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It is my sincere desire to provide readers of this site with the best unbiased information available, and a forum where it can be discussed openly, as our Founders intended. But it is not easy nor inexpensive to do so, especially when those who wish to prevent us from making the truth known, attack us without mercy on all fronts on a daily basis. So each time you visit the site, I would ask that you consider the value that you receive and have received from The Burning Platform and the community of which you are a vital part. I can't do it all alone, and I need your help and support to keep it alive. Please consider contributing an amount commensurate to the value that you receive from this site and community, or even by becoming a sustaining supporter through periodic contributions. [Burning Platform LLC - PO Box 1520 Kulpsville, PA 19443] or Paypal
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To donate via Stripe, click here.
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Use promo code ILMF2, and save up to 66% on all MyPillow purchases. (The Burning Platform benefits when you use this promo code.)
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As Billy Joel said,go ahead with yer own life,leave me alone.
One of the great tunes that shaped me in my formative years. Yeah, I’m old. And another in the same vein:
It’s not your life . This is just more prideful bullshit you people preach to each other. Damn !
Robert (QSLV)
Its not your life, its not your body, its not your property, its not your freedom, its not your right, its not your child, its not your house….ultimately it all belongs to the state when push comes to shove (and it almost always does).
EDIT: I was enjoying reading the lyrics while listening. Let’s face it… Hank ain’t really “all that” to watch on stage. However, it reminded me of a good Hank Williams story I think appropriate. Leave now if you are rolling your eyes because it’s one of mine.
In the USAF in an era when the women were few and far between, I usually ended up placed on crews with another woman so the cost of billeting was cheaper. One young woman I crewed with regularly was a gal from Mayfield, Kentucky, about midway between Memphis and Kentucky Lake. Sharing stories, as young women tend to do at late night pajama parties, I told her about a trip to Kentucky Lake I’d made as a teenager and how I’d awakened in a tent with a guy whose name I could not remember. I also did not remember why I was there nor whether the clothes I was still wearing when I woke up had ever come off.
She was a cute little gal with long auburn curled hair which she twisted into a bun when in uniform. She also had charming dimples which cut into and defined the hollows under her cheekbones when she laughed, as she did at my confession about my possible childish indiscretion after having my first taste of Kentucky Moonshine at the lake.
After she’d finished her peals of Southern Belle giggles, she wiped her eyes with the pillowcase nearest her on her double bed in the Motel Whatever we’d been billeted in my the local Air Force billeting office. She leaned toward the nightstand between us to take a drag from her cigarette and get a swig from her longneck beer bottle she wasn’t supposed to be drinking less than 12 hours from flight the next morning.
“Honey,” she started, as she started almost every conversation with everyone I’d seen, even commanding officers who found her just as charming as the rest of us did.
“I have ended up in dozens of tents on Kentucky Lake after too much moonshine. I not only do not remember all of the names,” she informed me solemnly, her blue eyes glistening from tears of laughter we both shared that night and on many others, “I am telling you right now there were some of them I NEVER bothered to ask for their names. And, my clothes DEFINITELY came off.”
She told me after seeing Hank Williams sing in a local club, she’d sidled up to his crew manager and invited Hank to try a little something special out of Mayfield.
I think you can guess the rest.