Hut, one, two, three, four, HUT!
It's Veteran's Day. I'm a veteran and don't feel like celebrating. The local Elks Lodge will toast the veterans with a shot of cognac promptly at high noon. I ask, why in a time of "war" toast those of us who served and lived to tell about it? Toast those fighting on the front lines and pray that they come home to tell about it at a future Veteran's Day celebration.
I also don't feel like celebrating or making a big deal of this day as back then serving was something everyone who was able (and not chickenshit) did. A stint in the military was the law of the land. Those who served and were lucky to come out of Viet Nam alive finished their tour of duty and got on with their lives. For me, no thank you's are necessary. It was the price of living in a Democracy.
One good thing about Veteran's Day: A cable channel or two will run war movies all the live long day. Whoo Hoo! Break out the beer and the buffalo chicken wings. Put new batteries in the remote control. We are going to war on TV today. It's going to rain so that's the perfect excuse to plop my fat white ass in front of the TV. Gotta wear my combat helmet . . . break out the .45 sidearm. Cradle the M-16 in my lap. I'll be good to go. Lock and load, people. Lock and load.
Here's Gracie wearing Bob's military uniform. Last week she begged me to dig it out and I did. Damn uniform reflects a back in the day Bob. It's a size 37. Check your closet. Anyone you know with any meat on their bod small enough to wear a 37? Good lord, no! I was all of 140 pounds. 5'10" A lean, mean, fighting machine. Perfect fit for a size 37 uniform jacket.
Meanwhile, pray for our troops and forget those who been there, did that and served their country in the process - - - as well we should have.