In the spirit of TRANSPARENCY, I feel compelled to share this with you, Fellow News Talkers!

WARNING:   Big boy pants required! If you are offended by words, but, not deeds. Perhaps, Mates, you may want to take your Soft Ball, Flat Tocas to a page for the tender mental states.

We, here, at 'Eat The Press-Do Not Wipe Your Bun With It" are prone to use real 'Merican language, like Trump's uses. If one does not complain about "the Donald's" vulgarity, use of profanity, or, constant lying, then, please, extend that privilege to us, or, leave. We are Morons, too!

HOWDY, Friends, allow me to introduce me self. I  am the modest , retiring, shy, Wintrope Merideth, The III, CEO & FLOUNDER of Eat The Press-Do Not Read It! Do Not Read Anything - Ignorance is Bliss.

The content of our publication is worthless! The value of is in the pulp when you Eat It! So, Eat It, Michael, "Don't Beat it". That is so passe!
As many of you may know, we are the ORIGINAL FAKE NEWS, not the Real News our FAKE PRESIDENT WHINES about. We are so "fake", we just make sh*t up!

Our Journalistic Creed is:  "The Public's Right To Know Every Damn Thing Right Now, S upersede Our Right, T o Tell The Truth!"
So we Don't!



Therefore, my fellow NewsTalkers.com   malcontents, and/or, congenital misfits in the "Spirit of Transparency", I feel compelled to tell you, that I was once assigned to an Army Intelligence Unit, in Vietnam.
 
Like our Fake President says, I must be "smart", too, because "I know words. Lots of words". I, too, know words.

I often met them in dark alleys after school and exchanged them for the Marijuana that I grew in my mother flower garden, in case we got raided, she would go to jail, not me. 

So, like our President, "I know words" from all sides of the street!  Good words, bad words, messed up words.

Trump brags that he knows "Lots of Words"!

Well, actually, I not only "Know Words", I also know about "Lot".

I am an expert on the "Story of Lot", who like Trump, was poking his daughter when Sodom and Gonorrhea were destroyed by an angry God, with a very short temper, who any amateur scholars, like myself, will tell you needed "Anger Management" classes!

In addition, like Trump, I am a "profiteer". In my "profiteering", I prophesy that "One day soon, or, in the next million and a half years, the Earth will suffer another Meteor Bombardment or Nuclear Holocaust caused by Gay People taking it in the 'you know wher e'."

I say to my Fellow 'Merican Gay Friends, "knock it off"!  l

See, for yourself, I know words, lots of them. Not Fake Words, either. Real Words.

As a 20's Something, I often meet "single words" at Hippy parties in New York City, when I lived in Greenwich Village and managed the Gaslight Cafe.

It was there, in that dirty, dark comedy haven, known, then, as a "beatniks coffeehouse", that I met, cuddled and wrote down words in private.

My word collecting was compulsive. I even copying their letters, sometimes tracing my fingers over their curves, if in cursive, and, about each stroke, until I, too, had a "stroke", which for me was a sign, to put my words away and take up guns.

I, too, like Trump, " know words".

If you don't know "words", you don't know what you are missing.

However, when I became a semi-adultI put away my childish words and took up a semi-automatic M-16 to play with and fondled.

Because of my new compulsive obsession, I  joined the Army. It was, I scolded myself,"time to put my childish things behind me and take up manly things like killing people who disagree with you. No more Mister Nice Guy for me. I was going to be a Killer for Uncle Sam, not a victim of Uncle Al, so, I ran off and join the United States Army, in order, that I might start sleeping with women, instead of men.

I did not want to follow in the step of President Abe Lincoln, who slept with men as he travels the Law Circuit traveling from courthouse to courthouse, sleeping with multiple men in large beds in Hotel rooms across the Midwest, as was the custom of those "gay, olde days", or, so, I have read.

Running as I did, then, and, now, from my Devil's "gay lustings", "gay laughter", "gay happiness" "gay anything". I sought the sanctuary of the United States of America Military, a known "Gay Free Zone"!

Boy, was I surprised?  They, "gays", are everywhere, even in your underwear. Consider, the most popular brand of underwear in the civilized world, "Fruit of the Loom"! Coincidence?  In the Intelligence game, there are no "coincidences".

Well, Brothers and Sista of the Corn Hole Degeneration, in the Spirit of Transparency, I must reveal to you that our straight-laced, "gay-hating, lip-sucking", Vice President, Michael Pence ("I sucked, but, I did not blow in College") is a well-known, world-renowned "closet queen" in all Intelligence Agency in the World, and, two from Outer Space.

It is common knowledge in all of the Gay literature, that I do not read!

Our "sauces", a wino we found sleeping in the basement of a YMCA, going by the name of "Sloppy Steve", claims that when he was working in the Whitehouse, and, had day to day contact with the "Whitest Man in America", Pence, or, someone that looks like him (possibly Anderson Cooper) confessed his fear to him, when he caught him pleasuring himself in the Men's Room right off of the Oval Office.

Pence, on bending knee, begged "Sloppy Steve", or, someone looking like "Sloppy Steve" not to tell on him, especially to "the Donald", that was constantly propositioning him.

Pence, or, Anderson Cooper explained that he was very fearful that one day he will inexplicably, perhaps,  compulsively jump out of the closet on a national TV Show on Fox TV Network News, lip-locking "Shep", or, Hiraldo Reverie, Fox Anchors, embarrassingly, "cutting up the rug" with these fellow "gay blades" while wearing  his wife, "Momma", sexy black negligee!

I found my sanctuary in the United States Military, a 100% "Gay Free Zone".

Hshortly, shortly after my "basic training" was completed, I was sent overseas to a combat zone.  Unlike the "Orange Buffoon", presently occupying the Whitehouse illegally, I volunteered for "hazardous duty". 

I did not make up "bogus excuses", like having "bone spurs" to circumvent my duties to my county. I wasn't smart enough, then, nor, deceitful. That would come later when I became a Republican.

I could have, if I wanted, to, avoid going into the service, or, to Vietnam.  I had a number of legitimate conditions that would have kept me out of the Army if I chose to bring them up. Instead, I used the hard earned money I purloined from seniors on Social Security to bribe my recruiting officer.

He was black, (like me), liberal, like me, and confused, like me. He counseled, "Being nuts should not hold one back from serving in the Army. It is often a requirement".

To be perfectly honest with you, I did not join the Army to serve my country, or, for other patriotic reasons.

As a very horny teenager, I had been regaled by my "Weird Uncle Al", would had an annoying habit of telling young boys in the neighborhood, who, like me, were dumb enough to sit on his lap, lurid, salacious, hot, tempting tales of attractive, "working girls, with low standards", that  he had  encountered in the military, until he was thrown out. These tantalizing myth filled my mind with desires and drove my passions. 

In the "Sport of Transparency", which is so pervasive now, I must confess that I joined the service to meet women, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with them, but, I wanted them. Unfortunately, at that time in my Journey, they wanted "cash money, honey", which I was short of. I was short of everything being on 5' 6'', with a face like a raw Pizza Pie.

I know that these revelations may shock some of you, who do not know me, or, want to! Then, to they may shock those of all of you who do know me and deny it. I forgive you. I understand why you would lie. Trump does, it's the "in" thing to do, that and the Obama era rave, "transparency".

Everyone must tell everyone everything about ourselves, even to total stranger we meet in check-out lines at the grocery. That is why the lines are so long.

Well, in all "transparency" and because I am not wearing underwear, allow me to explain. At the age of 21, I ran away to join the Army, because the Circus wasn't in town.

The sensuous prospects of talking to a "live" woman who wouldn't scream, call the cops, or, run away was more than I could bear.

It was at that moment that I vowed to myself, "I will never again wear underwear. A  real man must be ready at all times. One never knows when one will get lucky."

As a young man making the transition, in a "non-transparent society", I didn't have to be bothered about telling everyone everything. There were some things better left unsaid.

Like most American boys slip-sliding into legal manhood, I was ruled by galloping hormones at full throttle and untrained to hand them.  (That in my opinion is what we should be teaching in high schools!  What to do when your "Jonson" pops up unexpectedly, as say, "Hi, I here and she is over there"! It is extremely embarrassing especially at funerals.)

As you might observe, I was not as "altruistic" as I am now. Today, my wife "Ice Pick" keeps me in check. Her father delivered ice to houses back in the day and taught her how to use it. On our wedding day, she said, "This doesn't change anything. The price is the same".

To emphasize her point she sensuously slides her ice pick from her considerable bosom and whispered, "I keep it with me at all times. Now say your vows, honey".

Which I did.  Forty-four years later, she still sharpens that damn thing every night before we go to bed. It works worked for me.

I digress. I often do that when I really want to take a luxurious, long-legged, big busted, bodacious booty of a woman on the spot, but, I am restrained by images of that "ice pick" raining down as I sleep.

And now back to my borning, unproductive life in American INTELLIGENCE.

It was the Fall of 1965, after 24 brutal hours on a military plane I found myself inexplicably assigned to Phu Bia, Vietnam, to the 8th RRU, an Army Intelligence Unit, instead of Kitchen Patrol in the Officer's Mess Hall. 

In truth, I had no intelligence training and possed, at that time, any.  I was a confirmed "lefty" that favored JFK. And, he had just been shot by LBJ, that was all I knew. Now I was here in 'Nam with the scent of gasoline all around me, as South Vietnam soldiers in dress uniforms smoked American cigarette from long, expensive French cigarette holders teasing their Black-clad Viet Cong prisoners, soaked in gasoline.

As I descended the steps of the plane, the stench of dead fish, stale water mixed with gasoline, burning flesh waffled through my nostrils, but, all I could think of was, "Where are the women in scantily clad outfits" that my Weird Uncle Al, with the long, wandering, icy cold fingers told me about?

My military saga began in the early days of the Vietnam War (circa 1965-1966), about the time LBJ,  an equally Fake President had been installed, illegally in the Oval Office! 

It was immediately upon the completion of the task that his All-White, All-Right-Wing, Conservative-Republican high randing Texas buddies in John Birch Society's, known as White Texas Christians "With-a- Hard-On for the Kennedys," orchestrated the assassination of JFK on behalf of LBJ, who, of course, had nothing to do with it. Just as Putin had nothing to do with Trump's election, they just world in tandem. 

Six years later, my Intelligence apparatus, a group of ex-Intell officers booted out of the service and now living in the basement of the Washington Monument, told me the "Inside Story" over a bottle of cheap Thunder Bird Wing that I purchased as a method of getting them to spill the beans. And, boy did they.

Never serve cheap wine with bean tacos.

Anyway, according to our "unvetted, unreliable sauces these disgruntled former intelligence agents, now, "Winos", claimed that they had it on "pretty flimsy" evidence gleaned from Fox TV Network News report that LBJ favorite group, "regrouped" to whack Bobby Kennedy, with a "little help from their friends", the Russians. All of this info can be verified by watching the infamous 8 mm Zarroter film played backward and is easily comprehensible to anyone properly trained to see conspiracies.

I, too, saw the same film at one of my "commie meetings" in during basic training at Fort Gordon, Georgia, in Agusta.  I attended those "secret, sensitive meetings surreptitiously" with the Commanding General of the Fort, who was rumored to be a flaming fag on weekends. Why he chose me to drive him to these events was behind me. It might be because he liked to ride in the front seat of the Jeep with his left hand on my right leg squishing it with hand signals, so, no words were ever spoken. 

Anyway, later, on the trips back to the base, after communing endless alcoholic drinks, the Commander would loosen up and tell me TOP SECRET secrets like how "Lee Harvey Oswal was married to a Russia "Red Sparrow" spy. And that it was really she who shot JFK, not Lee. 

"Lee was a patsy", the General would blurt out, dabbling at his "Ruby-Red lipstick", with that same adroitness of any top female 1940's film stars of that era. 

"Really?" I once naively asked.

"Shut the "F*ck Up, Winnie. When I want you to talk. I will slap your face!"

"Yes, sir", I replied submissively, which he loved.

"Look, fuck-face his wife was the one that was contacted by the Russians to actually pull the trigger. Lee was the patsy, destined to be caught when the get-way car did not show up by design at the designated location, forcing Oswald to take a public bus, etc., and so"!

Every Sunday, like clockwork orange, I would drop him back off at the Officers' Club for their Weekly "Stag Drag Show and Party",  return the Jeep and polish the general shoes for the next day.

Later I was too learned that Lee Harvey Oswald and I had something in common, we were both "patsies". I was a Left-Leaning former Liberal Arts student and Lee was a Right Wing "All The Way to the Bitter End" former Russia stooge. Kind of Right/Left pastry thing. You would have to be there to appreciate it.

Meanwhile, upon my arrival in Vietnam, I was flown by helicopter and my unit assignment, locate 12 clicks from the city of Hue, known as the old capital of Vietnam.  I suddenly became aware of how dangerous this place could be when do to overcrowded conditions, I was forced to ride outside, of the helicopter, lying flat on top of the cab, only inches away from the swirling rotary blades because I was the lowest ranking soldier and the "newbie".

Later, my new Intelligence Unit members explained that they "were jes fun'n me", as they did to all fresh meat from the states.

I have always been extremely sensitive, instinctively understood how totally unprepared I was for anything life threw at me, particularly the possibility of hostile action.

Even "Back in the USA," I often ran from little girls on the playground that threatened to beat me up for trying to kiss them. It seems that I was the designated "runner". Never a "hitter" I was called the  "Runaway boy", or, "faggot"!

It was no secret back in the day, that I was a "straight up coward". In fact, I was born a "coward" to conjoined twin, "The Cowards", who ask me not to take their name. I changed It from "Yellow Belly Coward" to Winthrop Meredith, The III because he was a college friend who never tried to beat me up.

Like so many cowards, then, and, now, while in the Army I  tried, many times to change my destiny by going AWOL.

But, each time, the Viet Cong kept bringing me back to my unit, upside down in my own duffle bag, with a pink bow and a note tied to the top that read, "We don't want him, either"!

That silly ritual went on for several weeks! In retrospect, I see it now as my John Mc Cain moment.

I was repeatedly and unceremoniously dumped, again, and, again, at the front gate to our of our highly sensitive, super secret, underground compound, surrounded by bulletproof neon signs that read:  "CAUTION - KEEP OUT! HIGH SENSITIVE, INTELLIGENCE GATHERING COMPOUND". Among the troops, we referred to ourselves as the "DEEP STATE"!

Well, thank the Gods of Personal Disaster, finally, a new Lt. Colonel was assigned as our Base Commander, the previous one wore too many, out of season formal dresses before running off with a Viet Cong Drag Queen to tour on the Far East Gay Theater Circuit, sponsored by McConnell-Pence Foundation For Tolerance!  

Luckily for me, our new Lt. Colonel Bad Ass, innocently assumed the duffel bag was his, threw it over his shoulders along with his stash of Playboy magazines, testosterone supplements, and expensive booze carrying onto the compound and into his quarters.

We hit it off wonderfully. The good, but, extremely lazy colonel didn't know how I got there either, nor, did I. It was our "little private, perverse secret" that drew us closer together, but, not that close.

As long as I polished his shoes, as I had with my previous base commander, and patted his head, he was delighted with my presence, even going so far as to sleep with me on those cold nights.

But, truth be know, I was nervous at being in such a sensitive area, a hotbed of Viet Cong activity, where my well-known incompetence might leak through my fake camouflage, khaki, military-style underwear and soil my uniforms.

I feared, as, everyone on the compound did, that I was woefully unprepared for combat, or, much of life's challenges. It was decided if anything untoward were to happen, I was to be "taken out first". For decades, I thought that was a recognition of how valuable I was to the Colonel.

The higher ups worried that I might create an unstable environment for myself, by screaming hysterically like a "sissy", alerting the enemy that, perhaps, all Americans were "fruitcakes.

Later, when drunk, the Lt.Colonel explained that he could only protect me from myself and other only so long. There were "higher up" that was convinced that I single-handedly might throw the entire war for America, simply because I was a congenital "lefty". 

"They, also, know your real name, son!"

You see, folks, in "the Spirit of Transparency" I am a lefty, now. I was, then, and, as far as I can tell, will remain one, "until death do us part"! 

I sense that many of you reading this piece hope that that is sooner rather than later! Sometimes, in my darkest hours, in the shower playing "Drop The Soap" with myself, I sometimes do, as well.

Although the Lt. Colonel and I never married, we did discuss it. He went on to pretend that he was a normal family and had 14 children by a very, very tired out wife, who, later killed him with the same type of "ice pick" my wife carries with her.  

Anyway, in the early 1960s if a soldier was accused of being "queer", or, just suspected because he kept his barracks "too clean", these burr-headed, devoted Baptist Christians just shot them and jammed their nut sacks in the mouth as a warning to other "HOMOSEXUALS", following, they claimed specific instruction laid out in their bibles, The Hill Billy Bibble, written by Pat Robinson, with a forward by Jim Jones.

When in Vietnam I was shot at three times, not by an enemy combatant, but, by my fellow INTELLIGENCE TECHNICIANS who were bored with the lobotomy of military life. 

Thankfully, they were highly skilled Intelligence Techs, who didn't know which way was up when it came to guns, and, not Evangelical Christians, who are. 

That is why, after the third shooting, the Colonel took everyone's weapons away and locked them up. 

We were surrounded by a battalion of Marines, protected by a minefield, gun turrets, and machine gun posts ever 10 feet around our concrete parameters. No one was coming in or going out without passing through the front gate, or, as we called, "the Eye of the Needle". 

Sometimes things were so tense from the pressure and the sexual passion erupting in our young loins that we took cool group shower and shaved each other's head.

Today, many, if not all, of my Right Wing, Calcified Conservative, Evil-Genital, Talking-In-Tongue, Semi-Retarded, Red-Neck, Republican Trump Athletic Supporters are convinced that I am responsible for America's set back in Asia.

And, to this day they blame me, and, all "Lefties" for America's tanking economy, porous borders, inner-city riots, rising crime rates, and, especially skyrocketing HEALTH CARE COSTS.

Whenever, the Dow Jones drops, these red-caps wearing baby baboons campout on my lawn in full military regalia, reading intently from their well-worn Bibles, calling for all "Lefties To Be Locked Into Cages With Mexican Babies"!

That just doesn't seem right to me! If truth be told, I do not know anyone named, "Dow Jones", or, why he was "dropped".

But, like the Evil-Genital Religious Nutcases who call on me weekly, they, they to do not listen. Even as I run hysterically towards by car screaming in a high falsetto, "Get off my grass, Neanderthals! You are killing my Marijuana plants! I have a Medical Marijuana permit".














Although these "upstanding members of our communities Christian Society" no longer "chat" with me, or, "hurled" stones at my window, it is still alarming to see them march about in public facilities.

Thankfully for me, they have zeroed in on Marc Parker, Publisher of S mashing Interviews, which give me, and my elks a temporary reprieve. 

Todays, member of the "God Annoited Right Awful, Right Wing Church of Nazarene Grenade Tossers Society For Sadists" only harass me with abstruse hand gestures, and, those terrorizing stares shot at me from cold, steely Putinesque eyes that sends a chill over me, or, anyone in range from as far as 30 feet away. 

If I wasn't a born again "coward" I would do something about it. My "When They Go Low - We Go High" training seminars seems to have no positive effect on them. It only makes their necks reader. As a "Born Again Coward & Proud of It", I am more sensitive to "bullies" than a normal person may be.

I have always been sensitive, even as a child. If someone punched me in the face for no reason, I knew instantly that I made a "wrong friend".

Today, when a tattooed "Christian Patriot", in full military armor, strolls about our local Wal-Mart toting a loaded, fully automatic weapon, with enough spare ammo to wipe everyone within a five-block area, I always get "queasy". 

My Christian friends are quick to explain, "it's because you are secretly gay and don't know it"! It's amazing, at 76.7 years I still don't know it, but, they do! "It's because you wear those faggy pink Ralph Loren short sleeve pullovers. Everyone that is anyone knows that Ralph Loren is gay". 

I guess I am a "no one", also. It is painful, all the things one learns at this age. I didn't even get an invitation to the Putin-Trump Wedding.






Perhaps, the most distressing aspect of their "Christian Love For Heathens" is their insatiable cravings for carving biblical "death threats" on my car with their military-style bayonet, because, they say, " it is a foreign-made by our enemies, Germans". 

Another one of their favorite tag lings is catchy, if not scratchy, "Drive Foreign Cars and Die, Fag", is a popular one in these part around Mildew, Ohio, where there are no jobs, not even blow jobs. 

Perhaps, the most memorable acts of aggression our their repeated chants to the tune of Ted Nugent song, " God's Army of Christian Assassins Will Soon Be calling On You, Coon"!

It is a well-kept secret that I am "Bi-racial". I am White from the waist up, where it doesn't count, Black from the waist down where it does. I was once like you, but, I am no more. If you don't think I am bi-racial I can prove it. Brothers have rope, as my good friend, Paul Mooney, the Social Comedian and community activist often repeats on his comedy tours, then, pull down his pants to prove it.

At this moment, "my Jonson" is down the street, around the corner making a "Booty" call on a payphone.  Those things have a mind of their own.

In addition to being "Bi-Racial", I am Bi-Partisan, Bi-Polar, Bi-Pedal and Bi-Sexual. If you have the money, Honey, you can "buy me". Please, no loose change. It wears holes in your pockets.


---------------------------------------INTERMISSION-------------------------------------------------------------------
Recently, the new recruits, known as, "Killers For Christ",  will shout , "Hey, Mother F-er, we know you are part of the DEEP STATE! Get your White Ass out of town before we burn your house down for the Jesus"!

When I was younger and dumber, I would try to try to explain to these domestic terrorists that, "I am in a Deep State, all right. You Red Neck, Neanderthal!  The Deep State of Depression, thanks to you pricks".

But, as I aged and my skin turned to cheese, my favorite finger to dust, I have learned to endure their juvenile ignorance, chants, and Christian teachings, without resorting to my impulse to "knife them", although, I am often tempted to do so. Maybe, one day my dream will be fulfilled.

Now, as I approach my "EXPIRATION DATE", I am no longer "rattled" by their constantly heckling. 

Thanks to my new hearing aids, I can hear their clamoring walkers scaping the sidewalks as they attempt to sneak up on me from their Hillside hovel dug into Rumpke Dump Waste & Recycle Food For Caged Children site.  It is a mere three blocks away, now that the EPA regulations have been revised by Congress to allow "garbage down" in the neighborhood for ease of service by wealthy companies who want to get into the lucrative business without any knowledge or hassle from the Feds.

This tactics error in their plan allows me plenty of time to spray my driveway with a thick, clear oil and watch them slip, slide, careening down it like overturned shopping carts on Blue Light Specials at WalMart. 

(Break Time - More Coffee Needed)

I know that many of you may find it excruciatingly painful to believe that I may have once worked in a United States Intelligence Unit , and, was not there to be studied. 

That is why they kept giving me those electric shock treatments back in the day, a fellow named "Cheney", or, "Shity" Shane, always flew out to administer the treatments. The odd thing about him, he never took a plane, just flew in flapping his own wings.  

Sometimes "life kicks your ass, sending you to "Hell and Back" on hot, burning Bunsen-Burner, just for the sheer fun of it.  One has to see the "positive in everything", at least it is cheaper than paying to go on all those rides at an Amusement Park.

Now, at 76.7, as I am rapidly approaching my "EXPIRATION DATE", which is tattooed on men's "junk" in 8 points blue pica print, that is often mistaken for a vein in your nut sack.

As I  reminisce, softly crying in the wind with black tears in my eyes from the tar, I realized how much of my youth was squandered, as I idled away my life killing flies with a hammer.

At the time, when I was in the Armed Forces Intelligence service, I had only a little over one year of college completed. Not, like now, where I have completed ten years completed trying to get a four year Bachelor degree. Ironically, when I got it, I got married, and was no longer a bachelor, so, I threw it away.

Back, then, in my 20's with just that 1 and 1/2 year of college under my belt, I way in no position to spell "intelligence", let alone show signs of having any it.

What made it so distressful was, as I look back, there seemed to be, as there is now, a well-coordinated, mean-spirited, on-going debate with" up and coming" Nixonian supporters who openly argued this intelligence issue to my face, as they are want to do to this day, still wonder if I had any, then, or, now.

I must confess. I am clueless, too.


While in the service, I  wrote it off as jealousy. I got to polish the Lt. Colonel shoes daily because I was his right-hand man/girl, as he liked to call me. And, as Bill O'Reilly did at Fox TV News, chase me around his desk trying to kiss me.

That fateful encounter with Destiny, a hooker I knew from the street, suggested that if I wasn't going to "fu*k her", I might as well join the Army and get "fu*k every day".

Little did I know how prophetic her advice would one day be.  It seems like only yesterday, but, yesterday was Wednesday, and this was 19 hundred and 63 year ago.  I was 21, broke, working at night at a  job I hated, so, that I might attend a college that hated me, and, one I could not afford. 

To make matter worse, Myrna of the rent was overdue, as was my next quarter's college's tuition, and my "on and off again" relationship with my girlfriend, who was also due.

I was in a pickle, a pickle costume suit that I wore to draw nightly to draw drunk college student to the local bar filled with more drunk college kids, trying desperately, as I did, to "hook up" with a drunker "college girl". Those were the days when one paid one's dues. The days when I worked nights, drank more than I made, and, and up an overdue bar tab, too.








So, I was delighted when I got the good news that the "paternity test" can back negative. It wasn't my child. She was not overdue; she was bloated from eating all of my food and drinking up my beers.

Right, then and there, that I vowed to do something rash, something impulsive to get out of my overdue library book fines, my past due parking tickets, homework assignments, bathes, even my dental and doctor appointments. All, all overdue! 

So,  my mean-spirited, Trump Supporter friends, that no longer speak t, nor they to me.  I did what I always do when something is due, I ran away and joined the Army because the Circus was out of town.

Momma always said, "You can run, and, you can hide. But, you can run and hide. Decide, Don't let the man tell you any different. 

"If he does, run away. Ain't nothing wrong with running from your troubles, son, that is what politicians do. And, that is precisely how I trained you kid. Cause whenever you kids got out of hand, I ran away".

" It didn't hurt you none, or, like Trump, I never heard that it did. So it must not have."

Well, that is why I joined, "Uncle Sam's "Hurry Up & Wait, Army," where we did just that. 

We'd hurried to get from one place to another, at breakneck speeds, only to wait and wait in lines until something opened.

It drove me nuts, and, I did not have "to far to go", my friends would always say, then, punch me in the face with their rifle butt?

After two years in the service and seeing no action, I was becoming malcontented, that is when I first noticed this malaise, or, mayonnaise on me. 

 I had had the luxury of being in many on-base and off- base, amateur theater production, because, I looked gay, but, wasn't.  In the theater world, which I took to like "warm pudding, I was known as a "lousy actor," but, a "good lay."

Even the lure of the G.I. Bill was wearing off.  I needed an adventure that I might tell my children and grandchildren years later if I ever found myself in that same kind of predicament that I had in college where my "Jonson" instead of my head made all of the decision for me.

And, like that terrifying incident, I might find myself once more as "guilty as sin", without a place to run to

Tune In Next Week for Part Two, of "Why Do I Bother, Brother? You Don't! You don't even reply"!