Thursday, February 24, 2005
Yes, I'm in CA. Catholics Anonymous. We Catholics need a 12 Step program.
Have you ever had the pleasure of sitting through a two hour Latin mass? No wonder I'm fucked up to this day...
"Dominic go get some... I can get if for you wholesale!"
I grew up in an Irish Catholic family in Philadelphia. I guess that's why I'm still riddled with guilt. I don't know what for, but hell I feel guilty for about everything. The Catholics are funny that way. My Mom was the best at making you feel guilty. Forget the Jews... No Yenta mom could beat my mom. My mom was the best. All she had to do was look at you...
It was horrible...
She'd look at me and say; "Tom, you know how disappointed I am..." Then sigh. God it was terrible.
Just rip my heart out!
The cops would pick me up. They'd ask me: "We can take you to jail, or take you home..."
Take me to jail! Beat the shit out of me! Anything as long as I don't have to see my Mom's face.
Like I said, I grew up in Philadelphia. It was tough. I'd leave school in the afternoon, see the local group of tough guys. At 11 they all had their mob nicknames already. Hank the Hammer, Vinny the Hump... 11 year olds.
So every day I'd get my 3:30 ass kicking. I lived on a tough block.
One time I caught a guy trying to break into my truck. I had the guy by the collar and was about to do a tap-dance on this guy's face. Another guy walked up and said a quote from the Bible.
"You know, Vengeance is Mine Sayeth the Lord!"
I couldn't resist.
I stopped in mid swing, looked at him and said, "Yeah, well God's busy! I'm just trying to help him out a little!"
Religion is funny that way. Like the Jehovah's Witnesses for one. They believe that only 144,000 of them will be going to heaven. 144,000! If that were the case, why the hell would they continue to go door-to-door to recruit more?
And the Mormons. Now there's a fucked up bunch. Six or seven wives for Christ's sake. Hell, I couldn't keep one wife happy. How the fuck do they do that?
That and then you have Buddha... How that fuck can you take advice of self-sacrifice and restraint from someone whom weighs nine hundred pounds?
I think God is pissing himself laughing at us. We're so fucking gullible. We'll buy into anything.
Charley Manson proved that.
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden
Survivor has got to be the dumbest show on right now. How are these people survivors? The only thing this show does is teach the viewers at home how to be lying, cheating and conniving assholes. (I can attest to that, it is my ex-wife's favorite show and she gleaned volumes from it) My ex told me once I'd never make it on survivor. Well, no shit. I couldn't be that vindictive or hateful, even if the prize was a million dollars. And these cast members who go on these shows like Survivor wouldn't survive one day in what I survived doing.
So what if you ate live mealworms? Big fucking deal. I'd like to see any one of those people (The exception would be Rudy, who was a Navy Seal) do half the things I've done. Take cameras into the US Army Jump School, Infantry School and Ranger School like I attended, AND survived. That's REAL survivors for you. I'd really like to see these folks do what I did. In Ranger school they gave us all fertilized chicken eggs. We incubated these eggs, and when they hatched, we named the chick. Fed it. Took care of it. When it was fully grown we had to kill it and eat it. Do that.
I'd like to see one of those assholes do that.
Let me see them do that or this. I once had to skin and cook a spider monkey just to eat. After it was skinned and I had it over the fire, it looked like a tiny person. I felt like I was eating a tiny little person. But I didn't gag. I just ate it because I was hungry. I saw one episode of surviver where one of the tribe members was saying how hungry she was and I could plainly see coconut palms behind her and coconuts laying on the ground.
Give me a fucking break.
"Reality" to me means just that. Real. Life like. Not the contrived "Challenges" the contestants have to do every week like swimming in a lagoon to fetch a sand dollar or some such shit or picking up rocks or building a fire.
That's all bullshit. Here's MY idea of a real "Survivor" show.
Take two islands. Put hidden cameras all over them. No crews or anything. Take two groups of twelve people and put them on both islands. Give them only a knife and a chunk flint. Leave them there for one year. No outside contact what so ever. Whichever "Tribe" has the most members left alive after the year is over, wins.
Yep, that would be true 'reality'... "Lord of the Flies" Style. Now I'd watch that.
Like I said, most TV today is nothing but bullshit. But some shows do have some social advantages. Take the Jerry Springer show. That show really does have a redeeming function in society. It's better than any anti-depressant on the market today in my humble opinion.
Here's how it works. You're feeling depressed. Really low. You're ready to chew on a gun barrel for Sunday brunch or slit your wrists because you're feeling so shitty. You put the Jerry Sprinnger show on and watch the show for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes is all you're going to need. You watch about some shithead from Omaha or someplace who's been screwing his brother's sister of having an affair with his aunt of some guy sleeping with his neighbors dog...
watch that for fifteen minutes, and you'll come to the realization that your life isn't as pathetic as you first though.
See, I find that a redeeming quality.
For now, I'll read a book.
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Here’s a very small sample of the emails I’ve received and my responses:
Your recent article on chromosomes is quite wrong. You couldn’t be farther from the truth in the makeup of the human genome. It’s the male who... Blah, Blah, Blah... (He then went on ad nausium on this and then went into a long essay on the ability to warp the time-space continuum with his microwave and an Oster 15-speed blender... I won’t bore you, but I was put into a coma for several days after reading it.)
Dr. Richard Cranium, Ph.D.
Director of Research
Vinnie’s Gene-O-Rama & Stem-Cell Emporium
You know what doc? It isn’t funny if I have to explain it. I think you’ve been hanging around up there in north Jersey among the toxic waste dumps. If you want to do some really stimulating genetic research, head south to the Pine Barrens. On second thought, you’re probably very familiar with that subject. I’m almost positive that your family tree is a stick, isn’t it? As for you being a "doctor", you’re a Ph.D. A "doctor" of Philosophy. Isn’t philosophy a study of what might be and what could be? You can’t get facts, so you just sit around all day thinking about what could be? Think about this: The lobotomy you had worked.
In response to the "Fat Chicks":
I take great umbrage on your recent post about diametrically challenged females proliferating the Internet dating sites. Just because I don’t have a recent photo posted on my profile and my bodytype is considered "bovine" and the last time I was at Virginia Beach, VA several members of Greenpeace began throwing pails of seawater on me and trying to push me back into the ocean doesn’t mean I can’t get a man through internet dating. I’ve met several thousand very nice gentlemen over the last year after being separated from my husband. I can’t help it that none of them will return my call after I sleep with them.
Whoa, Elsie! Don’t have a cow! You are udderly ridiculous, so it would behoove you not to chew on this cud too long. (I’m milking this one...) Look pasteurize for once! It’s a JOKE for Christ’s sake!
Moooooooving on..... No more cow jokes. Now we move on to penguins!
I’m quite certain you will burn in hell for all eternity for saying the sweet, dear sisters of the Order of the Blessed Bleeding Hearts of the Stormtrooper are evil. I would have though we had enough time in the eight years you spent with us to beat the WORD OF GOD into you!
Sister Mary Idi Amin
Blessed Bleeding Hearts of the Stormtrooper
Ok sister. I’ll go see Father Patty O’Furnature and confess. That should make it all better then, won’t it?
Ok, these aren’t real emails. But believe it or not, I have received several from people who simply CANNOT take a damn joke. I’ve got two things to say to them. Get over it, and if I’m pissing you off that much you have to take the time to write me a nasty email I must be doing something right. That’s my motto, isn’t it?
Pissing off the entire World, one person at a time!"
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden
Friday, February 18, 2005
A Stemmer is a person who's only brain function is on the primal level. Their brain stem is working, they're sucking air and pumping blood. A good friend of mine calls them "Oxygen Thieves". These are folks with the IQ of a stump who are found all over the place in great numbers. They're found in the cities, suburbs and in the rural areas. No one part of the country has more stemmers than another.
I've also found these stemmers are more likely to breed in direct correlation to their IQ. Lower the IQ, the more offspring they spawn. It's only rarely that the progeny of these stemmers is not a stemmer themselves.
Survival of the fittest? I think not.
Most people going through life don't realize this little tidbit of info, but if you work in the public sector like I have for the last twenty or so years it's glaringly apparent. The jobs where you meet the most stemmers are in the law-enforcement & emergency services fields. I've worked both for quite a while an I know what I speak of. This is the very reason I have changed careers mid-life and now am aspiring to be a railroad engineer. I won't have to deal with stupid people anymore.
I'll give you some examples. Shortly after I moved to Arizona, I took a job as an armed guard at the county courthouse. Myself and another person ran the security station at the entrance. We had an x-ray machine and a walk-through metal detector just like at the airports. Now if you really want to find mental midgets, go to your local courthouse and sit in on the cases being heard. They're a hoot. But to really experience the mental conditioning of our great country, stand by the security station and listen to what myself and my partner listened to for ten hours a day for two years.
My partner there asked me at one point what the hardest thing about being a cop was. I told him it wasn't the shootings, homicides, rapes, car wrecks... Oh no. The hardest thing you will ever have to do in the law enforcement or EMS fields is keep a straight face. The urge to say "You've got to be joking?" and laugh your ass off at some dipshit are overwhelming. I kept a small notebook in the pocket of my uniform shirt and would write the most interesting questions asked of us. Here's a few examples:
"Where is downstairs?"
"Is this a real courthouse?"
"Is this the post office?"
"Is the elevator on this floor or another one?"
"Are there courtrooms in here?"
"Is this a building?"
"What's the right what to get up stairs?"
That's just a small sampling of the questions. Now don't get me wrong, I wouldn't be bitching about this if this were just a once-in-a-while thing. This was several times a day, every day. It wasn't just the questions either. It was what some of these boneheads would do. When you run the x-ray machine, you asked everyone coming though to empty thier pockets of all metal objects and place them in a little plastic tub. These are the questions I would get from this simple request to empty you pockets:
"Do coins / keys count?"
"I've got a belt!"
Over and over again to the point where I would just take a five minute break just to go and beat my head repeatedly on the wall in the men's room.
This happened once. A guy walks up to the security station and asked what he had to do. I requested that he needed to empty his pockets of all metal objects. He said he didn't have any so directed him through the metal detector. He walked through and it lit up like a Christmas tree. I pulled him aside and asked him to empty his pockets.
With both hands he dug deep and pulled out what must have been four pounds of 10-penny nails.
What part of ALL metal objects don't these shitheads understand and when did the key companies, nail manufacturers and the US Mint start making those things out of plastic? Somebody should have sent a memo out to everyone, and if they did send a memo, I somehow missed it.
We also would get folks in and they would tell us in great detail about thier court cases, or just why they were visiting. We actually have a guy come in one afternoon to check on birth records. He told me and my partner he was trying to find out (I shit you not) if his grandparents had any children...
My question to him should have been if his parents had any children that lived...
The visitors weren't the only people who did this. Other cops, lawyers and the judges did the same thing. I had this one woman once. A local attorney. She came in one morning as placed her handbag on the conveyor to the x-ray machine. As it went through I was looking at the monitor and a little whistle went off in my head. I hit the stop button and in a low voice as not to alarm anyone asked her if she had anything in her purse that she might like to take back out to her vehicle. She said no, she didn't. I asked again, are you sure? Yes, she said rather testily at this point like I was the moron.
I sighed, motioned her over and turned the monitor around so she could see what I was looking at.
The full color monitor clearly showed inside her purse the outline of a Smith & Wesson model 10 .38 Special with a 4" barrel.
Her response? "Oh, I forgot I had that in there!"
How the hell do you forget you have a two pound pistol in your purse? I can understand a little derringer or something, but a damn .38?
That night driving home, after putting up with stupid questions all day, I was behind a small Dodge Neon for almost ten miles on highway 89 going north into Chino Valley and I just had to say "What the fuck!"
What made me say that?
On this car in front of me, was the nozzle still in the fuel tank and ten feet of hose from a gas pump dragging along side.
And my ex-wife wondered why I drank.
Darwin was wrong. Dead wrong.
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden
Thursday, February 17, 2005
I've been thinking about my lot in this life, and no matter how screwed up my life is, I've still got it pretty good. But lately I've been thinking. I grew up in Philadelphia. I have a pretty good life. I could have been born in some Third-World shithole, but I wasn't. I was born into privilege. No, my family wasn't rich. Far from it. But I was still born into a family in the greatest nation on earth. I've got a roof over my head, food in the cupboard and a fire in the furnace. That's what sets me aside as privileged. But there's some things that are still pissing me off.
How is it that some people are still able to walk on this earth getting high, drunk, stoned. Doing drugs, beating their wives... Collecting welfare even though they can work. Treating people like shit and still sucking air? Why is it that a guy like me, who never really ever tried to intentionally hurt someone is always getting shit on and a shithead wins a 300 million dollars in the Powerball lottery and is constantly getting locked up for DUI? Guys I went to school with who haven't done shit with there lives getting over on everyone and everything still getting high and drunk on the corner when I went at seventeen and proudly served my country?
I'm a survivor. I've always been a survivor. There's few things in my life I've set out to do in my life that I haven't succeeded at. It still pisses me off. I will succeed in my next venture. I'll be a Railroad engineer. It's what I've always wanted to do and I will do it without any help from family or friends. I'll do it like I've done everything in my life. On my own.
But still I'm pissed off.
I'm pissed off at the big money attorneys getting fat checks for other peoples miseries. Fat people suing fast food places for making them fat. Smokers suing tobacco companies for giving them cancer. Kids suing their parents for hitting them. I'm pissed off at my ex-wife for making my life miserable and even though I haven't tried to have contact with her since last May, she's still able to get under my skin and then ruin what I thought was the best relationship I had ever found. I'm pissed off at the democrats for saying I don't really need a tax cut. I've got news for you mister Democrat. This might come as a shock to you, but it's MY FUCKING money. I worked for it and I should have some say in what kind of tax cut I get. As for Social Security, again, it's my money in the first place assholes. If I want to invest part of it, I should be able to invest part of it. I lose it, that's my own goddamn problem.
I'm pissed off plenty, but I'll survive.
I'll tell you what. IF there really is a God, he's got a shitload of explaining to do.
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden
Monday, February 14, 2005
This is a TRUE story of one of the cats.
Shadow was a cool cat. He wasn't the aloof asshole most cats are. He was pretty cool. Almost like a dog. Loved to play and romp like a puppy and was the world's best mouser.
One day, my ex is out sunning herself in the back yard and the cats are hanging out doing cat stuff with her like chasing grasshoppers and stuff. Everything was right in our little family. Then my wife comes rushing in the house with Shadow in her arms saying he can't walk. She said she heard him crying and found him dragging his hind legs behind himself. We call the vet and get an emergency appointment as it's a Sunday. We get to the vets office and after an hour or so he couldn't find anything wrong. He was just paralyzed from the hips back.
At this point I tried to bring up putting him down but my ex would have none of it. He was going to get better she said. The vet gave her these little isometric exercises to rehabilitate the cat.
Rehab the cat! Un-fucking-believable...
This wasn't going to work, but again my ex refused to listen. So much for open communication. Anyway, we've got these little cat-isometrics going... Three and four times a day. We both do this for about four weeks and still no change. Shadow is back to his old self, friendly and playful as ever, but dragging his hind legs around behind himself. We did have to make special arrangements for his litter. We made a shallow metal pan just for him and he even got used to that. But like I said, still his legs weren't getting any better.
One day about five weeks after this little episode I come home from work and my wife is sitting in the living room of our place and the first thing that hits me is the smell... I look at her and ask if she smells anything funny. She said no but I knew exactly what it was. It was the definite smell of Gas gangrene. I asked where the cat was and she said in the bedroom. I went to the cat and there he was all happy laying in a nice warm spot in near the floor vent. He purred at me as I bent down to pet him and inspect. He reeked like a dead guy and as soon as I looked at his legs I knew. I actually could see bone through one of the legs. His legs were rotting right off his body and she couldn't smell it...
I knew what had to be done now. I called the wife into the bedroom and pointed out what was happening. I told her he'd have to be put down but again, she'd have none of it. She scooped him up into the kitty-carrier and whisked him off to the vets...
This is where it gets totally un-fucking-believable... We get the vets office. He examines Shadow. He looks at me with a "Help me here" look. I just shrug because of the extra "Y" chromosome, I'm powerless. I know at this point we HAVE to put him down... But the vet comes up with a plan... He's going to operate...
I am not shitting you here. I'll give you the vets name and number to verify this story if you don't believe me.
So, as I go outside to smack my head against the brick wall for a few minutes my wife and the vet discuss the procedure. We leave the cat at the office and head home. It's a tense ride. I'm trying to talk reason into her. I love the cat too, but he's already cost us $500 the last time. We have another car in the driveway that needs an engine. We have to get that fixed.
Do I have to tell you what we did? Did we put the cat down and get the other car fixed? Of course not. The vet had a specialist come up from Phoenix (A Goddamn specialist for a cat for Christ's sake!) and they did the operation the next day. We could pick him up a few days after.
We picked him up a few days later and I pissed my pants laughing when he crawls out of the carrier. They had to amputate from the HIP, so he didn't even have little stumps. And he was shaved down to the skin from about mid-torso to the base of his tail. I had a two-legged shaved pussy. I couldn't contain the humor in it. My wife didn't think it was all that funny but I never let go of a chance to tell people I have a two-legged shaved pussy.
Now, after all this, we never found out what really paralyzed him. (I'm still leaning towards him getting stung by a scorpion) And, do you think after all this he lived a long life afterward? Of course he didn't. He died about four months later. Just found him dead one morning. The ex wanted to take him for an autopsy. I finally put my foot down with that. A fucking cat-autopsy. No goddamn way I was going to pay for a cat-autopsy.
The total bill for this procedure and the original emergency vet's visit was a grand total of $2049.52.
He was a cool cat, and I miss him. But he was not worth $2049.52 especially when I wasn't working full-time and we had a vehicle that really needed to be fixed. I had one solution that would have saved us both $2049.46...
.22 ammo only costs 6 cents a round...
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden
Sunday, February 13, 2005
The Band is Vertical Horizon.
Women have an extra Y chromosome in there DNA makeup. Do you know why? I'll tell you. You'll never figure them out, so most of us men wind up beating our heads against a brick wall and muttering "Y" ask "Y" over and over again. We feel we're in a perpetual Bud Dry commercial from the early 90's.
Let's face it guys. If this were really a contest, which I really don't believe it is, we will NEVER win. Period.
Again, I don't believe it's a contest. It shouldn't be. But that extra Y chromosome makes it into one. I hear all the time on TV how women want a nice guy who's in touch with his emotions and feminine side... So what happens? You do that and your a pussy. "Oh, I had to break up with him because he was a wimp." You act cool and macho, you're an asshole. "Oh, I had to break up with him, he was such a jerk." What the fuck?
You say all the right things at exactly the right time, send little cards, flowers for no reason... Treat her like a princess... What's that get you? Nothing. A kick in the nuts for your effort.
My marriage split up after nine years this time last year. I thought I had the perfect marriage. When we started out, it was a true equal partnership. Some nights she cooked dinner, some nights I did. We shared all the household chores, not one persons job. I liked that arrangement. We both worked full time jobs so that was only fair. Then things started to get stale. Our sex life faded first. (God forbid you try any other position other than the missionary and she made taking a shower together into a chore for Christ's sake) and we started to drift apart. Sex between us had grown so far apart that the last year we were together it was a grand total of nine times... It was also pretty pathetic too. I've never been a "Minute Man", but when I tried to quit smoking a few years ago I did the Zyban thing. It said in the warnings that it "May cause some sexual side affects" Well, my 'hydraulics' worked but I could go for HOURS... And what was the ONE thing I'd never thought I'd hear any woman say, let alone my wife? What exactly were the four little words that was paramount to a mental castration?
"Are you done yet?"
I digress. We had the internet, so I did the next best thing. No, I did not go out and go on the dating sites, but I am getting to that. Hold yer' horses! So, like I said. We had the internet. I'm a guy. A guy who's wife continually turns him down no matter how romantic he gets. All this talk about 'Same Sex Marriages' I was lucky to have a 'Some Sex Marriage'... You do the math:
One Fridgid Wife + One Horny Husband + Internet = "Welcome! You've Got Porn!"
Guys are visual. Very visual. So I was taking matters into my own hand so to speak. It got to the point that if I wanted a manage a tio.. (Oh, that silly French word for "Three Way") I used both hands. "Left, meet right, right, meet left... How do you do?" I got berated by doing that! Again, here's a woman who's turning me down everytime I even hint at making love and basically telling me "If I'm not getting any, neither will you." I really did this once. About three AM, I went into the bathroom and got a few Tylenol and crawled back into bed. I gently shook her awake and said:"Honey, here's the Tylenol." She asked me in a sleepy voice what the Tylenol was for. "For your headache, dear." She looked up at me and actually said it. "Tom, I don't have a headache." I smiled and said "Gotcha!"
That didn't work either...
What the Fuck? "Y" ask "Y"?
Another word on porn here really quick. That can be a big hit to your ego also. As the more of it I watched, the more depressed I got. What most of the adult videos should be named any more is one standard title: "Guys with way bigger cocks than yours banging chicks you'll never get."
So porn can be a double-edged sword.
But then the accusations came when I didn't stop. Let's face it. A man can only turned down so many times before the frustration factor will hit the red zone and he'll do it anyway. I was being accused of trying to meet women on the internet. That was over the top for me at the time. She just didn't get that I didn't want to cheat, only wanted a little loving once in a while. What I didn't realize at the time as I was still blind to it, was all her accusations about me was merely at that point deflection away from her guilt. She had been out on me several times and at the time was pregnant with a child that I'd figure out later couldn't have possibly been mine.
"Y" ask "Y"?
But that's another rant for another time. What I'm really leading up to is internet dating. So right after we spilt up I went onto a few dating websites. I wanted to see what I'd been accused of for so long was like. I met a very nice woman and we started to see each other. But it was doomed because it was a rebound relationship. The sex was fantastic after 9 years of yawn but we were two separate people wanting two different things out of life. I still think about her fondly and wish her well. Then I stated to meet a few "psychos". I won't get into that much here but one was talking marriage on the first date, and I hadn't even filed my own divorce papers yet... Then I had dated two women in a row who wanted desperately to be my mother (See 'I don't need another mother' post) and were so cloying it was unbearable. Then one I found out later was screwing around on her husband. I broke that off immediately because I put myself in her husband's position... I knew exactly how he'd feel if he knew.
"Y" ask "Y"?
The only thing more prolific on the internet dating sites than psychos are Fat Chicks. Now, I'm not talking just plump here and I don't want to sound too shallow because I'm no Tom Selleck by a long shot and the next ice age will come before I'm chosen for the next season of "The Bachelor". But I'll be honest. I like women who are "Fluffy"... I don't want a wrinkle in the sheets and I'm not looking for some supermodel. I'm talking morbidly obese women. Women with butt-cracks in the front... Women who only wear sweatpants because that's the only thing that will fit them... Women with more chins than a Chinese phonebook...
But then again, some guys really like fat chicks. Then you have the guys who secretly like fat chicks. You know what I'm taking about. You go out on Friday night with a bunch of your friends. You get to the bar about 9 or 9:30 and you order up a beer. Your buddy next to you points out the fat chick across the bar and starts mooing and shit. 30 minutes and 4 beers later he's over in the corner with the same fat chick sucking face... Then he leaves with her. You get a call the next day and he's pissed at YOU for letting him go home with a fat chick. "I slept with a fat chick! How could you let me get so drunk I'd sleep with a fat chick?" he asks... My pat answer to this is; "Listen, buddy. If I had that much booze in my bloodstream, my equipment is not going to work, so you musn't have been that drunk and wanted to sleep with her!"
You can't win with some guys either...
I'm going to piss off a few people here but I really don't give a rat's ass. I may not be any prize-package by far myself, I'm at least weight proportionate to my height. You at least have to be somewhat physically attracted to the person. So if you're going to try the internet dating thing, here's some hints to keep you safe IF you are not looking for a fat chick.
Number one: If they don't have a picture on there profile, or if the newest picture is their highschool graduation picture and they're in there late 30's, run! They're either a Fat Chick or bear a striking resemblance to Madusa and you stand a great chance in being turned into a pillar of salt.
Number two: If any of these words are in there profile to describe themselves; few extra pounds, cuddly, buxom, jolly or anything similar, they are probably a fat chick.
The thing that pisses me off about fat chicks (hell, fat people in general) is I constatly hear them say, "oh! I have a gland problem" or some other such bullshit and in the same breath they're shoving a whole bucket of KFC extra crispy or double whoppers with cheese down their gaping maw, then blame the restaurant for making them fat! With that mentality I think I'll just sue Ford the next time I get a speeding ticket. Well, your Honor, they made a vehicle that would go over the speed limit! It's not my fault!
Fucking spare me.
I'm not getting down on internet dating. I was, up until recently seeing the most beautiful woman I'd ever met. She was funny, vivacious, intelligent. AND beautiful. I loved just being around her. I met her over the internet. We broke up for various reasons and I'd like to think after we both get our shit together we could try again. She was one in a trillion.
So it's not all bad.
Again, if you really dig fat chicks. Give internet dating a shot. I'm giving up on it for the time being though. Sometimes I felt like Captain Ahab... Thar she Blows!!!!!!
And guys, remember this Fat Chicks are like mopeds. They're fun to ride, but you don't want your friends to see you on one!
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden
Friday, February 11, 2005
Now, I’m all for free speech. It’s why I have this blog. But in his latest tirade, he called the victims of the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and the fields in Pennsylvania on 9/11/01 as all little "Eichmanns getting what they deserve." And how the terrorists (his words, not mine) are "brave combat teams" who deserve praise. What really pisses me off about these left-wing intellectual dildos that spout there anti-US speech live here, collecting our tax-dollars (most colleges are funded by US tax dollars).
I’m a veteran. I fought for this cum stain’s right to spout off. But it shouldn’t be from a taxpayer-funded, tenured-protected position in academia where he can poison the youth of this country with his claptrap.
For this Professor Ward Churchill earns the distinct honor as "Intellectual Dildo" for the Month of February.
I’d like to but this little festering hemorrhoid a one-way airline ticket to that Worker’s Paradise of Cuba. I’m sure him and Fidel would get along famously. Or better yet, I’d like to put him in a closed room with all the families of the victims of 9/11, and the families of the brave soldiers who’ve given there lives in Pakistan and Iraq. Let him spew his garbage there and see how far he gets.
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Here's what's baffling me. The last few women I've dated when they found out I was newly separated and living alone, instantly tried to become my mother.I'm 39 and have been on my own since I was 17. I even waited to get married until I was 30. I am not helpless.
I can cook (I'm a pretty good one, I think), clean house, do dishes, run a vacuum cleaner and do the grocery shopping. I can even sew and I really prefer to do my own laundry. In fact I prefer to do all of these things myself. I do not need a mother. I already had one. She was great and did a good job at raising me, but she's gone now three years. Although I miss her dearly, I don't need another one. I'll give you an example. This happened with the last woman I was seeing. I was cooking supper one night and heard a knock on my door. I go to answer it and I find the woman I'm seeing (I'm not even to date three with this woman) standing there with a huge plate of food. She said she thought I might be hungry so she brought some food over. Now I point out that I'm already halfway through roasting a chicken and potatoes and had my veggies on the range. She sighed, put the plate down and asked to use the facilities. You have to go through my bedroom to get to the bathroom in my apartment, by the way. It was taking her an unusual amount of time, so went into the bedroom. There I found her re-folding my laundry that I had sitting on my bed ready to be put away. She said I had folded them "wrong"....
Well, I've been folding my clothes the same way since I've been twelve or thirteen and I kind of like the way I fold them. Needless to say I ate my roast chicken alone that night and didn't get to date number three. I'm just curious about this since it's been a while since I've been "On the Market" so to speak and I really don't remember women being like this when I was single before. Am I wrong for feeling this way?
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden
I was subjected to a Catholic education. Now that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Because of the education I was given, I can read and write the English language, although some of my friends in the UK and Australia will beg to differ with that. But nuns are still evil. I still have nightmares of the penguins attacking me with their thirteen-inch metal rulers and there dust brooms... I had one teacher, Sister Mary Joseph Stalin who was quite the marksman with a blackboard eraser... She was deadly at twenty yards. Whap! Right between the peepers!
But she was a lightweight compared to Sister Mary Adolph Eichman and Sister Mary Hienrich Himmler of the Order of the Blessed Bleeding Hearts of the Stormtrooper. They are the reason I’m the way I am the way I am today. The first thing I can remember was Sister Mary Adolph telling me my dad wasn’t really my dad. Jesus was my dad. Had me convinced. I went home and promptly told my parents this... My dad went apeshit and my mom was white as a sheet... My dad beat the shit out of me and went to have a talk to the nuns and smoothed things over... And this was in first grade. I was six years old. Very impressionable.
How was I to know our mailman’s name at the time was Jesus Martinez?
Second time I got the living shit beat out of me was when I started to question what they were teaching me. I was told I couldn’t eat meat on Fridays, shit like that. I started to read the bible to find out where it said I couldn’t eat meat on Fridays. Had to eat fish. I thought maybe God just dug fish and wanted to have some Arthur Treacher’s Fish and Chips on Fridays, or he was a silent partner in the franchise. I was leaning towards this as I couldn’t find anything in the bible about no meat on Fridays. God was getting a kickback from Arthur. Sixty/forty cut.
I went to Sister Mary Adolph and asked her why I couldn’t find it in the bible... Guess what? I got the living shit beat out of me for READING THE BIBLE! I was beaten in front of the whole class. How dare I actually READ THE BIBLE!!!! Who was I to question the WORD OF GOD? She said she was sent to tell me of the WORD OF GOD, and I should never question her...."You, Master Wolfenden HAVE NOT READ YOUR CATICHISM, HAVE YOU?" All you need to know is in the Catechism!
I was sent to confession. (Confession is where Catholics go to confess all their sins. You go and confess to anything, and you still get to go to heaven... No, that doesn’t reek of hypocracy, does it?)
So I walked across the schoolyard to church where Father Patty O’Furnature was sitting in confessional smelling oddly of Hai Karate! And Jameson’s Irish Whiskey. I got basically the same tirade from him, but also some questions about a Turkish prison and if I’d ever seen a grown man naked. So I had to say twenty Hail Mary’s and all was right with my world again. Aint Catholisism great? Do what ever you want and still get to heaven!
This went on for some time until I enlisted in the Army. I needed a break. Basic Training was joke after the Catholics. No offence to Staff Sergeant Cecil Gann. You were a pussy compared to Sister Mary Adolph Eichman. But you did teach me some great things, like "It don’t mean shit." And "Hey dumbass, that’s the wrong end!"
I survived the Army because of the Catholics. And the Catholics made me what I am today. I’m a recovering Catholic now, and tried to wean myself slowly. I went to a Lutheran church for a while and even got married Lutheran. They’re just "Catholic Lite, all the spirituality and ritual, 2/3 less guilt!" But I gave that up too.
I’m eating a nice big juicy steak on Friday...
Nuns are still evil...
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
My dad’s gone now for some twelve years. I still can remember his last words to me.
"Tommy, that shotgun is loaded!"
No! I didn’t shoot my dad. But he’s not around and I need the laughs, so fuck him!
Again, I didn’t kill my dad. He died in his sleep some twelve years ago. I miss him terribly some times. But knowing I turned out just like him is comfort enough. I think the key to immortality is to always be remembered. If you're remembered, good, bad or indifferent, you’ll live forever in someone’s memories.
My dad had several sayings my brother and I call "Dadisms". Have you ever seen the movie "A Christmas Story"? Well, if you have, the character played by Darin McGavin is my dad. He could curse and swear better than anyone I’ve ever met. And when he got really angry it got even better. It wasn’t just what he said, but it was the phrasing. He was quite creative, and sometimes even today I’ll find myself saying the same stuff when I’m angry and I haven’t a clue what the hell I’m saying.
Here’s a few:
"God damnit to hell and shit color!"
Well, The first part I understood even as a five-year-old. But ‘shit color’? What the fuck is ‘shit color’? But again, I find myself saying it.
This one, although not really swearing, was one of his ubiquitous sayings.
"He/She talks like a man with a paper asshole."
Now to this day I haven’t a clue what that really means, but God, I’ve met quite a few people that it fits perfectly. I've even added my own little nuance to it:
"He/She talks like a man with a paper asshole in a forest fire."
The worst one, by far was:
"Jesus jumping Christ Almighty!"
That in itself wasn’t too creative, but what got my ass kicked more than anything was The Poem. See, my brother Bobby is almost exactly ten years older than I am. When I was six he was sixteen. He made up this poem and told it to me once, and every time after that when my dad would start on one of his tirades... I’d get the giggles, and that would only inflame my father even more. So I got whooped worse when he was particularly colorful in his language. He’d get mad and start swearing, I’d start laughing my ass off. Hence, I’d get beat worse.
The poem you ask? Here it is.
Jesus jumping Christ almighty
A mouse ran up my fucking heiny!
Bit my dick
And made me shit!
Jesus jumping Christ Almighty!
Not exactly award-winning prose, but to a six-year-old it was hysterically funny. And my brother thought it was even funnier to see me get the living shit beat out of me and I’m still pissing my pants laughing at the same time.
I still smile when I think of that. Not because of my asshole brother laughing at me getting my ass kicked, or even the ass kicking itself. It reminds me of my dad, and no matter how imperfect he was, he was still my dad and I love him still and miss him. But I’ll always remember my dad, and in that he’ll live on. He’s not really gone entirely. He’ll always be with me a little bit.
I miss you dad.
Now, could you please send me a message telling me what the hell "Shit Color" is?
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden
I read this in the Richmond Times-Dispatch (Richmond, Virginia) a few Sundays ago. I'll paraphrase it here because it wasn't on thier website and the article was too long to transcribe. But this was what the article said, in a nushell. And no, I didn't reword it to fit my beliefs. Just quoted what I thought was relevant to get the whole story. I'll trust all of you are sitting down...
Here it goes:
Evidently not satisfied with gun control, Scotland is embarking on a campaign of knife control. It will begin with a ban of such items as samurai swords. The legal age for the purchase of a knife will rise from 16 to 18, and the purchase of non-domestic knives will require a permit. According to an article in the Scottish Daily Record & Sunday Mail Scotland, had 127 "unlawfull killings" in 2002, and "more than half of the victims died from knife wounds." It says blades "are almost entirely to blame for a rise in the overall number of murders." An unnamed government source is quoted as saying, "Ministers accept that it wil take time to eliminate the knife culture completely." But Scotland aims to try. An editorial in the same newspaper is pleased that the government is acting "at last" --because "kives kill, They maim." End
Now knives kill and maim?????? Watch out! There's a notorious group of dirks hanging out on that corner... What's next? Pointed sticks? Harsh language? (Oh, they did do that in Kalifornia...) Sounds like to me that same rantings of some anti-gun folk, and it still doesn't make sense.
And some people wonder why I believe society has no redeeming qualities.
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden
This is a copy of the oath the new jesuit priests have to take before getting there Roman Collar and pointed in the direction of the little boys... I DID NOT write this nor did I make this up.
Extreme Oath of Induction
as recorded in the Journals of the 62D Congress, 3d Session of the U.S.
(House Calendar No. 397. Report No. 1523)
Congressional Record---House, 15 Feb. 1913, pp3215-3216
I_______________ , now in the presence of Almighty God, the blessed Virgin Mary, the blessed St. John the Baptist, the Holy Apostles, St. Peter and St. Paul, and all the saints, sacred host of Heaven, and to you, my Ghostly Father, the superior general of the Society of Jesus, founded by St. Ignatius Loyoly, in the pontification of Paul the III, and continued to the present, do by the womb of the Virgin, the matrix of God, and the rod of Jesus Christ, declare and swear that His Holiness, the Pope, is Christ's vice regent and is the true and only head of the Catholic or Universal Church throughout the earth; and that by the virtue of the keys of binding and loosing given His Holiness by my Saviour, Jesus Christ, he hath power to depose heretical kings, princes, States, Commonwealths, and Governments and they may be safely destroyed. Therefore to the utmost of my power I will defend this doctrine and His Holiness's right and custom against all usurpers of the heretical or Protestant authority whatever, especially the Lutheran Church of Germany, Holland, Denmark, Sweden and Norway, and the now pretended authority and Church's of England and Scotland, and the branches of same now established in Ireland and on the continent of America and elsewhere and all adherents in regard that they may be usurped and heretical, opposing the sacred Mother Church of Rome. I do now denounce and disown any allegiance as due to any heretical king, prince or State, named Protestant or Liberal, or obedience to any of their laws, magistrates or officers. I do further declare that the doctrine of the Churches of England and Scotland of the Calvinists, Huguenots, and others of the name of Protestants or Masons to be damnable, and they themselves to be damned who will not forsake the same. I do further declare that I will help, assist, and advise all or any of His Holiness's agents, in any place where I should be, in Switzerland, Germany, Holland, Ireland or America, or in any other kingdom or territory I shall come to, and do my utmost to extirpate the heretical Protestant or Masonic doctrines and to destroy all their pretended powers, legal or otherwise. I do further promise and declare that, notwithstanding I am dispensed with to assume any religion heretical for the propogation of the Mother Church's interest; to keep secret and private all her agents counsels from time to time, as they intrust me, and not divulge, directly or indirectly, by word, writing or circumstances whatever, but to execute all that should be proposed, given in charge, or discovered unto me by you, my Ghostly Father, or any of this sacred order. I do further promise and declare that I will have no opinion or will of my own or any mental reservation whatever, even as a corpse or cadaver (perinde ac cadaver), but will unhesitatingly obey each and every command that I may receive from my superiors in the militia of the Pope and of Jesus Christ. That I will go to any part of the world whithersoever I may be sent, to the frozen regions north, jungles of India, to the centers of civilization of Europe, or to the wild haunts of the babarous savages of America without murmuring or repining, and will be submissive in all things whatsoever is communicated to me. I do further promise and declare that I will, when opportunity presents, make and wage relentless war, secretly and openly, against all heretics, Protestants and Masons, as I am directed to do, to extirpate them from the face of the whole earth; and that I will spare neither age, sex or condition, and that will hang, burn, waste, boil, flay, strangle, and bury alive these infamous heretics; rip up the stomachs and wombs of their women, and crush their infant's heads against the walls in order to annihilate their execrable race. That when the same cannot be done openly I will secretly use the poisonous cup, the strangulation cord, the steel of the poniard, or the leaden bullet, regardless of the honor, rank, dignity or authority of the persons, whatever may be their condition in life, either public or private, as I at any time may be directed so to do by any agents of the Pope or Superior of the Brotherhood of the Holy Father of the Society of Jesus. In confirmation of which I hereby dedicate my life, soul, and all corporal powers, and with the dagger which I now receive I will subscribe my name written in my blood in testimony thereof; and should I prove false or weaken in my determination may my brethren and fellow soldiers of the militia of the Pope cut off my hands and feet and my throat from ear to ear, my belly opened and sulpher burned therin with all the punishment that can be inflicted upon me on earth and my soul shall be tortured by demons in eternal hell forever. That I will in voting always vote for a Knight of Columbus in preference to a Protestant, especially a Mason, and that I will leave my party so to do; that if two Catholics are on the ticket I will satisfy myself which is the better supporter of Mother Church and vote accordingly. That I will not deal with or employ a Protestant if in my power to deal with or employ a Catholic. That I will place Catholic girls in Protestant families that a weekly report may be made of the inner movements of the heretics. That I will provide myself with arms and ammunition that I may be in readiness when the word is passed, or I am commanded to defend the church either as an individual or with the militia of the Pope. All of which I,_______________, do swear by the blessed Trinity and blessed sacrament which I am now to receive to perform and on part to keep this my oath. In testimony hereof, I take this most holy and blessed sacrament of the Eucharist and witness the same further with my name written with the point of this dagger dipped in my own blood and seal in the face of this holy sacrament.
Kind of gives you that warm fuzzy feeling all over, doesn't it?
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
I went to a catholic school also. I got my ass kicked by the nuns in school, got my ass kicked by the bullies after school and then got my ass kicked by my dad when I got home for pissing off the nuns and not kicking someone's ass in the fight. I couldn't win.
But that's not what I'm writing about. I'm writing about Philadelphia and how tough some neighborhoods are there. People talk about how bad New York and Detroit are. Well, in my opinion, they're nothing compared to some places in South Philadelphia. (Pronounced 'south Philly')
This is a true story. All I have to say is "What the hell was this guy thinking?" Apparently, this guy (I forget his name and have lost the newspaper clipping) Was hanging around outside of St. Maria Goretti girl's highschool in south Philly and exposing himself to the pure and innocent little catholic schoolgirls on and off for several weeks. The police could never apprehend him. He seemed to vanish into thin air by the time they arrived at the scene.
On the day of his last exposure, so to speak, do you know what these pure and innocent catholic schoolgirls did? Did they again blush and run away? Nope. They chased this dumbass four blocks and when this group of pure and innocent catholic schoolgirls caught up to him, they proceeded to beat the living shit out of him. After a good ass kicking, they held him for police. Not that that was necessary, he wound up in intensive Care for a few days.
Want to end the violence in the middle east? Send the entire student body of St. Maria Goretti high school. Problem will be over two days, three tops.
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden
That got me thinking. Let's be serious here. If I owned the company it would say; "Please drive with reckless abandon, drink heavily beforehand and don't wear your seatbelt, we need the business!"
Got have truth in advertizing!
Copyright Thomas J Wolfenden
Sunday, February 06, 2005
Now I'll let you in on a little biology lesson (not THAT biology, get your mind out of the gutter!) to help you understand more easily what I'm talking about. We (Humans) have diffent teeth (unless you're from the rural part of Yavapai County Arizona, then you have 'Tooth') , four different kinds. All for special purposes. First off, I'll start at the back of the mouth and work my way forward. To the very rear we have "Molars". They're designed to grind up all kinds of tasty morsels into a kind of puree that our stomach can easily digest. Stuff like carrots, chocolate chip cookies and raw or cooked chunks of Tasty Animals.
Next comes the "Bicuspids" these handy-dandy little guys two two jobs in one. The take the large chunks of tasty morsels, and make them into smaller chunks of tasty morsels. Amazing, isn't it?
Now here comes the most fascinating set of chompers. We as a species only have four of these. They're called "Canines"... Know what they're for????? Huh????? Bet you don't know! (This is the squeamish part, so all you Vegans better not read this part.) Well, fair readers, they're for RIPPING AND TEARING RAW FLESH! Yes, as in ANIMALS!!!!! Bears are omnivores. They have the same things we do, only BIGGER and SHARPER!
Lastly, those nice pearly-whites in front and called "Incisors". They're used to bite into Really big chunks of tasty morsels like apples, gingersnaps and the whole hind quarter of a gazelle we've just ran down on the Veldt... Well, maybe not that, but you get the picture.
So the lesson today is boys and girls?
It's that were omnivores. We are SUPPOSED to eat meat AND veggies... "Omnivorous" literally "Eats everything/Anything" and we're higher up on the food chain. It's the way its supposed to be! Nature wanted it that way. If I was out on the ocean fishing, and caught a big shark, I'd cook it up and eat it. I've had shark before and it's quite tasty. (No, it does NOT taste like chicken. Only chicken tastes like chicken, It tasted like shark, damnit!!!! I absolutely HATE it when someone compares ANYTHING to chicken! Only chicken tastes like Chicken! Snake tastes like snake! Turtles taste like turtles. Baby seals tates like.... Who knows? I don't eat them, I only club them to death... But I digress)
In that instance, I'm higher up on the food chain than the shark. But nature is funny sometimes. The food chain is flexible. Ok, not really too flexible. Masses of krill are not going to rise up and eat a baleen whale anytime in the near furture. But it is flexible. Ok, just for instance. I'm on the boat and I've had too many ice cold and frosty adult beverages. I slip and fall into the sea. The shark who I didn't catch, but is damn pissed I caught his poker buddy Phil, sees me wallowing around in the water. I'm wallowing because I swim as good as a rock. So this shark, he sees me. He swims over to me. Takes a my left leg off at the knee and swallows it whole. (He's really hungry, so he's forgotten his manners) He thinks; "Hey, this people tastes pretty good!" and then proceeds to devour me.
Well, you'd think I'd be mightily upset at this shark for eating me. I'm not though. Do you know why? Because the very instant I hit the water, that ol' food chain flexed (it's flexible, you know) and at that very instant I became LOWER on the food chain than the shark.
It's nature. It's the way it's supposed to be. I accept that. Hell, I'll eat a salad. I love salads. But give me a giant slab of dead animal with it... Preferably cooked over fire... With lots of Ice-cold frosty adult beverages... And nowhere near any large bodies of water... Now go out and eat everything you see!!!!!!!
Who says science isn't fun and interesting? Now wasn't that more fun that clubbing baby seals?
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden
Friday, February 04, 2005
Special to the Courier
My work as a contractor for the railroad takes me all over the country, mostly to the Southeastern States. So I’ve spent untold hours in airport terminals just looking at the faces. There are so many untold stories in the faraway look of the traveler. A son going to see his ailing mother in Toledo. A honeymooning couple on the way to Jamaica, A church group on there way to a revival in Montgomery. But this passed Friday afternoon I had the pleasure (or displeasure depending on your point of view) of having a six-hour layover in Atlanta, Georgia that I’ll soon not forget. I spent the better part of the afternoon and evening in terminal "D" waiting for my weather-delayed flight home to Phoenix in "Sojourner’s Cafe" having a few adult beverages and satisfying my nicotine addiction. It was there I noticed a lot of young men and women in uniform. More than usual, really.
I struck me right away of what railway stations all over the country must have looked like during my father’s time in WWII. I closed my eyes for a second and was transported back to 1943. I could just see the throngs of uniformed soldiers at Philadelphia’s 30th Street Station waiting on the Broadway Limited. Or at New York City’s Pennsylvania Station waiting on the Empire Builder to take them from their homes in the city, their farms, coal mining towns to a very far away place. I could almost hear the sounds of Count Basie, Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller. I could almost smell the coal smoke and steam from the locomotives. A time when trains still had names and personalities. The lounge was over half-filled with desert camouflaged young people waiting for there flights like me also. As an Army veteran, I started to see the unit patches first before I saw the faces. I saw a huge mix of shoulder patches I recognized some I didn’t. 25th Infantry Division, 1st Infantry Division, 3rd Infantry Division, 1st Armored Division, 7th Cavalry Division, 82nd and 101st Airborne Divisions with some reserve and quite a few National Guard and Reserve units thrown in for good measure.
I began looking at the faces. God, they were so young. Was I that young when I was in the Army? I looked deeper covertly over my drink into the eyes of some of the soldiers. I felt like a voyeur. Just under the swaggering and bravado, I saw the trepidation and the uncertainty of their situation, but I also saw determination. I had been there before and I could identify. A hostess who sounded disturbingly like Natasha Fatale from the Rocky & Bullwinkle cartoon then sat three soldiers at my table as the establishment was quite crowded and the three very inebriated paint salesmen from Detroit I was sitting with had just left to make there flight to Minneapolis. They and I Said Hello and they introduced themselves to me then and told me where they were from. Meguel was a Spl.4 from Luzon, Philippines, Josh, a Cpl., was from Seattle, Washington. They were both in the 25th Infantry Division and Janet was a PFC from North Carolina and in the 3rd Infantry Division. We made small talk for a while, weather, sports, NASCAR, the Olympics, what my job was like with the railroad, things like that. The adult beverages were flowing quite freely at that point and I could tell that they were shedding their nervousness and they felt more at ease with talking to me. I had told them I was a Vet, so they I guess they felt some kinship with me.
I really hadn’t intended to get our conversation turned to where they were going. I wanted maybe help them forget about where they were headed for a little while. I knew where they were headed. I didn’t want to bring it up but Josh brought it up first. All were heading for Iraq. I bought another round as I came to the conclusion that their money wasn’t any good at Sojourner’s. For Meguel & Janet this was there second time in "The Sandbox". It was Josh’s first tour. We talked about life in the Army now and how it was in my day a million years ago in 1983, What the difference in "C" Rations compared to the MRE’s, what there future plans are. I really liked them. Not a one was over twenty-two years old, although I suspect two of them weren’t of legal drinking age as they had a guilty look on their face when they accepted the six-dollar beers I bought. It didn’t matter to me. If they can go over to the Middle East and get shot at and maybe killed, they deserve a beer or three. I had my hand in my pocket fingering my 1/75th Inf. "Challenge Coin" but I didn’t dare take it out. That was a long time ago and this is their time.
It made me feel old. It also brought out a flood of emotions that I didn’t think I was capable of anymore. I wanted to shield and protect them. They’re kids! They can’t go there! But again I thought; I was there age and in uniform and this is our future sitting right there at this table with me. And we’re in a war weather we Americans like to think about it or not. A very real war. A war for our very survival and all three didn’t have a doubt in there minds why and where they were going. No doubts at all. Just ironclad, steely resolve. It must have been the same resolve the men in Washington’s first Continental Army at Valley Forge. Andrew Jackson’s men at the Battle of New Orleans. Jim Bowie & Sam Houston at the Alamo. The Brothers fighting Brothers in Blue and Grey at Antitam and Gettysburg. The RoughRiders at San Juan Hill, The Doughboys in Belleu Wood. My Father at Omaha Beach and Uncle on Iwo Jima, The "Frozen Chosen" at the Chosin Reservoir in Korea, My Cousin at Khe Sahn. Myself at Port Salinas airport on Grenada. Did I actually have that mettle when I was there age? I’d like to think I had it at the time, but looking at these fine young soldiers I wasn’t so sure about my own past anymore. Nothing I had done in the past mattered. All of a sudden I was proud. So damn proud.
I started to tear up and they asked me what was wrong. "Nothing" I said and laughed as I palmed a napkin to daub my eyes as I shook all their hands as they left. I wished them Godspeed as I watched them walk away. I’ll probably never see those three young soldiers again. I really had to wipe my eyes as I watched them disappear into the thong in terminal "D". I pray they come home again to have a good life as I’ve had. To be able to grow old and have a family some day. God knows they’ve earned it, in spades.
No matter what your political leanings are, stop and think about Meguel, Josh and Janet. They’re out there fighting for US. All of us. No thinking about it at all. Just doing what needs to be done so we can go to out 9 to 5 jobs, sit fat, dumb and happy watching our so-called reality TV, and worrying about our "carb" intake, just being self-centered and thinking only of ourselves. How many of you would trade places with them right now? I know myself I’d give anything to be right beside them today, living in the same miserable conditions, eating the same crappy food, fighting for a cause that’s forgotten on most people, not knowing when they’ll see there loved ones again. I hope and pray they’re safe tonight while I’m safe and snug in my nice warm bed in my nice safe home.
Tonight, say a prayer for our men & women in uniform. They’re out there doing a job none of us would want to do thousands of miles from home and loved ones. They do it gladly. For US, unselfishly. Next time you see someone in uniform, thank him or her. It’s not their fault there’s a war on. They didn’t start it, but God knows they’ll finish it from the fortitude I saw in those young eyes Friday. Hank Williams Jr. sung it, and I saw it Friday... America WILL Survive!
Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden