From: "K4YZ" on Jun 8, 5:14 am


I didn't get any farther than this to see what yet anotehr moronic
anti-Amateur Radio rant this was.

Yet another validation of my claim that Leonard H. Anderson is a
chronic, pathological liar.



...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.