Justice (poem)

Justice

The time has come to bring balance back

To a system which seems so out of whack

Where the innocent must rot in jail

We see criminals set free, without bail

Go on to commit more heinous crimes

One need not worry of serving any time

We all can see that something is broke

Go after those they deem not woke

All must demand equality under the law

We must make a stand to end this flaw

The scales have been tipped unfairly

To a point where justice is seen rarely

Now the time has come, I do dare say

To take a stand for the American way

Tales from the Dorkside Episode XI: "Standing on a Beach"

The flight was exhausting, and I wanted nothing more than to just lay down and sleep. I’ve never been one to sleep during flight, especially not when the anticipation was burning a hole through the lining of my stomach. But we were finally on the ground and filing out on to the tarmac. I could see Hoss waiting for us already through the plane window. When I got to the door my senses went nuts. The heat was a huge contrast from the air conditioned aircraft cabin, the roar of the Warthogs accelerating down the runway was deafening, and the midday sun was unbearable even through my Ray-bans.

Sand had swept the runway in several places and the crew had deposited our gear on top of a small dune. Hoss strolled up out of the shaded hanger and said “Welcome to the Bonanza, cowboys. Now grab your kits and let’s get.” Desperately trying to dust the talcum powder-like sand off my duffle and keeping step with my pack was quite a challenge, so I eventually gave up on the former.

Hoss led us past the main hanger where a few rough looking soldiers were playing cards on top of an old 463 aluminum pallet, the webbing was drawn down and a few of the crates had been arranged like seats at a table. Judging by their appearance, I’d have to guess they were Mercs. They sized us up as we passed by and then went back to their game. I had no idea what they were up to. Could have been black-ops, security, or something more. It was above my paygrade and I slept more comfortable at night not knowing.

When we finally got to the command tent, Colonel Cartwright was waiting for us. Actually he only wanted to talk to Hoss and the squad leader, so the rest of us had to take a hike. I knew that my buddy Sancho knew 1SG Robert ‘Hoss’ Roth from a previous assignment. I asked him about the nickname, because he was a string bean and didn’t look like a ‘Hoss’. Sancho explained to me that it was all part of the ‘Bonanza’ joke because Col. Cartwright was actually a rancher from Nevada, like the one played by Lorne Greene in the old T.V. show. And ‘Hoss’ just played along and the name stuck. I understood this all too well, since everybody called me ‘Clark’. Seems that back in Basic, somebody thought I looked like Clark Kent with my BCGs. (AKA - Birth Control Glasses).

Hoss and our squad leader, SGT Scott, finally returned they informed us that we were taking the night flight to one of the local occupied airports. So we sat on the edge of the airfield watching the A-10s roar off for parts unknown as the sun slowly set on the horizon. Somebody handed me  a little bag of chips and a can of Pepsi, the name was written in Arabic, but the logo and color scheme were the same as I knew growing up. I opened the bag and started munching on some chips and near immediately spat them out. I then noticed nobody else was eating the chips, and everybody was laughing. Had I’d been able to read Arabic, I would have known that the chips were ‘Fish Flavored’. I popped open the can of Pepsi only to find myself spitting that out too. It would seem that in a desert where water is scarce that they tended to use a different ratio of water vs. syrup than they do in the States. Feeling a little guilty, Sancho handed me a bottle of water, which I cautiously drank, hoping for no further bad surprises.

We filed up the ramp of the C-130 cargo plane. In the middle of the floor were 2 big airfreight pallets and a half dozen men sitting on either side of them. I recognized them as the men we saw in the first hanger. As we were trying and failing to get comfortable in the web seats on the plane walls, Hoss told us this was a blackout flight and we should don our goggles and to wear our face scarfs because the cargo ramp was not going to be closed completely and it was going to get sandy. He wasn’t kidding either. It felt like we were being hit with a sand blaster. No need to talk to anyone either, because the noise of the engines made any attempt at conversation moot.

What seemed like an eternity was probably only about an hour and a half when we landed on the near dark runway of the occupied airport. Hoss was the first one out the door. I could see a flashlight in the distance blink once, and Hoss returned the message. He then sent use, one at a time, towards the direction where the light had come from. It was good that the distance wasn’t that far, because on a moonless night like this, it was easy to lose your orientation. When I reached our guide, he ushered me towards the door of the airport. It was also pitch dark inside but I could slowly make out the sight of other men sitting on the floor. I heard a few speaking Arabic. I don’t speak the language, so I had no idea what was going on. I started to worry about who they were. Somebody grabbed me and I nearly shat myself, but it was only Sancho. He told me that these were just the airport personnel and that we should join them and try to get some sleep until the trucks pick us up in the morning. I tried, but again sleep did not come easy.

As dawn approached, so did our transport, an old deuce and a half with a cargo cover. We all piled in the back. The Mercs were nowhere in sight, so I figured they must have stayed in the plane with the cargo when it flew off. We veered onto the hardball nearly missing a white Nissan pickup truck with a couple of Arabs in the cab and their wives in the bed. They were cussing and spitting a storm. We passed through a town that apparently saw some action not too long before. The walls of the buildings were riddled with bullet holes and a few burnt out vehicles were still on the side of the road. Other than that the town seemed peaceful. Kids were running behind the truck asking for chocolate. One of my buddies, BigSlater, tossed the kids a few packages of M&Ms from his MREs. Sancho started screaming at the kids to go away. Only then did I realize what kind of danger the kids could have been for us, had they chucked a grenade into the truck or self-detonated an IED. I guess I should have known better. How fast our mission would have ended.

You may be still wondering, reading this story, what exactly our mission was. But as you have probably heard before the cheesy saying “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you”. I can tell you that our mission was successful and that we all came home safely. And that I never, ever, ever… want to wear MOPP gear in 100° heat.

I hope you've enjoyed this episode of "Tales from the Dorkside".

Be sure to recommend, if you did.

Thank you

Patriot (Poem)

Patriot

It’s not the ‘when’, but rather the ‘where’

This is the question we must all ask

Are you confused now to who are ‘we’

We are those charged with the task

We are waiting for the signal to go

And this will come in all good time

To stand for each and every one

For all the victims of evil crime

Again you ask, who is this ‘we’

The silent majority standing by

And it will be known where to go

Where we will stand side by side

We are Patriots one and all

And we shall stand warriors of the light

If one should fall, more are in the queue

To take up the banner and to end this fight

Tales from the Dorkside Episode X: "The Secrets of our Fathers"

Working in a rest home is often a thankless job, you literally have to put up with a lot of crap. I was responsible for the Men’s wing, which contained 20 men. Five of which were pretty much self-reliant, I only needed to change their beds, call them for meals, and distribute their meds. Ten of the men needed a watchful eye that they weren’t getting in trouble, or making trouble for others. For example, the one man was a compulsive masturbator. He would just stroll the halls pleasuring himself giggling all the way. 

Yeah, we’d get a laugh out of it, but visitors were less than amused, especially when kids were visiting their grandparents.  I also had a new arrival who was convinced that we were all home invaders in his house. He would chase people out of their rooms, go through their dressers, and sleep in their beds. As difficult as these seem to keep under control, I still had five that needed special attention.  This included feeding, bathing, and changing disposable incontinence garments. (Adult diapers).

One these ‘special’ residents was Mr. Smith. He was a tall man who, I guess, was suffering from Alzheimer’s or another disease which affected his mind. He would often sit in front of the T.V. and never spoke with no one. He would follow simple orders, which made changing him easier than with some others who fought. But this wasn’t always the case, while I was on vacation, a colleague of mine, a young woman was assigned to tend to Mr. Smith’s needs. Apparently in the process of changing him, her rubber glove got caught in his zipper. Now I’m not sure what happened next, but if I had to guess, in a moment of clarity Mr. Smith saw this woman who was not his wife, trying to get into his pants and he backhanded her, knocking her out cold. Mr. Smith was not a violent person in my experience, so I’m not really sure what triggered him to do this. But I bet it was a sight, seeing Mr. Smith walking back to the day room with his pants around his ankles and that rubber glove still dangling in his zipper.

After that, I tended to watch Mr. Smith a little more carefully. When I would take a break, I’d go sit with him in the day room and talk with him about what was on T.V. but he never reacted to me. I didn’t give up though, I knew Mr. Smith was still in there somewhere. And then it happened… one day in the middle of a rerun of M.A.S.H.; Mr. Smith started rattling off numbers. Being a military vet, and on the assumption that the show about the war seemed to trigger this, I immediately thought it was his service number.  So I decided to write it down, thinking it might be interesting for his family.

When my break was over I had to get some of the residents ready for supper. When I went to go get Jasper, a thirty year old man with Down syndrome, he wasn’t in his room. I found him in the day room, dialing the numbers I wrote down before. I asked him what he was doing and he shouted “Nothing” hung up the phone and stomped off, leaving the paper behind. One of the more self-sufficient residents, Mr. Thompson, picked up the paper and ask me “What’s this?” I told him that I thought it was Mr. Smith’s service number.  He told me that it definitely was not a military service number, but it looked more like a Virginia telephone number. I checked Mr. Smith’s emergency contact number in his file, but the number for his daughter was local.

Curiosity got the best of me, so I went back to the day room and dialed the number. It was a car rental agency. Why on Earth would Mr. Smith have memorized the telephone number from a rental agency in Virginia? The next day, when I came to work, two men where in Mr. Smith’s room packing his things and he was nowhere to be seen. I asked the shift supervisor what was going on, and she informed me that Mr. Smith’s son was there to pick up his father and that they were checking him out of the home. I wanted to ask Mr. Smith’s son about the number. He looked at the piece of paper and said he had no idea whose number this was. The younger Mr. Smith asked me if I called the number, as he slipped the paper into his pocket. I told him it was just a rental agency. He said his dad must have seen the number in a commercial on T.V. and then he gave me a folded one hundred dollar bill and thanked me for taking care of his dad. I didn’t know what to say, but I thanked him and put the money in my pocket.

Later, after my shift was over, I was changing into my street clothes. I unfolded the bill to put the money in my wallet and a small piece of paper fell out. On it was printed in the neatest hand writing I’d ever seen “Request a BABY BLUE Ford Taurus on April 24^th.

I hope you've enjoyed this episode of "Tales from the Dorkside".

Be sure to recommend, if you did.

Thank you

Did He Sing "On the Dorkside"?

My wife has accused me from time to time of only hearing what I want. She asks "Could you bring me a coffee." and I say "Sure, I'd love a toffee." Maybe this is one of those times when I hear what I want to. "On the Dorkside, oh yeah"

I saw Eddie and the Cruisers on HBO back in the early 80's. I absolutely loved the music and was impressed with how well Michael Paré was able to lip-sync the songs so well. I actually thought he sang the songs himself. I later learned that it was John Cafferty & The Beaver Brown Band. 

But the whole concept of Eddie Wilson vanishing without a trace with no body recovered and presumed dead, later to be revealed to be alive and in hiding and in the second movie he comes back. He just got sick of all the crap and disappeared. I think there are times in our lives when we all just want to drop it all and disappear for one reason or another. Everybody's Got a Hungry Heart?

But my mind started to wander, what if somebody like, say Elvis, did that? Let's face it, Elvis would never had found any peace even if he retired. What if he faked his death to finally get a retirement. Probably not, but who knows. Are there really people out there who think Elvis let Earth with aliens?

But what about somebody who thought their life and those of their loved ones would be forever in danger. Someone who's father and uncle were assassinated? Yes, I'm referring to John F. Kennedy Jr.
There is little doubt that he had made quite a few powerful enemies with his magazine George before his death, and he was going to run against HRC for a Democratic seat in the Senate. But what if this runs deeper?

Okay Dorksiders, time to put on your thinking cap. You don't have one? Fear not, they are available at Amazon. I prefer Reynolds Wrap...

(Some assembly require, Stetson not included)

In the below videos, I want you to close your eyes and concentrate on the voice only...

And now click the link below and...

Listen to the voice of the Narrator

Could it really be??

And what about this one?

Is the King of Pop still among us? (Is he also with, 'you know who'?)

Who else? Diana Spencer? Maybe? no idea...

Or is it time to redress my thinking cap?

Let me know what you think in the comments below.

And please be sure to Recommend!

Tales from the Dorkside Episode IX: "Burn on the Fourth of July"

For most Americans, except for a very vocal minority of Americans, the Fourth of July is the biggest holiday surpassed only by Christmas. There were always the three “F”s – Family, Food, and Fireworks, but in my family there seemed to be a 4^th… Fighting. Now don’t get me wrong here, we loved each other. But sometimes all it takes is a spark, of course, impaired judgement through alcohol helps the blaze too.

The kids, like myself at the time, loved it. All the cousins would get together and play baseball, talk about the newest video games, and try to stay out of the adult’s hair. We’d get to pig out on hamburgers and hot dogs while trying to avoid having to taste one of the aunt’s salad creations, they were vegan before vegan was a thing. You get the whole ‘Try it, come on, just a spoonful.’ Until you couldn’t resist the pressure and had to wash it down with whatever pop was in the fridge and hope that your ‘economically efficient’ relative wasn’t in charge of procuring drinks this year.

But for the adults, the bickering started already in the planning. Who was going to bring what, what time we were going to eat, where were we going to have the party, and so on. Getting the five families, plus grandma, to agree on a plan was no doubt a challenge. This was one of the reasons we actually didn’t do this every year. Like I said, we loved each other, but sometimes I joked that we were like those funny Japanese fighting fish. They are beautiful and graceful when left alone in their bowl, but if you put a second one in, chances are only one is getting out alive. Now, I am exaggerating a bit, nobody really got hurt of maimed but fists had been known to fly.

It was just such an occasion that I recall escalating into a brawl between my relatives over a hamburger of all things. Apparently over the years the procurement plan wasn’t quite working out for everyone. The drink person bought his favorite beer which nobody else liked, but as there were no other options, everybody would drink it. The person who brought the burger didn’t bring ground beef, it was 50% pork and 50% venison. So this year, somebody brought their own ground beef so they wouldn’t have to eat the deer meat burgers. Long story short, somebody who I’m guessing wasn’t informed about the ‘special’ burgers ate them all, leaving the deer meat burgers. Accusations flew, and then drunken fists, and when the dust settled everyone was crying hugging and apologizing. Gotta love the Irish ;)

Finally night was upon us and it was time to light off some fireworks. My uncle passed out the bottle rockets and fire crackers to the older kids, smoke grenades and sparklers to the younger kids, and kept the M80’s and the heavier artillery for the adults. My cousin, Luke and I took off down the yard with our fire crackers and bottle rockets. Luke twisted the wicks of his fire crackers together and lit them all at once. I used mine more sparingly, lighting them one at a time and throwing them at my defenseless cousin without fear of retaliation. By the time I was finished, I couldn’t tell if the smoke was coming from the exploded firecrackers or his ears. I turned back to the party to retrieve a beer bottle for the bottle rockets when all of the sudden, a rocket flew between my legs missing my crotch by what seemed to me to be only inches. I turned and ran to tackle my cousin for this ‘crotch rocket’ attack, but he was faster and I got pummeled for my trouble.

Although our Fourth of July celebrations got rough at times, I have greatly missed them, being abroad for so long. When I have gotten back to visit Luke, we still get a good laugh out of it as well as watching my son’s eyes when he realized that a couple inches higher and he might not have been born.

I hope you've enjoyed this episode of "Tales from the Dorkside".

Be sure to recommend, if you did.

Thank you

Independence Day (poem)

Independence Day

 

With my hand on my heart

I stand strong and proud

We, the patriots gather

I am but one in the crowd

 

The Star Spangled Banner

Rings joyful in my ears

Its message is powerful

And its meaning is very clear

 

To we who have served

As to our fathers before

Vigilantly in times of peace

And through the hells of war

 

Where we are needed

We are here and abroad

Go off to thickest jungle

One Nation under God

 

We will not stand idle, nor

Go quietly into the night

All will soon be clear

Cue the guiding light