From Robert Gore: This is the most important story I’ll post on either SLL or TBP this month, or maybe ever. It’s an honor to post it. Read it beginning to end and study the pictures. This is the story Americans don’t want to hear, and these are pictures from which they avert their eyes.
From Fleabaggs, a Vietnam War veteran:
I have started to write this a hundred times in 49 years. I would like to have used Our War but don’t want to presume to speak for all us Nam Vets still alive who were really there for a year or more. Nor can I speak for all the families of Nam Vets and all the millions of Vietnamese whose major crime was living in Vietnam at the time.
I do presume to speak for myself and my dead buddies who told me their stories as we commiserated in a dark corner of a seedy gin mill where we had been banished. I do presume to speak for some of the families I knew and my mother and the civilians who had an impact on me while I was there. I’m going to show you a picture of a few whose story never made it to the U.S. It’s shocking so stop here if you want to remain comfortably absolved in your sweet fantasy of non-involvement. This is not about “ME,” it’s about us.
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Please indulge me while I set the terms of engagement here. I’m not worried about what you think of me or my views. When I say ‘THEY’ you know who “THEY” are so don’t jerk my chain with that kind of stuff. Go back to the Miley video you were watching. When I say “YOU” you know if you are “YOU” or not. If you are not “YOU,” but are offended that I might mean you, go to your therapist and ask her how you became such a thin-skinned oversensitive little prick.
This is not a Rambo story either. For the majority of us guys who were there from Jan. 68 onward, shooting and being shot at was the easy part. The hard part was the rest of what war is about. If you were in Khe Son in 68 or something like that, then yes that was hard. And just to qualify that I know what I’m talking about, I’ve been pinned so low by some guy with a 47 that I was scooping a hole with my cheekbone to get my head lower as my hair was being parted. I was also on my feet moving around 22 or 23 hours a day with very little food. When we got 1 or 2 hours to rest we were so wired we couldn’t sleep. We found a spot to lay down and listen to our heart pound and then back on our feet for 3 weeks straight. TWICE.
Combine that with having seen the proof that it was all staged and I cracked up. When I came to I was trying to choke a buddy and I just started bawling uncontrollably. I was never the same again. In hindsight I realize I made a choice to never feel ever again and set out to do just that.
One of my closest buddies from school got drafted and found himself in Bumdeal Vietnam where nothing ever happened. He’s standing in a wet trench in the Monsoon for hours every day waiting for nothing to happen. Then he gets to go back to a smelly sandbag hooch to rest and his buddy is escaping to La La Land with some pot and a squeeze tube of morphine from a kit. 3 months later he’s sharpening his needle on a nail file and cooking smack over a Zippo, wondering how this happened. He’ll be able to quit pretty easy when he gets home he thought. But I just can’t go back out there tonight without it. Just 8 more months. On the flight home he gathered up what little dignity and self-respect he had left, thinking that he was still a hero for sticking it out. A month later that little shred of hope was gone.
He had no idea how he killed that many old women and babies without remembering at least some of the details. So much for the quitting. 2 years later he died with a needle in his arm. I’m not excusing our bad decisions after we saw the farce that it was. I’m saying that was what happened and that we had lots of help getting to that point. We were not going to disgrace our families by deserting or going to Leavenworth and getting a BCD. So we put on our best pair of man pants, sucked it up and muddled through.
We were typical of the other vets I knew who are gone or are so far into the psychiatric machine they will likely never resurface. We all fell off a Norman Rockwell calendar and into a bankers’ war. It never occurred to us that the government would lie to start a war. Why should we? Our parents would think God lied before they would believe the government would lie. Presidents and Congressman lied sometimes, but not the U.S. government.
We left thinking we were heroes. Our moms gushed with pride at us in our uniforms, the girls went ga ga, we were part of something we could believe in, we marched to John Philip Sousa in boot camp, life was good. Here is something I posted to describe what it was like for me and so many others I knew. Some people online were giving what I thought were moralizing sermons when they commented on the anniversary of the Mar.16 My Lai massacre and Lt. Calley.
I was there for the 68 TET offensive, the counter offensive and 2 mini Tets. I would never dream of sitting down next to a woman who is 8 months pregnant in the august heat and say “I know how you feel Darlin”. when you’ve been shot at from 50 ft. by someone you can’t see and are required to call in for permission to shoot back. When 2 little boys blow themselves up while trying to blow you up, when you see one of their arms twitching 30 ft. away. When you go without sleep or food while on your feet moving around for 3 weeks twice. When you see Westy dining with Raquel Welch in the light of a patio and you’re heart and guts and balls ache so bad you cry inside. when someone at the airport tries to gently tell you that you have white hippy spit down the back of your Dress Blues. When 45 years later that same liberal hippy wearing birkenstocks extends his faggy hand and says “THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE”. When your family is ashamed of you. When you are treated like a freak at the VA Hospital and you have to see a shrink just to get medical attention. When you no longer have anything to believe in and you fall into booze and drug induced self pity, laying in the gutter with your pants full of crap and you piss yourself just for the warm feeling. When you’re down to 100 pounds with no teeth in a dark parking lot trying to give a blowjob for a drink or a hit. When you cry your heart out wondering what the hell is wrong with you. When you just murdered your dog for protecting your sweet mother over not giving you more drinking money. When she looks at you with hurt and despair and says “how could anything like you come out of my womb. When you’ve turned your back on a desperate woman begging for money with a dead baby because you were brainwashed into thinking she was going to buy weapons with a crummy dollar while never thinking she may have a live baby to feed in an alley somewhere. Then I’ll talk to you about Lt. Cally. You didn’t rob my buddy and the rest of us of what little dignity we had remaining. You ripped it out of our souls violently and left a gaping sucking wound that never healed. It scabbed over a little but we could always feel it. Meanwhile you let the bankers off free. Some of you didn’t mistreat us but you didn’t defend us. How many of you canceled you accounts in protest or sold your stocks or did anything but lower your eyes and say “I don’t want to hear about that”.
Most of that was from my own story but others turned it inwardly. I never had the opportunity to do what Calley did while on duty. But after my crack up I did indeed take the low road off duty with some American civilians because I knew I could, so I don’t claim sainthood. I was young and wanted to repay someone or anyone. I took the evil and the evil took me. It made me it’s Bitch. It took me places I didn’t want to go and did things I didn’t want to do with people I didn’t want to do it with.
Many more committed a 100 forms of suicide. Violence, drugs, booze, etc. Few did what I did. Before any of that happened though I would like to show you some pictures of what we saw frequently after Tet. Refugees coming in by the thousands from burned out villages with nowhere to go except to the next large village until they reached the bigger cities. We had no idea how to cope with what we saw. 3 months of SERE training don’t prepare you for this kind of suffering. An old man and 2 old women in an alley where he is offering sex with them in desperation. The look on their faces. The woman I mentioned with the dead baby. She was too old to sell her body but not old enough to get the pity of an old Mama San. When I got home people told me I was exaggerating or lying. Do you have any idea how bad that knife feels. The 2 kids in the top picture would most likely end up like the one in the bottom. This was done to him purposely. We saw hundreds of these kids who were maybe 9 or 10. How the one in this picture lived this long is a genuine miracle. They had their bones broken and reset in the most horrible positions but always with one hand able to beg for money. Then they were starved to the point where a leg would look like your thumb. After that they were dragged out at daylight and dragged in at dark for the rest of their unfortunate lives. They were wherever there were Americans with money. This was done with our full knowledge and consent. How? All the reporters, politicians, bureaucrats, USO performers and Top Brass saw this and yet it never got reported to my knowledge. The kids who were cute and unscarred were sold to the sex vendors for sex and torture or anything the new owner wanted. If we break down into chaos because of any of the 100 train wrecks coming and you are separated from your kids and you don’t think this will happen to them, you might want to rethink that. Make arrangements for them even if you don’t believe it will happen here. If you had the money you could buy anything in Saigon. I’ll give you just one of many reasons I know what I know. I shacked up with the sister of the vice president’s mistress for 3 months. There was no welfare or self pity checks over there. Life would chew you up in a New York minute. She had a kid in a convent to pay for in the Philippines. I’m not willing to incriminate myself explaining the money for that or where I got so much info on the real deal. I was young, adventurous, outgoing and curious and people have always wanted to confide in me. I never ask, I let them talk and I don’t violate their inner sanctuary by laughing or putting them down or analyzing them by running it through my sick mind and telling them what they really just said.
Then there were the feral children all over. In spite of my determination not to feel again they always won our hearts over. The affection and care they had for each other in spite of everything was heart warming. They knew the deal and they weren’t about to be caught by the goon squads. No one that I knew could avoid seeing these kinds of things very long and after 3 months here we all knew how phony it all was. Seeing all these people suffer over it just made it harder for us to cope with. After we got home and endured the abuse heaped on us there was no longer anything to believe in for most of us. The results of that kind of demoralization was felt by our families in ways we will never fully know. I went to visit the parents of some of my buddies before the funeral as was the custom for close friends. It’s impossible to describe the hurt and despair. These were the nice guys, not the selfish wretches like me.
I think it’s timely that I waited this long to write this. We haven’t learned from watching this new group of our youth coming home perhaps even more messed up than we were. We seem hell bent on sending even more “over there” to make the world safe. Our own country is nearing civil war and I read comments online of a kind of eagerness to see it that troubles me. I don’t think that group of people knows what that will be like. Killing a fellow human being is incredibly hard, ugly and messy. It will follow you forever and if you do it because you could instead of because you had to, which many will do. I can only pray that it won’t be one of you reading this. There is a fine line between defense and just meanness because you know you can get away with it.
I’m done now. I wanted to write more but it’s not there. I made a promise to God that I would do whatever I thought he wanted me to do fearlessly for the rest of my life to make up for the evil I did in the old one. I don’t know if I have yet but when I do face him shortly I will be able to say I was no coward in these 35 years of peace he has given this undeserving wretch. I was never presumptuous enough to ask him to let me in heaven, I only asked for freedom from the torment in this life and he granted it. I have never taken a dime of anyone’s crazy money or the meds that go with it. Please don’t insult me with that welcome home stuff or thank you for your service stuff. I don’t play that.
I would like to thank Mr. Robert Gore of Straight Line Logic and gifted wordsmith who will soon be the first N.Y. Times best selling author residing in Gitmo for helping me with this and getting it posted. Also the people on TBP who encouraged me to do it.
Sincerely,
Crazy uncle Frankie Fleabaggs who lives in the attic.
after 2 years 8 months 12 days came home on my bitchday 10 years in the army still to this day hate it all, you either got numb or you went nuts, me i just no longer gave a damn saw that i was just a rock on the beach and knew i wasn’t going to change the world. nam was yesterday peopke die every day don’t give a shit.i hate hippies today,
Yikes! Mr Flea and Robert,
Thank you for sharing this story.
I was in high school during the Vietnam “war”
and everyday someone was crying over a personal
loss. Boys joined up, “I want to be known as a man
to my future children.”
The evil basterds that sell us on war to “defeat communism”
and “bring democracy” are laughing at us for buying that
shite. Lately, it is a never ending post 9/11 payback and boys
with no prospects join to get a job. The servicemen are used
and abused and when injured are in a long line to get some
attention. Or they go to psych care which is more forthcoming.
I am so sorry you had to be there Flea. Gosh, there are no words
worthy. Thanks for sharing this story.
Suzanna
PS=There is much more to be said of course, but I don’t want
to be too long. FBI hunted down any boys that escaped/deserted.
There was a boy in an upstairs apt. while 2 6’6″ were squashing
me between them on the sofa. Intimidation? I did not recognize
the picture they held in their hands. (I collected the rent checks
in that dump for $ off rent) God has forgiven you surely because
you are sorry/repented. Please forgive yourself. Then a write
a book/tell all. Save others.
Suzanna.
Thanks. I’m no longer sorry I was there because I’ve been able to bring good out of it. If I can keep just one kid out of this new mess it was worth reliving. Memorial day is coming up so who knows how this will play then.
Thanks for the story, Flea. Your honesty comes through painfully strong. I hope and pray you make a big difference in some young person’s life.
Thanks to the TBP crew for supporting you, too.
No thanks needed, Maggie. It was my duty to comment.
I really miss you, old friend and comrade. I am Ghost… you are Spirit.
That was nice what made you think of that? His B day or something?
Flea,
I have been researching, here, there and everywhere,
and my efforts are bearing fruit. I saw an older video
hosted by thkelly67 (legit and savvy historian) that talks
about the history of the drug trade.
Never mind the 2 wars against China/by GB over opium,
think Vietnam = Golden Triangle and Afghanistan = Golden
Crescent to disseminate heroin. Many multi-motives in play.
Think provide the drugs widely (critical weapon) then make a
“war on drugs” and MI6, and CIA MK ultra. Many details
in the video.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yK6jxSE3_YU
It’s Fleabagg’s story, not mine. A few minor edits. I got him up on TBP and SLL. Damn proud to have done so. I hope everyone reads it.
This was a fine thing you have done, Robert Gore. I believe it was time for just such a story to inform a lot of us what war is truly all about.
Snowflake readers do not have a clue about the government, or war and its grief. All they see is what is stuck in their ears or on their favorite phone or App. Their opinions are controlled by equally false Facebook friends and mass media whores. I was there for over a year and still have my bronze star and service medals to show for it. Some days I feel like flushing it all down the toilet, just like the America I went to war for has become. Simply pieces of worthless crap. Sad to finally conclude there is no way out. Government, the church, the political parties, the media, and the world corrupt leaders have failed us badly, lied, and cheated us all. Beware! The ultimate war is coming, and the shit is about to hit the fan.
Big D.
Right you are.
My thanks to you, and the rest of our comrades that served with me in what was once the supposed defense of a free America.
Suzanna.
Robert is right that it’s my story but what started it was a phone conversation way back about my experience there. As I was talking I knew I would have to do it.
Gotta tell ya bags you brought a lot of the ugliness and cruelty back to me. I sometimes wonder what life would have been like had we not been in the wrong place at the wrong time in America’s history. My loved ones have on occasion noted my seeming indifference and callousness towards the travails of strangers. I think a lot of that stems from the Nam. Lost 2 buds to suicide in the early ’80s. Both fine men. They just couldn’t choke it down. I’d like to believe I carved out a decent life given the circumstances. Anyway, I hope so.
Flash.
A decent life after that ain’t easy but you did it and I feel fortunate I got that chance. I’m the only one of my buddies that made it past 35.
I’m ruthlessly calloused towards american whiners. I carry that pic in my truck and tell them that when they have a bad hair day like this guy I’ll listen.
My dad made it to 59, although his life was never “right.’ I won’t go into all of the grim details–yes there was a mental break also in his later 40’s where he went away to a facility for a few months.
He had the “jungle rot” from his feet to shins and no cream, salve or Dr could find anything to cure it–he also had quadruple bypass at 44! No doubt living with Nam and refusing to even talk about it with his family or pastor ate him up inside.
Want to know the totally indecent origin of the whole shite my dad faced–he was a young man with a wife, daughter and mom was pregnant with me. My dad got caught swiping quarters out of a machine at the laundry mat–the owner and police insisted on prosecuting this petty ( stupid) act.
The judge threatened my dad with a few weeks jail, probation and a lifetime record and embarrassment for his family—or he could go enlist in the military, this was in 1964. By the time I was born in 1964, my dad was in Guam on a stop, on his way to Nam.
All kinds of affect on my whole family our entire childhood from the damage he got from what he did and saw over there….
Anonymous.
I went in pretty much the same way. It was a common offer we couldn’t refuse back then. No americans black white or brown had any resistance to those diseases. A little known story about Khe Son was how the rats overran everyone on both sides. Feeding on body parts. A buddy from school was in the Marines there in 68. Talked about trying to sleep with them pulling their hair and chewing on fingers and scalp. He was in the under 35 bunch who died.
Bags:
Just an addendum. Broke out the Smirnoff a few hours ago. Memories can be a bitch, no doubt. But I listened to a song on you tube that helped. Hope you’ll give her a listen. It’s called “Riding With Private Malone” by David Ball, 2001.
Flea,
Your writing is pretty good. You have a book in you,
a purpose/gift from God/power of good, that could
prove cathartic. Further, you can vindicate yourself
and your fellows by telling the truth. Bravo to you.
Suzanna
Suzanna.
Thanks. Maybe a book but not sure. Your comment about the drugs etc. will elicit howls from some because they don’t want to lose their shining city on a hill. Did any one notice that heroin became so easily available in Nam and suddenly we have a Heroin Scourge here in the states. When I sent this to Robert for editing I told him I deliberately left out many of the things we had discussed on the phone in order to avoid derailing the theme. The Phoenix Program is a whole can of worms tied in with the drugs. I’m genuinely sorry for those who think killing a bunch of “Commies” would resolve anything then or now. That’s putting bandaids on symptoms. What we are up against is an insidious, nefarious form of evil. I always read your comments on here because I can tell they have been thought through.
Ditto on that last sentence, fleabaggs.
bastards, not basterds
Terds EC, as in poop.
Don’t think I am putting you off…
feel free to correct spelling and ideas…
I can use the help. 🙂
Wouldn’t that be turds? Maybe it’s a regional spelling…
Miles, I know, huh? Terds sounds like what you get after sloppy seconds.
that was intense.
It will be like that here.
It will be like that, because those in charge have no souls and have no understanding of what is waiting for them.
We will create our hell on earth, because those who love power and money more than others will have it no other way.
We will have tons of “collateral damage”, the innocent and those not involved, because there won’t be time to get them all to safety before the Crunch comes, and the evil that is coming for us won’t wait. My sympathy is for those forced to fight over the bodies of their loved ones, now that the darkness is pervasive in America.
We won’t have time for tears until afterwards, and then the tears won’t mend the scars; but we will prevail.
We will fight the evil until it is destroyed, at least for one more generation.
And then the next generation will have to fight it again.
Evil never sleeps.
He doesn’t want pity, or sympathy, or thanks for his service, so I’ll respect his wishes. But I am enraged at the soulless bastards who sent him and so many others and made them and the natives suffer as they did. May they rot in hell.
My one question: How do we stop the hell we’ve already unleashed on the world, and how do we prevent any more?
I would say just start somewhere that you think will make a difference and see where it takes you. Rockslides start with a pebble.
It takes communication. Something like a petition that is signed by millions for Congress or Pres. to notice.
The Arab Spring started in Tunisia – they used their phones to organize. Our leaders know that info, which is why Obama initiated the Internet Kill Switch.
And why TPTB want net “Neutrality” or censorship of the Right to keep inconvenient truths from reaching the Goy.
I know. The old $ elites wanting to control the
world and crush the peons require surgical removal.
Next? The bureaucratic lackeys.
“We all fell off a Norman Rockwell calendar and into a bankers’ war.”
How do we get that Norman Rockwell time back? Probably not possible. How do we keep young men from continuing to do it? Probably not possible.
Sad
It is possible…but it requires another mass enlightenment.
It is a function of truth. The average minds don’t want to
know. Plausible deniability.
My daughter’s HS boyfriend (they both just graduated this year (17′) is off to the Navy this fall.
After talking to Flea just a bit today, I wanted to take the opportunity to bring this article to the surface again.
Thanks again Flea for sharing.
That’s one hell of a story. Makes me even more grateful that my father had the foresight to volunteer to serve in the USAF before being drafted and ending up as a “grunt” or “ground pounder”. Compared to the vast majority he had it easy but still, he never talked about “nam” except for one story about a pregnant woman he saw everyday on his way to his shop and a short story about how upon arrival he was issued a helmet that had a clean bullet hole in the front and and a messy hole in the back because that’s all they had at the moment.
I’ve rarely met a Vietnam vet who talked about his time there. The few who did always seemed to be bragging.
In the last two years of my fathers life I shared info I had read detailing how Vietnam, like all wars, was a bankers/CIA war. I shared info about the false Gulf of Tonkin BS. He didn’t talk much but over time I saw the quiet realization that comes with time.
Keep speaking truth to power Flea. If it spares even one life it’s worth it IMO.
Ind S.
They probably weren’t there. The primary reason I don’t associate with them or go to those things they call standowns. I know a guy who gets a Nam Vet nut check for being on a hospital ship 200 miles off shore who worked in supply. The ones who were there probably don’t want to be set up and then called a liar etc. I myself don’t spend my time reliving it and only bring it up when I think it’s needed.
My father never talked alot about his service in Vietnam.I do know he was never in the same place for long.They were always looking for the enemy. He never did drink alcohol or do drugs .He did find peace in this life through family and his Christian beliefs.I miss my Father.I think about him everyday.
Flea , I’m glad you found peace in this life.
I never say “thank you for your service” to a vet because I hate rote, gov’t approved platitudes meant to exalt the state and because in most, if not all cases it’s service to the 1% and not the best interests of the American people. I do say “I hope you made it through in good shape” because that reflects my most sincere wish for the vet. I certainly hope that is true with you, Flea.
If I ever hear another lackey for the state tell me that my opposition to whatever war dc foments again isn’t ‘supporting the troops’ I’ll give them a copy of this article. Thank you for that.
The one thing I’ve never heard and never will hear isn’t some trite and obligated “thank you for your service”.
I don’t give a damn about that.
What I wish I would hear someday is a sincere “I’m sorry we sent you”.
But it’ll never happen.
Sure it will happen, it is happening here right now.
And it wasn’t “we.” Although some people supported the effort
after being persuaded by lies. We “wrestled” the drug
harvests from the French. Some personalities never accepted
the BS about communism because it made little sense.
In retrospect, it makes no sense except to further destruction
of people and aid power brokers and MIC.
How dare these plenaries/freaks think their blood is sacred
and we can be run over and murdered at will?
More and more I am thinking the Jews/Bankers are a tool
in the elites tool belt. They are not the freaks but they are
mischievous.
What’s with this ‘we’ scam gov’t forever crams down out throats? Should ‘we’ bomb more Iraqi’s? Should ‘we’ go to Mars? Should ‘we’ support Israel? Just who is ‘we’ cause it goddamn sure ain’t me. Stop falling for it. The real ‘we’ is the average American and the ‘they’ are those bastards in dc.
I appreciate you sharing your story Fleabaggs. This seemed appropriate visually in tune to your words above.
The End
https://youtu.be/1ar27ChFKqA
Very powerful. It’s striking to me that the people who have really experienced war, up close and personal, almost always have the same message: “War is a terrible, terrible thing.” God bless you for sharing.
My dad was a real WWll Marine hero (shot down 5 Zeros, got 20 wounds, and Sec. Forrestal pinned on his medals). He hated his namesake opposing that especially stupid Vietnam War and called me Chickenshit (I was drafted but joined the USAF). My brother 13 months younger quit school to join the infantry and fight but he returned home to became the leader of North Florida Vietnam Veterans Against the War. My cousin became a Marine and served two tours in Vietnam. Two friends: H. Comer came home in a bag and J. O’Quinn survived a bullet through his head. I see my typical draft dodging POTUS attacking Syria repeatedly now as the SOS. Trump could have been a Statesman like Reagan but chose to be a Bankster-lickspittle.
Sobering stuff. I grew up terrified at the prospect of being sent to Vietnam. Sounds like that fear was justified.
star.
Knowing what we know now, it’s beyond me how we could have done it all over again in 03.
Takes guts to write that.
Time and distance hardly matter when looking at that picture of the young boy so hideously deformed by the hands of others. How can anyone be so absolutely cruel to do something so hideous.
Fleabaggs, you did the only thing you could, you survived. We all have our own demons because life is not easy. I am ashamed of many of my past behaviors as everyone should be. I am also a Vietnam vet, didn’t see any combat, had it easy. God bless you and get the word out about how mislead we were by the powers that be. We are being led down the road again, how will it end?
I did my service but not in Nam. I have always had a deep sorrow for all we lost because of that war. Not just for the servicemen and non combatants, but also the loss of innocence and the beginning of the end of our country.
Thanks for all the kind comments. I’m heading out of cell coverage for the night, see you in the morning.
One thing I meant to put in. We never got to wear our Medals for the ridicule. Most of us couldn’t bear parades on Memorial day and 4th of July. Seeing those older men marching with their medals really hurt. We didn’t begrudge them mind you, when we left we all dreamed of being in that parade when we got home. For all of you who had family their I hope this did them at least a little justice.
Crazy uncle frankie fleabaggs who lives in the attic.
I was too young to remember Vietnam, but I had four cousins that went over. Two didn’t come back. One came back, but never got off heroin. It was shit, we never should have been there just like we shouldn’t be in Afghanistan or most of the places we’re in now. War IS a racket.
KaD,
and blood sacrifice to Lucifer.
Suck it up snowflake, just another victim looking for his entitlement…life ain’t fair,
Vietnam remf and 30 year Leo..
“Vietnam remf and 30 year Leo..”
You forgot first-rate asshole. Did you even read his piece? Because you couldn’t have actually read it and come to that conclusion.
Atta boy, Rdogs! Your learning to deal with the cocksuckers.
What do you expect from someone so mentally ill that they think stirring feces with their dick is a good idea? And it posts as anonymous…….because its comments are so meaningful right?
anonymous
I never know which anonymous is talking. any one logging in from a library will show up like that. What the hell is a remf. What kind of a leo? Under cover bent over at a gay bar? Dawg had it right, read the article. Nobody with a head that big could get somthing that size that far up his asshole with out first being fisted by Rufus and Bubba first.
Yours truly, fleabaggs.
I believe remf stands for: Rear Echelon Mother Fucker.
In other words, the folks that served in non-combat roles.
So Anonymous was a guy that didn’t have combat duty and spent 30 years probably writing traffic tickets and shaking down whores for pocket change and free blow-jobs.
FY…you suck it up. We need eye witnesses to tell the truth.
Perhaps you have not read a book since forever.
for anon 9:45
I dodged the draft, just barely, I didn’t turn 18 until 1973. I was young. 18 was a long ways away.
All around me there were continual reminders of a never-ending war. I tried to relate my own experience watching the neighborhood boys all disappear into the Army. Billy pooh-poohed my sentimentality one day. He said, “They had to go.” Well, yeah, they were too dumb, too Mexican to run to Canada or San Francisco. A couple of the old ladies there lost their sons in the war.
Fort Bliss was busy back then with lots of young men passing through. You saw them in downtown getting off the public buses dressed in sharp uniforms. Fresh, youthful faces of young draftees eager to visit the non-stop party in Juarez for the first time. Others more adventuresome would go to the X-rated theater across the plaza. One young man had a kind of letterman’s jacket with the map of Vietnam on the back. I wondered at the message; When I die, I will go to heaven because I have been to hell.
I would go to Juarez to see my grandma once in a while. I met a young man, older than me but looking back on it, he was a young Mexican. He said he had been to see his mom in the southside of El Paso, the poorest neighborhood in the whole city, also the proudest and well known to all El Pasoans who had arrived in the US through that shithole. “I got shot, he said, they almost got my nuts.”
At a small park, my friend and I were approached by two young men. “Can we drink here?” one asked.
I didn’t see why not. They invited us to join them. I don’t recall much of their conversation except the talkative one warned me, “Don’t ever join the Army, if I find out you joined the Army, I will come back to kick your ass!”
When they closed the nearest high school, I had to go to the gringo school along with a bunch of my junior high classmates. Mrs. Patterson, the counselor, decided to place all of the Mexicans in remedial classes to keep the school as segregated as possible. As a freshman, I ended up in woodshop instead of science class. I was one of the youngest students in a class full of white Juniors and Seniors. One guy liked me because I stood up to the instructor. He’d called my name wrong and I said, “It’s coyoteh, not coyotee.” Later in the year, he was telling the other guys about his trip to the induction center, “They had me bend over and spread them, I felt like an ass.”
Another teacher, Mr Tackett told us of a story he read in the WSJ, “They will have electronic sensors in the jungle.” I suppose he meant to put our minds at ease.
My friend and I hanged around a few weeks with a couple of girls we’d known for years, living in the same neighborhood. Over the years, I had had a couple of fights with her younger brother. Still, at 14, she was a hottie. I don’t know how I followed her to her house. She went inside, while I was waiting, her older brother confronted me. He had been to ‘Nam. He looked crazy. I stared at him, he backed me against the wall and placing the tip of a shovel at my throat, he dared me to call him an asshole. “Say it, go ahead, call me an asshole!” Bertha stuck her head out of the window and told him to leave me alone. He shook my hand and said, “You have guts.” I knew then that he was nuts.
My friend had a political uncle, not a blood relative. I’d heard that he had stabbed my friend’s dad in the foot some time before. I waited outside for my friend. When the uncle saw me, he asked why I was staring at him, did he have cartoons on his face? He didn’t want me even being near his house. He put a gun to my forehead, “If I ever see you here again, I will shoot you.”
My mom liked Nixon, not because he ended the draft, she never considered that. She liked him because he was part of the Kennedy era. One time, my brother Daniel broke his arm, while he was still wearing a cast on his arm, he stepped off the curb and a car ran over his foot. The busybody ladies on the bus wondered what happened to him. My mom laughed and said, “He was in Vietnam.” To her, Vietnam was simply a place of war where people get hurt.
To me, Vietnam was a constant threat drawing closer with each passing year. With each passing year, I became more self-destructive. However, Nixon ended the draft, Texas lowered the drinking age to 18; the sun had come out.
This is beyond fucking tragic, but fleabags does not want my pity. GOOD!!! I hope this message reaches your ears.
I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE PISSED OFF!!!!
None of this shit need ever have happened. None of this shit SHOULD have happened. A handful of evil assholes made all of this happen, and for what? Money and power and just because they fucking could. Just that….they ended hundreds of thousands of lives ruined hundreds of thousands more ENDED just because THEY FUCKING COULD!!!!!!!! And there doing the exact same fucking shit to this day.
I had an argument with a great and very intelligent friend of the other day and he said the common leftist platitude that all people should have access to health care. Fuck That! If it gives the state even one fucking dollar or the tiniest but of influence, I’d rather have millions of curable children dying of curable cancer than this shit…but of course this type of shit would never happen either without the fucking State. The State is the ultimate fucking evil on this tiny blue dot with its millions of sentient meatsacks. The one and only fucking thing that would ever make we wish for a literal Hell is so that the assholes who arranged the whole fucking Vietnam Police Action and thousands of other clusterfucks like it throughout history would have somewhere to burn.
PS – Fleabags, just so you are aware…I’ve never met you and yet my heart aches for all you and comrades have suffered. I will simply NEVER thank you for your service to the State.
PPS – Also please know I don’t for one second blame you for your decision to go over there.
There are two and only two noble reasons for war, what should be the last and most desperate of all human actions:
1) Protecting your home, your family, your community from invasion.
2) Protecting yourself and others from tyranny.
That is all. How many wars in all of human history fit either of these criterion?
If I had to pick one that was farthest from being noble it might well be Vietnam.
But shit, maybe not. Sometimes I just despise our entire species.
Long live the Devil!
drud.
Thanks. I hate being thanked for that.
Flea, words don’t really do justice to what you went through, and I know many on TBP did what they thought was right. There is no shame or dishonor in that. You guys got a really shity deal.
My uncle was over there and I was still just a kid, It pissed me off and made me want to fight when I saw how you guys were treated. I remember watching as we bugged out of saigon and dumped our helicopters into the bottom of the ocean. This was the first vague niggeling I had that something was very wrong in our country.
As an 18 year old in 1983 I joined the Army even against advice of my parents and my uncle. I was just a dumb kid. I remember that my uncle would never talk about his time there, I didn’t even know what his job was. One time when he wasn’t around my aunt showed me some of his pictures and told me he was a door gunner in a UH1H, But he would always just say he didn’t want to talk about it.
When I came home from a year in Korea, we were all together at my moms house. My uncle looks at me and asks me what I thought about the rice paddies. I begin to tell him and for the next three hours he told me stories like yours. My aunt and mom were in tears as this was the first time he had talked to anyone in the family about his experience. Twenty years after he came home. It was a cathartic experience for him.
All the time growing up he would give me cool books to read and he got me into the John birch society when I was about 13. He opened doors in my mind for which he will always have my gratitude. You couldn’t tell he was in Vietnam. Even though he had a little late mid life crisis, as men sometimes tend to do, still to this day he is one of the most sane people I know. Thanks again Flea for sharing this, and to all of you guys who did what you had to do over there may you all have peace in this life as well as the next.
Norman.
Thanks. He was what the army called a career gunner. Said tongue in cheek to mean they didn’t live long.
Can only say Wow! So moving, but such truth. Truth is definitely something we lack when people talk about war.
I was very young during Vietnam. One of my favorite cousins had to go, as did some older guys in the neighborhood I grew up in. The guys in the neighborhood all turned to drugs when they returned home but, thankfully, my cousin didn’t.
In Vietnam, my cousin repaired helicopters . That’s all I know about what he did there. My two older brothers and I used to write to him during the war. We would get letters back in those envelopes trimmed red, white and blue. In a couple of the letters, when ending the letter, he would say he had to go work on a helicopter, which is the only way I knew what he did. In his letters, he always expressed such joy in receiving our letters that it made us want to write more. Of course, we were so young, grade school and early junior high, and we really had no idea of what he was involved in. Knowing what I know now, I’m so glad we wrote to him.
Later in life, when I was out of high school, he was the one that woke me up to a lot of what was really going on in the world. He never talked about what he experienced in Vietnam. He always talked about how bad the government was and about how the government betrayed the soldier, etc., such as ending up in Laos when promised they wouldn’t be sent there. I don’t know exactly what happened in Laos, but the government, if I remember right, claimed we weren’t there.
He turned me on to “American Free Press” and other publications and books. “American Free Press” used to post Ron Paul’s weekly congressional article, which is how I found out about him. And by reading Ron Paul, I eventually found other newspapers and websites, such as LewRockwell.com. And LewRockwell.com introduced me to TBP through an article posted on his site. Isn’t it funny how things get started? One thing leads to another.
I’m e-mailing this article to my son in college. This is what the youth need to know.
Thank you, Flea
I was a young girl during the heyday of the war and a teen when it ended. Watched the nightly news reports, read the newspapers.
When they came home, they were spat on (including my future brother-in-law). That was reprehensible. To this day, I hate hippies (maybe that’s why I can’t stand liberals; I saw their douchebag behavior when young and it stuck with me).
I do appreciate the service of those who served and I’m intelligent enough to realize that shitty things happen in war and that’s why war sucks. Usually soldiers are just trying to do their job and make it back safe; most aren’t Lt. Calley although of course, some fall on the bad side.
Never knew that thanking someone for their service would be taken like that. I will note that. Doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate the service; just means I don’t want to add to the mental burden already borne by a vet if it is something that bugs him.
I’m afraid we’re headed for a civil war (what a joke of a term, what civility is there in war?) and unlike some who relish/want it, no thanks.
If you think ANYONE can’t be just like LT Calley you are delusional. All of you should read ‘On Killing’ by (I think) Rex grossman. It’s very illuminating. In the circumstances those guys were put in, the group mentality and indoctrination takes over. I’m sure fleabaggs will agree with me. Any young man or group of young men can be driven to that point.
That’s one of the things that alarms me about the levels of rhetoric being thrown around these days. If the leaders of the group convince said group that everyone is a nazi, and it’s ok to attack and assault them, it isn’t near as far of a leap before these same people will be perfectly willing to line thousands of people up along a ditch and put a bullet in the backs of their heads.
We are a fucked up species, and the capacity for committing horrible atrocities unfortunately dwells somewhere in all of us.
Thank you for telling this story. I have two uncles who went. One was an army sniper and wouldn’t talk about it, but never acted like it bothered him. The other, according to my family, I wasn’t born yet, became very detached. My dad said he wouldn’t even turkey hunt with them all anymore, which was a thanksgiving tradition. All he would say, privately, is that he was terrified that carrying a gun through the woods would cause some kind of flashback and he’d shoot one of the kids. Never hunted again.
Gator, I always like your comments…you have a way of speaking harsh truth and yet allowing for the fact that we’re all human and all flawed. Kudos sir.
Not many people commit atrocities. Most people are righteously smiting evil.
Vietnam is a stain and wound on all of us who lost friends and family and in many cases themselves .
My daughter made a friend in kindergarten that has lasted even now in their early twenties . The friend is half Vietnamese , her grandparents with their two year old son got out of Vietnam because of their situation with the Americans . That two year old boy grew to father my daughters friend . This is the friend to my daughter that knows where our house key is hidden and just walks in unannounced , she knows she is family . I find a small bit of comfort in that . Considering years later the old hurt came back when a writer chronicling men who died on the Fourth of JULY in Vietnam contacted me . My dear friend growing up earned a place on the wall the date of his death never seemed to matter writing this , the hurt comes back . The date was July Fourth and a story of our boyhood friendship is now in that book . He was that friend growing up that always had your back .
Knowing our governments back stabbing involvements around the world ! I discourage any young people to enlist in the military . Not because their desire to serve is unappreciated by me , it’s the causes and results of what and why they are being used abused and tossed away like a Dixie cup . So I will not let that happen to anyone if I can prevent it .
The people that benefit today from most of of americas military interventions around the world are not worthy of their sacrifice or that of the families left with the care of a life shattered or the memory of what was and what could have been !
at that time in life we were fighting commies, i been home from their a long time but the world is nothing but cry babies i’m now 76 hate jews, commies, social shits, most collage professors who happen to be commie cocksuckers, i’ve worked hard for my money and you can’t have it. nothing on tv is good. not every one over there had a bad time. if you fought the little shits then you wanted to kill them all.
morris.
I fought them and didn’t want to kill any of them and don’t have time to hate anyone and I never said we all had a bad time over there. 76 years old and full of hate. 15 years of that was all I could handle. Guess you make me look like a real pussy. Pull that Iowa sized corncob out of you ass and smile just once before you croak.
you are a lier
An outlier, definitely.
Zing!
Flea,
Thanks for writing this. I am thinking stuff like this should be part of middle school history or civics classes. Maybe our world would look differently if it were.
Francis.
Heavens to betsy!!!!!!!!! what kind of heresies are you espousing.
Flea
Thank you for sharing your moving story.
The disrespected Boomer generation carries this war in ways that are not acknowledged. I’m not making excuses, but I think it did imbue us with a cynicism that has colored our values.
The unfairness of the draft system bugged me even then. College boys were excused; somehow they were seen as less expendable than their working class peers. After enough complaint, well into the war the lottery number draft was created. I vividly remember the televised drawing of a number for every birthday, and my young husband’s being 300 and something, eliciting relief for us, but not so for others who were lottery victims.
Since 24 hour cable news was far in the future, the nation had an appointment at 6:30 every night to witness lots of war footage, to experience the mayhem around the dinner hour. This was a mistake that our masters have never repeated.
I’m so naive I thought George W. would keep us from another crazy quagmire in the ME because he had experienced the clusterfuck that was Vietnam. I guess being in the National Guard gives one a whole different perspective. Silly me.
Anyway, I am sorry for our sins in Vietnam. What a price was paid on that playground of Satan himself.
This is the reason I am a regular at TBP. For the unique stories from real people followed by genuine comments from people with the intellect required to face the truth and respond accordingly. Even EC done good.
There are always a few assholes in the mix, but that is part of what validates the whole damn thing.
I was taken to WWII POW reunions by my father a few times and remember most how much laughter could be generated by what was an obviously painful memory. For example: We got caught stealing fish on the dock and the guards beat us so bad we could barely crawl back to the bus. Laughter erupts.
Fleabaggs, your story is really profound and I hope the positive response encourages you to tell more.
Maggie, your approval is all I live for. I’m a sucker for big tits.
Thanks for all the comments. Wasn’t sure how it would go over. One GAY LEO out of 50 people ain’t bad.
Don’t worry about it Flea. What do you expect from someone so mentally ill that they think stirring feces with their dick is a good idea? And it posts as anonymous…….because its comments are so meaningful right?
We have a Gay Vet, he is a brave dude. This nameless weak dick is just an insecure coward.
El C.
Right. It’s an insult from the art of war to piss off a straight dude so he can’t think clearly.
Flea, the oohrahs leave me perplexed. I see guys walking around with Marine logos on a cap or shirt and they look like hell; torn, crumpled and dirty like an old Hillary poster.
You, however, reinforce my idea that my neighbors died and that it was fucked up crap. It was god’s mercy on my mom that I didn’t get to go. I would have been an early casualty. I was a dumb ass in my yute, believe it or not.
I’ve read many heroic stories and I’ve heard Roger’s oft-told story that he was high as a kite when he got shot, he says since he was calm, it saved his life. Otherwise, he’d have bled out.
El C.
Not sure they are marines. Even the ones that hated the war never stopped being marines. I can’t comprehend what it feels like to lose a kid but I can comprehend the look on their faces when I visited.
As for being a dumb ass kid. I don’t ever want to go back to being that dumb. This might sound crazy but being shot at was the best drug I ever took. The problem is that it’s like any other drug. You need more each time to get the high. Because of that addiction I’ve been shot at here in the states plenty of times before it burned me out and turned me into a wasted scarecrow.
Flea, many thanks to you and Mr. Gore for putting this together. A job very well done, sir. You are a credit to TBP.
TBPers
I’ll post this a few times, since this is the end of a long string of comments and not many people will see it. Let’s stop calling me Mr. Gore. You make me feel older than I already am. I think I’ve been on TBP long enough that I’m one of the gang and you call me Robert or Bob. Either one is fine. Thanks.
OK Bob it is.
No more Mr. Gore,
Robert, it is.
Suzanna
Tks.
Robert is a great name!
Even a not the sharpest tool in the shed might suspect the R in RiNS stands for Robert.
Well, Bob it is then. I only used Mr. Gore respectfully, Bob. ;^)
Thank you, but unless you’re under the age of 20, and I’m pretty sure there are not many of those on this site, Robert or Bob is fine.
I had a high school friend named Bob. We called him by the spelling, B-O-B. OK if I call you B-O-B instead of Bob?
B-O-B no problem.
They have myriad taco stands in Phoenix all named after people whose nickname is naturally “Beto”.
They are Roberto’s, Heriberto’s, Humberto’s, Rigoberto’s, Adalberto’s, etc. And, it had to happen, Los Betos.
There is even a Roberto’s in Las Vegas.
That was a harrowing testament @ Flea. I am glad you were able to eclipse some of the darkness by shedding light. Human suffering is one of the great mysteries of this life. I do not pretend to understand it, but maybe it is simply a reminder that we are not home and will not find peace until we are. For “…our heart is restless until it rests in Thee” St. Augustine
The following is a question I mull over constantly not just as it applies to veterans of war but across all manner of things. I’m no great thinker by any stretch but it seems to me that if people would just fucking TALK, all of our lives could be so much better.
Why can’t war veterans tell their stories far and wide?
Why can’t we talk about common problems that literally affect us all like the insane healthcare system, tuition inflation and student debt, the incomprehensible national debt, the broken markets, our deplorable education system and so many other things.
Is it that we simply can’t bring ourselves to talk about it like I suspect is the reason for war veterans? Is it that our owners have successfully programmed a sufficient and vocal enough number of us to stifle conversation on these subjects? Are we too busy? Do we simply not care enough?
Why are our politicians able to simply dismiss questions, refuse questions and make such idiotic comments without being questioned or voted out of office?
All of this shit is right in front of our faces all the time. Do we even see it? Some of these politicians and elitists openly brag about it and we all act like it never happened. Even when pointed out to those that may have missed it there’s no outrage or even outcry.
In the city where I live we have a publicly owned events arena for hockey, B Ball, Arena Football, concerts, hockey, rodeo and even monster trucks. The maximum capacity is about 14,000. The thing that really blows my mind is how you could round up ALL of the real owners and puppet masters of this planet and easily place them inside this arena with room to spare. The number of real owners and puppet masters in the USA alone is FAR smaller than that. You could probably stuff them all into just the bathrooms inside this 14,000 seat arena.
Whatever that number is, this small number of “superiors” almost effortlessly control 320,000,000 largely unhappy people! Why? If 30% of us simply stopped doing what we’re doing day after day, week after week this country simply screeches to a halt. I don’t expect the average FSA sheep to ever wake up or complain, which by default means that those that do stay home will be inquisitive and more intelligent. The more intelligent tend to do more important jobs in terms of keeping the wheels on the bus so 15% might be sufficient.
The beauty of it is that you’d only have to do it once especially after the other 70%-85% see how brutally effective it is. Another 35% alone would very likely join the bandwagon and be more than enough to restore constitutional law. No violence required. If it happened in the US, Russia, India, China and Japan alone we’d be buried in a tsunami of elitist feces as the entire world screeched to a halt. It would damn sure force their hand and we’d find out right quick if they intended to go all in on preserving their standing and control over all of us.
At a minimum it would force a discussion on several topics to take place. It might not be pleasant to live through but it could be largely peaceful which would be good for our failing infrastructure until we could turn it around. You’d still have big problems afterward like our 7,000,000,000 and growing population, food production, etc but at least we’d have that chance.
IS,
fully agreed, we should be able to speak openly
about “public” topics, and share information we
have learned.
What really happens though? Automatic responses
with accusations of racist, misogynist, denier, conspiracy
theorist, homophobe, and more racist.
Some folks are more evolved than others I guess.
I S.
I had to learn how to talk openly like you asked in order to get free of it all. Today it gets me in trouble because few are ready for that kind of candid talk. I didn’t volunteer though. My number was drawn by a tough old black battle axe on the Inebriate ward. She told me straight up that she couldn’t cure here father so she went through 5 husbands trying to cure them and failed but she was going to fix me or make me hang myself in the bathroom. I went pouting back to my room and there was a long piece of rope on my bed.
Military recruiting centers should be in the very back of VA hospitals and the only way to get there is to navigate a treacherous path through a minefield of combat veterans and their first hand stories before they can get in!
100!
Winning!
Congrats Fleabaggs on 100! The only time I got 100 was when I thanked every single commenter who said something nice about my post and it led to an extended and somewhat tedious discussion of thanks and gratitude. You got a bunch of great comments.
Bob.
Oh! Didn’t know that was a scalp. I just stumbled into it. 70 of those were mine. sort of like covering the entire roulette table and then screaming I WON I WON.
You take your winnings any way you can get them. This is TBP.
As the saying goes: Jalisco nunca pierde y cuando pierde arrebata.
Jalisco never loses and when it does, it grabs (the pot).
Had a Mexican buddy back then who was always saying stuff like that. He pulled a Cheech Marin on me and told me to say Hey Peenchy to a bad ass Mexican at the EM club.
I wrote about this before but that’s the beauty of newbies, Old Phil had a running buddy – Ray Cruz, PR. He’d gotten everybody used to his ‘mamao’ and ‘chingao’ and other choice nicknames.
One day the Colonel colorized a ceremony with those words. He was embarrassed to hear from a Hispanic airman who thanked him for his speech but thought his wife was uncomfortable hearing all those curse-words.
Old Phil said somebody got lippy with Ray at the club. Ray threw him out the glass window. He said that if the asshole hadn’t gone all the way through, he would have been decapitated by the sheet of glass that came down.
Wasn’t that the time Stucky gave you shit for thanking everyone? What a cranky old bastard that Austrian is. He should come back so I can give his square noodle a hard time.
Yes, that was it. He gave me shit and gave me shit, and I just kept thanking him, until it all settled out and we just had fun with it. I wish he’d come back. He could dish it out and he could take it, and what more can you ask for?
Bags: Just reread your article. Been hitting the Smirnoff pretty heavily over the last 24 hours (without apology to anyone). My wife’s in San Diego for a few days to attend a baby shower for our first grandchild (better late than never). I had to thank you for dredging all this shit up. It’s good to air out things from time to time. You bought back one particular memory that I hadn’t thought about since 1971. I was invited to dinner by a childhood friend. I sat at the table with he, his parents and his sister, Mimi who cared for me and I for her. As we were eating, a good old, rip roaring Virginia thunderstorm came up. I started shaking so violently I couldn’t hold the knife and fork. With complete embarrassment I stood, apologized, thanked them and left. That was my first manifestation of PTSD. I never saw them again.
Flash.
Despite years of effort I still have to read everybody who gets anywhere near me. Lots of things I didn’t want to put in there for fear that it would derail the theme. Never knowing when a kid or woman was going to grab you while pulling the pin. Endless nights of watching the flares float down just to avoid thinking when I couldn’t get stoned. Still can’t sleep with my back facing outward with out having bad dreams wake me up feeling like someone just snuck into the room. It just doesn’t bother me today.
Flea, flash and Flashman are two different commenters.
You’re in my heart ‘bro. Peace upon you. However odd this seems, I always got off on the creepy sounds the flares made. It was like a ghost story; appropriate at the time.
@ Fleabaggs.
It took courage to release the TRUTH. May you find Peace in your sharing.
Know that your words help inform others – especially those married to Vietnam Vets, such as myself. What you have helped me UNDERSTAND more deeply is the complexity of translating the war experience. And why it may not be possible to unravel its mysteries.
The existence of something “hidden” creates an edge in all relationships. Even after 10 plus years of marriage (as his younger 3rd wife) there were times when I felt that I did not know him. He left an unexplained trail of broken relationships behind, including 4 estranged children. He tried to be a good man. He was a good man. The Bill I married was beginning to bring his Vietnam days into the light; I encouraged him to tell me about it.
I wanted to be validated – my deep feelings about WAR being immoral were authentic. I didn’t have to be in a war to UNDERSTAND this. When Bush marched us into Iraq I took to the streets in SF and LA for what turned out to be failed protest. It didn’t change the outcome, right? We freaking went in anyway. More lives ruined.
When John McCain sided with the torturers I channeled my anger by asking Bill to build me a bamboo cage like the ones they used over there. I thought I might spend my weekends in it until the Senator REMEMBERED the TRUTH about torture. Thankfully Bill would not build me the cage. We did make calls to Senators and gave money to organizations in the fight. In the end the torture issue was somewhat resolved – more lives ruined.
Bill had serious anger issues. They nearly disabled our relationship, but we kept fighting. I reached out to his kids and he tried best he could to reconnect.
He was eternally grumpy. A Network Engineer and IT guy with an attitude.
My Bill passed on December 15, 2016 after a year long battle with cancers related to Agent Orange exposure. He died here at home. Cannabis medicine was his weapon of choice which gave him 10 more months than the doctor’s original forecast. He had done 1.5 tours of duty – flew Huey medvac out of the Highlands region (Laos border) 1967/68/69. He had painted the words: “Kill for Peace” on his flight helmet and was nicknamed “Deathwish” cause he wouldn’t lift off until all who ran for his ship were inside the doors. The armed door guards hated his guts. They flew for days at a time and took lots of drugs for sleeping and to stay awake. He came home thru Seattle where the harassment was openly spewed and ended up stuffing his uniform in the trash can in the terminal.
Bill did like telling this story: He sent home two giant speaker towers which he had stuffed with weed. They arrived in CA before he did. His parents had them hooked up for his arrival and reported that they sounded a bit fuzzy and smelled like s***. Needless to say he had lots of new friends and within a month + purchased a nice new car. Wish I could have been there for that.
Anyway, thanks to the Host for encouraging you to write. And to you Fleabaggs for sharing TRUTH.
Susan, that was so heart-felt it was beautiful, though tragic.
But I don’t think protest and petitions or any call to government is the answer. They simply don’t care. They only pay attention if they think they’ll lose votes in the next election (that is, if they can’t rig it in time).
Start with the young people. Let them know the realities of war. If the young don’t join, the government can’t fight. Yes, they can use conscription, but after the Vietnam fiasco, at least they’ll think twice. How many people do you think would be pleased with another conscripted war?
Susan.
Thanks. Well written. Those guards were jokingly called career door gunners for that reason. Thanks for bringing up agent orange, another whole can of worms Feds are hoping will just die out.
So….how will we all be judged by God for allowing our “elected” leaders to get us into wars against people that never attacked us.
Anybody up for a serving of “Freedom” at the point of a gun?
We The People are guilty also of the murder and destruction of whole nations…that never attacked us.
God have mercy on us. For that matter, He has a way of making what goes around, come around.
Marshall Guyer and Jack Swender USMC forever young.
I wore the uniform six years…hell is too good for us. If I had one wish an one only it would be that people could understand that nothing good has ever came out of any military anywhere in the combined history of the world. Nothing!
Home from my foray into the land where the easy money is printed and distributed to all the weapons builders and researchers. I was looking forward to coming back to peace and quiet on the land, but another storm dumped inches of rain on our already saturated land and delayed peace and quiet for a few days.
This morning, I needed to take care of some rabbit business left for my hands by my husband. While quite capable of just about anything our new farm life asks of him, he made it quite clear that the bunny business was mine from the get-go and he would feed and water the little critters while I was away, but other tasks were mine. Since I’ve never been squeamish, that really hasn’t been a problem.
Until today. For some reason, when I was preparing my hammer and knives for the task at hand, I began thinking about Fleabaggs’ story. After putting a fine edge on my slicing knife, I selected the first of the rabbits and sat quietly with her, petting her and thinking that perhaps, since she is gray, she might survive in the wild. And I let her go. Then, the second rabbit ran free and a third.
Separating the newest litter from their mother was fairly simple, except for the fact that one of the kits was born with only one eye and is weak and will surely die soon. I’d planned to end its life this morning, helping the course of nature along rather than watch it continue to weaken. Now, the little creature and one of its littermates resides in a cage meant for a single doe. I will continue to feed the two of them and see if the disabled little rabbit gets stronger. Perhaps I will find someone with a weak spot in their heart for a half-blind bunny that shouldn’t be alive.
Damn you, Fleabaggs. I can’t get the image of that poor crippled boy from my mind and for some reason, killing bunnies to put into freezer bags when I’ve got plenty of food to eat already in storage seemed senseless and inhumane to me today.
Let’s hope I get over it soon.
Releasing the bunnies into the wild is only feeding the coyotes. Even saving cat litters leads to feral cats and the death of thousands of birds. Imagine of HF got the idea to release his goats, pigs, chickens, cows and mice?
You administer their lives as the government administers your life. It provides a safe border to keep you inside the country. It gives you a plot of land, a bit of food, roads to traverse. It culls the weak, nurtures the strong, separates the able from the unable, it entertains you, distracts you. It does all this in exchange for your vote, your soul, your complete submission in exchange for safety. Such a bargain as this social contract was never had in hell.
I think I saw a hawk carrying one away just minutes ago. Circle of life and all that.
Still, I wanted Fleabaggs to know his story had an impact on at least one misguided rabbit farmer.
Maggie.
I often wonder about the hundreds of others I saw. It bothered us all at first because we didn’t get any warning. Later when me and my buddy took pics and sent them to the local PX they came back as grey fuzz. A little later a prostitute explained it to me in black and white and that’s when it occurred to me that this should have been reported by at least some reporters but never was. It went well beyond “Bothered” but it wasn’t until later that I had it once again explained in black and white what happened to the cute ones as well being sold and shipped anywhere in S.E. Asia that it turned into a smoldering rage. Coming from a huge family I had already changed more diapers than most mothers today. We were supposed to be above that yet the brass turned a blind eye just like they did with everything else. Being involved in the Phoenix Program at the same time was too much for my 19 year old head. Just because it has happened before didn’t cut it with me then or now. We pretend we don’t do it or give the OK for someone else to do it while waving the flag of purity.
As for the bunnies, well they taste better fresh. I know from experience if you don’t do it instantly it’s heartrending. But boy there ain’t a chicken in the world as good as domestic rabbit.
I met my father for the first time when he was 75, we stepped out for a smoke on his back porch and talked, and I met him. To be clear he raised me from infancy through high school, with mom, but the first time I met the man was when he was 75, and then only for fifteen minutes, until mom and my wife came back from the store. Korea, 1951-1953 was his service.
Just reread this. Thanks Flea. I wish you well.
Svarga, I like the comments as much as the story. So moving and real. The discourse between him and Maggie just above here is something I don’t see anymore.
Wow! What a story and what a difference in the depth and civility of the replies compared to this site today.
A thing of beauty.