I mean, how can you even STAND the idea of a homeless veteran?---Mudhead
Here I am, Saturday morning, pecking away at the keyboard in the computer room in the company of the league of extraordinarily broke gentlemen.
"Broke" as in "bereft of finances", not "broke" as in "bankrupt of spirit". These are some pretty tough men in here, these lone wolves in a U.S. Vets pack. Maybe 'tough' is not the right word. 'Battle-hardened' seems more appropriate, and I'm not talking just about Nam or Desert Strumpet One or prison, either.
'Spirited'. Yes, that's another good description of these guys. Spirited. Sure, some of them are dumb as mud socks, but even then they'll hammer you all day if you don't develop the art of the quick retort.
A small example: if you come down to the retard benches wearing wrinkled jeans, one of the vets is liable to ask you how much you paid for them. No matter what answer you give, he'll say, "For five more dollars you coulda got a pair without the lines in 'em." (translation: I feel like fuckin' witchu about your slovenly appearance because I like you)
This is not a sad place. There is always the sound of laughter in the hallways, day and night. Some vet is always wolfing on another, raggin' on a guy about his appearance or attitude or ugly girlfriend or stupid domino playing or SOMETHING.
It's like a rite of passage or something. The perpetual unspoken question here seems to be "Can you take the heat? The raggin'? Can you take it? Can you? If you can, you're my man and I gotchur back."
No need for scansion of that last paragraph. I'm trying NOT to be lyrical. What am I trying to say here? What's the point? Okay, let me try it THIS way:
I was not born in the vets' dorm. I was not born homeless. None of us were. I'm a little tired of some of the vets dorm staff here acting as if I was. They look at me, they look at us, and see a homeless vet . . . and that's all they see. (Prepare for inexplicable ranting. YOU can skip this next paragraph if you like.)
Let me tell any misinformed pantywaists out in the world, a homeless veteran is not just some poor lost schlub off the street. Not "just". To be a homeless vet, you gotta be a veteran first.
A lot of people out there in the world couldn't cut the muster to be that. A lot of guys never made it through boot camp. A lot more couldn't hack the first six months of military service.
Every swinging dick in this homeless veterans' dorm completed at least two years of federal service, much of that under A LOT of duress. We better get a little less condescension and a little more respect. We earned it! Well, most of us. There's homeless officers here, too.
"Broke" as in "bereft of finances", not "broke" as in "bankrupt of spirit". These are some pretty tough men in here, these lone wolves in a U.S. Vets pack. Maybe 'tough' is not the right word. 'Battle-hardened' seems more appropriate, and I'm not talking just about Nam or Desert Strumpet One or prison, either.
'Spirited'. Yes, that's another good description of these guys. Spirited. Sure, some of them are dumb as mud socks, but even then they'll hammer you all day if you don't develop the art of the quick retort.
A small example: if you come down to the retard benches wearing wrinkled jeans, one of the vets is liable to ask you how much you paid for them. No matter what answer you give, he'll say, "For five more dollars you coulda got a pair without the lines in 'em." (translation: I feel like fuckin' witchu about your slovenly appearance because I like you)
This is not a sad place. There is always the sound of laughter in the hallways, day and night. Some vet is always wolfing on another, raggin' on a guy about his appearance or attitude or ugly girlfriend or stupid domino playing or SOMETHING.
It's like a rite of passage or something. The perpetual unspoken question here seems to be "Can you take the heat? The raggin'? Can you take it? Can you? If you can, you're my man and I gotchur back."
No need for scansion of that last paragraph. I'm trying NOT to be lyrical. What am I trying to say here? What's the point? Okay, let me try it THIS way:
I was not born in the vets' dorm. I was not born homeless. None of us were. I'm a little tired of some of the vets dorm staff here acting as if I was. They look at me, they look at us, and see a homeless vet . . . and that's all they see. (Prepare for inexplicable ranting. YOU can skip this next paragraph if you like.)
Let me tell any misinformed pantywaists out in the world, a homeless veteran is not just some poor lost schlub off the street. Not "just". To be a homeless vet, you gotta be a veteran first.
A lot of people out there in the world couldn't cut the muster to be that. A lot of guys never made it through boot camp. A lot more couldn't hack the first six months of military service.
Every swinging dick in this homeless veterans' dorm completed at least two years of federal service, much of that under A LOT of duress. We better get a little less condescension and a little more respect. We earned it! Well, most of us. There's homeless officers here, too.
After watching the various 9/11 videos that are on the Net, I no longer believe terrorists want to kill us. No, this is about globalists and fascists pretending to be terrorists. OK, maybe their Iraq war has created some real terrorists, but who knows for sure? Not you.
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I used to work at an Arco gas station, therefore I know firsthand that terrorists are real.
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