First, go read How To Leave A Soldier by Courtney Cook.
No hurry, we'll wait for ya. Back? Okay then!
I admit to bringing, erm, some bias to the reading of this piece, but the piece didn't bother me that much. Mostly because, well, Ms. Cook shows us what a well-educated, smart, and talented writer she is. Oh, that and that she's an icon of the hedonist segment of her generation.
To me this scanned as "I wasn't getting laid enough, sex is very important to me, and gosh it's convenient when they are all noble and well behaved *and* go to far-away places and can't come back to make a scene. Oh, and I used access to the kids as a subtle shiv held next to his kidneys."
What happened to this couple happened, with different details, of course, and some significant, to me and my first wife. The whole growing apart thing. Thankfully, we didn't have kids, except for Frank and Jesse, the James Brothers, who were... cats.
I think the son at the Naval Academy, and her unwillingness to be there, tells me all I need to know about her, and how her core values have solidified over time.
When it's all said and done - "It's all about me."
But she knows the flaw in that - implicit in her wistful acceptance of and reluctant admiration for soldiering and soldiers. Yet she left the man who fathered her children, and couldn't be there for the child of that union, when he, in a sense, left her.
I'm sure she's a nice woman. But that's about it.
The funny part, I suspect, is that she thinks she's written something deep. The irony is that it just makes the shallow stand out more. Just as her hedonistic, self-centered outlook is encapsulated in how she chooses to describe her husband and his fellow tankers:
" They were great, smart, handsome guys -- the Channing Tatums and Jake Gyllenhaals of their day -- as committed to winning their squadron intramural football league as they were to the complexities of tank gunnery and platoon leadership."
Courtney - Channing Tatum and Jake Gyllenhaal are actors. They play roles others create for them - admittedly bringing their talent to work. You are making a category error - you are identifying with the actor... not the role. Those "great, smart, handsome guys" were the real deal. Not just some hunky dude wearing a character suit emoting to a script. What Gyllenhaal fakes for the screen, those great, smart handsome guys *did.*
I am mindful of my mother. And of several smart, accomplished women I know who also felt the sexual ache during those long months of separation, yet still managed the jobs, the household, the kids, and kept a house a home, despite all the temptations.
They are the strongest people I know. I'm not worthy of them.
Good for you, Courtney, to recognize that you aren't, either. You couldn't handle a soldier, so you settled for a Marxist.
And your son just told you what he thought of that, didn't he?
And, I just realized - why so many of the milquetoast Left and Right and Middle go for that Stolen Valor thing - all the pretty girls like the uniforms.
No hurry, we'll wait for ya. Back? Okay then!
I admit to bringing, erm, some bias to the reading of this piece, but the piece didn't bother me that much. Mostly because, well, Ms. Cook shows us what a well-educated, smart, and talented writer she is. Oh, that and that she's an icon of the hedonist segment of her generation.
To me this scanned as "I wasn't getting laid enough, sex is very important to me, and gosh it's convenient when they are all noble and well behaved *and* go to far-away places and can't come back to make a scene. Oh, and I used access to the kids as a subtle shiv held next to his kidneys."
What happened to this couple happened, with different details, of course, and some significant, to me and my first wife. The whole growing apart thing. Thankfully, we didn't have kids, except for Frank and Jesse, the James Brothers, who were... cats.
I think the son at the Naval Academy, and her unwillingness to be there, tells me all I need to know about her, and how her core values have solidified over time.
When it's all said and done - "It's all about me."
But she knows the flaw in that - implicit in her wistful acceptance of and reluctant admiration for soldiering and soldiers. Yet she left the man who fathered her children, and couldn't be there for the child of that union, when he, in a sense, left her.
I'm sure she's a nice woman. But that's about it.
The funny part, I suspect, is that she thinks she's written something deep. The irony is that it just makes the shallow stand out more. Just as her hedonistic, self-centered outlook is encapsulated in how she chooses to describe her husband and his fellow tankers:
" They were great, smart, handsome guys -- the Channing Tatums and Jake Gyllenhaals of their day -- as committed to winning their squadron intramural football league as they were to the complexities of tank gunnery and platoon leadership."
Courtney - Channing Tatum and Jake Gyllenhaal are actors. They play roles others create for them - admittedly bringing their talent to work. You are making a category error - you are identifying with the actor... not the role. Those "great, smart, handsome guys" were the real deal. Not just some hunky dude wearing a character suit emoting to a script. What Gyllenhaal fakes for the screen, those great, smart handsome guys *did.*
I am mindful of my mother. And of several smart, accomplished women I know who also felt the sexual ache during those long months of separation, yet still managed the jobs, the household, the kids, and kept a house a home, despite all the temptations.
They are the strongest people I know. I'm not worthy of them.
Good for you, Courtney, to recognize that you aren't, either. You couldn't handle a soldier, so you settled for a Marxist.
And your son just told you what he thought of that, didn't he?
And, I just realized - why so many of the milquetoast Left and Right and Middle go for that Stolen Valor thing - all the pretty girls like the uniforms.
They're the ones worthy of thought, care, and support.
Ms. Cook will be lolling with her fiery-headed Marxist.
To me this was more about this woman didn't have what it takes. The sexual yearning sure but at the other side there's the feeling of neglect, not just of themselves but their kids too because the guy is too much the Stranger in the house. And when a woman moves from us we and our to me and my it's clear the connection is gone. She is indeed selfish then and that would be normal.
I suppose many would judge her quite harshly. I can't say I can fault that much. It's obvious she hates the military with a passion that's almost holy, amusing then how much she loves the uniform. ...and yes the article's about as deep as a puddle, the muddy side of ourselves really.
For me the article just reads of humanity. Instead of wanting to judge her, it has me judging the ones who did have what it takes more highly. In many ways they completed the service that their partners could not fulfill. And really down the sacred halls of love what it is to help fulfill the promises and dreams of your loved one!
It's also a warning to me. To partners who can't balance this love and to any military that slacks off on supporting the relationships the reality of service strains so much. Even a more general warning about the strains of regular marriages.
They grew apart, but IMHO primarily due to her own ideological "growth" within the anti-military and anti-war Leftism of her colleagues within academia.
She was always a naive, emotionally immature, and psychologically impressionable person.
Just the kind of person the Left preys on.
Cops and firemen have similar issues.
I was just struck by what I suspect she sees as deep insight just highlights the shallows in which she swims.
"I was just struck by what I suspect she sees as deep insight just highlights the shallows in which she swims. "
Beautiful line!
Ding, ding, ding! I do not understand this style of article--several of which we've seen in the last few months--where a woman bares her soul as if she's being deep, when really she's just putting her incredible self-centerness and shallowness on display.
I don't know if I would have the strength to handle such a situation better than she did, but for goodness sake, I'd be smarter than to tell the world about it while pretending it shows how insightful and flexible I am!
When I left Ft. Lewis for Korea, my first wife left me for some long haired dope smoker in downtown Seattle and took our 1 year old with her.
I, of course, found out about it much later.
I can agree with you here heartily John.
But it doesn't make it easier to think that these are the thoughts that went through their heads when the ones going through ours was "Duty, honor, Family, God and Country" does it?
Through the deployments and trials and tribulations we basically raised each other from pups. I cannot imagine life without her.
I could list her traits and principles but each one of us looks for something different. In the final analysis, external beauty is a good thing, but it is what’s inside that counts. If each doesn’t put the welfare of the other first, the final curtain is coming and it is only a matter of time.
What John said is true. This miserable woman is a prime example of what not to be. When one of these come along, she makes the truly strong and beautiful women shine even brighter.
She and the new ‘penciled in love of her life’ truly deserve each other. They deserve what will happen to their relationship. This woman has never learned the difference between love and infatuation; she is no one’s foundation.
Later, after returning from three months CNOPS, I realized there was big trouble; I found myself very relieved to have to stay on the ship for the Duty rotation rather than go home that night.
At the very least, she at least allowed her ex to be part of his children's lives, and remained civil to him, or so it appears from her point of view. (Maybe she knew she was shallow and selfish, and didn't have just cause to be otherwise?) Me, I'd give my left arm to have been part of my child's life for the last 15 years.
When it's all said and done - "It's all about me."
Yup.
That sums it up for me, with a slight addition: She's a bitter woman.
Bitter about a man who chose a life of service over her... and bitter about a son who is closely following in his father's footsteps.
She'll be the next Cindy Sheehan if something happens to him. Mark my words. She's bitter, selfish, and short-sighted. And certainly not cut out to be a military wife or mother.
You make a major point on core values, "...how his/her core values have solidified over time." The really important issue is not the his or her core values, but is *their* core values, worked out together.
fdcol63, I would say that she was less seduced by Lefty ideas than she preferred them in the first place. After all, her first description of college related to Woolf & Thoreau, and she was attracted to a frat boy with a motorcycle.
The next clue was "I was traumatized, having moved overnight from the campus and freedom I had only just started to enjoy, but even then full of the resolve that would take me back to Dartmouth full-time, baby in tow." Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? Traumatized because you had to leave the playpen early? Then the braggadocio about her "resolve." I suppose she spent it all on her marvelous degree on medieval literature. It's too bad she didn't save some of that iron will for her marriage.
I'm not going to cover every point, but the other thing that jumped out at me (besides "it's all about me," which was my exact reaction as well): she's in love with beauty and youth. One might even say obsessed. Note she even once refers to her husband as a "handsome stranger," instead of just stranger. After that she started hanging out with the "young ... book-reading guys," "working with teenage students," talking about love stories.
I suppose that's the other reason she couldn't bear to attend her son's Induction Day. Not only was he turning his back on her intellectual Marxist world, he was leaving youth and entering adulthood, a step I suspect she never completed, despite raising two children.
You can't stay in Never-land forever.
Back during my all-expense-paid tour of Southeast Asia, one of the guys in our infantry company, an M-79 grenadier by trade, got the proverbial "Dear John" letter. He went off and picked up someone else's M-16 and shot himself through the top of his foot. He ended up losing not only his worthless sweetheart but also a good part of his foot. Then again, he did get a court-martial.
Actually, it's more about pretending to be an alpha male to get laid. This gal had an _actual_ alpha male and abandoned him. Maybe the PUAs have a point.
She is not a very nice woman.
I am a volunteer with Soldiers' Angels. One of my recently adopted soldiers (who thank goodness returned safely from his tour of the Sinai) was dumped two weeks after returning from leave. I'm glad I live so far from his STB ex-wife, or I would be tempted to go over there and kick her teeth in. Stupid, self-centered, self-involved, sanctimonious SKANK!
What a worthless bag of chromosomes and body fat.
That woman couldn't ever have grasped the concept of "trust", no matter the level of her education.
Her children deserved better.
Isn't she special? Thanks for sharing and I can't help thinking that she is exactly where she needs to be. Her Marxist husband and his ilk are all about self absortion and hedonism. All one need do is rail against Western Civilization, the evil military, and the oppression of American Society and you are set free to engage in whatever selfish behavior suits your fancy. Far better than trying to help other families make it through the trials and tribulations of a deployment.
My Dad, my Father-in-Law and I were each in a war zone in our day. And we weren't issuing fresh socks. Infantry combat in the Pacific and Vietnam and 20,000 feet over your favorite German city of the day. My mother, mother-in-law and my wife had a much harder time through all of that to be sure. We men were doing what we were trained to do and we knew that we were invincible. They didn't know what was going on and had to endure the visits of the Western Union guy and the Survivor Assistance Officer to their friends and neighbors. I completely understand why this dear girl would wish to say goodbye to all of that and follow her dream.
Live on in your dream world, Courtney. Its so much more rewarding than real life.
Funny how she had to mention her new hubby is a Marxist.
What pisses me off the most about the article is the fact that I watch other soldiers working on their marriages everyday. And it's tough. But they're dedicated, and their vows meant something, so they keep at it.
On that note- if anyone is talking to the Man Upstairs, there's a SPC here at Ft. Huachuca who would really like to see her husband this weekend, but he's stuck on the East coast in that snow storm. Could you put in a word?
This is the freakin' 21st century, where communications are instaneous and on demand should it be necessary. That is why FRGs exist, that is why you have a degree or are committed enough to the relationship that a good book is better than a stiff drink with strangers.
When the Engineer retired, I got the thanks of a grateful nation. That bimbo wasn't part of it.
I read, I educated myself, but she is still a moron.
Classic cinema, that.
One more thing. The time line is her son is one year older than the Young Man. They were at Knox when we were. Her marxist defiled Santa Cruz, a dearly beloved and familiar stomping ground of my teens and twenties.
I spit on her and her phd husband. I wonder if anyone has done a doctoral dissertation on the failed attempts at marxism and why there is such an exercise in futility; but there it is: A communist will go to war; a marxist will get laws passed. Same/same.
Retired killer infantryman reading poetry in a coffeeshop.
I'm checkin' you for Birkenstocks next we meet!
The Grave of the Hundred Head
There's a widow in sleepy Chester
Who weeps for her only son;
There's a grave on the Pabeng River,
A grave that the Burmans shun;
And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri
Who tells how the work was done.
A Snider squibbed in the jungle,
Somebody laughed and fled,
And the men of the First Shikaris
Picked up their Subaltern dead,
With a big blue mark in his forehead
And the back blown out of his head.
Subadar Prag Tewarri,
Jemadar Hira Lal,
Took command of the party,
Twenty rifles in all,
Marched them down to the river
As the day was beginning to fall.
They buried the boy by the river,
A blanket over his face --
They wept for their dead Lieutenant,
The men of an alien race --
They made a samadh in his honor,
A mark for his resting-place.
For they swore by the Holy Water,
They swore by the salt they ate,
That the soul of Lieutenant Eshmitt Sahib
Should go to his God in state,
With fifty file of Burmans
To open him Heaven's gate.
The men of the First Shikaris
Marched till the break of day,
Till they came to the rebel village,
The village of Pabengmay --
A jingal covered the clearing,
Calthrops hampered the way.
Subadar Prag Tewarri,
Bidding them load with ball,
Halted a dozen rifles
Under the village wall;
Sent out a flanking-party
With Jemadar Hira Lal.
The men of the First Shikaris
Shouted and smote and slew,
Turning the grinning jingal
On to the howling crew.
The Jemadar's flanking-party
Butchered the folk who flew.
Long was the morn of slaughter,
Long was the list of slain,
Five score heads were taken,
Five score heads and twain;
And the men of the First Shickaris
Went back to their grave again,
Each man bearing a basket
Red as his palms that day,
Red as the blazing village --
The village of Pabengmay,
And the "drip-drip-drip" from the baskets
Reddened the grass by the way.
They made a pile of their trophies
High as a tall man's chin,
Head upon head distorted,
Set in a sightless grin,
Anger and pain and terror
Stamped on the smoke-scorched skin.
Subadar Prag Tewarri
Put the head of the Boh
On the top of the mound of triumph,
The head of his son below --
With the sword and the peacock-banner
That the world might behold and know.
Thus the samadh was perfect,
Thus was the lesson plain
Of the wrath of the First Shikaris --
The price of a white man slain;
And the men of the First Shikaris
Went back into camp again.
Then a silence came to the river,
A hush fell over the shore,
And Bohs that were brave departed,
And Sniders squibbed no more;
For the Burmans said
That a white man's head
Must be paid for with heads five-score.
There's a widow in sleepy Chester
Who weeps for her only son;
There's a grave on the Pabeng River,
A grave that the Burmans shun;
And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri
Who tells how the work was done.
I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.
Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.
We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.
You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!
"You must choose between me and your cigar"
Rudyard Kipling
Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,
For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.
We quarreled about Havana......we fought o'er a good cheroot,
And I know she is exacting and she says I am a brute.
Open the old cigar-box.....let me consider a space;
In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's face.
Maggie is pretty to look at, Maggie's a loving lass.
But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass.
There's peace in a Laranaga, there’s calm in a Henry Clay,
But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away.......
Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown ...
But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town!
Maggie, my wife at fifty.... gray and dour and old.....
With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!
And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,
And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar.......
The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket......
With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and black to the socket.
Open the old cigar-box......let me consider awhile....
Here is a mild Manila......there is a wifely smile.
Which is the better portion..... bondage bought with a ring,
Or a harem of dusky beauties fifty tied in a string?
Counselors cunning and silent....comforters true and tried,
And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride.
Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,
Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close.
This will the fifty give me, asking naught in return,
With only a Suttee's passion.......to do their duty and burn.
This will the fifty give me, When they are spent and dead,
Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.
The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Maine,
When they hear my harem is empty, will send me my brides again.
I will take no heed to their raiment, nor food for their mouths withal,
So long as the gulls are nesting, so long the showers fall.
I will scent 'em with best Vanilla, with tea will I temper their hides,
And the Moor and the Mormon shall envy who read of the tale of my brides.
For Maggie has written a letter that gives me my choice between
The wee little whimpering Love and the great god Nick o' Teen.
And I have been servant of Love for barely a twelve - month clear,
But I have been Priest of Partagas a matter of seven year;
And the gloom of my bachelor days is flecked with the cheery light
Of stumps that I burned to Friendship and Pleasure and Work and Fight.
And I turn my eyes to the future that Maggie and I must prove,
But the only light on the marshes is the Will o' the Wisp of Love.
Will it see me safe through my journey or leave me bogged in the mire?
Since a puff of tobacco can cloud it, shall I follow the fitful fire?
Open the old cigar-box .....let me consider anew..... Old friends,
and who is Maggie that I should abandon you?
A million surplus Maggies are willing 'o bear the yoke;
And a woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a Smoke.
Light me another Cuba..... I hold to my first-sworn vows,
If Maggie will have no rival, I'll have no Maggie for spouse!
Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin'-cool,
I walks in my old brown gaiters along o' my old brown mule,
With seventy gunners be'ind me, an' never a beggar forgets
It's only the pick of the Army that handles the dear little pets - 'Tss! 'Tss!
For you all love the screw-guns - the screw-guns they all love you!
So when they call round with a few guns, o' course you will know what to do - hoo! hoo!
Jest send in your Chief an' surrender - it's worse if you fights or you runs:
You can go where you please, you can skid up the trees, but you don't get away from the guns!
They sends us along where the roads are, but mostly we goes where they ain't:
We'd climb up the side of a sign-board an' trust to the stick o' the paint:
We've chivied the Naga an' Looshai, we've give the Afreedeeman fits,
For we fancies ourselves at two thousand, we guns that are built in two bits - 'Tss! 'Tss!
For you all love the screw-guns...
If a man doesn't work, why, we drills 'im an' teaches 'im 'ow to behave;
If a beggar can't march, why, we kills 'im an' rattles 'im into 'is grave.
You've got to stand up to our business an' spring without snatchin' or fuss.
D'you say that you sweat with the field-guns? By God, you must lather with us -'Tss! 'Tss!
For you all love the screw-guns...
The eagles is screamin' around us, the river's a-moanin' below,
We're clear o' the pine an' the oak-scrub, we're out on the rocks an' the snow,
An' the wind is as thin as a whip-lash what carries away to the plains
The rattle an' stamp 'o the lead-mules - the jinglety jink o' the chains -'Tss! 'Tss!
For you all love the screw-guns...
There's a wheel on the Horns o' the Mornin', an' a wheel on the edge o' the Pit,
An' a drop into nothin' beneath you as straight as a beggar can spit:
With the sweat runnin' out o' your shirt-sleeves, an' the sun off the snow in your face,
An' 'arf o' the men on the drag-ropes to hold the old gun in 'er place -'Tss! 'Tss!
For you all love the screw-guns...
Smokin' my pipe on the mountings, sniffin' the mornin'-cool,
I climbs in my old brown gaiters along o' my old brown mule.
The monkey can say what our road was - the wild-goat 'e knows where we passed.
Stand easy, you long-eared old darlin's! Out drag-ropes! With shrapnel! Hold fast - 'Tss! 'Tss!
For you all love the screw-guns - the screw-guns they all love you!
So when we take tea with a few guns, o' course you will know what to do -hoo! hoo!
Jest send in your Chief an' surrender - it's worse if you fights or you runs:
You may hide in the caves, they'll be only your graves, but you can't get away from the guns!
Now to see if anyone goes all Beavis on it.
She says ... I don't know I've never Kipled
In her attempt to couch her deception in rhetorical flourishes and pseudo-principled stances, did anyone else notice the item where she said:
"I took a job at an independent bookstore and started spending time with the young, funny, book-reading guys I met there."
I don't know about anyone else, but I read into this a message that she was doing more than reading Marx and sipping lattes. She seems very manipulative in the way she treated her ex-husband, so why wouldn't she try to manipulate the readers to ignore this rather unsavory portion of her life. Why didn't she say she slept around a lot?
One other nit, as a Naval Academy grad myself, she doesn't have another "soldier" to worry about, she has a midshipman who will become a sailor or marine. It's a small thing, but those of us from the boat school were never called "cadets" and we do not become "soldiers".
Of course I think she knows that and this is another continuation in the fallacy she's trying to create around her intellectualism.
But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same;
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.
She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity—must not swerve for fact or jest.
These be purely male diversions—not in these her honour dwells—
She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.
She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great
As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate.
Courtney, I refuse to defame the Castle grounds with my opinion of you, but you are NOT worthy of the warriors in your life, exhusband and son alike. Go, play with your red-headed Marxist in your fantasy world. You are not of my company; those of us who are warriors and birth warriors and stand beside our warrior Mate and guard his back - you had the opportunity to be one of us, and you failed.
This article is a shining example.
This one must know my ex-wife.
Nuttin' wrong with bookstores (I owned one).
Nuttin' wrong with cigars (I'm a tobacconist).
Nuttin' wrong with the love of a good woman (Had that once).
Nuttin' wrong with Kipling.
Ergo
Nuttin' wrong with me.
Dear Lord. I can't even mock that.
It would seem redundant.
Heh. I'd pay to see that! :D
-ElTee- The female who just typed something, read it over, has no idea what it says... But clicked "submit" anyways. One never knows when something silly may be the smartest thing one's said.
Tip for -ElTee- never drink coffee that was made with any water other than bottled water for now.
-ElTee- Who is eying today's 3rd coffee as we speak.
But hey, what do I know. Go back to your hategasm, people, it looks like fun.
...
Her refusal to attend her son's induction says it all. As someone said above, a true Cindy Sheehan in the making (because she'd rediscover her deep commitment to her son if something happened to him to give her an opportunity for some reflected celebrity). Look! I suffered not only the tragedy of the break-up of my marriage but also the loss of my son! I truly am the center of the universe!