The Rut

The hallway was dark.

My cousin was standing in said hallway; in the dark as I related, her head tilted slightly, looking at me with seemingly vacant eyes. No, not vacant….

Horror? No, not horror…..

It was…it was…..I got it.

Her brain was locked up. The blue screen of death look….

That’s usually what happens to dope fiend potheads so I wasn’t too alarmed.

I’m used to her bunch taking a trip and never leave the farm. If you know what I mean….

Anywho, she’s standing there in the dark hall, barefoot on a hardwood floor; vacant stare, tilted head, lips slightly moving.

She was making no sound that I could make out but as I got closer to her, I heard two things; one distinctly….

She raised her hand slowly to ward me off but making the gesture for “hold up”

Her eyes slowly found mine.

The look of a person that has lost their soul….

She made a “shush” gesture and mouthed “oh. MY. GOD!”

I made the silent “What’s up?!” face with accompanying hand and shoulder gestures.

Her finger slid across her throat in a cutting fashion….no, no, she was pointing to a door to my right, my uncles door; her daddy’s.

I followed the finger, looked at the door, didn’t see anything, started to turn back to her then…..I stopped.

I heard something….

What was she hearing? What was I hearing, slight as it was…

She was pointing with more vigor and giving heavier shushing moves….

I leaned toward the door…”W#hat?!” my sneaky shushed silent face said….

Her eyes got wider in that “LISTEN closer” wide look eye thing…

I listened.

I heard it. I knew the sound.

It was sex.

There was sex going down in my uncles room and he is 62 years old and he’s not supposed to have sex because he’s too old and not married plus his pecker shouldn’t have even been working…because he’s you know, OLD. And, he’s my dead dads little brother!!

My face now had the “WTF” look accompanied by the token slow head turn of the truly baffled, while the realization spreading across my face as I turned back towards my cousin who’s dad was a dirty sinner.

Next silent shushed face wide eye question: “Who the hell is in there?!”

She looked at me, her eyes narrowing; then in a silent lip sync moment she said…

“Mama is in there with Daddy” jabbing her finger at the door.

Dirty, dirty old people fuckers, I thought.

I looked at her. She looked at me.

I needed a shower all of a sudden.

Then, It hit me…

These guys have been divorced for like 30 years! They probably ain’t seen each other but a handful of times in that span!

Hell, I didn’t even think they got along! She was here visiting her grandson for the love of all that’s holy!!! OMGODDDDD!

The sounds were getting louder and more intense.

The bed was actually creaking! Just like in the movies! Moaning and groaning, springs squeaking, headboard banging, faster and faster….!

I had to run. I had to get out of there….I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

I was mired in sin…..

OMG; I’m gonna puke.

We were frozen to the spot.

Trapped by the sinful sex romp shadow demons that floated around us….grunting, humping and porking!

“Ugh ugh argh argh, yesss, yesss, oh I got a cramp! Bang bang, fucking creak!!!

Just like in the freaking pornos.

Minus the saxophone….

I don’t remember too much after we heard her saintly mother cry out “punch it, dick ninja!” “It’s getting away!

“I got it!” “I got it, Mamasita!” the dirty Uncle/daddy fucker screamed.

My body ran cold. Her face was ashen.

Her mama… uncle,,,,her daddy….were doing the big nasty and liking it!

Can. You. Believe. That. Shit?!

Freaking 62 damn years old and bouncing around on each other with their old person bodies, old man balls, granny panties slung over the bed post, slipping and sliding over each other like two grunting, gasping sumo wrestlers fighting over a corn dog!!

Some people…..


It was over.

The noise stopped.

What was said next between the two of them will not be mentioned….


Hint: It had something to do with bull riding….

I knew they were dirty fucker people.

I could see it in their eyes.

Here they were….acting like nice old grandparents; kissing babies, cooking supper, drinking sweet tea and sitting by the fire pit and as soon as we turn our freaking backs…..!


They should be ashamed, dirty old people!!

I don’t think I can ever talk to them again or look them in the eyes without seeing Mamasita and Dick Ninja….

54 years old and I have a fresh new scar for my life.

Great. Just what I needed. More trauma.

Thanks, Unc. You dirty old bastard.

My poor cousin.

I think she’s traumatized, bless her heart.

She told her preacher everything; confessed her disgust and shame.

She got baptized a week later.

She sees Jesus in her coffee now.

Check this out, I swear to God! If you can believe this shit;

Mamasita is dating the preacher…..

My therapist told me to write about the dirty old fuckers.

It helped a little. Not as much as the liquor, but it helps.

I wish I could wash out my brain sometimes.

Don’t you?

Dick Ninja? Really….?

New Muse: Learning To Starve and Like It

Day 2 of intermittent fasting; con’t:

Not too bad, so far.
Yesterday, I thought I was gonna die before 1pm came around but, it wasn’t so much that I was hungry or that my tummy was growling. 

It was mostly that I just wanted to eat something. 

Anything….Babies… Puppies…wood

See what I’m saying? It was the act of chewing that I craved, I guess.

Well, I ate my 1st initial meal yesterday. 

It was kinda big, but not too.

I was figuring that I only had 7 hrs of eating to prepare for 16 hrs of nothing so, eat until I popped. 


I was wrong.

I tried to eat a couple of Baloney sammitchs’ 2 hrs later, and could only get one down. And it was like rubber. I chewed and chewed until I had to force swallow.

This is a real thing…

Like a cow…with cud. 

I wasn’t hungry, yet. 

I thought “Oh crap, I’m gonna starve before tomorrow’s eat time” 

But, I soldiered on and swigged a fruit cup for desert. No chewing involved.  

And that’s it, until now, 0808 CST and I’m doing OK.

No hunger pangs. 

I’m a terrible terrible fat American. 

I’ve only had my cup of Java so far. Like I said yesterday, I know Mormons aren’t supposed to drink coffee but in my defense, coffee keeps this trucker from going ape s**T and running 4 wheelers off the road. 

It’s a coping tool 😬

I did notice something else yesterday though, just as the last 30 minutes before eat time began.  I started getting that low blood sugar feeling.

 You know, swirly brain, tingly fingers, slight touch of vertigo…overall, just weird.
So, as I learn, I guess I’ll start my eat time an hour earlier, say noon to 7pm to avoid going into an embarrassing coma or shock. 

Here’s a thought…

I wonder if I had beef jerky to chew on, if that’s cheating or would invalidate my efforts. Not swallow the jerky, just the juice? 

What think ye?

Only 4 more hrs to go. 

Just don’t think about it Trey. It’s OK not to eat all of the time. 

It wouldn’t be as tough if I smoked…but,thats one Mormon rule I do adhere to. 

I’m such a munch mouth though! 
I have a feeling this is gonna save me money on groceries…or future gastric surgery.😷✂️💊⚰️

On to day 3! 

New Muse

I have found my new muse! 

My writers block has lifted! 

I have decided to focus my recently dormant creative blogging energy toward my fatness and the prominence of said gut…. 

I have decided that I do not look good as a full figured man. 

If you get my point. 

I will turn 54 this year and my goal is 185 lbs. Not the 261 I currently am. Oh, btw, that’s from a truck stop scale so it could be + or – 20lbs.

I am pursuing Intermittent Fasting. 

No, I’ve only been studying about it for a couple of days and I’m only on day 1.

I will share as I live and learn. 

Hey! It’s our journey together! 

So, here goes on day 1.

Fat Attack, Engage! 

I have way more gray hair
Oooooo No, this is not a New Years resolution.

The toughest part of intermittent fasting (IF), for me, is getting past the mental part. The part that says that I have to eat or munch on something all of the time. 

After I thought about it, I discovered that I really only eat breakfast out of habit. I know its considered the most important meal of the day but, I hardly ever wake up hungry anyways. All I usually want is coffee in the morning, anywho. I know, I know, I’m a terrible Mormon. If that’s my only failing today, I’m good.

So, I’m on my first day of IF and I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon and I’m still not hungry. The biggest obstacle is not to munch just to munch. Kinda like, if I smoked, I guess. Smoking a cigarette just to smoke. But, since I don’t smoke, I munch….then get fat.

It’s gonna be kinda tough with me being a truck driver, since my schedules are always jacked up and hard to stay consistent with anything. I figure though that if I keep the general time frame intact, I should be good. Of course the body acts different at night than during the day, blah blah blah.

I know, I know…
Lot’s of interesting, common sense stuff with IF. Y’all read up on it. I’ll keep you up to date on how it’s going with me. Here’s how I’m starting out:

1) No Breakfast (liquids are fine. Water, coffee, tea, etc., easy on the sweeteners; calories bad)

2) Eat normally but wisely between 1-8pm

3) Fast for 16 hrs or until the next day eating period.

Retrain in the membrane!

Thanks to-

Consistently Loopy


I’m telling you what….

If you don’t post everyday or drop a line or opinion everyday, your WordPress fans go away. Not that I had any really but, dang, I have to work for a living and do other important grown up stuff.

I wish I could write everyday…….or come up with something interesting, provocative or controversial or entertaining at a moments notice for my “audiences” viewing pleasure but, I’m only a hack writer and somewhat of a weirdo and have absolutely no talent or unbroken attention span.wp-1460852779979.jpg


I like making stuff up or exaggerating about a life event; mine or someone else’s?

Ok, I lie.

I don’t really like writing or giving an opinion on politics; especially not in today’s world , nor in this current partisan mood.

Twitter will KILL me!

It seems like the older I get the more I am concerned with the world around me and the future of my species.

Does it you?

Why should I worry about that, anyhow?

Is it because I have kids and grandkids?/

Is it because I want them to have a peaceful and fruitful life and a beautiful world? /

Of course, I do.

I’m not a freaking monster.

Would I worry about the world after I’m dead if I had, had no progeny?

I’d like to think I would but, unfortunately I am anti-social with borderline personality disorder and am completely self absorbed, so….fuck’em.

wp-1460853381672.jpgThe same thing goes for my opinion on religion/s.

I am what you would call….non-commital.

I believe that organized religion is corrupt in God’s eyes.

I believe that God still talks to man but no one knows it.

I believe that Jesus was the literal son of God, just as we all are.

I believe that there have been many men and women that have been “touched” by the finger of God and have taught many many essential truths.

Sorry, my train of thought just derailed….

I am becoming more jaded, the older I get.

The more I put my opinions or thoughts down on the screen and reread them, I ponder my words and come to the startling summation that I am either crazier than hell, a grumpy old man or a normal Joe Schmoe…..

That’s probably the scariest thought….am I actually normal?

No, that’s crazy, I know I’m batshit.

I have to be. I can’t be normal!

That would ruin my whole deal if I was normal!

I’ve been under the self diagnosed assumption that I am crazy, off kilter, a dysfunctional unit, a piñata that’s full of shit.wpid-image-29776397883-picsay.png

If I’m normal, I am going to be very disappointed in God when I see him.

If he tells me that I was the only normal man on earth, after everything single mean thought I’ve ever had, shoplifted piece of candy, cruel or biased judgmental observation, every dirty sex thought(I’m a freaking pervert, I swear) or any bad thing that has flashed thru my drug and or alcohol addled mind at the moment, I’ll kill myself…again.

Right there, in front of God, I will blow my freaking brains out.

I can’t be normal, I just can’t!

All of the excuses I’ve ever had won’t be worth a shit!

Ok, that train of thought complete, let’s continue: shall we?

I know I’m crazy.

I’ve read up on it!

I fit like 4 different patterns of mental illness!wpid-wp-1435676014160.jpeg

I don’t like talking about politics because I hate hypocrisy and everyone else’s opinion is bullshit.

Same goes for religion….

I am what I am.

I am spiritual.

I am bi-partisan.

I love my country but believe national borders are wrong.

I also believe there are evil people and that hard, unpopular decisions must be made to protect the innocent and meek among us; to protect freedom of will, choice and worship.

I believe that our way of life hangs in the balance, as it has for generations upon generations.

I believe that we are not alone in this universe.

It’s illogical….and arrogant

The place is just too big, and its still growing.

Change does that.

Evolution does that.wpid-fb_img_1426357030484.jpg

Innovation, prosperity, war and famine….does that.

We used to throw rocks at the moon and some people on this earth still make huts out of cow shit so, there….

How’s that high horse riding, now?

Our planet, to the best of our limited knowledge based on rules, guidelines and words created by fallible men, is said to be 4 billion years old.

Oh, words are hissing noises or guttural noises and we have spelling bees….

This world does not need us, we need it.

I know that I am nothing.

I know that I am everything.

I know that I am a miracle of evolutionary progress and I used to pee in my pants.

I know that change never ends.

images (2)There will be others after us…

Just imagine.

I believe that it is the doom of man that we forget

…….and I can’t remember shit.

Thx for wasting time with me.














Last And First

When I first started with WordPress, pert near on 3 years ago I do reckon, I was very prolific with my new posts. I was spouting off everyday, sometimes 3 posts a day; cranking out some good stuff, some bad stuff, but mostly inane stuff.

Fun though….wp-1460852779979.jpg

But, it seems like I have either burned out this year or something weird; I bet I haven’t posted anything new or noteworthy for quite a spell.

No, no I don’t have writers block. You have to be a WRITER to get blocked.

I am just a hack.

People that can stay focused, dedicated or obsessed in creating a work of literature, poetry or the like, or maintaining a continuing stream of thought that keeps others intrigued or interested….

That’s a writer.

I just get easily bored with nothing else to do.

That’s how I am, I guess; or the only excuse or maybe justification I can even use for my apparent apathy towards my sleazy, sticky, fumbling attempts at writing.

I know how I can get with things and it makes me even crazier.

I have the attention span of a $2 crackhead….or maybe a gnat.

Speaking of my creativity or lack thereof, my dwindling level of interest, my non-existent ability to focus on anything other than cooking shows or the Discovery Channel for periods longer than 30 minutes, my aforementioned miniscule attention span, my “creative juice” seems to ebb and flow.animanshandsholdingwater

Speaking of juice, my posting is kinda like my 52-year-old testosterone level, really….

At an elderly 52 years old (which I’ve never been this old before) I will unabashedly admit that I would kill for an early morning wake-up boner or WOOD as it is also referenced as by the male of our species; or I’d give a kidney for a boner with amorous intent or hell, I’d be grateful to the point of tears and snot for a boner at the worst possible time. You fella’s reading this know the kind of boner I mean….


The kind of boner that a cat can’t scratch or one that could cut diamonds!

Ahhh…the memories.

No, I haven’t any shame or ability to be embarrassed any longer.

I lost that on my 50th birthday.

The truth will set me free.


However, now that I ponder a little more on my bonelessness (is that a word?) I would consider selling my soul to whatever devil exists in this millennium to treat my long-suffering, dearly betrothed, regretfully abstaining wife to a good ol’fashioned Viking rape and pillage.

It would have to be a Viking rape fantasy playtime, if I ever get the chance. Last time I had wood, I was a masked burglar that jumped out of the closet to assault her and she shot me…..

Ok, I’m getting side-tracked…..again; see how easily I get distracted?

Told you….

[Quick present moment reality admission]

I made my morning coffee too strong. I have sweat running down my ribs and man boobs. I swear to God there is cocaine in Folgers 100% Columbian.

Hmmm….could be a connection here with my inability to write anything lately…..

Just add copious amounts of stimulants, give me a dose of inspiration or a reason to bitch (which could be the same , I guess) crack open the laptop, back away from the crazy person and watch the fat man dance.

It’s resolution time of course, and here are mine.

More dope than a Mexican cartel…


I will post updates, stories or assholes…oops, I meant opinions, at least twice a week; or maybe more if the caffiene is pure or when my testosterone is up.

Please, Jesus…..

I will practice more on my guitar playing and not on buying them.

I will sketch more.

I will get older.

Ok, good, now that that’s out-of-the-way.

I’ll talk to y’all later.

Good luck and Happy New Year









I am a dude….

Yes, I know what you’re thinking

Or, maybe not because yer all a bunch of sick fucks

Once again, the statement….or admonition; depends on how you look at it.

Once again……I am a dude

I have done , or tried to do, magnificent acts of physical prowess to impress a girl.

I was a superhero….am……

I was young, I was dumb and I paid the price.

There was a piper, involved…..

I won’t get into specifics about what happened exactly but, there was alcohol, cocaine and testosterone involved.

Do the meth….

Bottom line….Resultado final!

I broke my coccyx: Butt bone

Yeah, yeah….The grass was wet, I had on basketball shoes, we were jumping….it was dark, there were large breasts involved…..

Then, Trey fell down, hit his ass; then couldn’t move for 5 days.

Do you know how many muscles and other critical components are attached to the bones in yer ass?

Yer lungs, yer stomach, yer breath….basically everytime I moved I found out that my ass was involved.

Every muscle, tendon, bone and nerve is connected to yer ass…..

I did not wipe…my tooshie

I drank water so that I did not have….meaty by-products….down, there…

Comparison: I have not given birth to a child.

I am a dude.

But, let me ‘splain something to y’all….

I think I was in my early 20’s when this happpened.

When yer ass is broke, everythng is broke.

Pain is bad.

I have never experienced pain like that since, THANK YA JESUS, and its loving memory has carried on for over 20 something years.

Nowadays, when I move, and I have a crick, twinge or  spasm…

It’s my coccyx…

“OH! It’s my coccyx!!!!”

Get a glass of tea…”OH! It’s my coccyx!!!!”

Get out of my recliner…”OH! It’s my coccyx!!!!”

Make stinky in the prescence of the fairer sex….”OH! It’s my coccyx!!!!”

Pick up the grand baby to smooch it…”OH, TWO HEAVENS TO TOPEKA! It’s my coccyx!!!!”

I have a pain in my butt.

I think it’s my coccyx….





Tormenting The Kiddies


I just made it back to my niece’s house in Tooele, Utah.

This is also in the same general area as the Tooele Chemical Agent Disposal Facility.

Now I know why her children are mutant hell spawn devil worshipers.Image

There must be some type of air contamination or ground water infiltration from the facility a few miles from the neighborhood.

That is the only excuse or theory that I can come up with to explain the little monsters that my niece Wendy Sue hatched, and has felt compelled, by an outside force she says, to feed and nurture these abominations in hopes of rechanneling their early deviance or preventing them from intermingling with the general population and spreading their perverse, murderous hunger for chicken nuggets and rice crispy squares.


Wendy Sue is our last line of defense against these bright, little sunshine rays of demon seed.

She should be worshipped.
Like, duck tape…

I tried to give her a medal once but her oldest son Brady ate it.
He likes to eat helpless things. Like….special needs children, old ladies, cub scouts and bacon.

He was the first hatchling of the litter. We try to keep him under the stairs and feed him with a sling shot due to the fact that he is not that pretty to look at and is kinda scary smelling when people are conscious.

I looked at him once and was in a coma for a month. I had to wear diapers and be fed chicken noodle soup and ground up Big Mac’s intravenously.

It was hell….a living hell…..


After the fateful day that Wendy Sue had been found; being kidnapped by an alien spacecraft she said, we had discovered to our horror, that she was impregnated with some type of extraterrestrial bacteria!

The selfies from her Facebook page that night showed a bar, her shirt over her head but, nothing that looked like aliens.

Unless, it was that Mexican dude in the lamp shade….

She had Brady first, Zach one week later, Cooper a week later and Madison 2 weeks later.

It takes longer to make a girl because of the boobs.

At least that’s what the alien instruction booklet said that came out at each hatching. Madison’s book was a little thicker because it had pictures and a warranty explaining most things, until she gets older and menopause sets in.

Then, evidently all bets are off…and nothing works right anymore.

The boy’s booklets only had coupons for Sonic hamburgers and free putt- putt golf.

There is also a nice little yo-yo that comes with each boy because their attention span is about as long as…..

What was I talking about…?

Oh…attention spans. Never mind….

Zach was actually found by railroad tracks eating spiders. It took them a while to chase him down because he ran on all fours and peed on everyone every time they tried to grab him.

His main source of nutrition is the gum and candy that is stuck on the bottom of church pews and restaurant tables.

He tried to eat a healthy salad once but he mutated into a type of cocoon and came out with wings in his butt and bumped his head every time he tried to fly.

There is nothing funnier than watching an unconscious person try to fly out of his butt.

It’s freaking hilarious!

When Cooper was hatched his egg was pink and green with little rabbits and birdies on the shell. When he actually hatched, there was some type of plastic grass in the shell with him and a little yellow Peep named Fred. It was kind of disturbing when Cooper ate Fred’s and then smoked the plastic grass.

He said his name was Mud, and he walked around, following little animals and we found him 2 days later; naked, singing on a windmill.

As he got bigger we noticed that he liked to hang out with stray dogs and cats.

We never thought that much about it until he came home one day with the stinkiest over-coat we had ever seen. He said it was a mink coat, but we have never seen mink with white spots, tabby stripes or cat hair.

Is a mink…a cat?

His eyes glaze and hands tremble every time he hears the phrase “Here Kitty Kitty”.

Never let your dog play fetch with Cooper. It’s a one way trip baby!

And he’s not even Chinese….


Madison has to have an exorcism every other week. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal but we are running out of good hiding places for all the dead priests.

They tend to burst into flames when they walk into her room. The last priest actually got the holy water out before Madi took it from him and turned it into strawberry milk.

She loves strawberry milk.Image

She has a weakness for goofy pajamas too. She used to have that one piece footie kind, but since her feet are so hairy and big we’ve had to cut the footie part off.

Brady ate the footie part….with bacon.

Well….this has been a post of me writing about my nephews and nieces while they have been sitting here watching me and giving me some sage advice which is greatly appreciated.

I told them to shut up and let the talented big sexy man work.

One day Wendy Sue and I will take them all for a nice car ride.

Preferably to the Grand Canyon.

The deep part…..

Combat Jump

Somewhere in Afghanistan….

We were coming in hot.220px-CH-47D_Chinook_spanish_army_(cropped)

I know the writers of combat novels always use that line; especially and usually when there is a chopper involved.

Goes like this: “We were coming in hot at treetop level, tracers ripping past the side door gunners causing them to lean back hard against their restraints from the opening, screaming silently at the top of their lungs, the panic and anger drowned out by the CHOP CHOP CHOP of the big rigs blades.”

You’ve read it all before, I’m sure.

Well, we WERE coming in hot but, not at tree top level; more like 12,000 feet. The view was spectacular.

But, it was freaking 12,000 down to the ground!

It was gonna be our first jump under combat conditions and I was nervous as hell. Oh sure, we’d trained hard; and yes, we had jumped many times but, that was training.

Now, down there on the ground was real enemies that would shoot real bullets and real rockets at us, they were hiding in trees where any tree could grow, they were hunkered down in the crags on the side of the mountains or just crouching in the shadows, praying silently to their twisted version of Allah; probably sweat running into their eyes, dripping from their nose into the sand…..

Watching us…..aiming at us.

“Get ready!” shouted our Jump Master, SSGT Copeland  into the deafening roar; he whipped a hooked finger into the air “Hook,em Up!!”

I saw everyone move in unison, dozens of hands clicking up to the overhead line. Packs squeaking, metal clinking and men shouting back in acknowledgement of the shouted order

“Form up!” Copeland shouted again

We all started the little parachute jump shuffle towards the gaping door, the wind coming into the chopper was pushing us back, as if it knew we were going to jump into the sky, conquering her and our fear.

For some reason my anxiety increased exponentially as I got nearer to my turn, watching the bodies ahead of me tumble out the door, their feet slowly turning over their heads as they fell into space; some of them hooted and screamed as they jumped. I heard Kramer, I think it was Kramer, yell “MaMaaaaa!!” as he vaulted into the crisp, cold, tearing, howling blue void.

I saw his chute open and I felt some relief.220px-Parachutistes_Balagne

Then….it was my turn.

I shuffled my bulky self and gear closer to the door when it happened.

The little switch in my head clicked and said “No”

I froze.

I couldn’t move.

I wouldn’t move.

I wasn’t going to move.

I had no intention of moving.

What in the hell did these people think? Did they think I was freaking nuts and would jump from a nice, cozy, safe helicopter into an area where people were going to do everything they could do to kill me as I fluttered slowly to the ground, a literal fish in a barrel, a sitting duck, a slow moving target.

There was probably 2 or 3 of the enemy making side bets about which one would hit me first, or laughing their asses off about getting extra points or virgins for shooting me in the balls as I hung there helplessly under my chute, floating to a horrific death.

My terror scenarios were rudely interrupted when I felt a big, huge hand grab a handful of my arm sleeve, it’s insistence and slight forward pressure pushing me closer toward the edge of the door.

“Let’s MOVE, Clarke! You’re holding up my line, you’re messing up my drop!!!”

I turned my head toward SSGT Copeland, noticing for the first time that my goggles were foggy from sweat and an undeniable realization, from the sudden look that swept across his huge black face, that my eyes had gone wild and crazy looking.

For a split second, I felt my legs trembling and my bladder was making squeaky little noises.

I shook my head violently at the SSGT.images (8)

I wasn’t moving. I didn’t care if I went to prison or hell, forever.

Copeland leaned forward, pulling me closer to him as he shouted into my ear “YOU BETTER GET YO ASS OUT THIS CHOPPER BEFORE I STICK THIS UP YO ASS, CLARKE!!!!”

I saw his big, police night stick, or baton sweep across my vision; demonstrating its willingness to be shoved up my ass.

I shook my head violently at the SSGT.

I wasn’t moving. I didn’t care if I went to prison or hell, forever.

Go ahead and shove it up my ass you big, black bastard!!!

“Well?” asked my son. It was he I was finally telling this story to. “Did you jump?”

I looked at him and decided to tell him the truth.720th_Special_Tactics_Group_airmen_jump_20071003

“I did a little bit at first but, I got used to it after a minute or two.

True story….






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