…to all. Today, I’ll be thinking of our vets and showing my appreciation for their sacrifices by slathering mustard and peppers on a hot dog and stuffing my face with Deviled-egg potato salad.
Then there’s this: I know I haven’t been posting a ton here — and that many regular readers have left because of what I have chosen to publish (Orange Julius ain’t the boss of me, as I believe I’ve made quite clear of late, which has rendered me an arrogant elitist without the common sense God gave the electoral realist who have kept the promises of the Founders and Framers so sacrosanct!) — but I sure can use some cash if you feel like donating and are in a position where you’re able to.
Protein wisdom has brought in exactly $236 over the past 8 or 9 months. Proving just how well a passionate presentation of principles pays!
If only I had the character of a Jim Hoft or an Ann Coulter or a Sean Hannity. I mean, I’d be a miserable opportunist, sure. But at least I’d be a miserable opportunist with some cabbage to spend on carpet repairs and some minor landscaping to fill in holes left by a pair of bored dogs.
Oh well. At least I can still look in a mirror.
Greetings:
Back in the summer of the last ’68, I was doing my military service down in Texas, which, besides the Bronx, is the place I’d most like to be from. For several months, I was assigned to the base’s funeral detail. We would provide pallbearers and a rifle squad for those requesting military funerals in the local area.
Military-wise, it wasn’t bad duty. On the days when we weren’t scheduled for a funeral, we would spend several hours practicing our “drill & ceremonies” and a couple more squaring away our uniforms and equipment. On funeral days, we would head out as early as necessary on a 44-passenger bus, often in civilian clothes or else fatigues with our first-class uniforms and equipment in tow. Often we would change into our duty uniforms at the funeral home, once in the casket display room, or on the bus itself.
It being Texas and the Viet Nam war being in full swing, we often had several funerals a week to perform. There was a certain spectrum from the World War graduates through the Viet Nam casualties. The former might involve a local veterans’ group and an afterward BBQ or such. The latter were somewhat more emotionally raw as most of us were facing our own deployments in the near future.
Two funerals of the latter sort have stayed with me through the years. The first was of a young Private First Class who had been MIA for several months before his remains were recovered. I was on the pallbearer squad that day and when we went to lift the casket, it almost flew up in the air. There was so little of the young soldier left that we totally overestimated the weight we were lifting and almost looked decidedly unprofessional.
The other was that of a Negro Specialist 4th Class. I was in the rifle squad that day. In the rendering of military honors, there is a momentary pause between the end of the (21-gun) rifle salute and the beginning of the playing of “Taps”. It is a moment of profound silence in most cases. During that moment, the young soldier’s mother gave out a yowl from the depths of her grief that so startled me that I almost dropped the rifle out of my hands. That yowl echoes within me still.
I’ll readily admit that, as a result of my experiences, I became much imbued with a sense of duty and respect to and for our fallen. Hopefully, today, when our media do their reporting they will show some of the same and let “Taps” be played out in its entirety. It would be nice for a change.
Thanks, palaeomerus!
Thanks, cranky D!
Glad to see you back, Jack.
Will undeadbeat myself come Friday.
Taps
To all those who gave the Ultimate Sacrifice and to those who survived the war only to see what we’ve become:
We didn’t keep the Republic. Report to the ghost of Ben Franklin for your haunting assignments.
We deserve the worst you can dish out.
Glad to see you writing again, Jeff. Sorry I haven’t been around much — life is having some major ups and downs (new granddaughter plus MIL has about two months to live)
Can’t spare a whole lot this month but hope what I can helps.
I’ve been sending money to a bunch of losing candidates. Considering the apparent jinx my money has been I probably should have been sending it to Trump — good and hard.
Thank you, Shermlaw!
Thank you, Darleen! And thanks for keeping the lights on!
Thanks, di!
Forget it all. I think I’m ready to end THIS particular experiment in public intellectualism just as surely as we’re reaching the end of the American experiment. Thanks to the few of you who contributed to the fundraising efforts either this time or over the years.
I’m all used up.
Yeah…well…I just sent you some denarii anyway.
Thanks, Gregory F!
Di wrote: My most heartfelt condolences. One of the times when the cure is barely better than the disease and even then…
Thanks for the heartfelt sentiments, Di.
I had a top-notch Oncologist watching over me and it’s funny how you get used to the situation. I was one of the lucky bastards who was able to have full restorative surgery. Hey, I am, and remain, on the right side of the dirt.
Yikes!…wrong post.
“some minor landscaping to fill in the holes with a pair of dead dogs.”
See, that wasn’t so hard ?
Jeff, while Ted Cruz has been getting my money of late, I still drop in.
I’m seriously considering a vote for Hillary simply because the only hope to regain the Republic is a serious Civil War and she’s just the gal to start one.
Thanks, SDN.
Thanks, John G!
Thanks, William S!
Thanks, Patrick C!
Thanks, Tim H!
Thanks, SilverWhistle!
You write it, I’ll read it.
Jeff, I’ll shoot you some tonight. Retirement is great, but cash flow sux.
Sorry I forgot to donate for a while. You still play above my head too much of the time, I enjoy the discussion anyway.
Thanks, Evan!
Thanks, Richard M!
Thanks, RI Red!
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I’ll be thinking of our vets and showing my appreciation for their sacrifices by slathering mustard and peppers on a hot dog and stuffing my face with Deviled-egg potato salad.
I think that’s what they would want.
Oh and Thanks, Jeff.
Just hang on, the Germans bought my bank. Really. Changed the account number AND the routing number. Also didn’t find out my debit cards had been changed until I was trying to get out of the CVG parking garage. Gimme a bit to get this fixed.
Thanks, Scott H!
Thanks, Richard G!
Thanks, James W!
I was going to write something like that. I tried twice and then just deleted it and moved on.
My father would have totally been down with a hot dog covered in stuff that’s bad for you.
Thanks, guins!