Neanderpundit

Apparently there’s been a lot of talk about torture in the media the past few days, and some folks disagree with the idea of mentally or physically abusing another human being in order to gain information. I thought that I’d share a few thoughts with you fine folks as to my point of view on this rather touchy subject

Ya know, walking through a minefield is a special hell like you’ve never imagined. Time slows down to the individual heartbeat, and your mind races to a point where you might just think you’ll go insane. It could be forty degrees out and the sweat pouring off your forehead will blur your vision. You’ll overcompensate by squinting and desperately wipe at your eyes to clear things up. Your hearing will become some sort of super hearing to compensate and at some point, the sound of two earthworms fucking will become clear as a bell.

After a while, you’ll start hearing, and seeing things that have no real meaning, but you’ll be certain they do. You’ll start to lose it. Slowly at first, but it’ll catch up with the toughest alive. Soon enough, you’ll just be wanting to purposely hit a mine in order to get it over with. At this point you’re only one hundred feet in, and have another six hundred feet to get to safety.
What if it’s your family or friends in that field (in the Infantry, they’re both) and you’ve captured a suspect/terrorist/soldier who knows the location of the mines? Or at least you’re fairly certain that he does. Not 100% positive, but pretty damn close. Close enough for government work anyway.
Sure, your boys have already strip searched the guy and have come up with nothing but photos of his wife and kids, or maybe a letter from his mom. Harmless enough.
You tell me. What do you do?

and a couple of the guys at the office, along with myself, took in a Dallas Mavericks game at Reunion Area smack in the middle of downtown Dallas. Typical evening and the Mav’s were beating the snot out of whatever team they were playing when halftime rolled around.

Cool, the four beers in me were dying to get out, so me and my compadres stood and headed up the steps to find ourselves the nearest whizzer. There it was and not too bad as it was only a few yards away from the aisle leading to our seats. When we stepped inside, we found ourselves at the back of a long line of guys, jammed in there, jockeying for a urinal. The talk was loud, fun, and obnoxious all at the same time. You can probably imagine a hundred or so guys stuffed into a thirty by fifteen room. All of which were toasted to some degree or the other. Typical ballgame, concert, or whatever, right up until this really loud, really gay voice piped up with, “Hey buddy, Nice dick!”

You could have heard a pin drop after that and the place emptied in a hurry.

blood tests just showed elevated levels of uric acids, have to get my ass back on allopurinol. Much organ meat and game meat as I eat I don’t need gout. Minor levels of muscle enzymes. Doc says I need to drink more milk. I’ve been kind of cutting back ( I LOVE milk) because I think I’ve become a little lactose intolerant and it gives me the most remarkable volumes of gas- but now I have an excuse. ‘Doc says I need the Vitamin D, honey. Sorry about the farts”