Don’t get me fucking STARTED.

I’m a disabled Vet. There is nothing like being in the belly of the beast for a few years to force feed what is vs what is pushed upon a jingoistic rah rah public.

Don’t get me fucking STARTED.

I’m a disabled female vet, Vietnam Era. There is nothing like being repeatedly raped and assaulted and abused at the hands of our Fucking HEROES and then coming home to get spat on, then see more and more stories about my female military peeps who are STILL subject to same, while the Pentagon virulently denies that not only we women, but ten thousand MEN get raped every year.

Don’t get me fucking started. Because once you have held, and learned to operate, a true weapon of war, and I was an expert shot, you are not only humbled by the pure evil power of such things, but you have to ask if this penile extension is little more than baby boys needing to fuck with countries (or, pardon me, is it cuntries) which can’t fight back. Because perhaps nobody sold them big enough weapons, but hey, that’s changing fast, with America out of the essential nuclear weapons deals and teeny penis president desperate to fuck with other people to disavow his stupidity. Commander in Chief my ass.

Look. I served. I’m proud I served. Because I served I not only was able to get my degree but in a thousand ways the Army also helped. At 67 I’d still take a bullet for my country, but not for that fuckwit in the Shite House. Not for his friends in the Military Industrial Complex, about which Eisenhower warned, a man who was deeply sickened by war. He knew. He’d seen it, smelled it, lived it. He knew its evil.

No. I’d take a bullet for those I love. Not for God and country. What hyperventilating Bullshit. What monumental crap.

I wouldn’t take bullet for those jackbooted white supremacists who glorify the military largely because they couldn’t pass muster to get in. I wonder how happy they’d be to come back home with half a brain, half a body, half alive and spend the rest of their lives like? Rah, Rah, Sparky.

Rah. Fucking. RAH.

I support our troops. Of course I do. I support not having them manipulated and mutilated like chess pieces. But such as it has always been. Such as this has always and forever been, when baby boys have too much money and can get people all fucking excited about a little piece of colored cloth that has been planted on (someone else’s sovereign) land to prove we fucked ’em but good.

Don’t. Get. Me. Started.

Written by

Horizon Huntress, prize-winning author, adventure traveler, boundary-pusher, wilder, veteran, aging vibrantly. I own my sh*t. Let’s play!

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