Probably Correct

The VFW is a fraud

I can't really completely express the disdain I hold for the Veterans of Foreign Wars. At this time of year, you pass by their reps in malls and grocery stores as they peddle their "Buddy Poppies", ostensibly to raise money for vet's care.

When I was in Vietnam, I received notice that I had been inducted into my hometown VFW Chapter, an honor that I most certainly did not want. My goal was to get out of Vietnam, be discharged honorably from the Army and get on with my life.

I wrote them asking to be dropped from the "club".

I didn't have any desire at all to get together with my fellow vets at "the hall", drink beer and play bingo and reminisce. And this sentiment was echoed by the thousands from other Vietnam troops, also "inducted in absentia". As a result, a huge wall of resentment built up in the VFW establishment, between Korean and WW2 vets and those of us from the unpleasantness in Southeast Asia.

Most of us weren't joiners. That's why, to this day, if you go to a VFW hall, you notice that the membership is dwindling faster than the Post-Dispatch's circulation base. With rare exception, the guys who sell the flowers are all vets of wars before Vietnam.

I will not relate the details of the incident that finally and completely soured me on the VFW, just that it occurred during a particularly bad time of my life and it showed to me once and for all what a sad bunch of posers and self-serving phonies the VFW attracts.

I will tell you that I once asked for help from a VFW Post Commander (a supposedly "celebrated" Vietnam-era NCO) to find work when none was forthcoming through regular channels. He just threw his hands in the air and told me I was on my own to get work, but maybe I could get some disability money from the Veterans' Administration. Free money was the very last thing I wanted. What I really wanted was the dignity of employment, but the "Sarge" didn't get it.

Nor did the VA rep to whom the "Sarge" gave my phone number. The government ass**** kept trying to find ways that I could claim a service-connected disability when I had none. I have to wonder how much tax loot pours down this endless and useless hole.

It was about the most humiliating time of my life. I finally worked it out on my own, as I have almost every life crisis I've faced. To this day, I've only ever asked for help from someone else once more.

As far as I'm concerned, the last heroic member of the "Greatest Generation" passed away on my 49th birthday when my Father, a proud veteran of the Army Air Force in WW2 (he worked in MI and cryptoanalysis in C-B-I), died.

He never joined the VFW, either.

If you could...

...enable yourself to die a peaceful and painless death when faced with long-term therapy and crushing emotional and financial burdens to your family, would you?

I would.

Where I live

     Carroll and I bought our little house in the Summer of 1988 (I think) and we literally moved in thru the back door as the previous owners were taking their stuff out the front.  We bought the place because it had a fenced in yard and we were then the humans owned by an Irish Setter named Maggie who needed room to roam and, well, poop.

     So we basically bought the house for Maggie.

     The back yard has two towering oak trees and over the years they have been home to generation after generation of squirrels and birds, all of which have provided interest and (occasionally) game for the subsequent dogs: Maggie was joined by Winnie and was replaced by Lucy and Winnie was replaced by BoyDog. They are visited occasionally by the GrandDog, Ruca, whose human is our son Jason.  When he visits, so does Ruca.

     When Ruca visits, Lucy, the senior dog, grumps and usually heads down the wooden hill to lie by the front door and let us know she disapproves.  BoyDog, whose life revolves around being rubbed, and who is almost a twin to Ruca although much older, valiantly defends the food and water bowls from her and dives into whoever's lap is available; Ruca usually follows the same trajectory.

     It can get uncomfortable.

     When the three of them go out into the yard, depending on which dog Ruca is closest to, she will either squat or raise her leg to pee.  We think that she's trying to impress her relatives.

     All of the dogs who have lived here have, at one time or another, "seen the elephant" and engaged in the combat that only squirrels and birds and dogs really understand.  A couple years ago, a tribe of chipmunks moved into my gas grill and I haven't had the heart to dispossess them.  They will run from their home across the patio into the yard and Lucy will just lay there watching; BoyDog, I think, has never noticed them, although he often sniffs vigorously around the site of the old Ducane.

     Today, as I let Lucy back into the house after her early morning out, I noticed about a half-dozen squirrels in the yard, busying their furry selves with their Fall occupation of burying nuts.

     Lucy just lay in front of the door, watching along with me.  She never chuffed, never barked, just watched. Her ears were up and her head followed their movement so I knew she had something going on in that doggie brain of hers.

     I offered her a small chunk of cheese and she gave up the squirrels.

     To sleep, all of us.  I'll have my cheese later.

    

Stewart Planned to Bump Trump From Show

Yes, Ms. Stewart is truly this obnoxious.  Maybe she and Paris Hilton and Trump can all go to live on an island somewhere...let's see who'd survive.

Link: Stewart Planned to Bump Trump From Show.

"I have learned that I really cannot be destroyed."