From: "K4YZ" on Fri 27 May 2005 06:02
wrote:
From: on Thurs,May 26 2005 4:35 am
I've restrained myself on a lot of my adjectives of choice,
Lennie, but that comment warrants the re-issuance of the title
"scumbag" upon your shouders.
You brazenly wordsmith yourself into familiarity with Soldiers who
died in combat before you were ever in the service, then claim victim
status as a "veteran" when it suits you for your own emotional
handwringing.
FYI, Lennie...Since your offering of a middle finger salute the
other day I've started collecting caffinated drinks...I'll have a very
special 'salute' for YOUR funeral...(Hint to Mrs Lennie...wear
Scotchguarded footwear that day...)
...the sun sets on the Tomb of the Unknown Solder as a solitary
figure in a patch-adorned flight suit slowly paces out his lonely
path of anger, J-38 in one hand, bayonetted USMC soldering iron
in the other. Pre-recorded marine marches softly fill the air,
interspersed with dits and dahs of a few PCTA morsebirds not yet
extinct. The Tomb of the Unknown Solder is a lonely place, deep
in the valley of neuroses, anger, and frustration. The single
sentinel counts cadennce to himself, muttering "flux you, flux
you" between the slow steps. His fists are clenched, eager to do
bottle but only sipping a cup of unkindness. It is sad but the
sentinel at the Tomb of the Unknown Solder keeps going. He does
not know why and that is the tragedy. The sun slowly sets on the
Tomb of the Unknown Solder leaving only the red light of fire in
the eyes of the muttering sentinel. Those glow in the dark like
LED pilot lights. Hatred lives on in his twilight of despair.
Temper fry.