Uncle Buck On Current Events

In extreme stress and emotional distress, I had to talk to someone who has endured the madness that is the economic, social, moral and education lacking state of depression we all currently live in.  I needed some insight, some understanding so I took a train to Delaware to visit Uncle Buck. 

I know that most of you when first introduced to Uncle Buck found him to be abrasive, hard, intolerant and maybe a little to ‘liberal’ with his use of ‘ethnic nicknames and slurs’ that make up a great deal of his vocabulary.  Uncle Buck is a Veteran of the U.S. Marine Corps, Montford Point Marines. 

He has endured things most humans would still be in therapy over and seen the worst of man’s inhumanity to man.  But he is rabidly American in every way.

Cousin Jake (Uncle Buck’s oldest Son) sent Uncle Buck a real nice quantity of quality pipe tobacco cured and smoked on Uncle Buck’s farm in South Carolina.  

I sat with Uncle Buck after Millie (cousin, one of Uncle Buck’s daughters) cooked a an old style southern meal that made a man just want to sit down and gaze at the sky.  And that’s what we started out doing when Uncle Buck asked me “what’s on your mind boy?”

“I’m going back to College, trying to learn another trade, having to start a business from scratch because I can’t get a job, nobody wants to hire me for anything Uncle Buck.”  “No shit, your old, a nigro, and you know too much, even worse, you want real money if you actually get a real job, don’t’cha?”  “Of course I do Uncle Buck, I have to pay bills and taxes just like everybody else.”

 

“You will always have the burden but cracker will never give you a job because he can get a punk butt boy or a foreigner, a dothead or a sand nigger from Pakistan on one of then B1 Visas to work for damn near slave wages.  Why pay you real money when all the crooked assed businessmen wants to do is make money without paying the cost RJ?  Boy, find something you love to do and arrange your life accordingly, things will get much worse before they get any better.”

“Talking about immigrants Uncle Buck, what do you think about Obama’s decision to let the children of illegal immigrants stay in the country without threat of deportation?  Also letting those who have expired green cards who served in the military, they are also given the right to stay without being deported.  What is your opinion on that Uncle Buck?”

Uncle Buck sat in his tattered grey overalls and worn out old fedora looking over the horizon.  Uncle Buck gave me a cold stare then took a long draw from his favorite old pipe, letting the smoke cascade from his nostrils like a factory chimney.  Then he sipped his snifter full of Jack and gave me his answer.

Uncle Buck said “Boy, this immigration problem has been fucked with since before Jimmy Carter tried to fix it in the late 70’s by granting what crackers call ‘amnesty’.  America has been luring illegal immigrants here since 1848 with Chinese labor to help build the railroads because poor ass Irish and niggers wanted real money.  Same thing now, Carter failed, Reagan passed the Immigration Reform and Control Act of 1986, that failed, then Bush backed the “Sensenbrenner Bill” back in 2005, it failed.

All this bullshit over Obama letting the so called illegal’s, already ‘de-facto Americans’ stay here is purely political.  Obama is one of Machiavelli’s finest students, right up there with tricky Dick Nixon.  This isn’t about oppressed peoples struggling to become Americans, this is about poor assed desperate people recruited as slave labor to work ‘Plantation America’ The 'illegal's you need to worry about is those with money and education who take the good jobs.” 

“What do you think about Jerry Sandusky and the Penn State Sex scandal Uncle Buck?”  “I’m sure they’ll find him guilty, if for no other reason than pure embarrassment.  You see boy, power makes people think they can do anything.  ‘Joe Pa’ and his coaches built that program which is a cash cow in Pennsylvania.  When people make you a demi-god, the demi-god treats them like his property.

The question should never be ‘do ya think an old white man abused and assfucked a bunch of little boys but how many old white men are assfucking little boy’s right now? 

You see, perversion doesn’t happen in back alleys and cat houses but in board rooms and office buildings.  People who get tired of buying and selling property will soon only be able to get off on buying and selling people.  That’s how this country started, a grab for power born of profit opportunities.  See how history comes round again boy?”  “I see your point Uncle Buck.”

“But Uncle Buck, people seem to use hate as the reason to keep and maintain power.  Always the warning to beware one group of people or another to divide people so to more easily conquer them or effect a political solution, what bothers me is when hate tries to legitimize itself by crossing economic, ethnic or religious barriers, as it seems, to hate in the name of Jesus.”

I took a sip of my Jack after a good smoke of a bowl of Uncle Buck’s special reserve and looked at Uncle Buck as he spit into his spittoon which rang like the fight bell at Caesar’s Palace.  “What’s your point boy, get to it RJ!” 

“Former KKK Grand Dragon David Duke endorsed Charles Barron (a former Black Panther) for Congress in Brooklyn's 8th Congressional District because he hates Jews and spurts this anti-semetic, anti-zionist nonsense and supports the Klan’s hate of Judaism and Israel.  How do you see this Uncle Buck”

“First thang, get this straight RJ, aint no such thing as a former member of the KKK, you are or your not a member, and those who say they aren’t after attending a cross burning or two are either dead or have been elected to Congress, which makes them liars anyway.” 

The statement by Duke is a play for any kind of legitimacy or acceptance they can get through the press as an ‘upright social organization’.  Make no mistake boy, given the opportunity the Klan will go on nigger lynching expeditions in half a heartbeat and kill Jews just as well…once a hater always a hater.”

We finished up our whiskey and I headed back to New York.  My lament is that when times get bad the nature of people changes regardless of religion or community.  

I hope Uncle Buck lives to see things get better.

I hope I live to see things get better.

RJ 

The Game, The Blame and the New Plagues

The Game, The Blame and the New Plagues

I was on my way back from a conference near MacArthur Airport when I called Candy.  She was in the middle of doing some work and would call me back.  

It was a very rainy Tuesday afternoon so I went to see ‘G’ at my hiding place in Baldwin.  I met up with Candy there over some lunch where the topic turned to theological issues.

Generally I don’t blog about such topics but this time I will.  Candy mentioned how her mother always talks about God’s wrath and God’s punishment with the use of plagues and diseases.  (This where our discussion got interesting.)  “RJ, you have a very impressive theological education, does Mom have a valid point?”

“What makes my theological education impressive Candy?” “For one thing the degrees you have, second, you deal directly with human issues and three, you’re not condescending or duplicitous and finally you should be preaching instead of…..” “OK CANDY.  Let’s get back on subject.  What makes plagues and diseases God’s wrath?”

“RJ, that’s what I’m asking you.  What is the benefit of all that education you have if you don’t have an answer for me?”  I said “OK, let me be direct without being too deep on the theology” I took a long sip of beer and gave a short answer.

 

“Old testament prophets essentially said that diseases and plagues were the result of not obeying God and engaging in sin or idolatry.  The New Testament essentially says that they, diseases, plagues and natural disasters are the result of the corrupt nature of man’s heart which is the reason for sin, which keeps man from being close to God.  

Does that answer your inquiry Candy?”

“A little bit, so to understand, God uses diseases as punishment, right RJ?  “No, evil uses disease and plagues as a consequence of man and woman being out of God’s grace.  Man creates his own diseases as a result of living in filth and/or depravity.  God won’t save you from your own stupidity until you realize you’re stupid.”

“Candy, what put you and your Mom on this subject?”  Candy said, “a friend of my mother’s was messing around with several men and caught a new strain of ‘Super Gonnorrhea.”  By that time ‘G’ delivered our last drinks and buy-backs then announced she was leaving early.  We took our time to finish our drinks and finish up this conversation.

“Candy, what is Super Gonnorrhea and what makes this different from regular, nasty, scary gonnorrhea?  (Candy works in the healthcare industry) Candy said “for one thing this version of ‘the Clap’ is drug resistant, it is so antibiotic resistant the WHO (World Health Organization) put out a worldwide alert which was validated by the CDC.”

I asked, “validated how?”  Candy said, “the Centers for Disease Control (CDC), said the new strain of gonorrhea (Neisseria gonorrhoeae) is resistant to cephalosporins, the class of antibiotics that used to be the most effective when other antibiotics failed to work.”  Now Mom’s friend may have to be hospitalized.

“Candy where did super clap originate, was it here in New York?” “No RJ, it was in Europe and it’s all over Great Britain, France, Australia and Japan too.”  I said “So this is why you’re Mom thinks this is God’s wrath?  Engaging in Anglo-Saxon non-ass washing sex?”

“Yeah, but you’re ‘theological treatment’ of the topic is right on.  If a man keeps his dick clean and has only one woman this stuff would not happen, mankind does this to himself by being nasty.”

We finished our drinks and went to Game On to watch the Yankees and the start of the NBA finals. 

During our time their Candy noted that the women’s restroom had an old piece of bar soap in it and made it clear in graphic detail why it should be changed to both Poppy and the night shift bartender.  

Soft soap was installed immediately.

Candy informed one female patron who wondered what was the big deal between one soap or the other.  Candy said, “the difference is the wrath of God or going home clean. 

Cleanliness is next to Godliness and knowing the difference between washing and cleaning could save you a trip to the hospital or the morgue.”

Candy and I left in the last quarter of the NBA finals.

Do you have antibacterial soap in your favorite dive?

Do you think it really matters?

RJ

Daytripping and Wet Dream Dramas

Daytripping and Wet Dream Dramas

It was a sleepy easy Sunday Morning when I got up to do paperwork, coursework and then do weed wacking and yard maintenance.  My life this day would be dull beside a ball game and a can of beer, that’s when I got a phone call from N.F.  “Hey, RJ what you doin’ today” said N.F.  “Almost nothing save some reading and yardwork, what’s going on?”  N.F said “I’m going to go to long island and see if you wanted to take a ride.”  Now I had something else to do.

So it was a daytrip out to West Islip to visit a friend of N.F. working on a Harley-Davidson motor for one of N.F.’s vintage bikes.  We got to Darrell’s house about 2:00pm and walked through his massive garage (it had a basement) that had more motorcycle parts, knickknacks, memorabilia and motorsports collectables than most motorcycle shops in the area.  Darrell’s house was down by the water not far from the country club.

Darrell and N.F. went over what had to be done to his motor and then went into detail on how he was going to redo his bike when Darrell’s wife Becky called him into the house.  We were in the yard checking out the view and commenting on Darrell’s setup since his so called garage had a bathroom and a basement.  That’s when we heard the crash, that’s when a chair went through the kitchen window.

 

N.F. looked at me when we heard the screams as Darrell ran out of the house with his clothes on fire holding on to a laptop.  We got Darrell down on the ground and rolled him several times, he was in good shape, some minor burns and scrapes but otherwise alright physically.  Becky, superhot and centerfold sexy came out of the house unarmed, but stark raving crazy, her eyes were lit up like neon spotlights on a movie marquee.

As N.F. and I got ready to make our exit Becky asked us to stay because Darrell’s life depended on it.  “How could you do that” said Becky to Darrell.  Becky in a low, ominous voice said, “you left that goddam laptop in the laundry room…I can’t believe how much porn is on that thing…your son did his own washing today and I wondered why…now I know.” Darrell shuddered, “Honey I forgot, I got distracted, It won’t happen again.”

Becky said “I’m a born again Christian who got out of that filthy, nasty lowlife biker life style and I’m not putting up with that shit in my house.”  Darrell said “look Becky I will keep it out here away from the house away from our kid, it wasn’t really necessary to throw grease on me and set me on fire, can we please calm down.”  Becky calmed down and was civil, not cordial, but civil and invited us to stay and have burgers and dogs.

N.F. begged off staying, pointing out it might be time to just let “you guys get stuff straight” both Darrell and Becky said that would be a bad idea right now.  So we hung around and had some burgers and hot dogs.  I talked with Becky while Darrell barbequed and N.F. helped Darrell patch the kitchen window between flipping burgers.  Becky’s life was quite interesting and colorful.

Becky is a city girl who grew up in Westchester County from a well off family and a strict Catholic upbringing.  She got modeling jobs in New York and travelled the world for awhile with a major cosmetics company.  She then got into fast living but still got gigs as a ring girl, was in an off Broadway production and did some female pro wrestling.  Becky found Jesus and was changing her life and Darrell’s.

While Darrell finished up with the cooking he asked Becky where Richie (their teenage son) was.  Becky said, “he must be hanging out with Jimmy.”  “We’re gonna start without him” said Darrell as things seemed to be calming down.  But the real drama was on the way.  After having some burgers and beers (N.F. didn’t drink, he let me know to be ready to run) a Suffolk County Sheriffs car pulled up with Richie inside. 

The officer, the plain clothes female detective and Richie made their way to the front door as Darrell (who seeing the approach) ran into the house with Becky hot on his heels.  N.F. went inside, I stayed in the yard ready to run at a moments notice.  The next 20 minutes felt like 20 hours.  The officers drove off and Becky’s follow up interrogation of Richie centered on one question; “were did you get the porn on the thumb drive you tried to print at kinkos.”

Of course Richie ratted out his Dad admitting he got it off his computer.  The cops kept the thumb drive to determine if any of the females depicted in the porn were under age or if minors were depicted in sexual activity on the drive.  Darrell wanted to know why he took the drive to print at kinkos.  Richie said, “I knew mom would kill me if she caught me printing it here.”

Becky exiled Richie to his room in utter disgust.  Becky apologized for the events of the day, N.F. and I thanked Darrell and Becky for their hospitality and N.F. made suggestions about the kitchen windows repair as we left.  As we approached the corner of Lawrence and Bay a Suffolk County Sheriffs Car was parked at the corner.  N.F. looked straight ahead as we got to Montauk Highway, then we breathed.

I said, “N.F. will we ever see Darrell alive or undamaged again?”  N.F. laughed nervously and said “oh, yeah…that bitch is gonna make him pay and pay again for the rest of his natural life.”  I asked, “Why do you say that.”  “RJ, Darrell told me they will not find any minors from the porn on the hard drive…only pictures of a young hot raven haired girl on Harley’s in all kinds of shredded leather.”

I said, “oh no, you don’t mean….” N.F. said “yeah, all 200 meg of porn picts is of Richie’s mama, Becky.”   I wondered aloud “did the kid need the money that bad?” N.F. said “Richie is like his mom, he knows a profit opportunity when he sees one.”  I was glad to get home from the Daytrip to a mind rip.

RJ 

Catching Up On Events

Catching Up On Events

fiction

This Friday past I caught up with Ruby at the bar in Cedarhurst.  The ancient dive is still a place where some of the ‘family guys’ from the ‘old neighborhood’ come in to have one or two cold ones before they go home to the old lady.  Ruby’s lament was about Dino.  

Dino is living in Ruby’s girlfriend’s place, which Dino hasn’t paid rent in for several months going on a year. (Probably because girlfriend is fighting the bank to keep the place.)

But the other news about Dino and his escapades is heartbreaking and some may say, criminal.  Dino has been in a few accidents, industrial and automotive.  Dino gets around in a hoveround type wheelchair, often under the influence of pain killers (oxycodone), but this doesn’t mean that Dino has lost his mind or is void of common sense. 

Back in May, ERL, Evie and a few others had informed me of a terrible accident that resulted in a fatality.  Apparently Dino rode his hoveround into the street just shy of the crosswalk into oncoming traffic that had the green light, on a major street going through Inwood.  Dino was struck by a motorcycle and thrown several feet into the air, he hit the street, unconscious and unresponsive.

The ambulance crew and the EMT’s saved Dino who miraculously got away with major bruising and a concussion.  The motorcycle rider, a father of three and a working man was pronounced dead on the scene.  There are rumors that Dino is suing the motorcyclists insurance company and looking to get whatever he can, because he is, according to aforementioned sources, legally disabled.

Slim, womanizer and hard rock fanatic lost his mother to Alzheimer’s Disease late last month.  Our condolences go out to him and his family.

Yaega Lee’s good friend Jeany, lost her best friend to cancer.  A woman all of 42 years old was told by her Doctor she just had the flu. 

After the last hospitalization they realized they mis-diagnosed her and discovered she was in stage 4 or lymph node cancer.  Jeany lost her friend on Memorial day weekend, she got to say goodbye before the family had the Doctor pull the plug.

It’s alleged by rumor that a patron of a bar in Cedarhurst made a bar loan for over 10 grand.  The loan guarantor, Sal Ribeye and his accountant, Frankie Nine-Fingers, expected payment from Slick Ricky over three days ago.  Rumor was that Ricky took off to Puerto Rico, then to anywhere south of the equator.   This day, Sal and Frankie came by to see Ruby and they were in a good mood.

A patron at the bar mentioned Slick Ricky’s name and that some cops had been to Ricky’s house.  Apparently a one ton gun safe had been stolen and Ricky had disappeared after meeting with some friends in Puerto Rico.  Sal and Frankie bought a round for the bar and sipped their beers straight faced.  When the patron asked Sal if he knew anything of these events, Sal said, ‘Don’t worry about it.’

And if the bad events didn’t add up, a young bad ass who frequents Ruby’s bar pulled up in front and parked his 90’s Cadillac.  Upon opening his car door we heard this god-awful crunch.  As he emerged from the car pale as a sheet of paper, the car door would not close (as it was twisted and mashed).  As we ran out to see if the young man and the SUV carrying the woman who hit him and her kids were OK, the young man cursed God and his luck in life. (All souls involved were O.K.)

One of the old men at the bar looked at him and said, “Kid, your ungrateful punk ass is alive, when you get home kiss your wife and kiss your kids.  You can fix a Cadillac, you can’t fix dead.”  About that time Candy came in and Ruby was elated.  They hadn’t seen each other in almost three years. 

After leaving the bar Candy and I went elsewhere to catch up on the week’s events.   As bad as things are I thought about the piece of wisdom the Old Man at the bar gave to the Kid, “you can fix a Cadillac, but you can’t fix dead.”  As we left the bar in Cedarhurst the old song on the juke box played the refrain; “many a teardrops have to fall, but it’s all in the game…”

if these events happened, what would you say?

RJ

Fat Women and the Men who want them

It was a very cloudy Tuesday Afternoon when Candy called me to see if I had got done with a business meeting in Selden.  

I was going to drive back to Queens and stay at my Aunt’s house before going upstate.  “Your always going and you don’t stop unless sickness or a cash crunch stops you” said Candy as she proceeded to condemn me.

So I asked, “so what do you want to do?”  Candy said “let’s get something to eat” so I met her at Texas Roadhouse in East Meadow.  As we were waiting it was amazing to see the number of very obese people in the restaurant to get those cheap but tasty dinner specials. 

Candy noted as we were seated ‘in a booth, in the back, in the corner, in the dark’ (quote from Flip Wilson that fits) the number of ‘big women’ with skinny men.  The men were from two primarily American race groups, Caucasian males and Black males.

As we both ordered the dinner special noticing that the pencil thin waitress was pushing bigger plates of food and bigger drinks we settled on a very balanced and moderate dinner, alcohol was a different subject.  But the number of big women, skinny men couples were escalating as the evening went on.

Candy said, “it’s amazing the number of ‘chubby chasers’ that there are among men, it seems lots of guys want more than their food and their beer supersized.”  I had to note my point of view saying “it’s the media that is selling the ‘Barbie doll’ figure and it’s only really well off guys and homo’s that seem to gravitate to women who look like a pencil with big tits and a bulb-like ass.”

  

Candy said “now you’re being sociocentric RJ.  There are rich chubby chasers too.”  “Candy I never see a rich guy in public with a chubby woman, either she looks like Barbie or she is a highly modified MILF, who justifies her plastic surgery by saying ‘look at Joan Rivers’.”  “So you’re saying it’s all about perception and money, aren’t you RJ?”

“No Candy, I’m not...not exclusively.  Men in the 40’s and 50’s loved buxom, full figured women like Marilyn Monroe, Gina Lollobrigida and Jane Russell.  Now the media force feeds us the image of Barbie with these terribly emaciated teenage waifs posing as sex symbols.  I’m just saying real guys like a woman with a little meat on them, but its extreme to me to want to a woman who looks like the Michellin man in fishnet stockings”

Candy now was fishing to level a charge, she said “so a real guy doesn’t want a fat woman is that what you’re saying RJ?”  “Hey, this aint about me, this is about guys who want it big fat and jiggly.” “So do guys who date or have big women, have a fetish or do they really love the person they are with RJ?”

“Why pose this question to me?  Do skinny women like fat guys because they have a daddy complex or a fetish, or is it because they’re easy marks to drain cash out of?  

That question can also be put the other way around, do guys date fat women (not big women) because they see an easy sex opportunity born out of some kind of ‘mommy’ fetish or does a guy see a bitch he can use for cash?

Candy and I ended our discussion in the parking lot.  But I got to thinking about this topic knowing full well I did touch on it in the past.  But I know I never blogged about the motivations for guys wanting to have sex with fat women (not to be confused with big women). So I decided to check out the discussion in forums across the World.

Well, at least I’ll deal with some major points from verifiable sources so I’m not accused of making this up.  The whole conversation boils down to this; is Chubby Chasing a fetish or a preference?  Recently MTV did a show on the subject and aired a new episode of their hit documentary series called True Life: I’m A Chubby Chaser.

Danielle Pointdujour, in an article for ‘Frugivore Magazine’ writes about the episode which follows two men, Justin who is gay and Tee, as they live their lives loving their bigger mates. (http://frugivoremag.com/2012/01/chubby-chasing-is-it-a-fetish-or-preference/)

In her article she notes, “If you look up the definition of fetish the consensus is that a sexual fetish may be regarded as an enhancing element to a romantic/sexual relationship achieved in ordinary ways like having the partner wear a particular garment or getting tied up. By that definition being a chubby chaser isn’t a fetish; it’s more of a preference.”

Now the fact that one of these guys is ‘gay’ puts a whole different spin on Chubby Chasing.  In my observation this is a form of ‘sex sport’ or fetish entertainment only for one purpose, that is to get off.    Some people would argue that some guys go after fat women because the guy himself has a poor ego or bad self esteem.

Now I do note that there is a difference between fat women and big women. There are women who are not grossly obese who are tall and muscular.  The women sought by Chubby Chasers are clearly very obese.  But what do you think?

Is Chubby Chasing a fetish or preference?  Are fat women easier to get and easier to keep than pretty girls? 

I dare you to say something!

RJ

Heartbreak and Misery (Part 2)

Heartbreak and Misery 

(Part 2)

It was a rainy Thursday Night when Lucky called N.F. at work about Hank.  He was back from Afghanistan about one week when he found that his world had flown apart and he was in a fight for his daughter.  

Hank’s parents helped out with renting a house for him in Ellenville, but Lucky’s call was for help…for both Hank and for Lucky.

“Lucky calm the fuck down, meet me at my house when I get home from work at 1:30 am and I will ride with you to Hank’s, OK!”  “N.F. he said he can’t deal with this shit and then I heard the slide slam shut on a shotgun when I was on the phone with Hank.  Hank said, ‘it will all be clear in the morning’” Lucky then started to cry, saying “I might never see my Granddaughter if Hank kills himself.”

It was sure enough dark thirty in the morning when Lucky and N.F. got to Hank’s place on a ridge overlooking a large valley below.  N.F. and Lucky eased up on the house like burglars, looking into windows being that one end of the house was lit up with candles like an Irish wake.  Lucky called Hank’s cell and waited for an answer, Hank picked up on the third ring.  “Lucky, what are you calling me for?

“I’m here I wanna come in Hank, N.F. is with me” said Lucky.  Hank stumbled to the door and let them in.  Hank reeked of liquor and perspiration, sweating so much he had soaked through his wife-beater t-shirt and grey sweat pants, holding the half empty bottle of Southern Comfort.  As N.F. held Hank, guiding him to the couch, Lucky had went into the Den area and shouted “N.F. come here.”

Their jaws dropped, then N.F. kept his eyes on Hank who was guzzling the rest of the bottle.  What Lucky and N.F. saw was this:  all of Hank’s uniforms were laid out inspection style on the floor, perfectly folded and presented with his medals, honors and citations.  His dress uniform was hung from a bayonet impaled into the wall.  His assorted weapons, AR15’s, .30-06’s, .308’s and an M1 Garand were displayed in a semi-circle.

In the center of the semi-circle were pictures of Hank, Glenda and Lucinda on Camping Trips, Disneyworld, Church events and other family gatherings and special occasions.  Also in the semi-circle was a note, which Lucky read out loud to N.F.  The note was sweet, it was also angry and it was to the point.  Hank was going to kill himself.  What mystified Lucky was the video camera, why record his suicide?

N.F. didn’t take his eyes off of Hank who stank of booze and who looked tired empty and drained.  Hank said, “I was gonna skype Glenda and have her watch me die…even if she disconnected me, the other camera was a backup so she would have it.”  Hank rambled on slurring his words saying “I got nothing now, nothing without my little girl, nothing without my family.  I get angry thinking about all I done to make a life, I should have died instead of Matt in Afghanistan.”

N.F. said, “we can’t let you kill yourself right now Hank”.  It was 3:21 am when N.F. called me and told me the details.  “RJ, what’s the best thing to do?

I don’t want to call the cops and Lucky doesn’t want to leave him by himself.”  I said, “take him straight to the VA Hospital Emergency Room and tell the Doctor’s what he’s going through.  Take pictures of the suicide shrine and give copies to the VA.  The VA has a whole battery of options to help him without screwing up his life or career.”

Lucky and N.F. took Hank to Castle Point.  Hank was admitted and his unit notified, Hank will get help and not be professionally ruined.  But the drama isn’t over.  Glenda was told that Hank got drunk and got sick but Lucky didn’t tell her about his suicide preparations.  I talked to N.F. and Lucky on a conference call about Hank and Glenda and their kid, Lucinda.

Lucky talked about how Hank went from being super solid to a basket case and N.F. talked about the war, the politics and the failure of leadership to really help these young Vets.  I talked about Hank and his options, “Hank has no job options out here in the ‘real’ world.  Hank’s already re-enlisted to go back to Afghanistan.  His career is all he’s got left if the courts give Lucinda to her mother.” 

N.F. sharply disagreed, “He will never give up his little girl, that’s his heart, Hank will snap out of this and fight one way or the other.  This is bullshit, this is what a man who fights for his country has got to go through…nobody really gives a fuck.”  I let N.F. know the facts.  “A Veteran commits suicide every 80 minutes in America, at one point in 2010 there were 18 suicides a day.”

Later that weekend at an apartment in Walden, the police arrived at Glenda’s.  Glenda’s girlfriend, Butchy was covered in blood and semi-conscious as the ambulance siren screamed into the night.  Glenda was interviewed by the detective that arrived with the marked units.  As the ambulance took Butchy away the police searched and found Butchy’s meth stash along with a list and garbage bag full of cash.

As the Police attempted to cuff Glenda she resisted and said she had to take care of her little girl.  “Where is she” barked the overweight fat faced detective.  Glenda called “Lucy baby come here” from back in the laundry room behind some clothes came a four year old little girl, crying… “mommy, mommy”.  Glenda picked up her baby girl as the Detective said, “Call CPS”.  Glenda said, “please, let me call my Dad.”  (to be continued)

RJ