
I also
thought that when my friend was in Air Force Officer Training School, no one
ever suggested she lower her standards. When she flew 150 reconnaissance
missions over Afghanistan, no one said she should lower her standards. When she
flew dozens of reconnaissance missions tracking South American drug flights,
intercepting Colombian rebel radio and telephone calls, intercepting Hugo
Chavez and Fidel Castro conversations, no one told her to lower her standards.
Standards
are what keeps a military organization functioning. No matter someone’s
position in that organization, recognition of and adherence to standards make
the organization work, contribute greatly to mission accomplishment.
Most
civilian businesses do not focus on mission accomplishment, not to the extent
that every employee understands the mission and that his or her place in the
organization contributes to the mission.
Lower your
standards. Yeah, that is what made America great.
My friend
quit and now works for another international banking and investment company.
Her now company has high standards.
