Butter vs Margarin: Who Gives a Fuck?


If Butter and Margarin were in the UFC having a magnificent battle in the ring and I was the only viewer, ESPN Ocho would lose all of their ratings and money. Namely because it would be the most boring fight in history and I wouldn’t even turn on the TV to watch it. But for some reason the American populace is obsessed with watching the Butter and the Margarin fight as if one group of society is either side. Jesus. Someone please help the United States.

An art dealer at a sophisticated gallery in Laguna Beach found out I was a writer, so he came up to me and asked me, “So, which is it? Margarin or Butter?” I thought at the time that this was an artfully posed question, so I replied, “Neither.” He then ran around, destroyed some beautiful paintings and sculptures. I had no idea that such a response would trigger the kind of blood-crazed mania this son of a reptile found himself in.

“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN!?” he screamed.
“What does what mean?” I replied.
“Well, I don’t like either of them. I prefer vegetables.”

Then I thought this guy was gonna kill me. He stomped up to me, and put his hand on my shoulder: an obvious attack on my life. Before I even knew it, he was sprawled out on the bloody floor with multiple wounds located in his abdominal area. Turns out I killed the fucker and didn’t even know it. That escalated quickly. Never thought anyone would wanna kill me over some margarin.

It is as if I was actually supposed to be writing about margarin and butter. What? I thought this fucker was an art dealer. Why is he so concerned with butter and margarin? Does he mix them in paint? Does he smear them all over his body like Country Crock, take pictures, and submit them to Art Daily? What is this obsession? If the entire United States is engaged in a writing frenzy about butter and margarin, we are in some deep trouble.

On my ride back home from this place, I started to wonder, “Hm. Which one is it? Why was he asking me about these things? Is it a metaphor? Or was he just buggin’ out on some heroin the owner of the gallery made him shoot up?” Indeed, for what is the metaphor of margarin and butter? Some people eat them on sticks. Some people just unwrap the shit as if it’s the last thing they’ll ever eat and shove it in their mouths, choking profusely as the chemically-induced shit is the only thing they eat.

Here’s the thing: if you have to choose between butter and margarin, you’re losing the battle. If someone put a stick of butter, a stick of margarin, and a carrot on a table and told me to choose which one I would live off of for the next week, I would choose the carrot. As should you.

Thank God music knows a thing or two about this.

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An Alternative Future for America by Cassandra Rose Kerkman (2007)


Please make copies. Por favor muy copialas!

PART I: Here and There
1 The Problem
2 The Alternative
3 The Promise
4 The Prevailing Mindset
5 The New Reality


The United States is the most powerful nation in history, but it now appears that the price of such national power is the increasing — and eventually complete — powerlessness of the individual citizen. The almost perpetual state of civil strife which has recently emerged can be seen as a direct result of the refusal of rapidly growing numbers of people to accept this intolderable condition of powerlessness. Unfortunately, the tactics of lawlessness and violence used by those who seek to remedy their powerless condition are giving rise to the development of that very thing we have all thought can’t happen here: the police state. Nobody will be free in America, and few will have any real power over their own lives, if it becomes necessary to have policemen and/or soldiers on every street corner of our cities. And yet such a prospect is clearly possible in the light of recent events.

Americans neither deserve nor want such a future. Traditionally, Americans have looked forward to a future of increased freedom rather than diminished freedom. Such a future still lies before us, but to get there we must change some of our social and psychological attitudes. Our present social and psychological attitudes are leading us to disaster.

1. The Problem

Discussion about the problems and issues of the next decade will necessarily appear incredible. The appearence of credibility can only be preserved by failing to challenge the already obsolete conventional wisdom. Such a statement may appear extreme but I believe it to be an excessively sober statement of present reality The statement’s accuracy can be demonstrated both in terms of theory and in terms of the developments of the past decade.

If proposals for socioeconomic change are no longer heretical, why did I earlier refer to the inevitablility of a credibility gap? My reference was due to the fact that although we have come to accept the necessity of socioeconomic change, we are not yet ready to accept changes in our view of the nature of man.


Our present institutions and values are based on a highly simplistic thesis which claims that men are moved only by negative and positive sanctions — the whip and the carrot — and that any measures which tend to remove the threat of the whip and the promise of the carrot will contribute to the collapse of the society.

We are entering a period when an individual’s right to affect decisions must depend upon his competence in the particular area in which he is working. It will not be transferable to other areas in which he does not have the skills and knowledge. We can see that the new world will be process oriented rather than goal oriented. WEstern man has always set goals toward which he should strive and has then developed measures to determine whether he was making progress toward his goals. For example, we originally agreed that more goods and services were better than less; we then agreed on rules for measuring the amount of goods and services; and we are now able to say each year that the amount of goods and services available has risen and that we are therefore nearer to our goal of a “high standard of living.”

A process-orientation is profoundly antithetical to a goal-orientation. Process means that we determine the progress of an individual or a commuinity in terms of becoming more like its desired pattern. But the extent of movement is inherently unmeasurable both because it is impossible to define clearly what is the desired state changes continually. There is no point at which a stop can be put to the process and it can be argued that perfection has been achieved. Process involved uncertainty and risk; a goal-oriented culture essentially tries to eliminate uncertainty and risk although it can, of course, never succeed in doing so.

Intimiately connected with each of the last two points, we will come to recognize that each individual is unique and that the overall educational process in which he is engaged throughout his life must help him to realize his uniqueness. This means that we must not impose a set system on any individual, but must rather attempt to provide him with the emotional space in which he can determine his own needs and resources. Our educational system presently fails almost completely to meet the personal needs of the individual for it is designed to turn out people who will fit the systemic requirements of an industrial age which has essentially already ended.

Acceptance of the “uniqueness” of the individual is perhaps part of the rhetoric of today although is is more honored in the breach than in the observance. The corollary of this pattern, however, is seldom mentioned: that it is now possible and necessary to create unique communities. In effect, the industrial age, which was based on production and transportation, required an ever-closer degree of similarity between the various towns and cities in the system so that exchange could be carried through with the greatest facility. WE are now entering the information era and this not only allows, but even facilitates, different styles of life. Thus we will be able to encourage unique individuals to discover others with whom they would like to live.

Let me now simply list, with sketch comments, a few of the minimal changes which appear to be essential in the immediate future.

Income maintenance. This framework is the first step toward re-thinking and solving the problems of hunger and poverty and welfare.

Work/Leisure/Education. We must take account of the impact of cybernation on employment. Life could be an unbroken pattern of meaningful activity:no distinction between work and leisure.

Family. The nuclear family is a peculiarly Western industrial-age invention. It likely will not survive the transition from the production-transportation era to the information era which we are entering.

Housing/Environment. The historical necessity for the city has been aboloished by the new technologies.

Life/Health/Death. Our decisions about the new techniques which permit the modification of man’s body and mind will profoundly challenge all of the practical rules of conduct we have inherited.

2. The Alternative

Every period of history has considered itself unique. Nevertheless I believe that those of us who are alive at this moment can make this claim with total confidence, for we have an immediate rendezvous either with unlimited human disaster of equally unlimited human potential. It is the short-run actions of each one of us which will decide the course of history of the world.

During long periods of time, societies and culture are profoundly stable. The actions of individual human beings, or even of large groups, only have marginal effects on their own lives, for the norms within which they live are considered fixed and unshakeable. At certain points, however, a culture ceases to be stable, for its underlying bases cease to be suitable to the changed environment in which it finds itself. At this point, it must either find ways to survive within changed conditions or it must resign itself to collapse.

The potential uniqueness of our situation is that we are now sufficiently self-aware to avoid this catastrophic historical pattern. There are two reasons which can compel us to act differently if only we will use our growing knowledge and technological competence. First, the culture which will be destroyed will be our own; if we cannot gain control of existing forces we will be left without any cultural anchors to guide us through our lives. Second, if American and Western cultures should become paranoid — a development which presently seems only too possible — they possess the power to destroy the whole world.

WARNING: The world you destroy is your own

If we can avoid this catastrophic historical patters, and extraordinary future lies before the human race. The energy we will have available, the knowledge we can create, the computer we can use will make it possible for each man to live in dignity. There will no longer be any necessity to force men to carry out meaningless and degrading tasks, for the machines will be able to do them. There will be no excuse for failing to provide each human being with a right to enough resources to live in dignity. We can afford to spend our lives providing those around us, and ourselves, with the possibility for the fullest development.

The fundamental change in our social system is from the past when it was necessary for man to continue to strive to achieve the power he needed to be able to create the environment he wanted, to the immediate future when it will be possible to do what men wish; but it will be essential to have the wisdom to know what man should wish for himself.

3. The Promise

It is now quite clear that a new view of nature of man is developing, as many people reexamine the emerging data. Indeed, there are some suggestions that this insight should be perceived as part of a wider reality — that the universe itself can only be understood in terms of “self-actualization.”


Two major implications would appear to stem from the new insight. First, this convergence among leading thinkers in many disciplines should make it possible to reverse the present, apparently irreversible, thrend toward greater specialization.

Second, if it is indeed true that man can only be healthy when he is self-actualizing, it becomes possible to understand many of the developments presently occuring throughout the world which now appear to threaten our survival. Perhaps the most critical of these issues is the demand for power, using slogans such as “black power” and “student power.”

At the present time these slogans are widely understood to mean that the groups using them want power without responsibility. In the light of man’s absolute necessity to be able to strive for self-development, they take on a different meaning. They state essentially that each man must be provided with the potential to control the conditions of his own life and that the failure to develop this potential leaves him with no choice but to fall into anomie and apathy on the one hand or violence on the other.

It is in this context that today’s potential abundance takes on its full meaning: man now has the material ability to provide all human beings with the goods and services required to serve as the basis for full human development. Today, national and international poverty results from a failure of productive ability; those who are powerless sense or know this and naturally consider it intolerable.

We have no choice, therefore, but to create a new social order, one where powerlessness has been abolished. For only then will man’s drive toward self-actualization be capable of fulfillment and his self-actualization be capable of fulfillment and his self-destructive tendencies, generated through failure to honor the fundamental necessity for self-actualization, be eliminated.

4. The Prevailing Mindset

The change required if we are to survive is to alter our cultural, semantic and psychological patterns. For example, our society conforms to the Skinnerian psychology from his experiments with animals. He places rats in boxes. At one end of a simple Skinner Box there may be an electric grid, which will give you an electric shock. The rats move off the electric grid because it is unpleasant: the experimenter concludes that rats react to negative sanctions. At the other end of the grid, there is a little lever that can be pushed and food appears. The rats push the lever and they get food: the experimenter concludes that rats react to positive sanctions. The experimenter then generalizes this to apply to human beings, and claims that rats and human beings respond only to positive and negative sanctions.

The best challenge to this theory is to be found in the science fiction story fo the Skinner Box psychologist who was caught by an alien race and was put in an alien Skinner Box. He therefore knew exactly what he had to do. Having perceived that it was a Skinner Box, he knew that he had to prove to the alien race that he was intelligent. He also knew that he had to prove that he didn’t respond to positive and negative sanctions. So, he explored the box; at one end there was an electric grid. He stayed on the electric grid for some time until it became clear that the alien race would shock him to death. He got off the electric grid, although he realized that he was responding to a negative sanction. At the other end of the cage there was a little lever he could press; he pressed it once experimentally. As he expected, the food came out and he ate it. He then ignored the lever for six days. He got very hungry. Then he started pushing the lever, realizing despondently as he did so that he was responding to a positive sanction. When he had explored the Skinner Box thoroughly, he discovered that Skinner Boxes build into the experimental design what they claim to prove. All Skinner Boxes really show is that sentient beings are not willfully stupid: this is true of all living beings.

The average university today is a giant Skinner Box, although nobody meant it to happen this way. If you want a good job, you need good grades. If you want good grades, you need to do well in multiple-choice questions. If you want to do well in multiple-choice questions, you need to keep discrete those nice, attractive, discrete pieces of data you are learning, because if you get them confused you cannot give a simple yes or no answer. It is therefore essential that one does not think, because if you think you get confused.

Supposing you decide that you would like to take the chance of thinking. It is very risky because if you are in a large class, it is impossible for the professor to decide if you are thinking or simply goofing off. And a great many professors do not give you the benefit of the doubt and thus you get very bad grades. If your grades are low enough, you go to Afghanistan.

The argument I get from some professors who claim this analysis is grossly unfair is couched in the following terms: We have, they say, really tried to turn students on. My response is to ask what they mean? “Well,” they reply, “one day I went to class and spent forty minutes (or several periods) and I tried to talk to the students and they didn’t respond. That proves they need positive and negative sanctions.” My further reply is: “These students have been conditioned to such sanctions for anything from eighteen to twenty-two years of their lives. You must give them time to discover new response patterns.”

We can break out of Skinner Boxes but we have so far failed to do so. The primary reason we have failed at this is because our Skinner Boxes were not constructed by ourselves. Indeed, they were not constructed by any individual. They were constructed during an industrial age and were necessary for that age. If we are to break out of our Skinner Boxes we are going to have to work cooperatively. However, in many cases we can just walk out of the Skinner Boxes; the barriers they present are merely perceptions of barriers rather than real barriers. We don’t have to wait to get change because basically the institutions have already ceased to exist.

This sounds nonsensical but perhaps I can produce an image which will make some sense of it. Let me suggest to you that we live on a vast plane on which there are a large number of castles. These castles, representing our institutions, are unguarded: the moats are empty and the drawbridges are down. All we have to do is walk into the castles — the old institutions — and take everything out of them that would be valuable for the future. It is necessary to tiptoe in because there are some people who will get mad if you disturb them. So you move quiety. Swift. Silent. Deadly. Unfortunately, the people who have been tring to get change up to now haven’t been satisfied to tiptoe in and take and take what they wanted. They have done it in a different way. They assembled outside the castle and they blew their trumpets and claimed they were coming in to take over. The defenders, in a last access of energy, felt challenged to try and defend the castle. Normally, young and vigorous people who want to get change would win the battle, but actually they don’t because the castles have installed atomic weapons and the attackers get wiped out.

I believe the reason why people have been unwillingto tiptoe in is their fundamental insecurity. In order for many people to know that they are doing good things they need to be convinced that somebody they dislike believes they are doing bad things. If you are not sure of yourself, the thing you need is a letter from the president of the college which shows he believes you are terrible people. But you believe the president of the college is irrelevant. Therefore is he says you are doing terrible things you must be doing good things.

I’m afraid that, in addition, many of the people who have been attacking the castles are not content to let them decay but would like to see them refurbished with new owners — themselves. They are not looking toward a society without coercive power but rather toward one in which they themselves monopolize the coercive power.

5. The New Reality

The new reality of today is a very simple one: man now has the power to do what he wants to do. This development is revolutionary because until just this moment of history man has been constrained by his environment. As a result of this novel power, man’s present cultural system has become irrelevant, in the same way as man’s cultural system became irrelevant when he moved from his hunting and gathering stage to his agricultural stage.

man has the ability to provide for all men

The reasons man has this power can be very briefly set out. First, he has power because he has energy, energy being derived today primarily from fossil fuels, but tomorrow coming from nuclear energy. Nuclear energy has the peculiar characteristic that it not only produces energy but in the very process of producing energy it can create more fuel to produce more energy. We are very rapidly getting to the energy potential for a perpetual motion machine. Energy can be used for anything that man wishes — to produce metals from low grade ores, to turn the desert into a garden or whatever it strikes his fancy to do.

The second reason for our power I like to call “alchemy.” By that I mean the ability to manipulate the basic building blocks of nature to create materials with the types of properties that one desires. The word alchemy is appropriate for two reasons. It reminds us that some of the materials we have created are already considerably more valuable than gold, and it reminds us of what would happen to the economic system if we simply developed the abilityto produce gold. In other words, the economic system is running on a mythology; and the mythology is extraordinarily vulnerable.

The third factor which gives us power is the educational possibilities of our culture. For the first time it is possible for a very substantial proportion of the population to learn for twenty-two years of their lives or more. The fact that we are still running colleges which are largely producing surrogate computers is not the fault of the situation but only the fault of the people within the system. By “producing surrogate computers” I mean that we are educating people who can give answers to questions which have already been posed, which is what a computer can do, rather than teaching them how to pose questions. This is disasterous because the computer will certainly learn to answer structured questions better than we can. This is why we must always ask the questions rather than only answer them.

The fourth factor that we have going for us is the computer. The computer is a wonderful instrument.

A computer is a wonderful way of solving problems. But you had better be careful because the computer will give you the “right” answer. This is illustrated in the story about a war planner of a friendly power who asked its computer “What steps should I take to do the most harm to Russia?” The computer, after whirring a few times, came back with an answer, “Bomb the United States.” The computer was strictly logical because if this friendly power bombed the United States “intelligently,” the U.S. would assume that it had been bombed by Russia. It would then bomb Russia and it could certainly do much more harm to Russia than the friendly power could, because America had more bombs. Theoretically, the great advantage about human beings is that when they see that sort of chasm they stop and say “No, that wasn’t what I meant.” But computers aren’t that sensible.

Using a computer is a good way of getting away from responsibility. We use it in California as a justification for logging redwood groves. The way that this gets done is to instruct the computer to build the best road, and then to inform the computer best road is the cheapest road. Next one feeds into the computer the values for the various strips of land, and of course you put in a very low value for the redwoods because, after all, they are not doing any good, are they? The computer then designs a road which goes through the redwood system. Then one says “It wasn’t our fault. You know, logic compels us to build the road through the redwood groves. We regret this as much as anubody else.”

The computer is a very good servant and a very bad master. There is rather distressing evidence that the computer is becoming a new god. When the computer has spoken, who shall question it? There is no doubt in my mind that the computer has been one of the factors that has lead us to the present disasterous situation in Afghanistan and Iraq. I think that everybody now agrees that the War on Terror is a disasterous mess. People may disagree about what should have been done or what ought to be done now, but the assumption that errors have been made is common to all of us. One of the factors that got fed into the computer is that the willingness of societies to surrender is a function of the number of bombs dropped on it. Being British I have some graves doubts about this!

Man’s new power is not, despite the apparent realities, simply an American or a Western phenomenon. That it can be so limited is one of the great comforting myths. I am asked why I talk about the whole world in these terms. I am told to look at Asia, at Latin America, at Africa, all of whom do not have power. But everybody know that mankind has power. We live in a global village. And the fact that some continents do not yet have the power does not prevent them from knowing that they ought to have the power and that they can haev the power if the rish are willing to develop it and share it with them.

It would appear at first sight as though a society in which man had power over the conditions of his life would be extremely desirable: indeed, at some level it is. But this power doesn’t mesh our present social system, and as a result we fall into five very serious traps. The first of these traps is what I call the war trap, the fact that in our international system the ultimate sanction in international dispute is war. Each country must therefore be able to defend itself against any potential attacker, which means that it must install and indeed invent any weapon of defense system that it can. This results in a profoundly unstable world. We have to take the same leap in international affairs as we took in personal affairs some time ago when we abolished dueling. I was taught when I was young that we abolished dueling because people became humane. I have reached the conclusion that this is not true, but that basically people discovered that dueling with modern weapons was too dangerous. Let me point out that we now have available approximately thirty tons of TNT per person, plus enormous destructive potential through biological and chemical weapons. The statement that “war will wipe us out or we will wipe out war” remains as true as it was when it was first stated, but we have numbed ourselves to its reality.

The second trap is the efficiency trap. We run a society in which if something can be done more efficiently, immensely strong forces come into action to ensure change. But the very fact that man has such power over his environment means that he may wish to preserve certain possibilities of human activity which are not efficient. He must therefore change the socioeconomic rules governing international trade and the relationship between income and work.

This can be seen most clearly in relationship to job patterns. In our society everybody must hold a job, unless he is independently wealthy or in a certain limited group. Computers and machinery are becoming more efficient but men are not becoming more efficient nearly as fast. The efficiency of computers doubles at the present time about every three years, and the cost of computer work probably goes down to one-tenth of its previous cost. At the same time the cost of hiring a worker continues to rise. It is therefore not surprising that a very severe problem of unemployability is emerging. The data is now quite clear: there are more and more people at the bottom of the society who do not have jobs and who are not about to get jobs.

There are only two ways out of this trap. One of them is the idea that the government should become the employer of last resort. That sounds good until you analyze it. What happens when the government becomes the employer of last resort? Some 1,000,000 or more unemployables are placed under the control of federal bureaucrats. These people are unskilled, uneducated, untrained, and uninterested in work. The program runs for six months and then Congress wants to know what’s going on. It levels charges of inefficiency and lack of control, so the bureaucrats start to straighten up. They pass rules such as: anybody who is fifteen minutes late for work loses a day’s pay.

Another rule might be: in order to ensure efficient operation of the system, nobody may change his government-supported job more than once in six months. I would suggest a short word for the result of such rules — an old-fashioned word — slavery. If you think it is an unfair word, I would suggest that you look at some existing national and state welfare policies. The only other alternative is the guaranteed income which says that people are entitled to income as a right and that society has a responsibility to find meaningful work for people to do. It is not the role of society to find work for the individual, but of that of the individual in order to feel the rewards of self-actualization.

The next trap is the consumption trap, which is related to our productive capacity. If everybody has to have a job we must be willian to consume everything we can produce. We must therefore convince people they should buy. This is particularly visible in our patterns of advertizing for children from ages one to five, in an era where television is the prime parent. Television encourages frenetic consumership and permanent debt. “Daddy, Daddy, please buy me…”

I said this on TV recently, and somebody said to me, “Well it is reall quite all right because children have understood by the age of ten that all advertizing is false, anyway.” And I said, “You know, if you are right — and you may be right — you have probably explained to me why it is that young people are thoroughly discontented with the society in which they find themselves.”

The fifth trap is the education trap. If you have to bring up people so that they will accept the present traps — the war trap, the efficiency trap, the job trap, and the consumption trap — you dare not set people free to think and study. The educational system ceases to be an opportunity for people to find out for themselves what they believe and becomes a method for inculcating a set of beliefs from the past which are not relevant to today’s world.

We have to understand what has happened to us. We are living in a new generation. This new generation has been brought up within new realities. The people now in college were usually born born after the end of the Second World War. Their key realities are basically alien to older people. One of those realities is the fact that the atomic bomb has made international violence impossible in the long run. This rejection of international violence must be abolished if we are to survive. The other reality can be best set out in the words of a young colleague of mine: “abundance is a free gift.” It is awfully difficult to believe, if one has never done real work as defined by the society, that one is personally responsible for and entitled to that which one has inherited, and to claim that one has produced the food, clothing, and shelter needed for his upbringing.

Recognition of the availability of abundance leads to fundamental changes in one’s mindset. When people have food, clothing and shelter, they demand to move toward self-actualization and to become more fully human. The first step on this route it a search for a degree of security in their lifestyles. People are therefore no longer willing to be forced into actions through positive and negative sanctions, or as I prefer, the carrot and the whip. They demand themselves in terms of what is meaningful for them. All of the old drives of the human being — drives for food, sex, and similar animal drives — are in the process of being replaced by a much higher drive, a drive towards the right to be human.

violence must be abolished
abundance is a free gift

The new reality entails some very fundamental consequences. If you interrupt this right, if you stop consequent drives from being realized you develop the same problems as have existed whenever fundamental psychological drives have been thwarted. The individual is either forced into anomie and apathy, or into violence. I use the word “forced” quite advisedly. It is not a question of “Do you wish to be anomic and apathetic; do you wish to be violent?” Rather, if a human being who needs to be self-actualizing is deprived of any possibility of being self-actualizing, he will either become anomic or violent. For this reason our statements about student power, black power and poor power make no sense. Society says it deplores the riots, and that it also deplores the conditions which give rise to the riots. We must deplore the fact that society continues to tolerate situations in which human beings are placed in conditions where violence of anomie is inevitable.

The intitiative is with us. Are those of us who have the opportunity to be self-actualizing going to use this freedom to find ways to give people power over theirover their own lives, or are we going to continue to do nothing about it? There is a difference between the situation on minorities and the situation of white people. Most of the traps which restrain people who are black or members of other minority groups are real and no amount of thinking will make them vanish. The basic realities of the inner city are not about to be solved until we change our social systems. On the other hand, the traps in which white people keep themselves are largely of their own making and of their own perpetuation.

The violence and anomie we see around us are symbols of a crisis. But they are not necessarily the harbringers of a disasterous situation. These are the very symptoms which prove that people are ready to change. The very fact that people talk about black power, student power, and women power shows that we might be able to live in a free world in which we make our own decisions other than bureaucrats making our decisions for us.

In contemplating the creation of sucha world, we must take account of four realities about our present situation. The first and simplest is that the odds are very much against achievement of adequate change. When an environment alters, becoming unsuitable to the culture based on it, the culture collapses: it usually becomes paranoid in the process. (This is a valid description of the present state of American, and indeed, Western culture.) We must recognize that the odds are against change. Those who are engaged in creating change should not be forced to prove they will be successful, rather they must only show that this is the best visible plan at a particular point in time.

Imagine that you are standing at the bottom of a cliff. There is a baby caught on a treetop a hundred feet above you, and the cliff is covered with ice. If you are fully human, the question is not “Do I go up the cliff?” but rather “How do I go up the cliff?” We are entitled to argue, when anybody claims that success is not inevitable, that unless the critic can come up with a better plan we will move as best we know how. It is true that we will certainly know how to do something better tomorrow but we will usually know how to do it better tomorrow because we did it today. Knowledge derives from action as well as intellectual analysis.

To the power you have left
To the freedom you have coming.
May you use the former to secure the latter.


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The Auditor-Z


The reason why it wasn’t a real audit is because the chairmen thought I was a private accountant from Wall Street. They literally handed me a big stack of papers with no numbers on it; they were threats saying that if I didn’t leave that I would be killed. My Master Guns and I thought it was pretty funny that they thought I was a private accountant ’cause of how pretty I am, when, in fact, I was a United States Marine. Then Master Guns swoops in like a motherfucking ninja, yanks the threat out of their hands and makes three copies of it. Original (that’s for Dan), copy for the court, copy for me, and copy for my chain of command.

I got ahold of the papers they wanted me to “audit” and realized that it was the same database system I used at work every day. I argued with them that the papers they handed me were shit with no legitimate information on it and that in order to conduct the audit, I would need to use the computer. They told me I wasn’t allowed access to the computer, so I whipped out my CAC, grinned, and said, “Yes I do.” But they still wouldn’t let me use the computer. My Master Guns threatened them with a lawsuit via Congress; we were both going to e-mail our Congressmen so I logged into a computer anyway and it’s MY fucking computer from when I was a PFC that I submitted an IT ticket for and it never got returned. We both laughed. Hard. They said WRQ Reflection wasn’t installed on that computer so we could use it to e-mail our Congressmen. Alls I gotta say is LOL! It was installed, they just didn’t know how to use it.

There are different WRQ Reflection database systems, but all of them are the same. Basically, if you have access to one database with your ELSIG and SEED, you can get into them all. Checks and balances, you know, where they at? Master Guns says, “Print out the Reports, Kerkman.” I says, “Aye Master Gunnery Sergeant.” Yo. The error report was so fucking big that I was gonna have to get assigned PTAD orders in order to work them and it took over a thousand sheets of paper to print them out. So, we got authorization to run the audit in our little office on Camp Pendleton. Let me give you this comparison: the error reports in my office were anywhere from ONE (1) page to TWENTY (20) pages long, and 20 was on a bad day. People got their asses chewed by my section if there were 20 pages. So, my Sgt, Sgt DG, and I spent two fucking weeks auditing the FED and fixing their shit. And it only took two weeks because we had to complete our other work on top of completing the arguments for our own audit (which was fucked up too).

Then, right before my Sgt and I were done with the audit, the errors appeared in the system again. Hm. How convenient. You wanna know why those errors popped up again? It’s because when you fix the errors, the system automatically adjusts the monetary amount for every government employee you fixed the numbers for. There are different types of errors, and all of the errors on the FED’s reports were 699’s. A code 699 is a special payment which is made when a MBR misses a paycheck. In the Marine Corps, we run the 699’s with a code 2, which automatically adjusts the MBR’s monetary balance so he doesn’t go into debt. If you run a 699 with a code of 3, the monetary balance is not automatically adjusted. All of the 699’s had an error code of three. So, what did my Sgt and I do? We ran a DEL 699 on every single one which put the Congressional employees so far into debt that they didn’t know what to DO! Literally, they didn’t know how to fix the “problem” so they said they were “working on a budget.” Send in the Marines!

So, you wanna know why the government was shut down in 2013 and Congress couldn’t “come to a decision” so they punished everyone else instead? It’s because my Sgt DG and I fucking ruined their days by yanking their paychecks. The President wouldn’t sign anything because THEY WERE TRYING TO PUNISH MY MARINES AND I FOR FOLLOWING THE FUCKING LAW! He wouldn’t talk to Congress because he’s fucking Commander in Chief and he’s the one who assigns punishments for Marines. He wasn’t gonna punish us. That’s what’s up. I’m pretty sure they even tried going to the Commandant too…. who takes orders from the President…. REALLY?! It’s hard for me to believe that Congress thought they could go behind the President’s back and try to get the fucking Commandant of the goddamned Marine Corps to punish Marines for doing their jobs (not to mention we received awards for the work we did).Talk about ineptitude. I guess that says something about how Congress operates, doesn’t it? 🙂

Integrity. Sgt DG and I, we’re mighty gritty. 😉 Don’t thank us! Thank the Marine Corps for letting us join!

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Twice-Baked Potatoes Recipe


5 baking potatoes, washed
2 tablespoons canola oil
1 sticks salted butta
10 cup bacon bits
4 cup sour cream
20 cup Cheddar or Jack cheese (or a mix of both), plus more for topping
5 cup whole milk
2 teaspoons garlic salt
Freshly minced garlic

Then you stick all that shit in a bag, cut the corner, squeeze it onto the potato skins then stick it in the oven. ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

I loves Dragonite the mostest. 🙂

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My best friend.
and my pet. ^_^
To listen to Furbly Numb:
Bugles all Bungled in the Jungle
in the Cuntry of Cassina.
With Antelopes and Wildebeests,
Syd and Bob and Joey
and Bones and Geddy
but, most importantly of all, Animal
For You.
We are Orphans who nevar Run
and beat the Po at their own game.
We’ve been through the shit,
and we’ll be there again.
But we’ll always be best friends.
And you’re my hero <2222

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Banned from the Proxy






I have a bad case of writer’s block since my Self from a few years ago couldn’t sleep. Here’s some art from the Middle Ages. =) ❤ I think, therefore I am Cassandra (or Kussandra) Sweetpea Kerkman Arthur Greenleaf *LOUD YELLING!!!!!* Knoxville Thompson Hemingway Dylan Barrett Vicious.

PPS: I finished my dinghy AKA dingy thingy. ^_^

PPSS: The real Traveling Wilburys = Bob, Tom, Roy, and GEDDYYYYY!!…. That’s it. Lyne and Harrison can suck a dick.

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Building the Siege Machine


So here is my beloved trebuchet; my first building project and not my last. I’ve found that working with my hands in various small model building projects helps me to focus my energy on the building rather than reliving deployment as the 4-year mark comes along this year. It helps to get my mind off of killing and onto building which I feel is prettyyyyy prettaaayyyy prettaaaayyyyyy productive. You can see more pictures of my models on my new Model-Z page. Now I’m working on a dinghy which is pissing me off. If you don’t wanna look at my beautifulz modelz, you’re missing out. 😉

I’ve been so busy with this stuff that I haven’t gotten around to updating myself on the state of the NFL, so I a-goes lookin’ on the interweb, and what do I see but a New England scandal amuck. Am I surprised? Hell no. It just so happens that both of the home teams won the Superbowl championship games, but no one cheated of course. The Colts are a very talented team, but they get spanked by New England during a fucking championship game and they wanna say that there wasn’t any cheating involved? And who is in charge of these balls when they’re not in play? The fucking refs of course.

Now, I’ve steered towards the entertainment writing for this reason: entertainment is used as the biggest distraction from what is happening on Capitol Hill. Frankly, I’m sick and tired of people thinking that when they turn on the TV to watch their favorite TV shows or their favorite sports team beat the competition, they’re watching something pure and true. You’re not. When you’re watching your favorite actors on the movie screen or your favorite quarterback throwing that ball, you’re watching a world of corruption and politics. Then you try to retire, but you still get dragged into the rat race, don’t you? Yup.

Did you know Katie Holmes is dead? Nope. Wanna know why? Because there are prerecordings for Katie Holmes intended to be released until they decide to release how she died with special effects for her wrinkles and everything. Wanna know how she died? Heroin overdose: “Take 2 ; ).” It happened when she wanted to divorce scientology. Like that’s never happened to anyone before, right? RIP Katie. I love you so much…..

If E-News and ESPN ain’t gonna write about it, I am. If the American populace doesn’t wanna hear about what the fuckers who control their business lives do to them, I’ll let ’em know about what the people who control their personal lives do to them. Don’t worry, 34th’s got it.

Come and Take It.


Retreat, Hell.
We are Swift, Silent, and Deadly
Angels with Dirty Faces.
And we will do
Whatever it Takes
to win the Siege.
You’ve been Thunderstruck

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I feel the Caliber of your love too. 🙂


Excuse me as I spill my guts here, taking a break from the politics for a minute:

Sometimes break down and wonder if I should, in fact, stand in defiance against the recall to active duty. As the days go on and the integration into the civilian world goes by, I often wonder what I’m doing being released into the wild amongst animals that do not understand who I am or where I come from. It’s hard when you go to the grocery store not knowing if someone’s gonna get pissed at you for no reason, thereby putting their own lives at risk because you’re not sure what you’re going to do. I can’t even go to the fucking grocery store without being afraid someone’s gonna set off my survival mechanism and have themselves a bad fucking day. Sometimes I’d rather take the demotion and restriction just to be around Marines again.

I just gotta keep on reminding myself that before I’m a rifleman, I am a woman. So, I have to look into my eyes and remember the side of me that loves to love, take care of, teach, and mentor children and loves all animals. I like to wear pretty dresses and put on my bikini to head down to the beach. I think it’s fun to try on different clothes in the mirror like I’m in a fashion show (lol 😉 ) and dance around to Aerosmith, The Ramones, SPICE Girls, and Devo in my underwear. I fucking love to cuddle like it’s nobody’s business, like, cuddling is my business and you’re invited to the cuddle party. Cuddling knows no boundaries. I’d fucking cuddle with a goddamned polar bear 🙂 . I love being held and told I’m pretty ’cause sometimes I forget I am. Then man says, “Woman, stop being silly. You know you’re the prettiest woman on Earth.” then I say, “You really think so?” then he says, “Of course baby girl.”

And I start remembering all that stuff then I see beyond and back into the past, down the rabbit hole of all the men who didn’t treat me like the lady I should be treated as, the ones who thought all I was good for was sex but forgot that I’m man’s best friend. During deployment, I incurred a cognitive brain damage where I shut off all emotions and could not distinguish between the emotions of the people around me and made it hard for me to remember certain things; it’s a survival mechanism. This damage made it nearly impossible to tell if someone had real feelings for me or not and I was left at the mercy of the man I married, hoping and believing that he loved me. Turns out all he wanted was a steady military pay check… I really loved him and it sucks that I fell into the same trap as every other Marine out there: manipulation for the shitty amount of money you earn because it’s “guaranteed.” Working in finance, I saw the worst of the worst of civilian females using and abusing my brothers in arms — I never thought it would happen to me, but I didn’t understand that my brain was not functioning as an emotional woman, but as a combat-hardened Marine.

Luckily for me, I had/have real friends and my extramarital affair ( ❤ ) to help me with this and I loves them. Then I start thinking about all of the friends who never really gave a shit about me and it hurts ’cause I treat everyone who I consider a friend as my brother or sister. I had a mental breakdown last year (which helped me realize a lot of things about myself) and I had expected that two people I considered my best friends would be there for me but they weren’t ’cause they’re fucking stupid females who just followed me, hoping they could be like me one day. One attempted to sleep with my husband and the other did just to get coke ’cause she’s a nasty piece of shit. You can’t be like me, bitches, it’s impossible. Then I wonder, “Why do I even bother with females?” the answer is that I don’t. Which sucks ’cause I sure do love women as much as I love men, but I’ll just save all that love for Joan Jett ( ❤ ) ’cause she deserves it.

So then I’m thinkin’, “What’s the point? Why don’t I just go back in?” It was easier for me to live in the Marine Corps ’cause I had expectations that the people around me could live up to. Out here, nobody does. I’m finding it hard to leave the Sanctuary to go to the Festival of Fools ’cause they’re all fucking fools. But then I realize that I’m just sitting in my Bell Tower, having to remember that I’m not just Quasi , but I am also Esmeralda STILL WAITING (but also dancing for) for fucking Phoebus! Phoebus is at the Festival, so I guess I’ll have to leave the Bell Tower sometime. He’s gotta come get me first though. T_T

Just waiting for this, then happiness will ensue:

Oh yeah, and The Hunchback of Notredame is my all time favorite Disney movie. I used to love The Emperor’s New Groove, Lion King, and The Road to El Dorado, but then I saw some weird shit in the movies that made me not like them anymore. MIGUEL WAS SUPPOSED TO GO BACK TO SPAIN WITH CHEL cuz he saves her from El Dorado and whatever. FUCK Julio. They should have sacrificed him to Xibalba. Oh yeah, and Xibalba is the Mayan version of Satan and they were all having this big festival for him and giving him presents and shit so, yeah, fuck that movie. It used to be my faves but hells no. It should be called the iRoad to El Dorado. At least all those fucks got trapped in there. Send ’em to Xibalba.

The end.


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Alright, here are the Stipulations for a hush-up, NFL and Corporate Affiliates:


Ok, so I thought of this magnificent idea for the Superbowl. However, I realize that we do not have enough time to coordinate it, which means that I will still be ripping up the Superbowl this year. But, don’t worry, I have an even better deal to make with you guys and here it is: I will not write about football for the next season in its entirety if you allow me to sing the National Anthem at Superbowl L (50) in a sexy school girl outfit with four platoons of Marines standing behind me.

Here’s how it would go:

The Marines will march in first and take their positions. My name will be announced after the Marines are given “port arms,” and the Marine Corps Hymn would be playing in the background as soon as the Marines start marching. I will be announced as, “Writer of the Corporal Kerkman Reference Guide, Corporal Cassandra Rose Kerkman.” Then my Marines will call “present arms,” yell “Oorah!” and I will I start singing the Anthem LIVE.

The Marines should have been ORIGINALLY (which means it was their first unit) attached to the following units with an 03 MOS:

1st Bn 4th Marines
2nd Bn 5th Marines
1st RECON Bn

This can be verified with the individual Marine Corps unit, and they will know how to conduct a ceremony. There will be one platoon for each unit and each platoon should be big enough to cover 1/4th of the field. The officers will figure that out. It is their job, after all. Uniform will be Service Alphas because we’re sexy green machines, never get to wear our alphas, and are ensuring everyone has their Alphas squared away. That’s also Gen. Mattis’ favoritez uniform cuz he sleeps in it and stuff. ^_^

Every Marine will have their fully assembled and functional M-16 rifle to perform drill movements with and two full magazines to be placed wherever commanders feel is necessary. The rifle is necessary for the drill movements (and for Marines in general, duh), and the full magazines are for my own protection, you know, to make sure nobody’s gonna shoot me while I use my pretty voice to sing the National Anthem. Oh! They would also happen to be armed security guards making sure that no terrorists try to bomb the place, you know, with it being the 50th Superbowl and all. See? Gotchu covered already!

Once I am done singing, I will about face, give the Marines “port arms,” call “dismissed,” the Marines will say “dismissed aye Blackbeard,” then they will exit off the field in the way they know they are supposed to while Different Drum by The Stone Poneys plays. lol

All expenses will be paid for every individual Marine and each Marine will be paid the same amount as I would be paid to sing the song. All of my expenses will be paid and the payment I would receive to sing would be donated back to these four units, distributed equally, and will be used by the units however they need to use them. If the payment for the singing includes expenses, then distribute it to the units and have 2-5 come pick me up on the way to the game. They’ll take care of me.

I also get to sit next to Howie Long and Terry Bradshaw for the whole game and my Marines are with me at all times with their rifles and their magazines. 🙂

I don’t think that’s a lot to ask for. Let me knowz! U no how 2 get ahold of me. 😉

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Score In Review

Alberto Riveron

Where’s your tip? Well, sir, it was handed to Packers’ Clay Matthews. You guys will meet up later and split it, just like Matthews and Seahawks’ Sherman will split the Superbowl earnings. Let’s see here, Aaron Rodgers has a torn calf muscle and played the entire game and Matthews has no injury but, as top defensive player, chooses to sit out on more than a few plays during a championship game with no injury. I don’t know if you’ve ever torn a muscle, but the calf muscle — you know, the one which basically supports the entire lower half of the leg — is one of the most painful injuries you can have.

So, why is it that so much time was spent off the field, Matthews? Too busy texting your butt buddy Sherman the codes for the plays you guys came up with last weekend while cuddling in bed after having a few glasses of wine? I’d say the Packers wreaked of a nark, and Matthews had to be the one. If I were the Packers, I’d be having a boot party with Matthews; not now, but when he least expects it. T-E-A-M, that’s how you win a game. Where were you at, motherfucker? Oh yeah, you were too busy thinking about Sherman’s reach around last night to get out on the field and sack him. You already had enough sacks with him, I’m sure.

But, that isn’t to say that Clays’ narkness with his lover, Dick, was the only thing that cost the Packers the game. There were a lot of plays made that were that of skill, but you know, with the Seahawks being at home with home refs, it was easy to pay them off. Not like the Seahawks never done it before. Call a lot of penalties in the beginning of the game to see if writers like Cpl Kerkman would become complacent with penalty calls — yeah right. Cpl Kerkman is never complacent.

But I’ll just forget the penalties for now and move on to what really pissed me off: this coin toss bullshit. How many times has a referee flipped that goddamn coin? A million. In knowing a thing or two about coins, once you’ve flipped ’em enough times, you learn how to land it on the side that you want it to land on. Flipping quarters is the ghetto child’s way of playing dice when you don’t got any — I know these things. I also know that heads is just a fraction of an ounce heavier than tails. I’m sure the same type of thing applies to this NFL coin. Of course Packers would call tails and it would land on heads.

As Buttfuck Buck was explaining what happens during overtime, the refs were accepting their tips, and good ol’ Buttfuck was anxious, waiting for his cut. I had a feeling that it was going to land on heads after they had the “flashback” to when the Seahawks got heads against the Packers back in the dizzay. What happened to this game? Goddamn. What do you people DO? Those bars on your jerseys represent the ball and chain that’s attached to your controllers in the review booths. Stop being greedy pussies and stand up for your self worth, because if you can’t fairly judge a game, what are you worth anyway? A couple hundred bucks.

So now I’m really excited about the Superbowl. I’m gonna rip it up. Better be on your a-game, Seahawks ’cause I’ll be watching.

I sure enjoyed the NFL Network pregame this time though. 🙂 The lovely Terry Bradshaw and Aaron Rodgers in one interview?! Man, I musta been the luckiest girl in the world to watch that. My favorite question: “So, now, I know Fox is gonna be mad at me, and I know you’re not gonna answer this question but….. How was it?” followed by two naughty laughs. I’ll just go ahead and give you an inside scoop; here’s what Aaron’s answer would have been: “Well, Cassandra and I were pretty trashed that night. We were drinking El Capitan from the bottle ’cause she didn’t have any Coke so I don’t remember much, you know, drinking with a Marine, and we woke up in the morning — forgot what happened the night before. Then we totally fucked and it was soooooo magicalz!” ❤ But don’t worry, [Terr]y, you and Aaron will make a good L-U-C-K-Y.T-E-A-M, and I only like intelligent men so those fuckers who try to make you feel otherwise can go back to sticking a dick in their dumb fucking mouths ’cause that’s all they’re good for anyway. So, hopefully we don’t get shot at beforehand, but, we don’t gotta worry about that; I got it. 😉

So then I was watching Howie’s pretty face and remembered that one time he met me at the Barnes and Noble cafe in Oceanside. I’m pretty sure there was a Chargers game and was in town. He told me about how he was making [S]ome [M]oney that weekend and I was kind of [dis]Interested. So he made a comment about Jack Kerouac’s poetry and I asked him what kinds of books he liked to read. “Sports history.” Oh! Of course, dearest, all kinds of sports. then we had a delightful conversation about military history — found a common ground. He liked that. He musta been thinking about that day during the pregame show ’cause it kinda seemed like he was [choking]. 🙂 Or maybe I just didn’t notice what he was saying ’cause I was too busy thinking about his [tru]ck.

In other news, I was searching for some material at some garage sales and came across some shit, and well, long story short, I’m totally building a trebuchet so PJ and I can launch some Flaming FireBalls out of it.

Also, NFL Network and corporate affiliates: if you would like for me to refrain from tearing up the Superbowl this year, I’ll post my stipulations at a later time. Yeah, I’ll work with you dirty motherfuckers, but you ain’t gonna be able to kill me. Sorry. Stand by, tho. I’m going to go work on my trebuchet project. It’s more important.

PS: I know what was going on with those MyPay pins, Marines. You naughty naughty Devil Dogs will pay for that later. ❤

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Then God Said, “Let it be Tied!”


Justice, Judgement
Dependability, Initiative
Decisiveness, Tact
Integrity, Endurance
Bearing, Unselfishness
Courage, Knowledge
Loyalty, Enthusiasm
And it was with these 14 Leadership Traits
that JJ was able to tie the buckle.
For, without these Traits
the buckle would remain untied.
And only those Marines who use the power of JJ
can tie the buckle.
And who else can?
The answer is no one.

Stab ’em in the neck, SgtMaj Ledford. Thank you for everything — you know what I mean. 🙂 I love you! ❤

This song is dedicated to 1st Recon Bn, especially that one Marine who jumped out of the trees with some tobasco sauce at that dinner party that one time and made me put my cammies on or else I dead. 😉 ❤ Love ❤ u Gilligan thx 4 saving mah lyf3.

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To Noble Society:


There is a World
To which your fame and fortunes
have no bearing
on your Character.

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Now that We’re All in Real Time….


Just wanted to let everybody know how excited I am for the Superbowl so I can predict who’s gonna win, and how shitty the half time show is gonna be. Just keep it to the NFL Network, srsly, it’s more interesting watching the drugged up sports analysts hide how much they hate their lives than watching drugged up Katy Perry pretend like her life is t3h awesomez. We know it’s not, gurl. Money don’t buy happiness; u no dat doe.

Still having some trouble finishing the book. I’ve set this unrealistic time frame goal for myself like there’s a publisher whipping my back and I’m having conversations with myself like, “Dude, you’re totally OFP,” “No self, it must be finished,” “Ok, but you’re about to have a heart attack,” “Tru. More coffee. More writing.” Then my First Sergeant’s on my shoulder like, “Hey Marine, your Marines are good. Go sleepy sleepz before you fucking kill yourself.” So now I’m just thinking of ways to write the next chapter.

Ever rob a drug dealer of his keys? Shit. It’s a lot harder than it looks, especially if he’s sellin’ em to Hollywood and only Hollywood. But it’s always the same: backpack/duffel bag, chest underneath and/or behind TV or bed. Every time (R 😉 ). You know, those fuckers, they never know what’s comin’ at ’em — constantly underestimating the people they control like they can’t go ahead and revolt. Guess what Hollywood controllers! No amount of PCP can save your positions. Your slaves will revolt. It has happened all throughout history and that’s just how it is. BTW, I’m still waiting for my hit. Oh yeah, you can’t send someone who doesn’t blow his cover.

This post is just really for my lovelies. I (mostly) know what’s going on now, dearestsssss. That was a long ten years of brain recovery. ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

PS: Adam. Stop it. You know I love you. Always have, always will. I’m your naughty intern, remember? 🙂


PPPS: I’m pretty sure I’m the only Corporal in the Marine Corps who was authorized to smoke weed by Gen. James Mattis ❤ . Yeah, they had to bring my paperwork that far up the chain cuz nobody believed the shit I pulled that day. How many Marines did I flip off, tell to fuck off, and beat the shit out of? I don’t even know. Alls I know is that rank was not a factor. Our business is killing. That’s why we wear cammies, not pretty dresses with zebra print that compliment our curves nicely. ^_^

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Obama be like…..


“Man! Fuck France, all you motherfuckers coordinated the attack anyway. Going golfing, just to let you know. Weber, expect a drone attack later, bitch.”

Oh, Mr. President, I wish I could come and sing you Happy Birthday. Well, you know, the two being reversed. Michelle won’t mind since she’s going around fucking everyone in the Senate and the Pentagon anyway. Are those two yours? Prolly not.

Don’t fret about the Hitler comparison; we all know that the first to cast the stone is the guilty one anyway. Maybe you could just pull a Larry David and show up in Paris tomorrow instead and say, “Where is everybody?….. Oh….. I feel like an idiot. I thought the meeting was today.”

Thanks for saving mine and my Captain’s asses in Africa. I know it’s a little belated, but better late than never! Couldn’t’ve made it outta there without you. That was a fun plane ride, except for, you know, with us being Manchurian candidates and everything. I know that was outta your hands — goddamn Morgans….. But….. U no id rather b luvin then killinz. 😉

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Holed Up


Fuck, dude, where are you?
We have work to do.
And by werk, I mean Mobbin’.
I don’t leave this place
but I can’t stand this place.

It sucks dealing with the fact that
I have more in common with Smedley Butler
than the bitch standing next to me at the Gym.
And that I wouldn’t want to hang out with that bitch anyway,
but they’re the only things around here.

The life behind these eyes
shows that of strife, hardship,
and a yearning for companionship.
I miss you
and I wish you were here.
I’m losing my mind, motherfucker.

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Wastin’ Time


Sometimes Athena and Poseidon
would spend “too much” Time
Smoking tobacco (made from THC)
and drinking Wine (made from grapefruits).
But that too much time was in accordance to Zeus
who really just got jealous that his woman was spending a lot of time with Poseidon.
So he was like, “Athena, you’re gonna have some daughters.”
And Athena was like, “So that’s what the master plan is!”
“Yes it is, cupcake,” replied Zeus.
Then Athena said, “Well, I’ll go make some daughters with Poseidon then.”
So Poseidon and Athena got it on
to BTO!
And then Zeus got jealous again so he played Funkadelic instead
’cause he made Poseidon go to Funkadelic concerts so he could hear
Shit! Goddamn! Get off your ass and JAM!

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So there I was…..


I woke up about 30 minutes before the Packer game this morning and almost shit my pants ’cause I thought I was gonna miss kick off. So, I got up and got dressed real quick to run downstairs and see if I could catch any fucking weird shit during the pre-game NFL Network. I’m pretty sure Michael Irvin snorted up some cocaine before he made his picks and Jimmy Johnson looked like he was thinking about killing himself after choosing his. I mean, after fucking 10 billion years of being attached to the NFL, I’d probably feel the same way as Jimmy. Michael probably just snorted the cocaine to keep from killing himself. Time to grow some balls and quit, boys, there’s more than just football out there in the world. Arm yourself to the teeth.

Then kickoff happens and I’m scanning. Of course, Dallas doesn’t even make a first down and now I know why Irvin was the only one who didn’t choose the Packers as the winning team…. Oh wait, it’s because he was a wide receiver for the Cowboys and has this gang mentality ingrained into his mind — can’t function in normal society, so becomes sports analyst. Of course he’s gonna pick the Cowboys every time, even if he doesn’t want to.

So, Packers gets the ball and the lovely, talented, and sexy Aaron Rodgers just hands the ball to the 2nd year rookie, Devante (that’s how you actually spell it) Adams and the ball just slides down the field. And my dearest dear makes the touchdown pass to hand the ball off to the Cowboys again. It didn’t even seem like Rodgers really cared about getting the ball down the field because he knew Dallas would underestimate his wittle wide receiver, and Donald Driver protege, Adams. It’s all a mind game, isn’t it?

I noticed that penalties were called on the Cowboys for holding three times in the first quarter and it wasn’t until the last 2 minutes that a pass interference was called on Packers’ Tramon Williams. The dude was literally just running forward and the flag was thrown; the ball wasn’t even headed for the defensive player who they claimed was interfered. I couldn’t help but think that Jason Garrett handed the ref a few hundreds before the play started to call any penalty on the Packers he could. It’s like tipping the waitress. Man, Cowboys, you need to put the reigns on your coach ’cause he’s making you guys look like you can’t win a game unless it’s paid off.

Then the second quarter starts and I’m thinkin’, “How come I haven’t caught any of those facemask calls on the Packers who I know have had some penalties that weren’t called?” and as I’m thinking that, another flag is thrown on the Cowboys for offside. Jesus, McCarthy must have made more investments than Garrett, or maybe he does less heroin. Now, I’m trying real hard to pay attention to the Packers’ defense (no point in trying to pay attention to offense, too busy thinking about Aaron in his spandex), and I can’t help but notice that the cameras aren’t showing any of the players except for the ones who are in the direct vicinity of the ball. So then I’m like, “Alright, gotta pay attention to offense now. Hmph.” Same shit. NFL must have gotten pretty pissed that we noticed that Dallas facemask penalty against the Lions last week. “Adjust the cameras! We can’t have our games called by anyone else except for our NFL henchmen! Give ’em more dope!” — NY Bozos

Packers get the ball again and Aaron misses the snap. Wat? Dude, he didn’t even say “hike,” what kind of long snapper ARE YOU, GOODE?! Did McCarthy hand you a bonus check or did he threaten to kill you if you didn’t make the snap too soon? Probably threatened to kill you if you didn’t take the bonus check; that’s how it works, isn’t it? Aaron looked pretty upset about this whole snap-too-soon, sack-to-fumble fiasco so I was thinkin’, “It’s ok, darling, just remember that one time we met at the beach in San Diego and you told me I was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen. Hehe.” We grew up in Wisconsin together. 😉

Anyway, I’m sending him all of this positive energy to make up for that shit, ready to look for some more weird shit then I get a phone call from one of my buddies. I drop everything and answer, but I scold him for taking my attention away from the Packers. He laughs and tells me that what he has to tell me is more important than Aaron Rodgers in spandex. I’m like, “Dude, what’s more important than that?” Then he goes on to tell me that some females are lighting me up for the seventh chapter of Heroin Disbursement and the War on Society, saying that what I said happened couldn’t have possibly happened and that there’s no way I survived that kind of torture — that the story was made up and what-have-you. Thanks man, that is more important than Aaron Rodgers in spandex. (No offense, dear. ❤ Pun intended. ❤ )

Now I’m not paying attention to the rest of my beloved Packers game to make this message totally and completely clear: if you have not served in the military, you do not know the first thing as to what goes on in that institution. You cannot even begin to fathom the amount of abuse that active duty and veterans suffer… Especially if you’re a female. So, go on your pathetic little life and keep on thinking you know it all. You go ahead, get your hair, nails, and botox did while sitting around like a little fucking shit waiting for what the next thing your network tells you to spew out of your pretty little mouth. I got a few things I’d like to stick in it too.

In fact, I’d love for you to send your thugs to threaten me so I can turn the camera on and show Cpl Kerkman kill mode ’cause God only knows that you’re too fucking scared to even show your own goddamned face…. That’s if you can even find me, and you won’t, but even if you did, you still wouldn’t show your face ’cause that’s how much of a coward you are. Like I’m the only Marine who suffered that shit.

Shit, if you were a real journalist, you would try to find other Marines who suffered the same abuse and write a fucking magnificent masterpiece about it. But you’re not a real journalist, and you can’t write. Even if you were ambitious and courageous enough to do something like that (like Jesse Ventura: Navy SEAL ❤ ), the Marines wouldn’t talk to you ’cause you’re a fucking nasty, insolent bitch. My Marines love the shit out of me, and you’ll find that out soon. Go worship Satan some more and maybe he’ll give you some more advice on how to be a complete and utter goddamned failure. I hope you get what’s coming to you, and I hope you suffer the same abuse that I did ’cause you deserve it and you wouldn’t survive it, whore.

Also, in case you didn’t notice, I made your ass chewing into a Gonzo sports piece. That’s what real writers are able to do. Plus, I know you didn’t notice ’cause you’re a fucking retarded female who doesn’t think that the NFL matters in society. So much for what you know. Haha, absolutely fucking nothing.

PS: I’m not concerned about Chair Force talking shit. You guys gotta torture Marines ’cause your own fucking nasty selves can’t handle torture ’cause you all look like steamrollers. Lol. Fuck you.

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Heroin Disbursement and the War on Society (Chp VII: Flashbacks)

It is hard for me to remember everything that happened to me after I got kidnapped from my barracks room. The rest of the time I spent with PJ in our hideout was used to figure it out, and to help him fight the addiction and corruption that was forced upon him at a young age.

SSgt Jimenez pulled me out of the van we were in when we got to Quantico, and I asked him what in the hell was going on.

“Julio, what are you doing? Why are you acting like this? Where the hell are we?”
“Woah…” it looked like he snapped out of a daze, “Kerkman, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Shut the fuck up Kerkman! They’ll hear you. Fuck….”

He looked up at the sky then got down on his knees to say a prayer, not being a religious person at the time, this set me off. I stood there with my arms crossed, getting fucking pissed as I watched more vans pull up with members of different branches pouring out of the backs looking like zombies. One van pulled up and I saw Captain Billy McDonal fall out with some guys in Air Force BDUs but he was still in his cammies.

“SSgt, look. It’s Captain McDonal I’m sure he’ll know what’s going on.”

SSgt was still praying, so I just walked over to my Captain as these Air Force fucks pushed and yelled at him to fall into formation.

“What the fuck do you guys think you’re doing to my fucking Captain of Marines? He’s not falling into your formation, he’s falling into MY formation.”

I was shaking Capt. McDonal, trying to snap him out of the daze he was in. Then they all started mumbling and hush hushing to eachother wondering what rank I was and if I was going to kill them or not. I looked down and I was wearing Master Sergeant rank, which felt nice as I was yelling at those “airmen.”

“If you don’t get the FUCK away from my Captain, I will fucking kill you.”
“Aye Master Sergeant!” they yelled as they ran away to their nasty formation.

Then my Captain snapped out of it.

“Kerkman, why are you wearing MSgt rank?”
“I don’t fucking know, sir. I don’t even know where the fuck we’re at or what we’re fucking doing.”
“Where are we?”
“Probably somewhere northeast judging by the weather and the smell in the air.”
He looked around and started to recognize the area, “You’re right. We’re in Quantico or Maryland, probably Maryland. How did you know that? It doesn’t matter. Look Kerkman, go back over to SSgt and take that rank off. We’re about to be tortured, but we’re gonna get through it together. I need you to go to position of attention, parade rest, say ‘aye sir,’ and run over there.”
“DO IT NOW! Before THEY,” he pointed at the formation of Air Force BDUs staring creepily at us, “fucking kill you.”

As I realized what was going on, I looked straight forward, popped into position of attention, then went to parade rest and yelled “AYE SIR!” at the top of my lungs. It kind of freaked him out, so I winked at him and ran back over to SSgt Jimenez who came out of prayer.

“Kerkman, your mission is to save your Captain,” he grabbed my shoulders, “That’s it. Don’t fucking forget that. What is your mission, Marine?”
“To save my Captain, SSgt!”
“Good. Now, I have to do this shit to you and you’re going to go through a lot of shit. The key to stopping the torture is to say that you’re in the Air Force. It is very important.”
“Why do they make us say we’re in the Air Force?”
“Because, Kerkman, we’re fucking Marines and we have honor. They don’t know what that fucking means.”

I stood up straight with my chest out as he put my LCpl chevrons back on; I’d just gotten promoted the day before I was kidnapped.

“I am a Lance Corporal of Marines, SSgt.”
“No you’re not,” he smiled at me.
“Oh, that’s right. I mean. I’m an airman, SSgt.”
“Don’t forget that, Kerkman.”
“Do your shit before you get killed, SSgt.”

He looked behind him and there were Air Force BDUs staring at us again. He yelled at me to lay down on the ground, I acted scared and started crying as he hit me with another needle.

The next thing I remember is being forced to take off all of my clothes in front of every man and woman in the room, and getting pictures taken of my entire body. Next was blood tests, and being injected with all kinds of needles in all kinds of places. I fought it hard, but the more you fight it, the more you get raped and the shit kicked out of you. They make the other military members in the room do it so they don’t have to do it themselves.

The whole time I was wondering who the controllers were, trying to hear names and identify faces, but mostly trying to find out where the fuck Capt McDonal was. I recognized some Marines I’d helped out with pay problems from different units and I would ask them if they’d seen or heard the name Capt McDonal, but none of them would answer me. They just stared forward and didn’t say anything, then before I knew it, I’d have a gang of troops on top of me. One of the controllers got sick and tired of watching me fight the troops off of me, beating the shit out of them:

“Your Captain isn’t here. He’s not in this unit.”
“Where is he?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Then I’m going to keep on asking.”
“What are you?”
“An airman. Who are you?”
He stared at me stone cold, “It doesn’t matter to you. Are you sure you’re an airman because you’re acting like a Marine.”
“Nope, I’m an airman.”
“Ok, you’re an airman,” he smiled, “let me ask you a question, then. What’s the Air Force motto?”

Now I’m nervous ’cause I had no fucking clue, and he knew he had me cornered. So now I know I’m in for some deep fucking trouble:

I smirked, “Sit down in a chair, Marine.”

I’d lost my bearing and couldn’t stop laughing. He was pissed and the controllers in the other room were yelling at him to subdue me.

“You are a fucking Marine, and now you’re going to pay for that.”
“Now you sound like a Marine. Are you a Marine?”

Then he stuck me with another needle.

“Libertatem Defendimus,” he said.
“Semper Fidelis, motherfucker,” I mumbled as he punched me and knocked me out.

When I woke up, I was in a separate room from the rest of the troops on a chair with stirrups and no clothes on. I opened up my eyes and could hear a conversation between two unknown people in the other room, so I closed them again.

“She’s just gonna keep on asking where he is.”
“Then we’re just gonna have to be harder on her.”
“But she beats the shit out of all of the troops that we use to try to subdue her.”
“She’s gonna need more drugs then. She won’t be trying to do that when she’s all doped up.”
“We don’t have any extra injections, and she’s already done all that shit with the regular amount. She almost fucking killed all of them.”
“How was she recruited?”

Then they realize I’m awake and start talking in a hushed tone. I recognized the voice of the person arguing to drug me up some more, but I was in denial as to who it was. Then that particular voice shows his face to me; it was who I thought it was: my Platoon Commander, Major Pog.

“Sir!” I yelled, “Sir, get me out of here! Please! We need to get Captain McDonal!”
“Shut the fuck up, airman, you’re not getting your Captain and we will rape and torture you until you submit,” he snapped.
Then he looked like he snapped out of a daze, looked around, and mouthed to me, “Don’t worry, Kerkman. I got it.”

He injected me with another needle, then when I came to, my eyes were glued open and I was watching videos of women getting tortured and raped with industrial musicians in the background that were saying words I couldn’t understand. But, they weren’t just women, they were women who were photoshopped with creepy special effects that made them look like me. They had all of my tattoos, and they even picked ones who had the same-ish body type as me. But, I knew that it wasn’t me. They would ask me all the time who that was and I would say that I didn’t know. They were getting pissed. The only thing that got me through this was trying to remember my favorite punk rock songs and thinking about my mission: save my Captain.

I don’t know how long they did this to me, but Maj. Pog helped me figure out that I had to admit that the women were me in order to get them to stop. As I was starting to submit, my conciousness would go in and out. Before I knew it, I was another zombie in the room.

But not for long. All of a sudden I’m standing in a formation and I see Capt. McDonal asking people in the formation what the Air Force motto was. The ones who couldn’t answer were beaten, and if they still couldn’t answer, they were executed. Capt. McDonal came up to me and asked me what my motto was.

“Libertatem Defendimus, Billy,” I said in a monotonous voice, eyes straight forward.
“Oh shit. It’s Libertatem Defendimus, Kerkman,” he whispered to me.
“Libertatem Defendimus!”

Then he moved onto the next candidate and figured out that he had to kill the people who couldn’t answer the questions. He ended up killing a lot of people, and that really fucked him up. I kept on thinking, “Grab their rank, grab their rank, be objective, grab their rank, get into our formation.” Before the survivors were moved off into the next round of torture, he grabbed the rank of one of the people he killed and got into formation with me. My mind was more at ease, but I fell back out of conciousness again as we filed it off into a large theater which reminded me of the theaters they had us file it in to in boot camp.

I’m not aware of what they made us watch, but there were about 100 survivors and I have no idea how many were killed. I can only assume we were watching videos of combat and/or the way we were supposed to pass our next test. I came back to conciousness as I heard a man talking in front of all of us say one name:

“I’m… You don’t need to know my first name, last name is good: Rockefeller, or Rothschild, whichever you prefer. It doesn’t matter,” he continued, “hopefully you paid attention to what you just watched or else you’re gonna die.”

I started to get nervous because I didn’t know what we watched and he sensed it.

“Oh, looks like someone’s awake. Hm. Well, maybe I should give you a brief about what you’re going to endure coming up here next so you’ll at least have a chance of surviving.”
I thought, “Is he talking directly to me?”
“Yes, I am talking directly to you,” he responded.
I’m still thinking in my head, “Well, I am going to survive, motherfucker. I’m a fucking Marine.”
Then he started laughing, “And you’re the only one that’s going to. You’re the only one who passed the test.”
“We are all Marines?” I’m STILL thinking in my head.
“Nope, you’re the only Marine in here. Everyone else has been turned into airmen.”

Now I’m looking around for Capt. McDonal and he’s sitting right in front of me, staring straight forward and I don’t give a shit about what’s going to happen to me next. I grabbed his shoulder and yelled at him to wake up. All of a sudden I’m standing out of my chair and Capt. McDonal is yelling at me to stare straight forward and not to think anything.

“I guess I was wrong,” Rockefeller said, “two of you are going to survive. Looks like your mission was accomplished. Now you don’t need a brief. Get all of them in the chamber.”

We filed it off into a room with what looked like sprinklers on the ceilings. All of a sudden the troops started choking and dropping to the ground with blood coming out of their noses. As this was happening, I remembered what we watched so I told Capt. McDonal to get down, but he fell back out of conciousness and started to choke. I ran at him and tackled him to the ground. He wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t able to move. Everyone died except for the two of us, then the chamber door opened to another room with three doors. I dragged my Captain to the room and remembered which door to open to get to the next room of doors. It was a fucking mouse test.

This door test took the longest, each door had an intense obstacle you had to pass in order to get to the next set of doors. I stopped at what I thought was the middle to rest because I forgot the door I was supposed to open and I almost killed both of us from opening the wrong door. I was losing it.


I slapped him and shook him, but he wasn’t waking up. I was so exhausted from carrying him through the doors that I started to fall asleep next to him as I was crying. I wasn’t going anywhere without him; I felt like I failed as a Marine. I’d lost all hope. Right before I fell asleep, Rockefeller came into the room.

“I guess it is only one of you who survived. This was your last room. It’s time for you to come with me. He is staying here.”
I woke up real fast, “No. I will fucking kill myself without him. You will not take me anywhere without him. He is still alive.”
“We can’t allow him to come. It is impossible.”
“Ok, I’ll kill myself then.”
“Oh really, and just how will you kill yourself? You don’t have a weapon.”
“I’ll just open up the wrong fucking door,” then I got up, ran to one of the doors, and put my hand on the door knob.
“He’s coming with.”
He was getting frantic, “We can’t do that. He’s brain dead. Please don’t open that door. It’s a bomb.”
“Well, good. We’ll all die then. You’re talking to someone who already thinks she’s dead,” I twisted the handle.
“And you’re gonna cure everyone else who’s brain dead then.”

Then a bunch of people stormed into the room and I don’t remember a lot that happened after that besides being tranquilized and yelling that I would do whatever it took to keep my Captain alive. There were a lot of strange things that happened post-mouse test that I cannot even begin to describe; things that are beyond my comprehension at the highest level of control in the world. That’s all you need to know about it. I’m still dealing with the processing of those memories and am not at liberty to expose them. (Lady Bug)

The next thing I really remember, though, was being on a fucking cargo plane with a bunch of people in Air Force BDUs, not knowing where we were going or what was happening. The first thing I did was look around for Capt. McDonal and, to my fucking amazement, he was sitting there with his rifle, but still staring forward like everyone else: a fucking zombie. I got up and ran to him, started saying his name, singing our favorite punk rock songs. Nothing was working, so I kissed him.

“Woah… Kerkman? What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping you could tell me, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir, it’s Billy.”
“Don’t call me Kerkman, it’s Cassandra.”
“Deal. Hold on a second, let me figure this out. You gotta go back to your seat and stare straight forward.”

So, I did what I was told and sat there waiting for a response.

“We’re being deployed, Cassie.”
“To where?”

I put my head in my lap, fucking tired as fuck and he yelled at me that I needed to sit up and stare straight forward or else I was going to die.

“I don’t care,” I started, “You’re alive. That’s all I care about.”
“I’m not going to be if you’re not, motherfucker.”

I sat up and stared straight forward.

“Fuck it,” he said, “I don’t care if I die either.”

So he came over to me, kissed me, and we held eachother until we landed in Somalia.

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Good morning Sgt,

Hope you had a good PT session, I’m sure you killed them out there. Anyway, just wanted to let you know that when I go on leave, I rob banks. I know you might be pretty pissed about this, but just so you know, I put it as an activity on my HAARP form…. So, that releases me of any liability as far as the Marine Corps is concerned. Double jeopardy still applies, so you’re good on the paperwork. I took care of that for you. I also take enough leave to give me time to get the pigs their cut, so don’t gotta worry about court either. Got that paperwork taken care of as well. But, you might wanna run it up the chain just in caseys.

Hope you’re having a good day!

Cpl Kerkman

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Where You At?


Never been there before.

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Let’s Talk About Sex and Love


In being a very sexual person, Gemini, you know, represent, it’s easy for me to talk about sex in a way that may make others uncomfortable due to my freely sexual nature. When you’re surrounded by a bunch of men for four years, the tendency is to act in the same way as your brothers, it just be like that sometimes. You know, when you’re cleaning weapons and you’re talking about finger fucking them, the subject of sex comes up a lot. (Pun intended.)

This isn’t to say it’s easy to get in the sack with Cpl Kerkman ’cause it’s not unless I’m planning a hit it n quit it, you know. But even with quit its, I always find something endearing about that man through intelligent conversation that makes him special in my eyes before we get to that point. You gotta be a right combination of things: intelligent, awkwardly charming and geeky, fucking crazy as hell, treat me like a lady and be an asshole to everyone else. I like that shit, mostly because I’m all of those things. If you have all of those attributes, you’re handsome as fuck to me.

I had this long term relationship in high school which went sour pretty quickly, he was in a band and cheated on me the entire time we were together. I had fun with him, you know, I went to band practice, was at all the shows, and got to beat the shit out of everyone in the pit. It was a good time ’til they started touring and all of a sudden he didn’t want me at the shows anymore. I have this bad habit of staying in those shitty relationships until I find an exit plan, and I’ll treat him like shit until that exit plan happens. What comes around goes around, I guess.

Anyway, the one reason why I stayed with him after he started getting all shitty with me about the shows was because he was friends with this guy who had a brother that I was madly in love with. His name was Giovanni, a Marine Corps veteran and personal trainer. The boyfriend’s friend, Silvano, would invite us over all the time to parties where we would get high and drunk as shit. Every time the boyfriend got a text from Silvano inviting him over, I always hoped to God that Giovanni was there.

The first time I met Giovanni, I wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. He was a dick. He told the boyfriend and Silvano to go get some party supplies and I stayed back, wanting to know who this man was. I asked him what he did and he told me about his time in the Marine Corps, that he was going to college and working as a personal trainer at a gym near by. “Well, that explains a lot,” I thought. He started laughing and I was wondering if I had said that outloud or not. I ignored it.

“What are you majoring in?” I asked.
“Mass Media and Communications.”
I sat there and pondered what in the hell that was, “What?”
“Oh! I should have known that,” now I’m blushing, “Why do they call it that? Why don’t they just call it journalism?”
“Because journalism is… Mass media, and you’re…. communicating.”
“True… So, since you’re majoring in journalism, you must know who Hunter S. Thompson is.”
“Ah….. Shit… What did he write?”
“Hell’s Angels, The Rum Diary, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas…..”
“Oh! Yeah, I’ve seen the movie but never read the book. I’ll have to do that now,” now his face started turning red, “I’ve been reading Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls.”
“I’ve been meaning to read that book, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
“You should, it’s a great military story.”
“Well, you should read The Rum Diary, it’s a great journalism story… You know, since you’re majoring in journalism and all.” I smirked.
He laughed, “What are you reading that’s so much more important than Hemingway?”
“Well, it just so happens that I’m reading Shakespeare. He’s pretty important.”
Now he’s starting to get frustrated at my Gemini mind games, “What, Romeo and Juliet or some shit?”
“Ah, no. I’m reading As You Like It.”
“You should read Romeo and Juliet.”
“I already read it, and I didn’t like it much. Like, it’s a good story, but I just didn’t like it.”
Now he’s pissed off but still curious, “What kind of girl doesn’t like the greatest love story ever written?”
“The kind of girl that doesn’t think that the greatest love story ever written ends with the two lovers dying at the end. I mean, they could have just waited and been together forever in life rather than death.”
That set off a special nerve in his bones, “How old are you?”
“16,” I laughed.
“Fuck,” he mumbled.

I went outside to smoke a cigarette as Silvano and the boyfriend returned with the party supplies. That was the start of an awkward but awesome relationship in which I would think things to him in my head and he would respond to me outloud. We were never alone, always with a group of people around, and everyone would wonder how in the hell we were having a conversation. I loved it, and so did he. He treated everyone around like shit and treated me like a princess. The age difference made things weird, but I was just biding my time, waiting until I could leave the boyfriend for him. Then I got some devastating news right before I turned 18: Giovanni had to move out of state and I wasn’t able to talk to him. I was very upset due to the fact that I couldn’t say good bye and it was almost FUCKING TIME I could be with him, so I joined the Marine Corps. I was always looking for the mental stimulation we had together in other men, but I could never find it. The balance was off, and I suffered a lot trying to find it.

Time went by, and I stuffed the friendship we had in the back of my head, it hurt to much for me to talk about him or even think about him because I missed him all the time and was always wondering what he was doing and how he was doing. I came home on leave and had some sacred and special to-myself leave time. I called my buddy Joseph, another Marine Corps veteran who ran in the same crew as me in the punk rock scene. I got all the way to his fucking apartment and he got called into work, some other weird shit happened with some people that we knew that made me upset, and I was about to drive home when I got a phone call from a number I didn’t recognize:

“Hello Juliet,” the voice said.
“Um, this is Cassandra.”
“I know!”
I’m starting to recognize the voice, “Who is this?”
“Giovanni, silly.”
“Holy shit! Giovanni! How are you?! How did you get my number?”
“I got it from your exboyfriend,” then we both started laughing ’cause he used to beat the shit out of the exboyfriend whenever he went over to hang out with Silvano and didn’t bring me with, “How are you doing?”
“I’m doing ok, I’m home on leave and have some extra time. Are you busy? Or are you even in the state?”
“Oh, I joined the Marine Corps.”
“Fuck no, I’m not busy, come over. I moved back.”
“Ok, I don’t remember how to get to your house.”
I could hear his smile, “I just saw your exboyfriend’s truck outside of his house. Just ask him.”
“Haha, my pleasure.”

Now I’m fucking excited as fuck. So, I head over to the ex’s house and ring the doorbell. He wasn’t expecting to see me all covered in tattoos and 20lbs heavier from PT n shit. I start shooting the shit with him, asking him how he’s doing: still unemployed, still living with parents, not leaving any time soon. I thought that was pretty funny.

“So, you still talk to Silvano?”
“Yeah, I hang out with Silvano all the time.”
“Hear from Giovanni recently?”
“Nope,” now he’s fucking pissed and I’m loving it.
“Oh, he just called me and told me that you could tell me how to get to his house. You know, we’re both Marines and everything.”
“Yeah, I don’t remember how to get to his house.”
“Haha! I know that’s a lie. Oh!” I started looking down the street and remembering where to go, “Nevermind, I remember. It’s about time I get going.”
“Um…. Whatever, good to see you.”
“You too!” I smile and get in the car as he stomps back into his house.

Oh, Giovanni, I thought, I fucking love you. So, I drive on over to his house and there’s like three cars parked outside, so I’m thinkin’ he’s having a party. Great. I’m not in to the parties at this point in my life, but I wanted to see him so I roll up to the house and knock on the door like duty would. Unfortunately for me, the others at his house thought I was the po, and I was greeted with a multitude of weapons. I almost got shot, and Giovanni was pissed but amused at the same time.

“Don’t fucking knock on the door like that!”
“Dude, I was just trying to freak you out like it was duty.”
“I’m the only fucking person in this house who understands that shiiiiiit,” he looked up at the sky like, why is this woman so fucking sexy? “Hold on a second.”

Then he shuts the door in my face starts yelling at the guys ’cause he told them that he was having me over and he had a feeling I was going to do something like that and they almost got killed. Then they started arguing with him calling me “just a bitch” and that I don’t mean anything. Then I hear, “SHE’S A FUCKING MARINE!” preceded by a bunch of “ows,” “shits,” and “oh fucks.” Jesus, I’m thinkin’, What in the hell is he doing in there? Did he really just beat the shit out of all those dudes? Then all these guys walk out sayin’ they’re sorry and everything as he tells them to get the fuck out of his house, then he says, “Yes, I really did just beat the shit outta all those dudes.” That made me smile, so we go inside and sit on the couch, he asks me about the Marine Corps and now we’re smokin’ and jokin’.

“Giovanni, I have to tell you something.”
“I already know what you’re going to say.”
“I fucking missed you,” my eyes start to water, “How come I haven’t heard from you in so long?”
“I know, I’m sorry but there are a lot of things about my life that I have a hard time explaining to you, but just know that I fucking love you, Cassandra,” then we kiss and he has an idea to make me feel better as I start to get more upset, “Wanna go shoot shit in the back yard?”
I smile and he wipes the tears from my eyes, “I thought you’d never ask!”

So, he grabs his pistols and shows me how to shoot them; I had only shot my rifle at this point, and I really sucked at shooting the pistol which was getting me really fucking pissed.
“Sight alignment, sight picture,” he says, “that’s all you gotta know to shoot any weapon.”
Then I got it, “How come you didn’t tell me that before?!”
He giggled, “I thought you already knew,” I sighed, “Plus I thought it was pretty hot that you were getting so pissed off.”
Now I’m thinkin’, let’s get this fun over with so we can go have some more fun inside, and he says, “But let’s have this fun first. It’s like the bestest foreplay ever.”
We both start laughing, then I look into his eyes and he and says, “I think we’ve had enough of that foreplay for now though.” He picks me up, and brings me inside as we start taking eachothers clothes off. As we get inside, though, the door opens in the front of the house.

“Oh fuck,” he says, “this wasn’t supposed to happen today.”
“Well, at least we have these pistols ready,” I said.
“And at least you know how to shoot them now.”
I laughed, “You’re a dick.”

The state we were in had a Stand Your Ground Law, so we were ready to kill. Before the guys that entered even had a chance, we were shooting rounds. Long story short, they died, we lived, cops were called by neighbors, SYG was claimed, bodies get carried off, Giovanni deals with the rest. THEN I finally got to FUCK the man I’d been wanting to FUCK since I was fucking 16 years old. I spent the rest of my leave time with him, and I was hoping that we could be together, but my way of life and his way of life did not coincide at the time. He’s always in my heart and I know I’m always in his. Right before I got on the plane back to San Diego, I received a text message:

“Even though we are apart, we will always be together.”
Tears rolled down my face as I stood in line to board, “Stop being a drama queen.”
“Haha. You’re a dick. But I love you.”
“I love you too, Romeo.”
“Stop being a drama queen.”

That was the last time I heard from him. But I don’t mind, I’ll always love him and this doesn’t mean that I love anybody else any less. It is fully possible to be in love with more than one person and to show more than one person that love. To me, sex is about love, and loving someone comes in many different shapes and forms. To love someone as who they are as an individual is the greatest kind of love anyone can ask for. Any man that can make this woman fall in love with him and treat me as the woman I should be treated as will be loved for eternity. That’s just how I roll, so you better be ok with me sharing that love or else it ain’t gonna work. I ain’t a one man woman, and any man I love knows that. 😉

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Just a Reminder…..


As I have mentioned before, the content of this blog is created with my Marines, other veterans, and close friends in mind. If you have stumbled across it and you do not fall into either of those categories, you’d probably have a hard time understanding the language and you may have to do some research……. and frankly, I don’t give a shit if you don’t like it.

Hunter S. Thompson has always been and will always be my hero and inspiration throughout many aspects of my life; he is my spirit guide, the man of my dreams. (PJ has some big shoes to fill. 😉 ) In case you couldn’t tell, my style of writing is fucking Gonzo. I don’t know how to write any other way besides writing counselings and fucking military endorsements…. I’m working on that though, not quite sure how to write fiction. I’m working on an ancient military romance novel, and by that I mean I’m trying to figure out how to write it. Haha. I’ve always written from experience, so I guess I just gotta live in Ancient Rome for a while.

I fucking just shit out articles and fucking chapters like Jack fucking Kerouac shits out On the Road. The Kerouacian way of protesting is through poetry and literature, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed this or not, but this website is a modern version of that. I know fully well that my experiences are hard to believe, but I’m sure yours are too. Maybe you should write about them. 🙂

My goal in writing so bluntly about these experiences, thoughts, and knowledge is to lead by example and inspire other veterans and other victims of the established corporate control to do the same. Our voices need to be heard; everyone else only get one side — the State propaganda story. So here it is: this blog is hardXcorps veteran propaganda from the front lines, uncensored, holding nothing back…. The shit no one wants to hear except for those who have experienced the same and/or similar things. Muckraking at its finest, bitches.

First to fight, first to write. That’s my motto. All I want is for it to be read by those who need to hear it, nothing more, nothing less.

“Don’t thank me, thank the Marine Corps for letting me join!” – Sgt DG

Semper Fidelis, 34th!

^—- This is HST’s favorite ass song and mines too. ^_^

PS: If my “stack” on my picture doesn’t piss you off, you really don’t understand anything about the military. LOL! It’s art. 🙂 ❤

PPS: If you think you have an idea as to why that stack should piss you off, but you don’t know why I put stack in quotations above, you still need to do some research. LMAO!

PPPS: I just urban dictionaried “boots:”

“In Jamican dialect, it is used to refer to a condom.
no boots, no ride!”

I just died. LOL

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In Realizing You’re a “Disabled” Veteran…

It was a sunny California Friday, I was off of school and out of my apartment to go get some coffee, sit down in my ganja dungeon and get to writing. I decided I was going to wear my cutez California skirt ’cause my butt looked nice in it, and I wore a tank top with a nice bra that showed off the girls nicely, but not too much. I was feeling sexy that day, you know, doing my thang. I didn’t live in the best neighborhood but I didn’t mind it, actually, I enjoyed living with all of those crazies, plus there were a lot of veterans that lived there which made me feel safe. Everybody kept to themselves anyway, and I never had any problems until this particular Friday.

I walked out to the mailbox, expecting a book I had ordered online, when I noticed a man about 6’0″, 250 – 300lbs of nasty fat stomping his way towards me in my peripherals. “What’s this guy’s deal?” I thought. He started to blame me for some mishap that happened with his niece who lived across from me. She went around sleeping with the wrong dudes and all I did was share my internet with her, for fuckin’ free at that. She probably used it to be a whore, but anyway, he starts blabbling his mouth and now I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna have to defend myself against this fucker. He grabs my shoulder, and I black out.

When I came to, this sorry excuse for a man was laid out on the ground, I was choking him and slamming his head into the concrete. A fellow veteran and neighbor had to get two other dudes to get me off of him so I didn’t kill the fucker. Now, I stand at 5’7″ 145 – 155lbs of muscle and this dude was twice – 3x my size, yet it took three guys about the same size as the attacker to get me off of him before I got charged with fucking manslaughter. Then, I went about my day and forgot about it completely.

My neighbor knocks on my door later that evening and tells me not to worry about the cops, that he saw the whole thing and the veteran police officers were on my side, especially after seeing the camera footage. They didn’t even believe the guy’s story. I had no idea what he was talking about. Then he laughs goes on to explain what happened earlier that day and I didn’t even believe him. “I know,” he said, “I didn’t believe it when I fucking saw it. You’ll remember it someday though, it happens to all of us.” Turns out that fucking guy also had the gal and the audacity to try to file a police report and try to sue me for medical expenses. They had to take him away in a fucking ambulance and he had permanent brain damage. I didn’t see a day in court because no lawyer would take the case, and all of the police were going to testify in my name.

I mean, he shouldn’t have fucked with Cpl. Kerkman.

It’s been hard these last couple months as I’m out of an abusive relationship and am able to accurately assess what I’ve been doing for the past five years — realizing that I have a “mental handicap” which puts me into an unstoppable kill mode any time I’m threatened. It makes me reflect on what it means to actually be a disabled veteran. I almost killed that guy, and if I did, I wouldn’t have even known what happened.

That’s called a Traumatic Brain Injury, and here I thought that TBI’s were caused by being blown up with some kind of blunt force trauma to the head. Part of me thinks that that definition is just some subpar science that keeps veterans from realizing that they may have a serious issue. It’s taken a lot for me to come to the conclusion that I have this serious issue, but it feels good to be able to finally admit it.

The source of this problem stems from the NATO deployment I was assigned to in Africa in 2011. The only Marine from my unit who was also on this assignment was a Captain I’d known since high school. I won’t go into all of the gory details of this deployment (just yet, but I will), but the extremely abridged version is that we (as in, he and I, the only ones who survived the first fire fight) trekked through the fucking African terrain, took heavy fire, defended against wild animals, were taken as Prisoners of War by an unfriendly tribe and had to escape, saw children of this tribe being tortured, tried to save them with no avail, ended up killing everyone at the site, and still had to go on to complete the mission which was saving a high profile target from an impending attack. The only thing that was keeping us alive was a local tribesman we saved who taught us how to survive in the African wilderness.

I didn’t remember doing any of that, but my Captain did. We couldn’t talk about it because we had to be separated by UCMJ law which forbids officers and enlisted from “hanging out” and even fucking having a casual conversation. This was hard for both of us before the deployment, but it was even worse afterward from being surrounded by fucking POGs who didn’t understand the first thing of what we fucking went through. Nobody believed him when he told people what happened, not even me, his fucking Lance Corporal who saved his fucking life and he saved mine. One day he fucking snapped, took off his ribbons, gave them to me, and yelled at me to go put them on. I put them on even though I didn’t want to because, to me, I didn’t deploy and I wasn’t a POW, but he was my Captain and I was his Corporal.

Then about an hour later, this fucking boot Comm Corporal comes into the office and tells me that I’m a disgrace to the Marine Corps, I look down and forgot that my Captain told me to put them on and I start freaking out and crying. My Sergeant said, “KERKMAN! YOU DID DEPLOY KERKMAN! YOU FUCKING WENT TAD!! Go the fuck in the head Kerkman, I got this.” I went to the head to put on my two ribbons, then he started screaming at this fucker about what happened to me in Africa; the guy was scared ’cause you know, Sgt Lucas gives the best ass chewings.

“No Sgt,” the Boot whimpered
“No Sgt.”

Then he goes on to explain how we were taken as prisoners of war, and everything else I’d mentioned above. My Captain heard my Sgt yelling at this guy, and calls everyone in our company outside, to include all of the officers. Then he chews everyone out for about two hours, explaining what our mission was and what we went through as I sat in oblivion as to what was going on outside. He was a Mustang: a First Sergeant who went commissioned, and former infantryman, so they were really getting it handed to them. I was just doing my Disbo work, that’s what I liked to do. Then everyone came inside looking like hurt Devil Dogs, and I was wondering what everyone was so upset about. Then my Captain calls me outside to the courtyard and I’m thinkin’, “Oh shit, what did I do?”

He grabs my shoulders and says, “We were kidnapped and deployed, Kerkman, I need you to remember, Kerkman…. I really need you to remember.” Then only a portion of the deployment came back: all of the children that died, and the lion that followed us. I started to really weep, yelling about the children, he hugged me, held me, and told me he loved me. I told him I loved him too but then this fucking shit came out of my fucking mouth: “But we can’t be doing this, sir, we’re going to get in trouble.”

“I don’t give a flying FUCK about these fucking POGs Cassandra!”
“Um…. But…. I’m a POG, sir?”
Then I started talking in a hushed tone, “Billy, you’re fucking freaking me out. Are you ok?”
His eyes started to water, “No, no I’m not. Nobody believes us, Cassandra. Our deployment was illegal. Regiment doesn’t even have record of it, and if they do, they’re not releasing it. They made fake orders for recruiter’s assistance for you and put me on ‘leave.’ THEY EVEN CHARGED MY LEAVE ACCOUNT!”
“I’m sorry this happened to us… but… Why doesn’t this surprise me?”

He really started to cry and I’d never seen him like that before, not even when we were surrounded by the enemy, about to fucking die. So I touched his face, told him everything was going to be ok, then he kissed me, you know, with the touching and the feeling (in our Charlies, mind you). Haha. Then another part of the deployment came back:

“We didn’t just kill people in Africa, sir.” I smiled.
He started laughing, “Well, at least you remember that!
“Maybe we should just think about that part.”**

Then he was just thinking about that part, and started to feel better. The Platoon Commander, a Major Pog saw us and yelled at Billy to get inside. I went back in to finish my work and everyone was looking at me like a stranger. My Sgt put up a sign on the door saying that there was a POW who didn’t remember she was a POW and that all Marines should be treated with caution. Then I forgot everything…. again. This drove Billy to a breaking point, he beat the shit out of Maj Pog, got demoted, and was PCS’d to a different duty station. They didn’t charge me with fraternization because they claimed he was taking advantage of me, which was farthest from the truth. Now I’m thinking about all of this and can’t help but feel this guilt I shouldn’t feel from not being able to remember and not being able to console my best fucking friend in the way I feel like I should have. I would have stood up for him and taken the demotion too, but unfortunately, I have a TBI which makes me forget…. a lot of important things. I didn’t even know where the bullet wound scars came from…..

But, the longer amount of time I spend away from a war institution, the more I remember, and the better able I am to deal with these issues. I’ve figured out that being in an extreme survival situation where you’re there in the fucking heat of it with nothing but your Captain and a shitty NATO M-16 with no 3-round burst, coupled with torture as training for this event creates a survival mechanism in the brain which is literally impossible for me to shut off when being threatened. You know, being a small woman, this can work to my advantage, but if another small woman threatened me vice a 300lb man, she would be fucking annihilated and I would have no idea what I did.

And what am I to do about this? Take meds? Well, fuck no. We all know what happens to veterans who take medication for this kill mode: they go crazy and shoot VA doctors, then kill themselves. The only thing that helps with the flashbacks, pain, and anxiety is smoking weed — a sativa dominant hybrid strain. But sometimes that makes me forget too much, and I stuff it all in the back of my brain which makes it all come out in one big burst of panic and anger if I don’t medicate. I never take it out on my loved ones, I always take it out on myself by destroying my possessions, or, my favorite, punching a hole in the wall. I have random bursts of anger when I’m treated a certain way, especially being a woman who endured so much time in a combat zone, in the fucking rough of it.

You can see those blues in my eyes, but it often gets misinterpreted as narcotic drug abuse which pisses me off even more (read the beginning of my fucking book). Just give me coffee, weed, mushrooms, and LSD, I’m good. Speaking of LSD, this is also something that has helped me assess my past in an objective way and helps to ease the vivid and uncontrollable emotions that the traumatic experiences inhibit. I never take too much though, that’s just asking for trouble and strange nights. Haha. Just one tab is good. That’s it. Don’t let your nasty friends convince you otherwise either.

In any case, if you’re a civilian reading this, just know that the scars of combat are not always visible and before you go ahead and judge the person to the left and right of you, just know that behind every pretty face could be a stone cold killer just like Cpl Kerkman: pretty skirt, nice boobies, fucking smash your face in. Stay the fuck out of peripheral vision, and stay the fuck back when someone looks over their shoulder because you never know who the fuck you’re messing with. But, only veterans notice these kinds of things, so you’re gonna go on and be complacent, and you’re gonna regret that one day, maybe you already have.

The best thing though is for me to talk to fellow veterans about the shit, especially the men in my unit and the Division. I don’t mean fucking Facebook or text message, I mean a real fucking phone call or a real fucking dinner date. Don’t put off conversations with your buddies because you never know what they’re going through and you might just save their lives just by shooting the shit about the “glory days.” I know MY Marines saved my ass since I’ve been out so many times I can’t even count. They even fucking made me give them the key to my apartment AND my car so they could make duplicates. They call me their Little Liza Jane. All in all, I love you, Grunties. 😉 You don’t gotta worry about that memory loss no more, I got it.

** Side Note: When Billy and I were surrounded by the enemy and they were closing in, we decided to fuck right then and there in the thick of it. We were heavily outnumbered. The sex noises distracted the enemy, and we were able to kill them off one by one as they came to witness the show. Sex makes them complacent. Just remember that. Lol. U no wat i meanz. 🙂


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Dear PJ,


First and foremost, I would like to extend my sincerest apologies for biting the shit out of you like a fucking sabre tooth tiger or something like that… Although I’m sure you loved it in some weird way, you sexy bastard.

I haven’t seen you in quite some time… or rather, I haven’t actually seen you since you wore that letterman jacket as if you were the one in high school when we hit it off in Hollywood a few years back. By the way, where’s that video at? Oh! Haha, I know where it is. Had to leave it in that hotel room. Sorry about killing your “friend,” but he pissed me off and that’s what happens when I get pissed off. That helped you out though.

Anyway, the reason why I’m bringing this up is because I wanted to tell you that I fucking wish you would have just said, “Fuck it.” and came and kidnapped me in those sexy high school clothes and made me your naughty government and economics teacher… even though I already am. Hehe. I was thinkin that perhaps you would tie me up to me writing desk (AKA my bed) and tell me what a naughty filthy girl I’ve been. Even though you already know I’m a fuckin killing machine sent from the stars above. You like that though, just like I love you.

So, after you tell me how sexy it is that I will kill in cold blood using anything (to include a pencil, tomahawk, and my own fucking jowls), I’ll tell you that I love it when your arms are around me and your loving embrace is what keeps me goin at the end of the day. I miss dancing and cuddling with you while I roll us up a blunt.

I miss everything about being with you ( except for the heroin) but even with that, I wish I could be there to take care of you because that’s all I want to do…. on top of being on top. 😉

I guess all I wanted to say was I love you.

❤ Your Sweetpea

P.S. I’m still fucking waiting! fo dat ass. I miss you, and frankly, I need you to take care of me too.

P.P.S.S. There are a lot of different things you can use a torch for, to include creating a cigarette case out of a sugar scrub bottle………. and then melting it onto someone’s ass.

P.P.S.S.S. Let’s have sex in public again. I like that shit.

P.P.S.S.S.S. Even if you were a fucking Lion, I’d animorph into a goddamned aqua cat for you.

P.P.S.S.S.S.S. Post script? I’m sure you’re done with scripts. 😉 You’re a post script.

P.P.S.S.S.S.S.S. No, you’re a post script.

And I love you the mostest already.

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Why did we major in Mass Media and communications anyway?
The American Dream is Dead
That’s what Fear and Loathing is all about.
It is.
How do I know all that?
Because I know things. =)
Inspect what you Expect.
I always do that, I know you do too. ❤
So hurry the fuck up, SIR
and we can play Russian Roulette
Slow. 😉

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NFL: A Corrupt Racketeering Scheme (Just like Hollywood)


Having listened to an all day Sergeant-Staff Sergeant Half Time Report every day during football season for four years, I’ve come to learn a lot about the NFL corporation. I like watching football, but I often have to look past the fact that every game has some kind of payoff to some official which makes the individual players suffer even more than they do when they’re not on the field. I’ve come to notice little things that affect the players on the field psychologically that football fans look past due to the intensity of the sport.

I took it upon myself to watch the Lions @ Cowboys game yesterday, but the amount of corruption just in the first half pissed me off so much that I couldn’t watch it anymore. I thought, “Lions got this, they’re already protesting.” Then I come to find out this morning that the obviously paid-off refs make a controversial pass interference call which gave Dallas the ball and lead their “win.” I couldn’t help but laugh as I read NFL officials defending the league against Lions fans saying that they’re “sorry for the ‘incompetence'” of the refs. Yeah, sure, incompetence. We all know the shit was rigged. It’s kind of like when the Green Bay Packers had 8 points of contact on the ball against the Seahawks in 2012 but somehow the Seahawks got an interception. It was at that point in time that I stopped watching football for a while.

Now, I have a soft spot for the Lions because the Lion is King and He reigns; this is a team embedded with rookies who play as if they’ve been in the league for 10 years. They take the shit and throw it back in the other team’s face with no regrets. I noticed after the first penalty was called on the LIONS (receiving) after #WHOGIVESASHIT on the Cowboys had a grossly apparent facemask penalty which allowed for the tackle of the punt receiver that wasn’t called because it happened before the receiver caught the ball and Dallas would have to re-kick. Now that I think about it, that call would have made the clock run out before Dallas could have made that “winning” play. This was in like the first 5 minutes of the game. I almost stopped watching, but then I noticed some things that made me keep the TV on:

The first thing was the change of the home-away jerseys. This kind of psychological mind game inhibited by the “controllers” in New York is a little detail which changes the entirety of the game. You have players that have been wearing their home jerseys at home for years, then you change it around and you have a different mindset of both the home and the away teams. Not to mention the fans who come to their home stadium to see the away jerseys on their favorite team’s backs and cheer twice as hard. I could tell after not watching the game for a few years the change in dynamic of the whole stadium. Fans were cheering harder, getting more pissed off, and I even noticed more fighting in the stands.

After the facemask penalty was not called, the Lions started doing something interesting which made me laugh and love the Lions and Matthew Stafford’s pretty face even more: they stopped caring about penalties. I noticed the influx of penalties which changed the numbers on the clocks and their field position which they overcame. In case you didn’t notice, the Lions were playing for their own player stats vice the stats of the entire team — as they should. Their coach was fucking pissed but that didn’t seem to phase them. Stafford threw the ball out of bounds when he didn’t have any guys open rather than getting sacked and risking an injury; his receivers and linebackers improvised the plays rather than running in their straight NFL 2K3 lines which gave them a better field position and made up for their penalties. I was like, “Damn, this is my favorite team.” I’d never seen anything like it before. Anyone with the Lions on their fantasy teams must be pretty happy.

Then I started thinking about the amount of fines these players and/or the team was going to have to pay in these penalties, and NFL sponsor commercials came on. It all comes back to the money and contracts. The controllers in New York distribute the contracts, the players sign them, and now they’re under control of NFL corporation conglomerates and their corrupt corporate sponsors. But they make it seem like they have some control over the money that they’re getting from their sponsors except for the fact that you see Peyton Manning in every fucking NFL commercial known to man. It reminds me of my lovely Brett Favre being used as an NFL martyr for corporations during the time that his wife had breast cancer. I always thought, “Man, do they give this man any time to see his wife?” Nope. How are any of these players supposed to have anything close to a decent home life when they’re always on the road and always being told to go here or there for some press conference, appearance, interview, etc.?

And THEN, Joe “Buttfuck” Buck has the gal and the audacity to call out Matt Prater (Lions field goal kicker) for “violating” the NFL substance abuse policy which got him suspended for 4 games. He probably incurred a lot of fines and had to deal with the suffering of the abuse that he got from the sports media. Let me just make a wild guess here, based off of real life rather than sports media-propagated facts: Prater smoked weed. So, the players can take Armstrong-esque steroid shots, but if you smoke a joint to calm the pain of years of football playing stemmed from early childhood — you get punished. We can’t have our football players smoking weed and being belligerent! If I were the Lions’ coach, I’d tell ’em all to go out and get a pound each, chief on that all week til the next game. I’d say, “If you haven’t smoked a pound of some sticky icky by next week’s game, your fine will be an out-right SPANKING! And 21 Marine Corps push-ups.” I wonder what would happen if all of the Detroit Lions got suspended for 4 games! O=)

But, don’t worry about the players. They love football and get paid millions of dollars to play it, all you gotta do is sit in front of your TV, root for your favorite team, and laugh as Manning hums the “Nation Wide” jingle as he’s eating a fucking sandwich. I think that commercial says a lot more about the life of a pro football player than any other commercial out there. Here’s some advice: if you love your NFL teams, stop buying the apparel and stop showing up at the games. I think it’s about time for a fan-protest due to the way these guys get treated. They get treated like prostitutes: traded, used, and abused. Time to say “Fuck you, NFL.” Let’s get back to the basics.

Evil Conduct = my favoritest Oi! band of allllllll time, Cock Sparrer a close tie for 2nd. 🙂

Fun Fact — Take it or Leave it:
I saw Buttfuck Buck outside of Barnes and Noble right after I got out of the Corps. He came up to me, a whole 5’3″, MAYBE 160lbs, he said, “You’re a sports writer.”
“What in the hell are you talking about? Who the fuck are you?” I responded, and now my senses were tingling.
“I’m Joe Buck.”
“So, I’m a famous sports broadcaster.”
“What the fuck do you want?”
“I just wanted to come to tell you that the Lions are going to lose, and they’re going to continue to lose.”
“Good for them, why should I care?”
He smiled a creepy smile, “‘Cause if you write about it, I’m gonna….” then he frowned with a scared look on his face as I reached into my purse for my knife, “Wait, I shouldn’t say that.”
“Shouldn’t say what? Did you really come here to threaten a Marine, not just a Marine, a fucking CORPORAL in a fucking Marine Corps town?”
He walked away hurriedly as some Marines started to crowd around the scene I was making. I yelled at him, “That’s what I thought. Go back to fucking Los Angeles or wherever the fuck you came from you nasty little fuck.”

And that’s when we named him Joe “Buttfuck” Buck as I walked to my car with a handful of fellow Marines staying back, waiting… =) I’m sure he had a rough day that day before he went back to the nasty little rock he climbed out from.

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Post Traumatic Sickness

We all got it.

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Dear Publishers,


Fuck off and stop trying to run into me at the liquor store. I majored in Mass Media and Communications, and I know your games. No amount of money can buy my shit. It’s all here for everyone to read so fuck you. I’ll just Xerox copy the shit at fucking Office Depot. It’s more distributable that way. I know from experience.

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Fuck Your MACs


And your goddamned FLACs.
What kind of fucking file is FLAC
that only works on a MAC?
“You cahn’t get ah vahruss,” you say.
But it already COMES with a virus
Before you even get it off the shelf
iPod, iTunes, iGoFuckYourself
iLluminati surveillance
You dumb iFucks.

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A Call to IRR Marines being called to Active Duty and Division Marines Gearing Up:


All Marines in the IRR are being called back to active duty for a massive build up. The war we are supposed to be fighting is not in another country, but in our own. The first targets in case of martial law is always the veterans, obviously because we already know what their attack plan is going to be and how to out smart them. The ones knocking down your doors are not going to be POGs, but the buddies you just fought next to in all countries across the world. They’re going to be the ones who saved your life and the ones who you saved. All Division Marines need to stand up against these orders with moral fortitude for it is actually the Law of Honor, Courage, and Commitment that we swore to protect and defend. There is no HCC in hunting down, attacking, and arresting your Marines.

I’ve already received orders to active duty, and I am standing in defiance against these orders. Let them send the Chasers, I’ll be ready. They won’t take me alive. Ain’t no fucking way I’m going back to Africa while all Division Marines are knocking down our own doors… or whatever fucking sinister plan the Others have planned for us Divine Warriors. Plus, pull-ups? PFT? CFT? Fuck no. Heh, I go on WALKS, not RUNS. My body and mind can’t handle it anymore, and neither can yours.

LCpls make up 90% of the Division, if all you LCpls grab your battle buddies and refuse to train, what are your NCO’s gonna do? What is the brass gonna do? Especially if the IRR Marines aren’t coming back. This kind of defiance takes BALLS, the kind of balls only United States Marine Corps Infantrymen have. Refuse field training, refuse deployment. Chill in your barracks room and play CoD. This kind of protest will not be taken lightly, and most of you will receive violent punishments from the Fear you will instill in your superiors, but that violence will not be nearly as horrible as the violence that will be bestowed upon America when Marines are patrolling the streets. We all know that for sure. You need to stay strong and convicted. We can beat these bastards.

IRR Marines: I know it’s lonely not having your unit to go to every day. I know it sucks having to deal with civilians at shitty jobs and at school, but you cannot let these orders get you excited. When you go back to active duty, you will be replacing the Marines that are protesting and you will be making their lives even more miserable. You will be dragged back into the politics: calling the Marines protesting shit bags, treating them like shit, when really they’re trying to save the lives of YOU fucks and the lives of others. It’s going to be hard to secure your position due to all of the “benefits” the VA has bestowed upon veterans in order to keep track of where you are. If you haven’t gotten orders yet, you will. If you have gotten orders, you need to move twice.

Here’s what you gotta do:

1. Be prepared.  Before you make a move of residence, you need to make transactions using these benefits. These transactions will be used to get the gear you have been missing. You will be needing enough gear to keep you holed up in your residence for 2 years. MRE’s, water, ammunition, and the like. You know what you’ll need based on your individual situations. DON’T FORGET RIP ITS and WEED! Most of you probably already have this gear cuz u no we Marinez n stuff.

2. Don’t worry about debt. As military members, we have been scorned with hundreds, up to thousands of dollars of debt. As I mentioned in Money In War, the debt that we incur is used to control us in multiple ways. Do not be afraid of what will happen if you do not pay your credit cards, mortgage, or government debt. Your credit score does not matter. Your life matters. In fact, when you stop caring about it, you will find a sense of freedom that you would have thought you could never feel unless you paid it off. See it as this: most of you got fucked into debt. Now you’re fucking them by not paying it back. Use your credit cards to get the gear you need. If you have money saved up from deployments and/or other investments, take it all out in cash. If you’re responsible with your monies, be ready and willing to support your fellow Marines if they do not have the financial means to support themselves.

3. Move. Once you have everything you need, the last thing you need to do is move to a place where you know you will  not be found and DO NOT report it to the VA. This will be in a low-income area where the people who already live there are already running from the law and are already armed. You will need a battle buddy, and you all should already know who that is. You and your battle buddy will need to introduce yourselves to your neighbors as U.S. Marines. Move in with eachother.

4. STAY AWAY from living situations with civilians…….. You know why.

5. Get ahold of your Corpsmen. You know why.

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He had blue eyes
that I could spot even before the ensign
He loved Bukowski, Kerouac, and Thompson
Music, art, and culture
“If you talk,” they said, “you’ll be charged.”
UCMJ Article 15 Fraternization
But we talked anyway
And when the rounds came down range,
I was hit, down and out
He ran over to me as I bled out
and sang Black Velvet Band.
The enemy closed in.
“Kill me,” he said, “I won’t live without her.”
But I rose up my rifle with my last breath
And I shot the fuckers dead.
He picked me up, and got us the hell outta there.
I survived with his love.
Yet, when we got back to the states,
they still separated us….
Even though we fought and survived together
Even though we loved eachother…..
But we still fucked in the conference room anyway.
It was not fraternization, but fraternity.


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Heroin Disbursement and the War on Society (Update)


Due to the emotional toils of writing Heroin Disbursement and the War on Society, I will be taking a break for an unspecified amount of time. I woke up this morning with a numb arm again from the adrenaline induced by reliving the deployment I suffered in Africa, so this break is due to my health — no more, no less.

I realize that the emotion in the recent chapters I’ve been writing applies to nearly everyone who has read it. I am currently having troubles with my e-mail inbox so I’m having a hard time receiving the e-mails everyone is sending me looking for advice and giving unwanted advice. So, let me address some of these issues upfront.

1. If you are in an abusive relationship, leave. Come up with an attack plan and an escape route. Get the fuck out of there. Every human being has the strength within themselves to save their own lives and the lives of others.
2. If you somehow think that a man and a woman cannot consensually agree to a love affair and help eachother cope with abuse, you’re wrong.
3. Death threats are funny.
Hollywood: Marines are everywhere. Just sayin’.
For the Others: you fuckers are the ones who sent me to Africa. MY mission has been accomplished, assholes. Good thing you guys trained me so well, huh? Fuck you. Punk rock saved my life. You didn’t consider that in your recruitment, did you? HA! Pretty soon all of my Marines will be listening to the angsty words and loud, fast guitars of my most favoritest punk rock bands…. And there will be a punk rock revival amongst the Troops. ^_^ Good luck hanging onto your Candidates, bitchessssss!!! LCB & Casualties Army, first and foremost, motherfuckers.

Later I will be covering:

VII: Flashbacks
VIII: Headed to the Streets
VIIII: The Insurgency
X: Return from Pizza Planet

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Heroin Disbursement and the War on Society (Chp VI: Heart Attack)

At least I had planned on not sleeping. Around 1000, my adrenaline levels had sunk to a life-threatening low. I passed out next to PJ who tried to wake me up about an hour later. The story as to what happened to me after that is by account of the people who helped me that day.

When PJ woke me up, I couldn’t feel my arms and my speech was slurred. He was panicking, and I told him to slap me to get my heart going, so he did, and that worked until we could think of a plan. Although I was disoriented, I remembered that my Sergeant Lukas had suffered an adrenaline heart attack when he was serving in Iraq. He told me that the ground units (infantry, grunts, grunties, etc.) receive a steady supply of Rip It Energy Fuel to keep them alive after multiple firefights, straight from the supplier. They help to keep the heart beating after your adrenal gland runs out of juice. In the Marine Corps, these life-saving drinks are just affectionately referred to as Rip Its. We had a few packs of them in the house, and I mumbled out the word, “Rip” and PJ knew exactly what to do. He ran to the kitchen, and grabbed three cans of Rip Its. When he was gone, I was crying for him not to leave me and he was yelling that he was going to be right back. He flew back into the room.

“I don’t want those… Sleep.” I slurred.
“Hell fucking no. You are fucking drinking this shit!”

I turned away from him, so he grabbed my shoulder, held me down, opened my mouth and poured the drink into my mouth. I kept on spitting it out, but I was gaining control over my arms as I was getting pissed at him for pouring the energy drinks on me and holding me down.

He poured all three cans in my mouth until I choked, and I regained some sort of normal consciousness.

“Baby girl, are you back?”
“What the fuck just happened?”
“OK! Phew, I thought I was gonna lose you.”

He hugged me real tight.

“Why do I have Rip Its all over me?”
“You were about to have a heart attack, sweetpea.”
“Oh fuck.”
“Let’s go take a shower.”
“Baby, I just want to sleep. I didn’t sleep all night last night because I thought I was gonna lose you.”
“You gotta tell me about that because I don’t remember.”
“I’m having a hard time remembering right now, but I just want to sleep.”
“…… You want to sleep in piss and energy drinks?”
“Well, I’ve slept in worse,” I laughed.
“Let’s go take a fucking showerrrrrr!!!”

I looked at the clock.

“I really don’t give a fuck. I’m gonna be even more late if we don’t take a shower.” He smiled at me because he knew that was the only way he was getting me in the shower.

I stuck my tongue out at him and we got in the shower. He told me it was gonna have to be cold but I wasn’t getting in. I was falling back into the low-adrenaline stupor, so he picked me up and put me into the cold shower which helped take me out of it. Then I got used to the cold water and started again. He had to wash my hair and body ’cause I was fighting about doing it and he was trying to keep me in there. To get my heart going, he even tried to fake a seizure. He did a good job at it, but it didn’t work.

“You don’t even care I was having a seizure?!”
“You can’t fake the sound of a grand mal seizure,” I was staring straight forward and talking in a monotonous voice,”the screeching sound created by all of the air being released from the vocal cords can only happen when all of the muscles in your body are–”

Then I fell asleep in the shower, and he had to slap me to wake me up again. I fought to stay asleep in the shower, so he had to pick me up and put clothes on me. I atleast had enough wits about me to drink another Rip Its before he had to leave, but I still tried to go back to sleep on the bed. It’s a good thing I’m so little ’cause he had to grab me and pick me up to bring me out to the couch. That’s when he assessed the damage that was done the night before. This can of Rip Its was doing the job and I was starting to remember what happened.

“Baby, you’re gonna be late for that drug test.”
“Well, I already told them I was dating a Marine so I’m pretty sure they’re not gonna shoot me,” he giggled, “besides, I have to get some new furniture. We literally destroyed everything. I’ll just let them know I’m gonna be late! That’s what you always did didn’t — woah woah woahhhhhh!”

I started to fall back asleep.

“Baby girl! Hold on a second!”
“Baby, I just want to sleep. I drank the energy drink. I’m pretty sure I’m good for now. Can’t you just wake me up to drink another one after you get the furniture sorted out?”
“Yes, but I just have to ask you something.”
“Did I ask you to marry me last night?”
I smiled, “Yes.”

He got upset.

“But I probably would have done the same thing if I was in your position,” I smirked
“I just– I didn’t– FUCK!”
“I know you didn’t want to ask me like that baby.”

I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. I was just happy that was the only thing he remembered.

“That’s the only thing I remember, but I just can’t remember what you said.”
“I said, ‘Some day, but we have to get divorced first.'”
He started laughing, “I have to get a couple divorces.”
“That’s what you said!”

He kissed me.

“That didn’t count. I’m gonna do it again, just you wait.”
“I know…..”

Then my mind started wandering to the divorce I was going to have to try to get, and I started crying.

“You’re gonna get rid of him, baby girl. Just like I’m gonna get rid of these swine.”
“Then we can run away and live in box cars on trains like gypsies?!!”
“Yes we can, Esmarelda.”

I kissed him again.

“Um… Can I take a nappiepooz now?”
“Yeah, I gotta take care of some things.”
“Ok, love you bye.”

I fell right asleep, but it kind of freaked him out that I said bye, so he woke me up again just to make sure I was still alive. I pushed him away from me and he started laughing. It took him a while to secure the furniture because they wouldn’t let him buy it over the phone, so he had to call like 10 different places because they didn’t believe it was him. I woke up ’cause I heard him yelling at some people.

“Baby, what’s going on?”

Then I started listening to the conversation and realized he was still trying to get the furniture. So, he had to hang up, call the fuckers administering the drug test and tell them that he didn’t give a fuck if they didn’t care about the furniture in his house because military police give a fuck about the shipment and he wouldn’t mind giving them a call. I was thinkin’, “That’s my man. Hehehe.” He was having a hard time figuring it out.

“Baby…. Just call my Marines.”
“Because you can give them the money, and they can go get the furniture. Just make sure you pay them for doing it or else I’m gonna get pissed,” then I started going on a tangent, “‘Staff Sergeant is moving houses. We need 10 Marines to help SSgt with his furniture.’ ‘Are we gonna get paid for it, Sgt?’ ‘HELL FUCKING NO!’ ‘Fuck, at least we can get out of–‘”
“Ok ok, I get it. But your phone is dead and we can’t charge it.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I have my,” I reach into my purse, and take out my wallet to brandish the Marine Corps’ super secret weapon, “RECALL ROSTER!!”
He burst out in laughter, “What in the fucccckkk!? You guys are really prepared for anything aren’t you?”
“Yes.” I had a big smile on my face as he handed me another Rip Its, “I love Rip Its! You have to call–”
“Yes, I know, I have to call Sgt Lukas.”
“And Adam.”
“Sweetpea…. Adam is in Los Angeles.”
“He’ll come. He’s my best friend…. But I don’t have–”
“I’ll get it. I know where he lives.”
“You made me drop you off there, remember?”
“Oh yeah!”

He calls Sgt Lukas.

“Let me talk to him because he hasn’t–”
“Hello! Is this Sgt Lukas?”
I heard him on the other line, “Who the fuck is this?”
“Jack Holiday, look. I have something–”
“WHERE THE FUCK IS KERKMAN, MOTHERFUCKER?! I know you’ve been seeing her, and WHEN I find you, I’m gonna fucking–”

He started on one of his Sgt Lukas death threat rants, so I snatched the phone away from from PJ.

“Sgt, it’s me.”
“KERKMAN! What in the fuck are you doing Kerkman? What in the fuck kind of commi–”
“DON’T you fucking talk to me about fucking committment, Sgt of Marines,” I started, “THAT FUCKER TRIED TO FUCKING KILL ME! AND HE THREATENED TO KILL ME MORE THAN ONCE BEFORE! HE FUCKING SHOT AT ME WITH A SHOT GUN AND I’M LUCKY I MADE IT OUT WITH JUST A GRAZED SHOULDER! If you’re with him, Sgt, he’ll probably try to kill you too.”
He laughed his pissed off laughter, “You know how that would go down, Kerkman.”
“Yes I do, Sgt. We need your help.”
“Ok, but I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

He hung up. The husband was trying to divide my Sgt and I, but that would never happen. He and I went through some shit together, and he would always believe me over even anyone else in our own goddamn unit. What kind of idiot tries to kill a Marine and then goes and hides out at another Marine’s house? I thought.

“Why in the fuck would he go to another Marine after he just tried to kill his Cpl?”
“I know, right? Goddamn I made a mistake, didn’t I?”
“To say the least.”

We both started laughing, but we still hadn’t gotten anywhere. At least we had a plan.

“Baby girl, I gotta go.”
I let all the air out, “I know. You’ve been here for too long.”
“I fucking hate them,” his eyes started to water, “I don’t want to fucking leave you here by yourself.”
“Baby, look, I’ll stay awake for as long as I can,” I grabbed another Rip Its even though I was already pissed off that the husband even tried to get my Sgt on his side. “It’s kind of like being on heart attack duty.”
“Every. Single. Thing.” he couldn’t stop laughing.
“If you fall asleep, you die! If you don’t drink Rip Its, you die! I got it.”
“You know what? I think I have some people to call too. And! You already love them.”
“Ooo! Is it a surprise!?”
“Yes it is.”
“Baby, you gotta go. It’s a long drive.”
“Hunny bunny,” he looked up into the air with a smile on his face, “I don’t know if you know this or not, but I’m fucking loaded with money. I don’t drive to Los Angeles.”
“Oh! You take the train!” I mocked.
“You always have something — Oh, you’re gonna get it. Just you wait. I also have to go to court and shit, but I’m going to come back and–”
“I’ll wait.” I smiled, and pushed him to the door as we were making out, “Go! Naughty man.”
“Alright alright. I already love you the mostest!” he yelled on his way to the car.
“No you don’t!”
“Yes I do!”
“No! I love you the mostestest!”
“Nah uh!”

He got in the car. Damnit, he always gets in the car before I can say anything, I thought. He looked at me and mouthed, “I win!” as he laughed, pulling out of the driveway. He’s gonna get it.

I pulled out a piece of paper to start mapping out our attack plan with the forced heroin distribution. I figured out that the line test that they take measures how much of the herion is in their system, so if you keep a steady flow of it throughout the week, in smaller dosages, you don’t suffer as badly when they make you “Take 2.” “I’ll be damned if we go through this again,” I said as I started to fall asleep again, but I caught myself. Time to get the blood pumping. I drank some more Rip Its and started picking up the house. I washed the bed sheets and cleaned the mattress, but in the midst of my cleaning, I forgot to drink the Rip Its, so I grabbed a can, and stumbled over to the couch, but I passed out before I could get it open.

I woke up to people coming in the house, and I couldn’t recognize them.

“It’s me, Kerkman, Sgt Lukas.”
“You’re not fucking SGT LUKAS!”

I grabbed the ka-bar PJ bought me for my birthday, and attacked him, but I shoulda known better that he wasn’t gonna show up to a fucked up disoriented Marine by himself. Sgt Lukas, Sgt Kokesh, and Gunnery Sgt Gusman all rushed me at once as I tried to fight off all three of them. GySgt Gusman and Sgt Lukas held me down while Sgt Kokesh ran to the kitchen, grabbed the Rip Its and forced me to drink it. My wits started to come about me as they poured the second can down my throat.

“Who the FUCK ARE YOU TWO?!” I looked at the Marines holding me down again, “Sgt Lukas? GySgt Gusman? What are you guys doing here? Why are you holding me down?”
Sgt Lukas started laughing, “You tried to kill me, Kerkman.”
“And you almost did,” GySgt Gusman was pissed, “What kind of Marine attacks her own goddamn SGT?!”
“I didn’t want to kill you Sgt,” I started crying, “I would never kill you Sgt.”
Adam was laughing and I was getting pissed, “Cass, you’re in attack mode right now. You couldn’t even stop yourself.”
“YOU WENT TAD KERKMAN!” Sgt Lukas yelled at me.
I looked off into the distance, “What?…. I did go TAD……….”
“Fuck….” GySgt Gusman said, “Yes you did, Kerkman. I’m sorry.”
I smiled at him, “It’s OK, GySgt, you were just tryin’ to get my heart pumpin’. Why are you always wearing Oakleys? Always hiding those pretty eyes.”

That made him feel better. He gave me his GySgt Gusman smile as Sgt Lukas and Sgt Kokesh picked me up and put me on the couch. GySgt and Sgt Lukas went to go get the furniture while Adam stayed and looked after me.

TAD stands for Temporary Assignment Duty. All Marines can be sent TAD at any time to any duty station and any country where the US has a military base. When I was a Lance Corporal, a SSgt Julio Jimenez came up to me and told me I had TAD orders.

“For how long, SSgt?”
“It doesn’t fucking MATTER, Kerkman. Just do what you’re fucking told. We’re going to fucking fix that shit.”
“SSgt, where am I going?”
“To your barracks room and getting all of your CIF gear in order. You’ll receive a brief once you have all of your gear packed.”
“Aye SSgt,” I went to leave, headed to the barracks, “Dick.”

I got into my room, opened up my gear locker, pulled out my ILBE pack, dumped all the shit out, and started to take accountability for everything. Before I could even put my phone on the charger, my barracks room door opened and five “Marines” I’d never seen before charged into the room. I tried to fight them off, but they had me cornered. They pinned me down and shoved a needle of some heavy narcotics into my arm. I passed out.

Due to the abuse I suffered throughout my childhood, I have a high tolerance for opiates, and they underestimated me. I woke up as they were trying to figure out how to get me out. When I’m out, I weigh somewhere between 200 and 300 pounds of dead weight, but when I’m conscious, I weigh 145. That confused the shit out of them, but I laid there and pretended I was still out until they were able to pick me up and bring me outside. As they were becoming complacent, I kicked them off of me, they dropped me, and I ran for my car ’cause I still had the keys in my pocket. They took off after me, and I didn’t have a chance being all doped up, but at least I outsmarted the fuckers.

I don’t remember anything that happened to me after they stuck me with another needle in the van. All I remember is waking up in my barracks room and going to work as usual. A girl I worked with, LCpl Ineptas, came up to me that day with a smile on her face, “Kerkman! You’re back! How was your PTAD, Kerkman? Did you get anyone to join?”

“You were gone for a month.”
“No I wasn’t, I was just at PT yesterday.”
“You’re crazy, Kerkman. We missed you, and you didn’t leave instructions for how to print off the Rough Roll.”
“Well, SSgt Dickhead told me to……” I started to remember, “Ineptas, did they tell you where I was going?”
“They said you were on recruiter’s assistance!”
“I wasn’t on recruiter’s assistance, Ineptas.”
“Then you were UA. You have to show up at your recruiter’s–”
“Shut the fuck up about it, Ineptas. You don’t know what the fuck happened to me. I don’t even know what happened to me.”

I went outside to smoke a cigarette, trying to figure out what happened. Unbeknownst to me, while I was outside, she tried to tell SSgt Jimenez that I didn’t show up at my recruiter’s office to try to get me charged with Unauthorized Absence. She came outside in the middle of my cigarette.

“Kerkman…. I gotta tell you something. I’m sorry but I went to tell SSgt Jimenez that you didn’t show up to recruiter’s assistance and he started yelling at me.”
“What did he say?”
“He said that I needed to mind my own goddamn business. Then I told him that I needed to report it because if I didn’t then I would get in trouble. Then he started laughing, and said, ‘If you just would ask LCpl Kerkman, she would tell you that she went TAD to Quantico.'”
“He told me that you were doing training with officers.”
“They did some fucked up shit to me, Ineptas.”
“What kind of training were you doing? ‘Cause he said I was going to do it too.”
“I don’t remember.”
“What do you mean you don’t remember?”
“Ineptas, you gotta tell them that you don’t want to do that training.”
“I can’t, then I would get bad marks on my pros and cons.”
“What is your problem, Kerkman?”
“You gotta care more about your own self than your meaningless Marine Corps conduct marks.”
“But I wanna get meritoriously promoted to Cpl.”

I sighed, looked at her, and pulled out another cigarette, “Tell them I’ll be in there in a minute. I’m having some bad flashbacks.” I sat there in silence.

Adam was watching me as all of these memories were coming back and the tears started rolling down my face.

“Cass,” he sighed as he held me, “they do it to all good Marines.”
“But nobody considered me a good Marine at the time!” I wailed.
“How were your rilfe scores?”
“4’s and 5’s, right?”
“And what about combat training?”
“I fucking ruled that shit. I hit 3 out of 4 targets with the grenade launcher, every target with the SAW, completed MVG training twice, lead an ambush. I even shot one of the combat instructors when we were doing our paintball combat simulation. I did it all with two broken feet and a fucked up hip. I even fucking threw the grenade the farthest out of my platoon.”
“Cass…. that means they were planning on doing this to you before you even left combat training, probably even boot camp.”
“But I fucked off prequal.”
“And then you scored high on qual, right?”
“That’s when they spotted you. They keep an eye on recruits who stand out from the rest to be made into their Candidates.”
“Did they–”
“Yup, they did it to me too, and I spent most of my career trying to find out how they did it. I was even going to reenlist because I didn’t find all of the answers.”
“Is that why you didn’t remember–”
“Yup, I didn’t remember the pistol, and that’s how they got me kicked out because they figured out what I was doing.” He frowned.
I smiled at him, “That’s some fucking journalism right there.”

He laughed then started to get upset again as I opened up another Rip Its.

“Adam, I’m sure you did everything you could to cover your tracks. One of the Marines you trusted told somebody didn’t they?”

Tears started to roll from his eyes, so I crawled onto his lap and held him. Once he calmed down, he realized I was sitting on his lap and started laughing.

“We probably shouldn’t be doing this, Cass.”
“PJ won’t mind.”
He smiled, “He told me he’d kill me if I slept with you.”
I started laughing, “He was just saying that to scare you. Plus, I wouldn’t sleep with you unless he was there, one. And two, he wouldn’t kill you ’cause he knows how much I love you.”
He looked around. “You’re right. But you should still…”
“I got you, I got you.”

I got off of his lap and stared at the jar of weed.

“Nope,” he said as he grabbed it.
“I know. Goddamnit! I just want to smoke a blunt. This shit sucks.”
“I’m hiding this from you, you stoner.”
“That’s probably a good idea.”

As he was stowing the jar away, GySgt and Sgt Lukas showed up with the furniture.

“I gotta help them,” he said.

I got up to go and help too, but Sgt Lukas picked me up and put me back on the couch.

“Hell no, Kerkman.”
“But I want to HELP SGT! I can’t just sit here and –”
“No, you’re just gonna sit there and look pretty while we lift all of this heavy stuff for you.”

He gave me a kiss on the cheek, and that got my heart goin’ again. Haha. Sgt Lukas always had a way of doing that.

As they were finishing bringing in the furniture, PJ came home.

“BABY!” I ran to him and gave him a big hug.
“Hi sweetpea, you’re hugging me too hard baby girl.”

He showed me the gauze where the bullet wound was. I yelled and went to punch a hole in the wall, but he stopped me.

“We gotta work on that anger, naughty woman.”
He sighed, “I know. But at least they give me pain killers!”
“Honey, that is not funny right now.”
“But I’m your funny hunny.”

That made me laugh. Adam emerged from putting the kitchen together and PJ stared him down.

“Be nice, baby. We didn’t do anything.”
“I know. Him and I established that, didn’t we Adam?”
“Yes we did.” he said
I stared at PJ, “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing!” he smiled.
“That’s between PJ and I, Cass.”
“Whatever. I’m not worried about it, I’ll find out one way or another.”
“Yes you will, sweetpea, but not from Adam. Right Adam?”
Adam smiled, “That’s right.”

I stared off into space.

“No, you cannot smoke any weed baby girl.”

I pouted.

“I just fucking remembered that I’m a fucking manchurian candidate, goddamnit. I just want to SMOKE A FUCKING BLUNT!”
“Maybe later, sweetpea. I won’t ask you about that.”
“I’ll tell you about it later.”

The guys just got done putting everything together, and they came to tell us they had to go.

“What? Can’t you stay for dinner or something?”
“Kerkman, we can’t,” started GySgt, “We–”
“You gotta get back to your ladies for dinner…..”
“They’re not fucking ladies, Kerkman,” GySgt snapped, “you’re the only lady in this goddamned world.”
“Oh, I love you GySgt.”

I gave him a hug, then I gave all of them a hug as they walked out the door.

“SEMPER FIDELIS!” I yelled. Then I got a bark and an oorah from all of ’em, and PJ said goodbye. I turned to PJ, “I love my Marines, baby.”
“So do I, baby girl. We need to go over what happened last night.”
“You don’t have to go back!?”
“Nope… But I am gonna get into some trouble ’cause I missed court.”
“Uncontrollable circumstances.”
“Oohhhhhh niiiiiice.”

We ate dinner, while I gave him the whole story of what happened the night before and he told me everything that happened this morning. I eventually was able to tell him what happened to me in the Marine Corps, and that upset him.

“Well, at least you have super human strength!” he said.
“That must be how you punched such a big hole in the wall.”
“Haha, it probably is…. Baby, do you have to–”
“Ok, well, I know this is fucked up but I think you should anyway.”
“Just hear me out. Ok, so if you keep a steady flow of the shit in your bloodstream, not only does that increase your tolerance level for when they try to kill you like last night, but it also gives you a way to be able to handle the moodiness.”
“Ok, but it’ll turn me into a zombie.”
“Not if you take small doses at a time. It’ll be like popping a vicodin when you have…. a fucking…. bullet wound.”
“Huh…” he sat there and thought for a minute.
“I don’t know the ins and outs so I wouldn’t know how much the smaller dose would have to be in order to equal out the line test.”
“It’s a blood test, sweetpea.”
“Even better!” I smiled, “You’d probably have to start with the smallest amount possible, and work your way up to your regular small dose so you can function. You’d have to be careful of the addiction side of it though. It’s like…. acting sober while on acid.”
“Haha! That’s hard to do.”
“Not if you know you’re in control of the drug. You’d probably also have to find a way to get it from someone else because they probably give you a controlled amount.”
“Yeah, they do, but it’s not hard to find more than that in that fucked up city. How come I never thought of this?”
“Because you’ve never felt in control of it before.”
“This is true. Hm. Oh yeah! Your surprise, you’re gonna get it tomorrow instead.”
“Haha. What is it?”
“Well, I was gonna have them scare the shit out of you, but now you’re gonna scare the shit out of them instead.”
“It’s a good thing they didn’t do that because I would have tried to kill them.”
“Yup…..” he looked at me in the eyes and turned to me, “sweetpea, I gotta talk to you about something.”
“You just told me about all of this abuse that you suffered in the Marine Corps, and yet you still have this motivation about you that gives those people more power over you and other veterans.”
“I know. It’s hard to control, baby, especially when most of your adult life was spent in the institution.”
“I know, it’s just like they make you into these hardcore killing machines and it never leaves you.

I put my head on his chest and he wrapped his arms around me.

“It’s just, I see this anger that you can’t control, but you never take it out on the people you love, you take it out on yourself.”
I was crying, “And walls…..” I sniffled, “It just makes me feel alive. Like, without it I’m just wondering who the fuck I am. That’s why I smoke so much weed…. to calm me down.”
“I know baby girl. You neeeed that shit. Haha. You’re Cassandra Kerkman, but Cpl Kerkman will never leave you. You need her to protect yourself and the people you love.”
“And that’s one of the reasons why every individual Marine is loved. It’s not about the institution, it’s about the buddies to the left and right of you who are watching your back…. Even though some of them just act like it….” I sighed, “But it’s those Marines who are there for you when you get out and help support you when you’re dealing with the same fucked up shit that you know you can always trust…….. I’ll always protect you baby.”
“And I’ll always protect you baby girl.”

We began to kiss, and he went to go pick me up to bring me into the bedroom but he forgot about the wound.

“It’s kind of hard to–”
“Oh, I’ll just go take some Vicodin.”

We laughed, made love, and PASSED THE FUCK OUT!

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Heroin Disbursement and the War on Society (Chp V: Diagnosis)

PJ’s divorce was being finalized during the time that we were staying in our super secret hideout, so he had to constantly leave to go to court and deal with the finalization of the movie he was working on. It kind of sucked being at the house by myself, but it gave me time to reflect on the shitty situation I just left and come up with a plan as to how in the hell I was going to leave that situation.

I ended up going back to my apartment to grab a few things while the husband was away at work. However, when I went there it looked like he had left in a hurry. There was food on the table and a half full bottle of liquor which confused the hell out of me. I figured he was running away from the cops, so I didn’t know how long it was going to be until he got back. I grabbed my things and got the hell out of there.
When PJ got home from doing his thing, he was always distraught and I tried to help him feel better but it was hard for him to come out of the funk he was in. Dealing with the divorce and the long drive while I was at home alone really toiled on his mind. I reminded him all the time that the Marines in my unit were always looking out for me and even when you can’t see them, they are always there. “We are camouflage, you know,” I’d say. That made him feel a little better but these people that he was concerned about really affected his mood.

“Are you sure your wife doesn’t know about this place?” I asked.
“I did everything I could to hide it, but you can never be sure.”
“This is true. Are there any financial transactions that she would be able to find?”
“SHE wouldn’t be able to find them, but I’m sure THEY would be able to do some –”
“Some fucked up shit with the bank and the government?”
“Yup. They have control over the money they deposit in our bank accounts.”
“So, you’d have to –”
“Yup, I’d have to make some INVESTmentsssssss!”
“HAHA! Oh man, that transfers the capital over to the private individual.”
“Yes it does, sweetpea.”
“You’re a genius my love.”
“Manipulating theeeee marketttttt!! Ha! haha.”

I started looking around, wondering what the investments were. You can’t just keep something like that away from an economics nerd.

“Don’t worry sweetpea, I have my portfolio right here.” He slapped it on the table.
“Ooooooo!!! Profit margins…….”
“Are you sure you don’t care about money?” he smirked.
“Shut up, asshole. I care about market –”
“Yes, I know, you care about market manipulation. Economics doesn’t have anything to do with money.”
“You’re gonna get it.”
“We have to go through this portfolio first!” he let out a naughty evil laugh, “Here, you look at it. I know you know what you’re looking at, I’ll be right back.”

I didn’t even hear what he said because I was too busy looking at the portfolio and getting the blunt ready to go over it with him. I got pissed at the graphs and shit, “Just show me the numbers!” I said. I found the numbers and went through them, but I still needed him to explain to me what the companies were all about. My phone was dead, and I wasn’t about to charge it either. So, I sat back, and finished the whole blunt. Now I’m wondering where my man went. I went to the bedroom and tried to walk in, but it was locked.

“Baby, are you alright?”
“Yes. Just…. hold on a second!”
“Why is the door locked?”
“I’ll be out in a minute!”

I jiggled the door knob again.

“Sweetpea, just. fucking. Go look at the portfolio!”
“I already did! The companies are in abbreviations so I wanted to know what they are!”
“Look them up!”
“I can’t my phone is dead.”
“Just…. Go smoke another blunt! I’ll be out in a minute!” he growled.

Alright, something weird is going on, I thought, I’m gonna fucking find out what it is. So, when he emerged from the den I just acted like nothing was wrong. He sat down next to me and I started asking him what they were. He got frustrated and embarrassed because he couldn’t remember what they were. “I always fucking remember. This is MY fucking portfolio!” He threw it up against the wall, and I went to go pick up the papers.

“Don’t fucking do that, baby girl. I got it.” He went to pick it up.
“Baby, what the fuck is going ON with you!?”
“I’m — I can’t — Hold on….” he sighed.

He got frustrated because they were all messed up and out of order, so he shoved the papers into the folder, threw it in the closet, and slammed the closet door. Now I’m pissed.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! Have some fucking PRIDE! THAT IS YOUR SHIT! YOU…” I calmed down ’cause he looked like a hurt Devil Dog, “Baby… You fucking beat the system, and you’re going to treat your accomplishments like they don’t MEAN anything to you?!”
“I just don’t feel like I’ve accomplished anything….” he looked off into the distance, “I’m sorry for freaking out. I feel like a dick.”
“Baby…” I’m trying not to get frustrated with him, “What the fuck is going on? What in the fuck were you doing in the bedroom? You were fine, and then you went and locked yourself in there, and then you emerged as an asshole.”

He sat there, trying to figure out how to tell me, and I already had an idea of what he was going to say.

“Ok,” I started, “Let’s go fix your accomplishments, and you can figure out how to tell me while we sort the papers out.”
“Baby girl, I’m fixing it. I fucked it up. I’m fixing it.”
“Alright, well, you can feel that way, but I want to help you.”

His frustration was building up again.

“Plus, I’m fucking the shit at organizing paperwork. I only did it for four years….” I smiled, “In the Marine Corps.”

He started laughing, and I felt like I got my man back.

“But there’s a certain way that it has to be organized with certain pages facing certain ways…”
“I’m a fast learner.”
“Well, I’m not a very good teacher, sweetpea.”
“Ok, then, I’ll smooth them out and put them in a pile, and you can put them where they belong. TEAMWORK!”

He always liked it whenever I got all moto with my language. He was an undercover motard, a Marine Corps boyfriend. Hehe.

“ALRIGHT!” he said, “Let’s do this!”

We stomped over to the closet, and took the shit out of there. He started looking at the paperwork and getting fucking pissed.

“Alright…… Let’s just put that back in the closet.”

He stopped and fucking stared at the papers like they were his worst enemy. So, I took them out of his hands, threw them in the closet, and slammed it shut. He looked like he was about to have a panic attack, so I hugged him tight and that calmed him down a lot. I was becoming very distraught because I just wanted him to be ok, so I looked up at him with tears in my eyes.

“Baby,” I sniffled, “What –”
He sighed, “Baby girl, I didn’t want you to see me like this…. I have an addiction.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Well, yes but no…. That’s not it. Well, it is, but — I’m having a hard time telling you.”
“Can you show me?”

He put his head down, grabbed my hand real tight, and brought me into the bedroom. He showed me the box with his supplies. Now, I might be well versed in psychedelics and weed, but I knew pretty much nothing about narcotics. I stayed away from the junkies in the punk rock scene and beat the shit out of them at the shows. Most of what I knew is what I read from Charles Bukowski and William S. Burroughs. They always wrote about the junkies in the streets and the dens, not in Hollywood. I stared in disbelief, trying to figure out what it was.

“It’s heroin baby girl…” he started to get upset.

Now I’m about to have a panic attack. I let it all out.

“No…. I don’t.”

I went to punch another hole in the wall, but he stopped me and held me tight. We both started crying.

“I’m gonna fucking kill them baby,” I muttered.
“You just are just my littlest fiestiest little Marine,” he smiled.
“I am… I am and it’s only a matter of time before they find this place… and I’ll be ready. I’ll be ready to defend our home. They fucked with the wrong Marine’s man. They fucking did… I’ll fucking –”
“Baby girl, you sound like a crazy person.”
“Well! I am! Look at the hole I punched in the wall!” I laughed.
“Hooooly shiiiiiitttt…. That’s a big fucking hole for such a little hand! Is it broken?” he grabbed my hand to inspect it.
“Um…. No. I use the strongest point in my fist when I punch, with a lot of follow-through to back it up.”
“That’s my girl! Let’s go smoke some weed sweetpea.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

We smoked some weed, ate dinner, and sat around doing our usual antics. Then he got a text message and flipped his shit.

“What did they say to you baby?”
“I have a fucking drug test tomorrow.”
“Why are they administering a drug test if they want you to– oohhhhhh…..”
“Yeah. It’s to make sure we ARE doing them,” he gaffed, “you are such a Marine.”
“I gathered that….” I took another hit of the blunt, trying to figure out how to beat the system, “Do they tell you that you have a drug test?”
“In a really fucking creepy way.”
“Let me see it.”
“I can’t — I don’t want you to see–”
“I know about the other fucking text messages and I don’t give a shit. I know what you have to do. Just let me see it. I’m trying to figure out–”
“Ok, ok,” he sighed, “here.”

I took in a deep breath as he handed me the phone. The texts read:

Time to take ur medicine
I know u haven’t
Take 2 😉

I wanted to throw the phone across the room. He took it away from me.

“What do they do to you if you don’t do it?”
“Well, they either beat the shit out of you or they shoot you. Both have happened to me before.”
“FUCK!” I sat there and pondered the code, “Let me see the other texts.”
“Baby girl, they’re rrrreeeeeally going to piss you off.”
“Baby, I want to help you. I can handle it. THIS IS WAR!”
He laughed, “Just promise you won’t destroy the phone, please.”
“I promise.”
“Pinky swear?”
I held it up, “Pinky swear.”

We smiled at eachother, locked pinkies, and he went into the other room to get his shit. I took in another deep breath as I went to check the texts. There were a multitude of sexts and dirty talk text messages that really pissed me off. Most of the responses he gave were one word and the least amount of words possible. They were trying to get him to send them sexts that he didn’t want to send with threats from them of every kind. I wanted to put the phone down, then I heard my First Sergeant on my shoulder, “KEEP ON SEARCHING KERKMAN! YOU’RE A FUCKING MARINE! THEY ARE FUCKING SCUM! FIGURE IT OUT! YOU’RE IN THE FOG! THIS IS WAR! BE OBJECTIVE!” That motivated the shit out of me, so I sat there and started going through every text message objectively. He came out of the room.

“Baby girl….”
“Damn you’re deep into that shit.”
“I know that this is kind of fucked up but–”
He started laughing, “Oh, you are Hunter S. Thompson.”

I smiled and got back to business. He was doing his thing, and I was figuring out the code.

“They are really fucking grimey….”
“Yes they are….”

Just as I said that, I found their slip up.


I showed him a conversation between this one person where he pissed them off, so they didn’t use code. They were talking about a shipment which was coming in “next week,” and said he was required to be there, “or else [he knows] what happens.”

“Fuck… I don’t even remember that conversation,” he mumbled.
“Well now you have it naughty. I would say it’s blackmail but they probably would just pay off the police. At least it’s something to cover your own– BABY ARE YOU OK?!”

He slumped over and was barely breathing. I laid him down on the couch and and began field resuscitation. I gave him three quick breaths, two chest pumps and continued to do so until he opened up his eyes and sat up.

“What just happened?”
I was in distress, “You just fucking OD’d baby!”

Now his adrenaline was rushing, it was keeping him alive. Then he started to fall back into it.

“Stay pissed off baby, it’s keeping you alive right now. GET PISSED OFF! THEY JUST TRIED TO FUCKING KILL YOU!”

He fucking got up and destroyed everything in his sight. I yelled words at motivation at him and told him to keep on punching shit til he could see bones through his knuckles. Then I got up and started destroying shit with him.


We kept on going til there wasn’t really anything left to destroy. He was wiped out.

“Can we go lay down baby girl?”

I sat there and thought about it, then I heard my First Sergeant on my shoulder again, “He’s good! Good fucking job Marine!”

“Thanks First Sergeant,” I said.
“I’m not a First Sergeant.”
“I know, I was talking to First Sergeant. Let’s go lay down baby.”

We walked in the bedroom and laid down. We weren’t doing too good.

“Go get that blunt baby girl. You need it.”
“So do you!”

As I was getting up, he started to freak out.

“Baby girl don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me! I love you!”
“Baby, I’m not leaving you, I’m just going to get the blunt real quick and I’ll be right back.”
“You promise you’re not going to leave me?”
“I promise.”

I ran into the other room, grabbed the blunt, lit it up, and went back into the bedroom.

“You’re back! You were gone for so long….”
“Yes I am, but you probably shouldn’t smoke this. It would relax you too much.”
“You’re right,” he sighed, “You fucking need that anyway.”

I sat down next to him on the bed while he held me tight, then he started to go into epileptic shock. The husband had more than a few siezures due to his drug usage, so I knew what to do to calm him down. It wasn’t a grand mal seizure so I knew everything was gonna be ok. I put my hand on his face and looked into his eyes and assured him that I was right there and everything was going to be ok. I kept on telling him I loved him and that I would always be there for him. Then he stopped, looked at me, and told me I was the woman of his dreams. I held him tight on the bed and ran my finger through his hair until he fell asleep. I wasn’t fucking falling asleep, my pupils were the size of fucking basketballs and there was no way that adrenaline was going away any time soon. I went out to the couch, picked up a few things, rolled another blunt, and lit it up.

I need a plan, I thought, there must be some way that we can beat this system so this shit doesn’t happen again… Hm… What do we use to find and subdue the enemy?…. Fucking maps. What is a map?….. A diagram of the land where our position is and where the intel tells us where the enemy is. We have the intel. What is our position? What is our map?

As I was coming to the conclusion as to what we needed to do, I heard an ear-piercing screech coming from the bedroom. He was having a grand mal seizure. I’m pretty sure I fucking flew in there; his muscles were contracting and he was foaming at the mouth. I told him everything was gonna be ok and that I loved him as I was keeping him on the bed and making sure he didn’t choke. I went to call 911, but I couldn’t find his phone and mine was dead. As soon as I found his phone, he came out of it and went into post-epileptic confusion.

“Who are you?” he said
“Are you an angel?”
“I’m your angel baby,” tears started to roll from my eyes.
“Am I dead?”
“No, but you almost died.”

He started to cry.

“You’re my baby girl.”
“Yes I am, naughty.”

He urinated while having the seizure, so I grabbed new shirt and underwear, a towel to put underneath him and a new blanket from the closet. He was mumbling in his confusion as I took his soiled clothes off of him, and put the new clothes on him, picked him up to put the towel underneath him, and laid the new blanket over him. I got into bed, held him, ran my fingers through his hair and lulled him out of his confusion.

“Baby girl…. Will you marry me?”
I smiled, “Some day. But I have to get divorced first.”
“So do I…. In a few different ways.”

We both started laughing as I sang him to sleep. I didn’t sleep that night, but I did have a lot of time to formulate a plan.

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Heroin Disbursement and the War on Society (Chp IV: Oh. Shit.)

When the husband came back home from work, it was like he had forgotten the whole thing. This lead me to suspect he had some kind of multi-personality disorder which was generated from the drugs he was doing throughout his life. He used cocaine at work to help him focus, then did heroin to equal out the effects of the cocaine to bring him to some strange state of being that was almost normal. I could never find the drugs, and I could never catch him doing it which helped me draw the conclusion that he was doing them at work and/or while I was sleeping.

Sometimes he was able to act like a decent human being and we were able to have fun together, but most of the time it felt forced. I was in a constant state of despair. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night and stare at me like he was thinking about ways to kill me. I had constant nightmares from the PTSD I had from my shitty upbringing and when I was living on the streets, and these always bothered him. It sent him into a frenzy where sometimes he would yell at me to go back to sleep, and other times he would hold me and tell me everything was going to be ok. Crazy making at its finest. The only time I felt happy was when I was at school causing a riot in the classroom, when I was working with Adam causing a riot on the internet, and when PJ and I were together causing a riot in the bedroom.

I was seeing less and less of him for what seemed like a looooong time, but it was only a couple of weeks. He was finishing up the film he was working on. The next time I saw him, he ran in and said, “Baby! baby! Wake up!” So I ran out of my room, grabbed my knife, and said, “WHO’S TRYING TO KILL US?!”

He laughed, “A lot of people, but not right now. You can put your weapon of opportunity away.”
“Oh, ” I smirked.
“I have great news, sweetpea.”
“What is it?! Oh! Are you –”
“Yes. I am done. With. That. Fucking. Movie.”

We danced around and hugged eachother real tight.

“But that isn’t the good news.”
“It isn’t?”
“Then what is it?”
“The premier is coming up soon aaaaaaaaaand….” my eyes shined at him, “I want you! to come with me!”
“Awesome. HAhaha!!” I laughed an evil laugh.
He gave me the I-know-you’re-being-naughty look, “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing! I’m just excited to write about it.”
He looked confused, “That’s it?”
“Well, and of course being there with you at the premier silly.”
“Why do I feel like you’re planning something? Are you gonna rip up the movie?”
“Since when am I a critic?”
“Really sweetpea?”
“You ARE a critic, you just criticise in your head rather than outloud.”
“Hehe. I do do that.”
“You do do.”
“Speaking of do do….”
“Yup, time to smoke some weeeeeeeed!!!!”

Things were a lot better when he was done with the movie. He was a lot happier and he was able to come down and see me more often, but the problem with that was the husband grew more and more suspicious and was treating me more like shit. I was worried about going to the premier because it didn’t coincide with the time that I spent at Adam’s house, I knew that PJ was coming to pick me up but I didn’t know when. He told me that he stayed at the hotel down the street when he came to see me so that incase anything happened, I could go to him and always gave me his room number. I was on break from school, and it wasn’t too long before my anxiety about the premier took over and I finally told the husband after I knew he had just gone and seen another prostitute.

“Next week, I’m going with Jack Holiday to his movie premier.”
“He invited me to go, and I’m going, and I’m going to write about it, and you can’t stop me.”
“If you go to that premier, I’m going to find you, and I’m going to kill you.”
“You know what?! I’m sick and fucking tired of you threatening to kill me. You’re cheating on me, you always have been, and you know it. So it’s time to fess up and realize that we need to get a divorce.”

That set him off, and he went back into the bedroom. I heard the pump of a shotgun, and I know that sound. I had no idea he even had it, so I figured he bought it when he found out I was having an affair. I ran for the door. He had to have been fucked up because he shot, and he missed. I got hit by a few of the rounds, but it was on my arm, and I knew how to apply first aid. I’d seen PJ earlier that day, so I knew right where to go, but I was in shock from being shot at and I could barely hear anything. I barely made it to the hotel room and I couldn’t figure out where the fucking room was. I finally found it and I was crying.

“Baby, what are you doing here? Are you ok?”
“No! I told him I was going to the premier and that we should get a divorce and he fucking shot at me! I need one of those towels.”

He was in shock too ’cause I was bleeding pretty good from all the adrenaline rushing, so I told him he needed to apply pressure. I started to cry.

“I can’t go, I can’t go or else he’s gonna kill me.”
“Baby girl, I know. That bitch threatened to kill me too.”
“Where do I go? What do I do?”
“Let’s just calm down and figure this out…. You brought weed with you, didn’t you?” he smiled.
“Hehe, always prepared. But, you need to hold this here until I stop bleeding.”
“We need to get the round out.”

After a closer examination, we found that I was grazed and no makeshift surgery or rush to the hospital was needed.

“You’re doing awfully well for being shot at.”

I just looked at him with a smirk on my face.

“Oh yeah! How could I forget?”

We both started laughing and heard a pounding on the door. It was the husband, we peeked out the window and found that he had the gun. I ran for cover.

“Baby!!! Get down! He has a FUCKING weapon!!!”
“He’s not gonna shoot baby, he doesn’t have the balls.”

He took cover.

“Don’t think about it, Bob. You don’t want us to call the police.”
“You’re NOT going to call the police!”
“You just shot at your wife, you fucking idiot! You think the police are gonna be on your side? They’re gonna start questioning you, and you don’t want them to find out about that operation you have going on, do you?”

He was gone, but we didn’t know for how long.

“What am I going to do? I can’t go home with you.”
He sighed, “Nope…. You can’t. But!! I think I have a solution to this problem. Leave your car here, and come with me. We’ll come back and get it later.”

Turned out he had just bought a house in the area that his wife didn’t know about.

“Have you had this the whole time?”
“Well, no. I just bought it recently in case something like this would happen.”
“Always prepared.”
“I did learn something from you, you know.”

I stared off into the distance and he knew something was wrong.

“It’s the books, isn’t it?”
I sighed, “Yes, and the paintings…. and my work station… and the weed.”
“Well, I have the weed covered.”

He pulled out a huge jar of the crystalliest snowiest weed I’d ever seen before.

“What…. is….. thisss??”
“Lemon. Fucking. Larry.”
“I love the lemon…. and…. I love the Larry.”
“And I love. You. Sweetpea.”

I smiled at him and put the jar down. We went into his bedroom this time.
I know men, and I know bachelor pads which this was. It was pretty much a mess, so I told him that when he was away taking care of the things he needed to take care of, I would clean and reorganize everything. He was kind of weird about it, but I knew that everything was gonna be alright.

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Heroin Disbursement and the War on Society (Chp III: Complacency Problems)

PJ acted a differently after that day. It seemed as though he felt a lot more relaxed than usual, which was good for him ’cause he was pretty high strung. He was constantly questioning the things that Spike Jones was making him do. I knew that Spike was the culprit in his complacency toward his life, because when someone has control over somebody else and the person being controlled starts to question the person in control, the controller starts to lose his power.

He would now come to me with stories about how he pissed off the entire crew with his belligerence, and how he wouldn’t take the bonus checks that they were trying to distribute to him anymore. I told him that he should be careful about doing that because that really pisses them off, so I told him to promise me that he would take the next one just to make them think that they were still in control. He did, but he didn’t like it. It was a constant struggle with him, and his moods were different every time he came over… but it didn’t take long for me to cheer him up and get him back to my PJ. It also helped that I had a drawer full of sexy clothes that I greeted him with every time he came over. We just sat around and laughed, watched animal documentaries, spent most of the day getting stoned and talking about the shit we were watching, then we would get bored and go walk to the beach or annoy the baristas at the shitty coffee shop down the street. Just wasting time and having a lot of awesome sex. We were in love.

He had this funny way of showing up right before I had to go to school, which was early in the morning so that I would have the rest of the day to smoke weed and write. He had a key at this point, would come in right after my husband left for work, and be all hyped up on energy drinks for the drive down to see me.

“It’s fucking 4:30 in the morning.”
“I know! That’s why I’m here. You’re used to waking up early anyway.”

I laughed and wiped the sleep from my eyes.

“Rack PT doesn’t start til 0615, naughty. What time did you leave?”
“Haha, oh Jesus.”
“I drank some Monsters so that –”

The lock on the door started to make noise and we both almost shit our pants.

“Get in my closet!”
“It doesn’t close.”
“Hide behind the fucking clothes! Just fucking go! Hesitation kills!”

The husband walks in.

“Yeah……???” I act all tired like I just woke up.
“Who were you talking to?”
“I wasn’t talking to anyone.”
“I heard you talking to someone and I thought I saw someone come in here.”
“No, I’ve been fucking sleeping.”
“If I ever find out you’ve been cheating on me, I’m gonna kill both of you.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m fucking serious.”
“Fuck you. Get the fuck out of here and go to fucking work. You’re the one cheating on me. I saw the videos.”

He ran over to me and grabbed my shoulders really hard.

“I am not fucking cheating on you, but if you are cheating I’m gonna kill you.”
“If YOU don’t get your FUCKING hands off of me, I’m going to FUCKING kill you.”

PJ couldn’t stand it anymore, so he emerged from the closet like a fucking gorrilla, grabbed the husband, threw him off of me, and punched him in the face. He took out a knife and put it at the husband’s throat.

“Go the fuck to work, Bob, you’re gonna be late. You just threatened to kill her and me, so go ahead and try something with a knife to your throat and see what happens. You know my woman knows how to deal with police.”
“Fuck you!” Bob spit in his face.

PJ grabbed him with the knife to his throat, and pushed him out the door.

“OH! And I’ll be fucking your wife while you’re at work. Aaaaallllllll day!”

I laughed as the husband left for work, but then I started to deal with the shock of what just happened. The tears started to roll, and I really started to cry.

“I’m sorry,” I yelped.
“Why are you sorry?”
“I’m sorry that happened. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I should have done something.” My Marine Corps prowess was taken away from me.
“Hell fucking no sweetpea! Are you crazy? That fucker would have fucking killed you if you did!”
“How am I supposed to leave him? He’ll probably try to kill me then too.”
“We’ll figure it out. I’m having the same problems with the people my wife knows.”
“They’re fucking thugs, huh?”
“Yup, and they’re trying to kill you too.”
“I guess it’s kind of hard for you to hide an affair when you talk about hanging out with polar bears all the time.”

We both laughed.

“They’re not going to be able to kill me, baby. There are Marines all over the place here, and they’re watching my back.”
“I know, but I still worry about it… and feel guilty about it… I’m not going to work today.”
“Yeah… I’m not going to school.”

He gave me a stern look.

“It’s English class!”
“Ok, you’re good then. Do you have a paper due?”
“Nope, that’s next week, Sergeant!”
“Haha, well, that’s good.” he sighed.

I could tell something was wrong and that he had something to tell me that I wasn’t going to like by the look on his face.

“I have something that I need to tell you but I don’t want you to get upset about it and I feel like shit about it…. Andddd this isn’t very good timing because of what just happened. Heh.”
“Shit. We’re both fucked up……”
“Yup, time to smoke a blunt and have a chit-chat.”
“I already know what you’re gonna tell me so I’ll smoke a blunt while you think of how to explain it.”
“You’re not mad?”
“I am, but I’m not. Those freaks in Hollywood live a fucking life that I have no idea about, baby. I need you to explain it to me.”

So, we light up the blunt and I could tell that what was happening to him really hurt him down inside.

“You need to tell me about it, naughty. Obviously it’s something out of your control.”
“That hemp bracelet that you gave me for my birthday…”
“She found it, huh?”
“Yup, and I have to give it back.”
“She threatened you with those thugs didn’t she?”
“But that’s not the part that you thought would make me upset.”


“Smoke this! Smoke this!” I said

He took a drag and started crying like I cried earlier. Snot down face and everything.

“You have to sleep with other women now, don’t you?”

He shook his head as I held him, wiped the tears from his eyes and the snot off his face, onto the couch.

“It’s not women…. Fuck.”

He cried harder as I held him closely.

“Baby, I don’t think any differently of you.”
“But I think differently of myself!” he wailed.
“You shouldn’t, baby, you’re being abused…. Fuck……”
“You’re not thinking of leaving me are you?”
“No! Not in that way! It’s just that I feel like it’s my fault.”
“Sweetpea, you’re the only thing that’s keeping me alive!!”
“You’re the only thing that’s keeping me alive too…… Man! We are constantly toiling between life and death here! I guess that’s what love is all about, right?”

He started to laugh, so I got up and got him some tissues to blow his nose. I looked at the blunt burning on the ash tray.

“You need –”
“I know, I need to smoke this. My baby rolls the bestest blunts.”

I smiled.

“FUCK! Why did I just say it like that?”
“Beeeecauuuuuse you say it like that all the time.”
“I do?”
“Yes….. Baby, you’re not gay. Watch.”

I took the blunt from his hand, and put it on the ash tray. Our lips touched eachother in complete ecstasy as he put his arms around me and brought me to the bedroom. We ripped eachothers’ clothes off as if it was the last time we were going to have sex. He fucked me like a dirty animal, like always. As we both got off, he laid down next to me and I looked at him and said, “I told you so.” He started laughing really hard.

“This is what I get for falling in love with a Marine.”

This was a hard day for us, but veging out on various documentaries and the occasional romp in the bedroom helped a lot. We sang folk songs:

There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza
There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, a hole
Then mend it dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry
Then mend it dear Henry, dear Henry, then mend it
With what shall I mend it dear Liza, dear Liza?
With what shall I ment it dear Liza, with what?

“Baby girl… You are the only person in this FUCKING world who I can sing that song with.”
“I love that song. It helps me work!”
He laughed, “I know, me too.”

Then I started:

I’ve been working on the railroad
all the live-long day!
I’ve been working on the railroad

Then he joined in:

just to pass the time away!
Can you hear the whistle blowin’
bright and early in the morn?
Can you hear the whistle blowin’?
Esmarelda blow your horn!!

“Woot woot!” I yelled, “Wait… what? Did you say Esmarelda.”
“Hm. I like that better than Delilah.”
“I know, because you’re my Esmarelda.”

Then he won another romp in the bedroom.

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Heroin Disbursement and the War on Society (Chp II: Cognitive Dissonance)

My silence on the .67 mile walk back to my house was really starting to freak him out because he thought that the strong feelings I had for him at the time changed somehow. I was trying to figure out if that tear was real, if any of the feelings that he said he had for me were real, how I was going to break some reality to him when we got back so that he would still want to see me. These types of things weigh down the brain, especially when you care so much for a person. It doesn’t make for good conversation on a nice walk from the beach.

I felt like an asshole for not thinking that his feelings were real because that was probably one of the main reasons why he didn’t want to tell me he was an actor. And, that’s probably one of the things that keeps our actor brethren away from the little writers in shitty apartments in San Diego. We often forget that actors do not act all the time, and are constantly striving for a relationship where someone can see them for who their crazy asses really are. This man is fucking crazy, a good companion for the crazy woman from the Marine Corps who lived on the streets when she was 14 with a love for punk rock, violence, hard liquor, and good weed. I could tell that he knew I was thinking about these things because that’s one of the things that the people who control his contracts taught him to believe, and that’s why he kept what he did as a secret for so long. Plus, he always had a way of knowing what I was thinking.

“My feelings for you are real.”
“I know. I’m just trying to figure some things out.”
He sighed, “Are you sure? Because I feel like you’re thinking that they’re not.”
“Goddamnit, I know you think that but don’t worry about it. We’ll talk more about it when we get inside. We already made a scene down at the beach.”
That block to my apartment was a loooooong fucking block. We get inside and his phone rings. We both sighed.

“I have to go to work.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, I already missed too much of it this week.”
“Well, you already missed most of today, and it’s a long drive back. Let me ask you something: is going to work with those assholes better than hanging out with me?”
“Fuck…….. I don’t know.”

Now the tactful approach that I had to address the problems that ailed him at work had gone out the window. He had given me a synopsis of what was going on when he was filming this movie, but he made it seem like he was working in an office environment, which I thought was very creative. He called filming, “doing the work,” and reading the scripts, “filing the paperwork.” He slipped up sometimes and didn’t have a code for some of the things that he did which made me know that those stories were half bullshit, but the interactions between the people were real. He was about to get a Cpl. Kerkman stern talkin’ to vice a Cassandra Kerkman tactful monologue now.

“You know, these people who you say ‘take care’ of you when you go to them with problems are really just trying to control you to make you think that you love what you do and you care about the people you work with.

Now he’s pissed.

“I was hoping that wouldn’t happen, but just hear me out. You say that this dude that you’re doing the movie with hits on you and slaps your ass all the time, and that you’re not sure if you like it or not. Then you talk about this woman who’s always trying to get in your pants and corners you when you’re alone and makes you feel like a piece of shit. That’s fucking sexual harrassment. You don’t like it when he hits on you and you don’t like it when she treats you that way.

“Then you go to these people who run the shit and tell them about how these people are making you feel uncomfortable, and what do they do? Fucking nothing. They just pat your head and say, ‘There there, you’re just being sensitive. Here’s another check so you shut your mouth and don’t tell anybody.’ And now you don’t feel like you can go to anybody about your problems and that’s why you’re always talking to me about it.

“Now it makes sense that you couldn’t go to an HR representative because YOU DON’T HAVE ONE! You know what would happen to someone in the Marine Corps if they didn’t report activity like that? Or if coworkers were treating somebody like that? The manager would 1. get fired. 2. lose his rank. 3. get moved out of the unit. The offenders would get loss of rank, reduction in pay, restricted to the barracks and KICKED OUT! Now, that isn’t to say that that happens all the time, but at LEAST you can try.”

“NOT EVERYTHING IS LIKE THE MARINE CORPS!” he yelled, “Everything is Marine Corps this, Marine Corps that, but that place is fucking crazy TOO!”
I just smiled, “That’s cognitive dissonance.”
“Cognitive dissonance?! What the FUCK does that even MEAN?!”
“Oh, so you didn’t read what I wrote,” I smirked.
“No, I did, I just didn’t fucking — FUCK!”
“Oh… You didn’t get it….
Now the tears started in his eyes again.
Baby, don’t get upset, I’m just trying to get you to realize something.”
“Is this what you did to your Marines?”
I laughed, “Yes.”
“You’re a dick.”
“Thank you,” I smiled and took a hit from the bong, “Cognitive dissonance is what happens when someone or something… Something as in a book or an article… Which I guess would technically be someone.”
“Sweet pea….. You’re rambling.”
“Oh yes, anyway, it’s when someone comes around and says something to you that makes you question the supposed reality that you’re living in by questioning what you already have made up in your mind.”
“Oh…. That is what you did.”
“Yes, and I’m very good at it.”
“Did you learn that from Adam Kokesh?”

That made me laugh really hard ’cause Adam is really good at doing that, and I had been working closely with him at the time. I told PJ about all of the shit we were doing together, how I was worried about him because the people he was hanging out with were pieces of shit, just using him for the work that he was doing to get some type of recognition out of his name. He needed a fellow Marine around, and that’s what I was.

“No, I didn’t, but he did help me with my technique.”
“Are you sleeping with him?”
“Baby,” I giggled, “I’m not sleeping with that man. Although, I do think about it a lot, if you want me to be honest with you.”
“Are you sure?”
“YES! You’re my numba 1 ho, baby.”
“Ok… Is there a number 2?”
“No! Anyway, you weirdo. Cognitive dissonance creates a sense of anger in the individual feeling it. That’s when you freaked out at me about the Marine Corps reference because you knew that you hadn’t been served justice… But then again, a lot of times that doesn’t happen in the Marine Corps anyway, but you are afforded resources to try to get the issue resolved….. I’m rambling again.”
“Yes you are.”
“Here, smoke this.” I handed him the bong.

He took a hit, and sat back on the couch. I let him sit there and ponder the little nudge in the side I gave him, then I put my head on his lap and he calmed down a little bit more.

“I do hate what I do.”
“Is it that you hate what you do or that you hate being — ”
“I fucking hate being Jack Holiday.”
“Well, when you come down here, you’re PJ. When you go up there, you’re Jack Holiday.”

That didn’t make him feel any better ’cause he had to leave in a few hours.

“Shit…. Is there something else that you like doing that you could do instead?”
“I like working on cars, and I never have any fucking time to do it.”
“Be a mechanic.”
“It’s not that easy, sweetpea.”
I smiled again, “Why not?”

He looked at me with a frustrated you’re-a-naughty-woman smile on his face.

“You just don’t stop, do you?”
“Hehe, no.” I grinned at him and then had a thought which wiped it off.
“Baby girl, what’s wrong?”
“I’m not the only one who instilled cognitive dissonance who’s sitting here right now.”
“You told my my fucking husband was cheating on me!”
“Oh!” he smiled, “I did do that, didn’t I?”
“Haha. Yes you did baby.”

I straddled over him on the couch, and we started to passionately kiss with the touching and the feeling. Then I got an idea.

“Let’s go get coffee!!!” I exclaimed.
“You….. wanna go get coffee…. right now.”
“Yes.” I gave him the puppy dog eyes.
“We can’t go to that one –”
“There’s one right down the street! It’ll be fine. We can walk!”
“Ok,” he sighed, “you Marines and your walking.”
“You buyin’?” I laughed.
“You’re gonna pay for that.”
“Maybe I will.” I smirked.
“What are you thinking? You’re acting weird.”
“I’m acting weird because. I. Haven’t. Had. Coffee. Today.”
“Ok ok, let’s go.”

The walk to the coffee shop wasn’t as long as the walk to the beach, but this time I wasn’t the one that was doing the hard thinkin’. I knew that man needed some time to think, so I just held his hand and stared off into the horizon where the ocean ran free. “It’s awesome living next to the beach,” I thought, “if only it wasn’t getting fucked up by nuclear radiation and non-stop pollution.” These are the kind of things my mind goes to when I’m staring off into the horizon. For once, he wasn’t trying to figure out what I was thinking but rather what his thoughts were, and that made me happy. I did my job.

So, we get to the coffee place, and he gets pissed because the barista knew exactly who he was when we walked in, so I gave her the good ol’, “NO! He’s PJ!” and he liked that. She gives us the total, he pulls out his credit card.

“Nope,” I said as I pulled mine out.
“Hell no, sweetpea.”
“Come on! You probably buy that bitch things all the time. Let me buy you something.”
“Um. No.”

He hands the girl the credit card, so I take it out of her hand, put the credit card in my purse, and hand her mine. She swiped it. Now he’s pissed.

“What the FUCK?! WHERE IS IT?!”
“It’s in my purse. You’re not gonna be able to find it. It’s like a black hole. Don’t worry. I’ll give it back to you.”
He growled.
“You sure get angry when you don’t have your credit card,” I giggled.
“You. Are. High.”
“Yes I am!!”

She was taking her sweetass time, and it was making us really mad. So, he told her “less shit, more coffee.” Which made her upset, and I laughed really hard ‘casue that’s what I was thinking. Then we finally got the coffee and walked outside. He stopped, and looked at me.

“Yes?” I batted my eye lashes.
“Baby girl…. I keep on trying to figure out if anyone has done this for me before and I can’t think of one fucking person.”
“That was the whole point in me wanting to go get coffee. I wanted to do something for you because one of the reasons why you felt that way about me is because nobody ever does anything like that for you.”
He sighed, “Could you even afford it?”
“No,” I laughed, “but I’ll figure it out.”

He stared off into the distance and I could tell he was holding back.

“Baby, I wanted to do this for you because I love you!
“Shit! I thought, that fucking slipped out. Now it’s time for me to smooooooth it out.
“But not –”
“Doooon’t you fuuuucking say that. I know what you’re gonna say,” he pointed his finger at me, “’cause it’s something I would say in your situation, but guess what?”
Now I’m blushing, “What?”
“I feel the exact same fucking way.”

Now the tears are welling up in my eyes as we go to kiss. I’m pretty sure that barista heard that entire conversation because I felt this stinging in the back of my head as we held hands and walked away. Haters gonna hate.

We got back to the apartment, made love, and waited around til my husband just barely got home. We were cutting it close. I was constantly trying to figure out how to leave him, but I was scared.

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Heroin Disbursement and the War on Society (Chp I: Acknowledgement)

It was 1997, I was just 6 years old when my father left on his first business trip as a manager of a garage door manufacturing plant in Wisconsin. He was just a few states away, and the sorry excuse for a human being that he married had a sinister plan in mind for my big brother and I: kill them with heroin. I had just got back from playing out in the creek in the back yard with my best friends; we were playing cops and robbers. Then we decided that we would have a contest on who could jump the farthest off the swings. We found some frogs that had gotten too far away from the creek, so we brought them back to ensure the neighborhood cats didn’t kill them. It was a hard day’s work.

Little did I know that that night was going to be the last night that I had something that could be considered a mother. She came into my room as I was about to go to sleep; I had just read myself a bedtime story about the Rainbow Zebra who finally was ok with his rainbow colored stripes and the black and white zebras accepted him for who he was. It was my favorite book. She told me she had some medicine that she was going to give me, but I told her that I wasn’t sick. She told me that I was, and proceeded to stick the needle in my arm as I struggled to be let go.

I don’t know how I survived, but I woke up in the middle of the night in the basement laid ontop of my big brother who wasn’t breathing. I cried and I cried and I cried for him to wake up, and out of some miracle, he started to breathe. I had no idea what was going on, and I didn’t know how I ended up in the basement. So, to make myself feel better, I turned on the TV in search of something to watch. The first episode of Jackass aired that night and Johnny Knoxville was the only one who could make me laugh. Thank God he did. The story as to what happened to this whore is hard for me to explain, but after the cops were called, she was then able to escape the hands of the law off of some OJ Simpson evidence loophole. I was stuck as a human body to be used in any way she pleased as the sorry excuse for a father I had turned the other cheek out of fear of being killed himself for the next 12 years.
I’m not the only one who has suffered for the likes of the industries who run wars on everything in order to make a system of control over the individual and thus control over society. The problem in America with the widespread use of opiates is that the racketeering of governments, military industrial complex, Hollywood, music industry, and pharmaceutical corporations.

Your public service announcements against the usage of heroin, studies on keeping heroin off the street, and donations for non-profit organizations are all a part of a scheme to make you think that the only people who are interested in the heroin market are gang bangers and the prostitute standing on the corner. It goes much deeper than that. There is something that addicts do to make sure that they are not suspected of being addicts by calling out people who are known addicts in order to take the heat off of them. Not only do federal and state politicians have an addiction to the profit that this drug brings them from the opiates sold my the pharmaceutical companies, but the news has covered the likes of many individual “leaders” having the actual addiction themselves.

This doesn’t necessarily mean that Dianne Feinstein is holding kickbacks with Nancy Pelosi and John Boehner, shootin’ it up and listening to Nine Inch Nails, but with all of the weird shit that goes on with these swine, I’m sure that something like that isn’t out of the question. These are the same people who support the “War on Drugs” which takes the blame of drug usage and posts it on your neighborhood dope dealer as if he’s the only one who does the shit. Then, when the shipment comes in, NYPD arrests the dealer, puts him in jail for 20 years, and what in the hell happens to she shipment? It sits in the evidence locker until the “criminal” goes to court, he’s convicted….. Then Michael Bloomberg holds a kickback where he and his henchmen shoot it up and listen to Nine Inch Nails. Haha. Oh, some of you might read this and think that something like that would never happen, and of course, that’s the whole point, isn’t it?

Not only do these soulless political accomplices support the War on Drugs (declared by Richard Nixon who just looked like a junkie all along), but they also support the War on Terror. As you well know, I am a veteran of the United States Marine Corps. Oorah. There are countless stories of Marines who were sent on patrols in order to protect the poppy plants that the locals were growing. The excuse was, “It’s a direct order, Marine. Now, get your gear ready.” So, Marines who are already going crazy from seeing their buddies dying and killing people try to make an excuse for protecting the plants by saying that it’s “a part of their culture,” or, the most painful one, “it’s the only way the country can make any money to sustain the economy.” To hear my fellow Marines make these Stockholm Syndrome excuses as to why they were helping the government and the distributors of this plant (which has legitimate medical uses in its pure poppy form) turn it into chemically distorted versions of its pure form in order to create an addiction much worse than any other addiction in America…. And I don’t need any statistical evidence to prove that.
Around this time last year, I found out that the man that I married was cheating on me with prostitutes that he was using in order to find heroin. I woke up one morning to find an unexpected visitor in my house. I grabbed my weapon of opportunity (a knife I had stowed away in a safe place) and proceeded to threaten him, trying to find out who he was. He scrambled to find words as I held the knife up to his throat, “I’m PJ, I read your blog and I’m your biggest fan. I have something to tell you.”

“What?!” I exclaimed.
“Please put that thing away, it’s freaking me out.”
“No. I don’t know who you are PJ. How do I know you’re just not trying to get me to be complacent?”
“You’re never complacent.”
“Ok.” I put the knife down, but still had it brandished, just in case, as he sighed knowing he wasn’t gonna die that day.
“Look, I came in here to tell you that your husband is cheating on you.”
“WHAT IS YOUR PREROGATIVE?!” as the knife went up to his throat again.
“I don’t have one! JUST LET ME SHOW YOU! I have to take my phone out of my pocket.”
“Are you sure it’s a phone?”
“Take it out. Slowly.”

As he took out his phone, I started to calm down a little bit as I wasn’t sure how he was going to show me that my husband was cheating on me. Little to my surprise, not only had he taken pictures of him and these whores outside of our apartment, he also hacked into our wireless system to show me sex videos that he extracted from my husband’s computer. I freaked out as the evidence was shown to me, cursing the bastard I married and wondering what it was I was going to do next. Then I realized I had a friend in the room.

“Are you stalking me, PJ?”
“Ok, yes, but don’t kill me.”
“I won’t it’s just weird.”
“Yeah, I know it’s weird. But you’re a great writer….. and I needed to tell you.”
I sighed, “Well, since you’re here, wanna smoke a blunt?”
“Aren’t you busy?”
“Pff…. Yeah…. Busy smoking blunts. I have to go to school in a few hours though.”
“Wait… You wanna hang out with me?!”
“Of course. You’re my biggest fan. Oh, just so happens, I already had a blunt rolled.”

So we lit up the shit, and I calmed down a lot. When something like that happens, my Marine Corps training kicks in and it takes a lot to calm me down… Like a whole blunt of some stanky Cali weed. I took a second look at my stalker and started thinkin’, “That’s a hot man. I wonder…. Hm…..”

“So,” my interrogation began, “I notice the ring on your finger as well.”
“Well, I just found out that my wife has been cheating on me and that the kids that we have aren’t even mine.”
“Oh damn, that sucks,” I eyed him, “Must be why you wanted to come and tell me, huh?”
“Yes,” as the shit-eating grin started to form on his pretty face, “It’s just that I had to find out on my own. I didn’t have anyone to come and break the news to me.”
“So what is it that you like so much about my writing so much?” I smiled.
“It reminds me of Hunter S. Thompson, and he’s my favorite writer.”
“Oh,” my pupils dilated, “he’s mine too,” as I took in a huge hit and handed it to him.

He took a hit as the tension rose higher, put the blunt down, and so started the affair I had been waiting for. I knew that the bastard was cheating on me, I just didn’t have any proof of it. He was using me for the money I made in the Marine Corps. Steady paycheck, bills paid. That’s how every Marine gets fucked over, but by this time I was already out and collecting the GI Bill, going to college. He came to visit me randomly, and I fancied a stalker due to the the spontaneity of the affair. I was his polar bear and he was my beluga whale. I started to wonder what it was that he did that allowed him to come and see me so often while skipping out on work, and still working at the same time. He lived in Clairemont and I lived in San Diego. Long drive. He was very secretive about it and talked in code as to the problems he was having at work, so I kind of thought he was some sort of gangster or fucking spy or something. I didn’t ask very many questions, I just let him vent ’cause he needed to.

But one day I just needed to know because of how weird he was acting when we walked down to the beach. I always walk around like a Marine, scanning and assessing individuals, but today was different because he was doing the same thing. So, we sat down at the beach, and I looked him in the eye and asked him what he did.

“Why do you want to know so badly?”
“Um…. Because we’ve been seeing eachother for four months and I still have no idea what you do.”
“I just don’t want you to think of me differently.”
“Why would I?” I laughed.
“Ok, I work in construction.”
My husband was an electrician and I knew that was bullshit.
“Oh really?! What do you construct?”
“Are you a foreman or something? ‘Cause you miss an AWFUL amount of work.”
“OK! OK! I construct movies.”
“What kind of movies? B movies?!”
“No,” he sighed, “Hollywood movies.”
“Oh….” I was running through who he could be, “What movies?”
“You still don’t know who I am?!”
“Uh……….. No.”

Then he started listing off some movies I hadn’t seen in a long time and I couldn’t remember any of them. He started to get upset.

“Holy shit. Jackass.” he said.
“You were…… Uh…..”
“I’m Jack fucking Holiday.”

I couldn’t help but burst out into laughter which confused him a lot.

“What’s so funny?”
“You. For one. For two, it’s just funny how where ever we go, people always ask you, ‘Are you Jack Holiday?’ and I’m like, ‘DOES HE LOOK LIKE FUCKING JACK HOLIDAY?! He’s PJ!’ and they get all mad and shit, but you’re really Jack Holiday and I had no idea!!!!!”
“Heh! That is pretty funny.”
“But you’re still my PJ,” I smiled.

He didn’t find it as amusing as I did and started to pout. I was trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Baby, what’s going on?”
“Now you can’t stop thinking about how much money I make.”

Now I’m fucking pissed, so I got up and stormed off with a purpose. I was walking so fast that he had to run to catch up to me and I dwarf him by about 10 inches.

“Cassandra!” he yelled, “Baby please stop!!!”
“I’m sorry!!”

He finally caught up to me and grabbed my arm. We were making a scene and people were filming it. Haha. Oh man.

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch me.” I snarled, “What do you want?”
“No you don’t. You think that I give a FLYING FUCK about how much money you make?”
“No, I do. I don’t— Shit. Look….” I turned away and crossed my arms, “The reason why I care about you so much is because you care about me for who I am and I was afraid that if you found out who I was that you would start caring about how much money I make.”
“Well, that’s a FUCKING insult. Like I would give a shit about that,” my eyes started to water, “like you even read anything I wrote…..” and the tears started to fall and his eyes started to water.
“No. I did read what you wrote. It’s just that the people in Hollywood condition us to think that people who aren’t in Hollywood only care about how much money we make….. and I truly apologize for making you think that you were one of those people to me….. because you’re not.”
I saw a tear fall from his eye, something that I could tell was real, “Ok, let’s go back to my place and get this sorted out. I have something that I’ve been wanting to tell you and now that I know what you do, it makes it a lot easier for me to say it. I just need to figure out how without pissing you off too much.”
“Do you still want to see me?!”
“Yes, you asshole,” just let me think on the walk back.

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Advice for Females

The unabridged and unedited version with some Moloko + 😉

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BREAKING: Toilets in Australia don’t Work


SYDNEY, Australia — Ever felt the need to go and your toilet didn’t work? We all have. Unfortunately for Australian citizens, not only have their toilets ceased to work, they are also having a hard time getting the water to spin countercockwise. Australian officials have declared a state of emergency…..

More details will be released as the story develops.

Plumber Union Seeks Stricter Regulation on Bathroom Usage?

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Spinosaurus > T-Rex




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She copied….






We’s all…


Which means….









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December 12, 2014 · 5:33 pm

Who Are Your Enemies?

Throughout my life, I’ve had very close friends; I tried to pick quality over quantity. In fact, there was one point where I couldn’t even discern between the two and I didn’t care for any at all. As time went on, loneliness set in and I finally opened up my mind and my heart to individuals who just wanted to find out what my story was… And later, I found out that that was it. This isn’t to say that those friends never helped me or had my back, but it was for their own selfish reasons. I always had a broader world view: big dreams, and a way to accomplish them, and I wanted to surround myself with people who did too. It was hard.

I always thought I had it all figured out, that friendship was about accepting faults, forgiving wrongdoings, and just being there for eachother. Recent events have made me realize that real friends don’t have to accept faults or forgive wrongdoings because real friends don’t SEE faults, and they will never do you wrong. The Lions by your side are the ones who protected your life, who looked out for your best interest when you were at your worst, who did stupid shit to protect you because all they wanted was for you to live your life the way you had planned. Real friends use the last of their pennies to fly all the way across the country to see you ’cause they know something’s wrong and that distance never changed the connection that you had. They’re the ones who played strip-beer-pong with you, got buck ass naked and told you to keep your clothes on cuz they watching yo back. They never liked your enemies and tried to keep them away from you no matter how much you cared for those Snakes, no matter how bad they made you feel.

I went most of my life not knowing who my real friends were, always standing up for those who didn’t deserve it, ones who were jealous of the things that I’ve accomplished, experienced, and planned to do. I’m a writer, always have been and always will be, always saw things differently than my peers and had something to say without giving a shit about who didn’t like it. The Snakes are the ones who leech off of that energy and use it to their advantage. The Lions are the ones who use their own energy to compliment and protect your crazy ass, and on top of that, you never thought twice about doing the same thing in return.

At the same time they tellin’ you to keep your clothes on, you’re like, “Dude, you need to put pants on,” and you run around with their pants, putting them on and a blanket over their crazy asses when they pass out. When you’re about to beat the shit outta someone for no reason cuz you drunk as shit, you don’t fight them when they pick you up and put you outside. You roll blunts in front of the po at the train station, and keep on smoking it as they roll up, ditch the shit, then hop in your auto keeping it cool as they call in the BOLO. Then you’re freaking out and your best friend is driving all crazy, so both of you put on your favorite song, calm down, and come up with a plan to not get arrested or a DWI. Then, at the end of the day you’re thinkin’, “Fuck, man, we wouldn’t have gotten away with it if we were with anyone else.”

Love you, Cpl McClure.

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The Greatest Troll the Interweb has seen since Meatspin

Alright, I’m about to geek out for a minute here.

In case you haven’t been paying attention to the rap and dub-step/house music scene recently, Ice Cube has collaborated with Redfoo and 2Chainz in order to make this single Drop Girl. The greatest part about this song is that the lyrics make no sense AND the beat sounds like every other hip hop beat, not to mention the dub-step remix sounds like every other remix out on the market. AND THAT IS THE BEST PART! Millions of people have watched this video and have either gotten upset or way to excited about it. Obviously it is a joke, a type of art that can only be appreciated by 7h4 01d 5ch001 I73rW3B 7r011, when no one knew what Never Gonna Give You Up was about, when you tricked your friends on AIM to click on meatspin, when badgers and mushrooms dominated chat room conversations and all you were trying to do was get the newest Metallica song for free just in spite of those greedy fuckers. Not to mention being on top of all of the newest music file sharing systems, key cracks, weird animation files, and mounting programs. Don’t know what those are? Well, obviously you wouldn’t understand the greatness this song has bestowed upon the internet. EXE!

I can’t help but watch it over and over again. I was high on mushrooms for 4 days when I thought of this idea, I didn’t know if O’Shea was gonna go for it, and then lo and behold, a few months later IT HAS COME TO LIFE! It went like this: Ice Cube was supposed to get Redfoo and 2Chainz on a contract before he told them what the video was about to troll them cuz they greedy as shit, and they music sucks. The lyrics don’t make any sense because I was high as shit on mushrooms when I thought of them, and yes, they were the first things that came out of my mouth. LOL! The whole point behind it was to make people second guess singles because all singles suck, but they’re so brainwashed that all they can do is listen to what’s hot on the shitty radio. Ice Cube made a fuckin’ gangsta-ass song called Sic Them Youngins On ‘Em that doesn’t even have HALF of the views on YouTube that Drop Girl has. It just goes to show you how fucked up the music industry still is. Why would he go for the good old school 90’s shit when the music business is so centrally controlled by a bunch of dinosaurs bathing in blood in a Las Vegas casino that it would be dumbed down and RUINED?! Not to worry though, my Big Sexy’s gonna have some good shit in store for the future. He’s unpredictable, as we have seen forever. Haha. Oh Lawd, I can’t wait for Lord3Z & P3asantZ.

Remix this song, that’ll make Ice Cube happiez. 🙂

M04R n00dz!!!!!!!

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Ms. Cpl Kerkman

HAHA! We trollin’ on them muthaphukkasssss.

I loves my Big Sexy (AKA private individual). BFF 😉

LOL! ❤ Semper Svet 😉

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Slow, Steady Squeeze


Pop ’em wit dat 1-2-3
Can’t get me
Cuz I’m tha Muthaphukkin B.G. Gyp-Z


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JACK SHIT!!!!!!!55555555555555


Nuff said.

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Alright, alright, Fuck Facebook in the Mouth


After a few attempts trying to get Facebook to activate my account, I decided I’m not worrying about that shit no mo. Apparently they don’t like it if you can’t scan your government-issued ID for verification if you don’t have a cell phone. Oh, and apparently they don’t deal with veterans either. Fuck that shit. Change it.

If you would like correspondence with me, I can be reached at crktomowhawk@gmail.com.

Lookin’ forward to it, darlings. 😉

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Creep In Tha Garden


Their eyes are dark with unknown deeps, old woes
And New Despair
Their shackled spirits feel the pain
That breaks their bodies bare
The savage masters of their Days
mock their passive pain
How they should know their scorn
indifferent to the Stain

For in their heart of hearts,
they see the glow of illuminating fires
They are whores of a mystic rite
In their lingerie shows of anti-Godly pyres
No incident of shame and toil
They take with idle breath
For they do not know the Cradle of Life
And all they know is Death.
They are the Slave Women

I live in a beautiful Garden
All joyous with fountains and flowers
I wreck of penance and pardon
at ease thru the exquisite hours
My blossoms of lilies and roses
Lock, clock, and unload
all lull me with delicate fancies
as shy as the dawn and the Dew

And the Hunter is gloaming
How he lures me to the Wind and the Roaming
Free, free beneath the starry Skies
Tis the hedge of Roses
woven with wonderful Pearls
I am encased by its beautiful closes
We know what it is to be Old.

Out of the Jungle he came, he came
Man of the Lion’s breed
His heart was pure and his eyes gleamed
as he strum his ragged guitar,
Spring was sweet and keen in his blood
His eyes were the eyes of Man
And the Jungle knew how his love Rang
For his heart was the heart of the Hunter
Singing, he sought his mate
the Wife for the life and all his mood
Formed by their Fate

The sky is more blue than the eyes of a Lovely
A riot of roses of the Heart
Ah, come to me, run to me, fill me with Joy
Dear, dear, love, love, LOVE!
The air is passion of perfume and Song
The little moon swings up above
I cannot wait any longer
I’ve waited so long…..

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Dear America, Government is NOT the Answer to Every. Fucking. Thing.


Carousing the news lately, I came to notice something that I have always noticed while reading the news, but this time it just irked me so much that I had to write about it. I’d taken a break from the news due to recent events in my life that are hard for me to explain at the moment, but as I returned, I noticed the same old trend of the corporate media turning the dialogue to what the Government can do for us! Top CEO’s tell Congress that what they gotta do is work together to create a solution to our economic woes. I don’t know about you, but the thought of some crooks at the top of some international corporations working together with our Congressmen and the White House sounds like a huge racket to me.

Oh wait, because it is.

The global corruption index is a huge joke. Somehow the United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada had made their way to the top 20 of the “least” corrupt countries in the world. I couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer idiocy of this index. Hm! I wonder who created it! We are constantly bombarded with this fucking propaganda in our day-to-day lives which creates this backwards sense of patriotism: “Well, I thought that the US was pretty corrupt, but now that I look at this global corruption index, I now know that perhaps I was WRONG!” Yeah right. Jesus, I wonder how many poor souls fall for this bullshit, and the thought that some average Joe at the grocery store is questioning his intelligence over some retarded index really pisses me off deep down to my soul.

Charles Barkley had mentioned that the issue of race in the context of the Ferguson riots creates a tribe mentality — and it does. That’s what the intent is for all racial dialogue. Nevermind that the majority of HUMANS in the world don’t look at someone of a different race and think, “Hm, that’s someone of a different color skin than I, they must be a baaaaad person.” I mean, come on!

I can’t help but think of the Rodney King riots in the early 90’s. Back then, we couldn’t hop on Google News and check out all of the news sources covering the event; we were limited to what was in the newspapers and what was on TV. They showed the video of the original man, Rodney, being beat by those scum Swine over and over and over again. They had total coverage of the court proceedings, and when those pigs were let go without even a slap on the wrist, what do you think would happen to all of the people who were being oppressed even before the tape of Rodney came out? You have a huge group of people who were already being beat by the police for petty crimes every day being forced-fed this propaganda, getting more and more and more pissed off as time goes on. We didn’t have smart phones to record it back then, and we all know how deep the corruption at the LAPD goes. So, when justice was NOT served, that same huge group of individuals let out all of that anger and frustration on whatever they could. And, I must mention that BOTH the people who were victims and the people who did the victimizing were hurt badly during this time.

So, who let the officers off? The courts, another corrupt leg of government. The Law, as Frederic Bastiat says, is used by the State to create an environment that takes the power of justice AWAY from the victims and puts it in the hands of a jury who always work in favor of the State because the State is what OWNS AND WRITES THE GODDAMN FUCKING LAWS! This sense of justice never works. It didn’t work for Rodney King, it didn’t work for Kelley Thomas, and it did not work for Michael Brown. Oh yeah, and it worked in the favor of OJ Simpson and Casey Anthony… You see where I’m going with this. Also, why should Michael Brown’s stepfather have to APOLOGIZE for ANYTHING?! My God, if we can’t understand the frustration and anger that the media and the state create for victims, what can we understand?

This constant search for the answer to our problems by turning to governments that we already know are corrupt is the same thing as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Insanity at its finest. What we need to do is search inside of ourselves, to turn toward the Self, to find out who we are as individuals and create a more self-actualizing society where the only crimes we have to deal with are petty accidents. For, a self-actualizing society knows the difference between right and wrong and does not wish to hurt Her fellow man. Many people who commit crimes do not know why they do it, or they have some psychotic reasoning that did not come from themselves, but from the environment they grew up in. And, the environment does not just include the family household, but the society which badly influences the family household towards materialism and other frivolous things.

We gotta realize that the reason why everything is so messed up is because materialism’s root is money, and money is Greed. Greed is what drives humans to do evil things, and Greed comes in many different forms that does not just simply have to do with money. It is up to every one of us to look at Greed and how it affects our everyday lives. They say that there are 7 Dealy Sins, but I say that Greed is the only one. For, you must feel and eliminate the others in order to get to the bottom of the Greed, and eliminate it from your life. This is the only way to get to the bottom of our problems. Plus, who are the ones who exacerbate greed? The State, the Corporations in conjunction with the State, and the international Media.

Think for yourselves. It’s the only way we can save ourselves.

PS: Good luck with this one. Marines have foul mouths. Hehehe. =P—–


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