Posted in Ameica's Big Game, My Views On The Real World

Stay Home

Mason Jar, 32 oz. - Pack of 12

Guy watched the news; it was the same thing every day. “This was a temporary emergency. Stay as close to home as possible, no unnecessary travel, conserve when you can, take care of your family.” That is what the news had been saying for a while, and Guy had found it easy to do, he did not want to go anywhere, his family grew a lot of what they needed so conserving what they had was just smart. Heck he was complying without trying.

A week later there was a change, Guy did not notice it at first, but the wording got a little different. “This was a temporary emergency. Stay home as much as possible, only necessary travel, conserve when you can, if you have trouble taking care of you family cooperation, you’re your government might be necessary.” Guy went about working on his farm knowing he did not need any help taking care of his family. Then he thought about his mother, she lived in town in an Assisted Living Home. He decided to not just call her tomorrow but to go and see her.

At the high rise where his mother lived, Guy noted the presence of more staff than before and where the front desk was almost never manned there were now two people. This was the first time he had to give his name and who he was here to see. It was nice to see they cared. His mother was fine, she chewed his ear off about bingo, church and stuff on the news. Guy left but not before checking out her cupboards and seeing if they were well stocked.

Two weeks later Guy was helping his wife with her annual canning. She was serious about her canning and this year as he did every year he kiddingly complained about the perpetual mess in the kitchen and how everything tasted like whatever they were canning. The news was all ramped up about the problem and how it had grown much worse and the steps needed to ‘fight it’. This time the wording was much more direct. “This was a temporary emergency. Stay home, necessary travel was permitted, conserve and have an estimate of what you have on hand, contact your local government with your needs.” Guy turned off the news and had a second cup of coffee mulling over what he had just heard. Things were getting serious; he had checked with his wife about the food they had on hand and they had both decided it would do them a good while. Guy also thought that maybe his mother should come out to the farm, at least until the crisis passed over. He called her, she did not want to leave and assured him she was good where she was, and he was always such a worrier, but things were fine. Guy got off the phone and went to work, there was a fence he needed to mend.

Ten days later things changed again. The news now stated “This was a temporary emergency. Staying home is required, travel is limited to only the necessities of life, estimate how many supplies you have and if you can share with your neighbors if the need arises, local governments will be conducting a census to better assess the situation please cooperate.”

Guy was unsure how to take this, he was pretty much a homebody, but these requirements rubbed him the wrong way. He agreed with the need to stay home but he was not sure about staying home just because he was told. He decided to go into town that night to see his mother and if things were bad, he would bring her out to the farm. Driving in he saw several checkpoints, or maybe they were just guard posts to keep things calm, he was not sure what the difference was, but he made it to his mother’s building with no problems. Well that was until he got to the front door.

Pulling on the door he realized it was locked, it had never been locked before. He looked around for another way in, normally there were people sitting outside enjoying the evening, but no one was outside, he recalled the drive in there was no one on the city streets either just the occasional car, no one walking, no one out.

Trying the door again he was met by someone looking out. One of the people that had been sitting behind the desk the last time he was here. After a brief exchange he was turned away and then called his mother. He could tell something had changed in her tone, he heard something that he had heard only a few times before, she was afraid. She explained that the staff thought it best for everyone if they stayed in their apartments and did not venture outside. Guy tried to talk her into coming down to the lobby, but it was no use, she felt safe where she was, and he should go to where he would be safe as well and this was a temporary emergency. Guy drove home shaken.

Two days later changed everything. Again, the news reports changed subtly but seriously. “This was a temporary emergency. All law-abiding citizens are to remain in their homes, travel is limited to government officials and authorized activity only, a survey official will be visiting all homes to determine ways the government can better serve the community with allocation of resources. Fines and penalties will be placed against those not in compliance with the temporary special directives during this phase of the emergency.”

Guy watched the roads around his farm, there was hardly any traffic, his nearest neighbors knew nothing more than he did. On that day government officials came, they wore armbands to help identify themselves. Guy said very little. Their questions were polite and short, but Guy realized only one talked and asked questions while the other simply recorded his answers on a clip board. The conversation was about how the farm and garden were doing and they observed that the tomatoes had already been picked.

They left Guy but right before they left the one recording asked one question and one question only. “If it was necessary would you be willing to share with others in need.” Guy did not answer right away and before he could say a word the man simply nodded and made a notation on his clipboard then the both simply went away.

On the day the officials visited his home he attempted to contact his mother, he could not get through, just the recorded message, no lines available at this time, please try your call again later.

The next day he decided that his mother was coming out to the farm no matter what. When he got to her building it was locked up. He banged on the door, no one answered. He was looking around for a rock to break a window when a government official with an armband approached. A short conversation gave him all the answers he would ever get. The residents of the high rise had been moved for their own protection, he was unsure of where to and it would be best if he returned to his home for the duration of this temporary emergency.

He went to his truck.

When had things gotten so bad? What was happening? He loved his community, but he was unsure how to react to what was going on. Should he live as he had always lived? Should he speak up? Should he do something?

Or should he just go home.


Other stories and articles in the same vein.

We Need a Monster

The Big Game


The Genie and the Libertarian  

Posted in My Views On The Real World

Blackhawk Down – The Untold Story

Black Hawk Down - The Untold StoryHi faithful readers sorry to bother you with a promotion (I know you have to wade thru my attempts to sell my books all the time) but this is for someone else.

I would love everyone to pre-order a copy of Blackhawk Down- The Untold Story on Amazon.

In case you did not know I am tangentially associated with the events of the rescue efforts of the Rangers and Delta Force on 3 October 1993 in Mogadishu, Somalia.   I know many of the people interviewed in this movie and have met the Director, Randall Larsen, personally at the world premier in Ft. Drum, NY in October of 2018.

Currently it is the #1 Best Selling Documentary on Amazon and I would like it to continue.   It is a great story and tells another side of the events of the Hollywood movie Blackhawk Down.

I make no money from this, in fact I have donated money to help it be created.   Thank you for your support.

Posted in My Views On The Real World, Outrageous Lies and Tales

Straw Smuggler


“Wait let me stop you right there, yes I am smuggler, and yes I am old, but I am not an old smuggler.”  The young person across the table looked at him with a blank stare.  Garak shook his head when he realized I would have to explain this.  “An old smuggler implies that I have been doing this a long time, and while I have been smuggling for a couple of years now, which might seem like a long time to you, it is not to me, and while I am an old guy that does not make me an old smuggler.”  He decided to stop when he saw the light go off.

“I am sorry for the confusion Mr. Garak.”

“Hey drop the Mr. part, it is just Garak and you know that is an alias right?”  The youth nodded his head. “Okay what was the question again.”

“You are a smuggler.” The young person looked at him. “And you are kind of advanced in age to be one, most people your age are retired and leaving comfortable lives.”

Garak shook his head. “Life is not about comfort son, it is about grabbing as much experiences as you can, it is about making a difference as you see fit and hopefully helping people along the way make as much as they can with their dash.”

The interviewer looked up at the last part. “Their dash?”

Garak nodded. “Their dash, the time between their birth and death, signified on their headstone with a dash.”

The reporter made a face of recognition and then continued. “So why are you a smuggler?”

“That is a good question.”  He paused.  “I guess you can say my personal convictions.”

“Can you please explain that.”

“Of course, you see when they started passing more and more laws infringing on personal liberty, with California leading the charge, then Utah.  It happened when the church got a new prophet and with the boys in DC losing control that joker started exercising more and more wacko based control in his home territory. All of it disgusted me, and since I had time on my hands and the ability, meaning the freedom to do something about it I decided to get into the smuggling business, moving objects from one place to another making things available to people that they should be allowed to have.”

“So you do this because you hate the system?”

“Well that is an oversimplification, I love people, I respect people and believe they are born with the natural right to pursue their own happiness as long as it hurts no one else.”

“But aren’t some of the things you smuggle hurting people?”

“I thought you did your research on me fella”  Garak said looking at the reporter. “I guess you did not do a good job.”  The kids face flushed.

“I did you are a two way smuggler, you smuggle straws, guns, slingshots, red meat, and paint into California and you then turn around and smuggle weed and booze into Utah back and forth, back and forth.”

“Don’t forget the lingerie, those holy rollers polygamist wives in Utah really love that Fredrick’s of Hollywood stuff, pretty tame stuff, no leather or pvc, they typically keep it to lace and silk.  I guess that is a way to keep the husband interested.  So what is hurting people bub?”  Garak said lighting a cigar with a match. The kid leaned back away from Garak as the smoke drifted towards him.  Garak chuckled.

“You are going to claim the guns don’t hurt people, the straws and the paint hurt the environment and the slingshots well that could easily hurt people.”

Garak shook his head beginning to regret doing this interview. “The guns are bb guns,” The blank look came back on the kids face. “Pellet guns, using compressed air, not gun powder and while there is some danger inherent with all projectile weapons, the most the could happen is you’ll shoot your eye out kid.”  Garak waited for a laugh, maybe even a chuckle or at the least slight smile, nothing.

“Okay but what about the paint and the straws, surely you see how that is hurting the environment.”

Garak shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know all about the straws and them hurting the sea turtles, I was fifty when that ban started, you were what ten?”

“Actually eight.”

” Mean while everything and anything was wrapped in plastic. Instead of rewarding business who reduced, recycled and reused with tax breaks or something sane. They outlawed straws making it a criminal offense to give them out throwing the a caterer in jail, for three years.”

“But he won on appeal Garak.”

“Tell that to his family that went three years without a father because he made straws available at a kid’s birthday party he was catering.  They destroyed his business and bankrupted the family. Luckily they got help and are now living in Colorado I actually met him nice guy.”

“So you don’t believe you are hurting anyone with your smuggling?”

Garak shook his head.  “I don’t move addictive substances across state lines, and most of these things were legal until someone made an emotional filled video which was then seen by some meddling politician who held his finger up to the wind and then decided he knew what was best for everyone and wrote at law that the news media covered with the same emotional video that started the whole thing.  Then they sent people with guns to enforce those law.  Most of the time there was no reasoned debate, no scientific study, no search for an alternative answer. Not even a debate about personal freedom and personal responsibility.  Just a rush to make something ‘illegal’ as though that made it bad and it would solve the bigger problem.”

“So you do all this out of the goodness of your heart and just to say ‘screw the system’?”

Garak shook his head slightly.  “Heck no kiddo, I get paid on both ends of my run, and very well thank you very much.”  He said smiling as a brief look of disgust crossed the teenagers face, Garak decided to twist the knife a bit more.  “I am a capitalist after all.”  The undisguised look of disgust now came on the face full force.

“So you do this for the money then?”

“No, kid like I told you I did this because I am idealist.  I don’t need the money except to cover my expenses, you have no idea how much I spend in gas and maintence for my vehicle driving back and forth between those two states, not to mention the gifts I have to give some people to operate.”

“You mean bribes.”

“You say tomatoes I say tomatoes.”  Garak said waving his cigar in the air.

“But you make a profit from the smuggling?”

“I would not be a very good capitalist if I didn’t.”

The kid took a deep breath and regained his composer. “So what makes you such a good smuggler, according to all my sources you have never been caught, let alone arrested and charged in either state or by the federal authorities?”

Garak chuckled.  “First I am an old man, no one thinks old people, especially in the youth culture of California think old people can do anything, except maybe be experts on the early bird special. Secondly I spent all of my adult life in either military intelligence, law enforcement or private security, I can read signal and communications traffic like a road map, so I can avoid spot searches and other ‘imperial entanglements’.  Garak looked for a bit of recognition, none. “You are not a movie buff are you son?”

The kid shook his head no.

“So why interview me kid, it is obvious you don’t like me and are working on this interview with your own bias fully intact.”

“I am not biased I am a reporter.”

“Saying you are a reporter does not automatically eliminate your bias boyyo.  Like I said kid I used to read people for a living. It is obvious you don’t like me for several reason,”  Garak held up a finger. “I am a money grubbing capitalist.”  He held up a second finger.  “You disapprove of the things I smuggle into California but not the things I smuggle into Utah and thirdly you wince ever so slightly every time I call you ‘son’, ‘fella’ or ‘bud’ but not ‘kid’.  Are you one of those new eunuchs I have been reading about?”

“The term is ‘new person’ if you must call us anything.”  The young person said defiantly.

“Hey that is cool pal.  You are not hurting anyone but yourself, and you don’t even see it that way, I guess, so the more power to you and all.”  Garak said shrugging his shoulders.  “I just assumed you were a guy, no offense meant, I am old and all and I don’t speak this new language. I mean it is kinda like when you get senorita and senora mixed up down south, nobody really gets bent out of shape because at least you are saying por favor when asking for a cervesa which means you are trying to be polite.  Now that I know I can just call you…”  Garak faded out the last part looking for an answer.  Then he heard the whine of a hovercraft approaching the building.

There was silence in the dusty barn as Garak stared in shock at the kid who was smiling broadly.  “Just call me Special Investigator Tinsome and you Garak are under arrest.”  There was a loud crash as several armed officers crashed in the doors of the dusty barn.  Garak look of fright faded away as he reached down to the table and grabbed his matches and relight his cigar.  “You are under arrest for bringing illegal substances into the Three Sovereign States of California and in addition subjecting a citizen to second hand smoke.”  Special Investigator Tinsome said waving his had at the smoke that was coming towards him.

“Two questions before you take me away.”

Tinsome nodded as he was flanked by two heavily armed officers who had Tasers and handcuffs out.

“Why do you guys still have three states in your name, I mean you became three states, then you all succeed from the Union, why not just go back to one state, why keep the full title, The Three Sovereign States of California, just go back to being California, a lot simpler that way.”

“We are trying to be inclusive, is that really your question Garak.” Tinsome said.

Garak nodded. “You are right more of an observation.  Okay here are my questions.  How dumb do you think I am, and you guys know there are other ways to transmit information over long distances other than just wireless?”  Garak said smiling, then blinked out of existence.  Tinsome and the other officers faces showed a look of surprise, they were even more surprised when Garak reappeared a full fifteen seconds later.  This time wearing a yellow t-shirt with the phrase ‘don’t tread on me’ on it.  “Kinda of figured that this ‘interview’ was a set up so I ran a fiber optic cable into this place, I only buried about five hundred yards or so, the rest is just lying on top of the sand. So while you boys were scanning for a transmission coming in to this place we sent the signal to the projector via cable. I  have been sitting outside of your scanning area thanks to some friends.  I was surprised you did not pick that up, I mean you waved at my cigar smoke and it did not move, let alone that you could not smell it, pity it is a good one, nice and robust.”

Officer Tinsome muttered something under his breath.

“Well time for me to retire, catch you on the other side Mr. Tinsome, oh and I was streaming this to the internet so your cover as a ‘reporter’ has been blown, you guys are going to have to think of another scheme to entrap people.”

Tinsome looked at the man as he faded from view.

“Oh and one more thing, you guys can go to hell I am going to Texas.”


For more pop culture references see this story  The Place to Go for Answers. 

For another short piece on my Libertarian views read We Need A Monster






Posted in My Views On The Real World

It is over.

Being a Parole Agents is one of the strangest jobs in Law Enforcement,  you are tasked with getting to know convicted criminals, sometimes dealing with them for years.  We know a lot about them, what they do, who they live with, where they work and all kinds of other details.  These are details Police Officers do not have to know, Investigators might know superficially and Jailers know about only when those details  directly effect their  secure environment.   Meanwhile Parole Agents walk into these people’s home, talk to their mothers, paramours, grandparents and children.  We know full well what they are capable of after reading their criminal history, we might even have read their mental health evaluation, drug use history  and are familiar with their intelligence.  Furthermore it is not just one convicted criminal, it is a dozen or so over the course of day, ranging from serial DUIs, thieves, sex offenders, drug dealers and even a few murders.

This strange job is over for me, my time in Law Enforcement is at an end.  Parole Agent for 13 and half years, before that at a maximum security prison for 18 months (more than enough for me); before that I was in private security for 7 years, and after college the Army, doing three different jobs there, Infantry, Military Intelligence and finally Criminal Investigator.

That adds up to roughly about 28 years in jobs doing unnatural things.  You see taking away people’s freedom,  practicing to use deadly force on people, or being in on the planning of attacking other people is unnatural.

I fully agree with Lt. Col. Grossman’s book “On Killing”  where he makes the point that very few people are born killers.  Most people have to overcome psychological barriers to be able to kill.  I believe in that same vein that we go against our basic nature taking people into custody and locking them up.

 I am not saying arresting someone is wrong, I have never taken a person into custody illegally (well there was that one time in West Philly but he did come into our office and we let him go right away).  Arresting people is not wrong, in fact in many cases it is the right, it is very justified, and  a good thing to do.   But taking away another person’s freedom is an unnatural act.  We as human beings are free creatures, not built, intended, designed or created to be locked away, and taking away another persons freedom is an unnatural act.

So to my brothers and sisters in Law Enforcement know that these unnatural acts are taking a toll on you.  It is not as serious as taking a life, but it weighs on your soul/psyche.  Even the easiest arrest I have ever been on;  Art  Rothwell and I went out to declare a guy delinquent  at his approved residence, and guess who answers the door, the Parolee who immediately without a word exchanged between us turn around and places his hands behind his back and say ‘okay’ I am ready to go.  Even this is an unnatural act because no matter how easy it was I was still taking away another human beings freedom.

So know the damage these unnatural acts are doing to you.  Take precautions, examine the job you are doing, look at the big picture and how you fit into it.  Know both your importance and lack of importance in the world (it is sort of a duality of man thing).

I enjoyed (mostly) my time being a Parole Agent, I took great pride in attempting to keep the citizens of the Commonwealth safe, I also liked (sometimes) my interactions with the Parolee’s.   If you are a Parole Agent and did not believe in rehabilitation in some shape or form then you are in the wrong job and probably incredibly unhappy and should probably leave before you waste any more of your life.  I am not naive in believing that I changed any lives but occasionally I could give a few nuggets of wisdom that would set off a light bulb in their eyes, give a few words of praise when a convicted felon did something right or teach them a life skill that they somehow missed growing up.

The basic nature of the job did not change over the years, the circumstances of our employment did I can only attribute this to Pournelle’s  Iron Law of Bureaucracy, and as Forest Gump says “And that is all I got to say about that.”

So stay safe comrades, time for me to write my next chapter.   Be fair, be competent and realize there the only thing that is left at the end of this long slog is the people you love and if you can manage it they might love you back.

Sidebar:   One of the stories I told male parolees over the years was about the importance of fathers.

“I grew up with my father, he was home and a big part of my life.  Now my father was born deaf in one ear, so when he really wanted to hear something, or listen to someone he would cock his head a certain way and lean towards you.   When I was in my thirties I noticed I was cocking my head and leaning in towards  people the in the exact same way.  I do not need to do this, my hearing is very good in both ears, but I learned from watching him that if you really wanted to pay attention to someone that is how you listened. 

Then I would ask my parole’s about their fathers, what lessons they learned from them, and what lesson they were teaching their children not only with their actions but how they lived their lives.”


Posted in My Views On The Real World

A Roundup of 2017

Well 2017 is closing and my life progresses.

Accomplishments for the year:

53,519 words written and sent out into the world.

43,114 of those words were strung together to create some fiction.

2907 of the fictional variety expanded my Outfitters Universe

8,605 were of a personal nature  and insights into my day dreams.

1,800 words were paid for and are now owned by a periodical publishing company.

I like to think I strung some words together in a coherent and entertaining manner.  The biggest falsehood I created was Tending the Stones for the Lock, which was  an almost weekly urban fantasy story.   It is truly a first draft with not that much editing, and my plans are to eventually lengthen it (and hopefully improve it) into a full length book.   The most personal piece was probably My Personal Heaven about what I hope for after death.

On the book front, Primary Collision my next science fiction book in The Outfitters Universe.  I scrapped whole sections of it and started over again in some aspects which is working better, I had hoped to have the book completed by now but that just has not happened.  The book about my grandfather and his time in uniform continued on the research phase.

That is on the writing front, on the amorous faction of my life I am still single and unencumbered (Also un-Cucumbered , never liked them).  I have had some dates (with women!), had some laughs and good conversations, but nothing has stuck.  Early in 2017 I had seven (7) women approach me on Plenty of Fish, a dating app, I thought an old friend who is a hacker was pranking me but that turned out not to be true and it was just 7 lonely women who were interested in me at the same time.  (Very Weird).  The prognosis, the forecast, the prediction for my romantic life is still hopeful.

I still have the day job but hopefully in a couple of months I will be retiring from the field of law enforcement,  optimistically I will be moving to a southern state with a theme park and working in security and if that does not work out then maybe a bus driver or some other non-stress job.

What have I learned this year?   I have leaned that stripping away stuff that does not matter is a great way to live.   That my brain wants to create stories  and if I cannot see a fulfilling ending to that story then I don’t really see the point of continuing with the story.   Fulfilling does not necessarily mean happy, but at least interesting and meaningful.

I learned that I really enjoy whiskey and scotch and am developing a taste for the hard liquors, straight no ice.

A good year I am not walking away with tears in my eyes or a heaviness in my heart, just more knowledge, hopefully slightly more wisdom and patience and most of all a greater respect for kindness and that fear (fear of failure, fear of being insignificant…) is a killer of joy.



Just something that makes me smile.

Posted in Ameica's Big Game, My Views On The Real World, Outrageous Lies and Tales

The Genie and the Libertarian


Max looked over the dingy dented copper kettle, he noted the strange writing on it, he wondered how it got in the junk pile of  this old dilapidated cabin on this abandoned strip mine.  He shrugged and wondered if it was worth cleaning up or just throwing in the scrap pile.  Copper was going for about $2.93 a pound, not that this piece weighed more than a pound but every little bit helped in the scrap business.  He took his bandanna out of his pocket and rubbed it, maybe he could clean it up.

As soon as the cloth was swiped across the kettle a loud boom came from no where and everywhere smoke began to spew from the kettle’s spout.  Max dropped it and took a few steps back and promptly fell on his butt, that is when  a voice came from the smoke. “Who summons the genie of the lamp?” the smoke formed a cloud which then coalesced into a torso and head of a man.   The figure’s features got more and more sharp until Max could see he was  bare-chested, earrings in both of his ears with a very noble but unsmiling face.  The face began to look around and his eyes fell on Max.   “Are you the Master of the Lamp.”

Max shook his head blinked really hard and looked back up at the smoke and floating top half of the man.  “I am having a acid flashback.”  Max said out loud then shook his head again.  “That is not right, I grew up in the 80s and I have never done acid or any other hard drugs for that matter.”

The figure leaned over and looked at Max’s digital watch. “I see the age of science and reason still prevails, but have you heard the story of the genie of the lamp?”

Max raised an eyebrow quizzically.  “You mean Aladdin and the wizard with the booby trapped cavern?”

The top half of the man laughed, a big belly laugh. “I am in the presence of a an educated man.”

“Not really I barely graduated high school but I did read One Thousand and One Nights.”

“Good then you understand the basic principles of this, you are the Master of the Lamp, I am your slave to command, you have three wishes so choose wisely.”

Max raised his hand like he had been taught in class and Sunday school.

“No need to raise your hand Master, I take it you have a question well let me answer the most frequent asked questions and save us time.  No you cannot wish for more wishes.  No I cannot change the world or the past, I can only effect you, for example I can make you irresistible to women or rich or both.”  The genie smiled and winked at him.  ”Or like the last guy, he asked to be rich and famous, to say whatever he wanted and to be President of the United States.”

Max grimaced, so that is how the Oompa Loompa had done it.  Not with a deal with the devil but three wishes, he shook his head.  “Not my question but thanks for the information.”

The genie interrupted.  “Oh, you want to know if I can raise the dead, or make someone fall in love with you or perhaps kill your enemies.  Sorry but no on all three but I can make you a great undefeatable warrior so you can kill your own enemies.”  The genie said nodding enthusiastically.

Max shook his head no again.

The genie looked confused now. “Then master what is your question?”

“You say that since I found the lamp I am the master and you are my  slave.”

“Yes until I complete the three wishes then the lamp will vanish from sight along with your memory of me, the lamp will be cast to the winds of chance to another  location for someone else to find.”  The genie said as if this was common knowledge.  “So what is your command Master and please use the phrase ‘I wish’ that way I know you mean it.”

Max nodded understanding, then shook his head.  “I am sorry genie but I do not believe another person should be the slave to anyone else so I cannot make a wish that would be wrong.”

The genie raised his eyebrow.  “Excuse me?”

“I do not believe anyone should be forced to do anything against their will and I believe in a free exchange of goods and services between free and willing persons.  If you  are a slave that negates your freedom, I will not participate in the enslavement of anyone.”

The genie lowered himself down to Max’s eye level on the ground. “I do not understand you, this is your right, you own the lamp, therefore I am yours to command.”

“I may own the lamp, but that does not give me the right to take your freedom.  I will not participate in your forced servitude.

The genie scratched his head.  “So no wishes huh?

Max crossed his arms.  “Nope.”

The two stared at each other for a while.

“Anything I can do to change your mind?”

Max shook his head. “Nothing comes to mind.”

The genie put his hands on the cloud where his hips would be. “I cannot return home till I have granted your wishes.  So you must make three wishes so I can find a new master.”  Max must have had a confused look on his face so the genie spoke again.  “I cannot return home till I serve a hundred masters, you are my twenty-third master.”  The genie said matter or factly.  “You must make your wishes.”

“I will not.”  Max said standing up so he was even with the genie.

“We have a problem then Master.”  The genie said growing in size and his voice got deeper and louder and the smoke that made up the lower portion of his body got darker.

Max shook his head.

“You must.” The genie said towering over Max trying to intimidate him.

Max crossed his arms glaring back. “Nope.”

The two of them stared at each other, after a few minutes the two stopped and Max walked over to his nearby  ATV and drank from his canteen, he offered it to the genie who was watching him all this time.  The genie shrugged and floated over to him and Max extended the canteen to him, with that gesture Max had and idea.  “Can I make a wish for you?”

The genie looked at Max.  “No one has ever asked that question before.”  The genie said confused. “You would do that  for me Master?”

“Yes and please stop calling me Master, my name is Max, I am just a simple duck farmer out gathering a little copper for some cash.

“You are a duck farmer, I used to be a shepherd.”

Max nodded then continued. “Can I wish for you to be free?”

“I don’t see why not.”  The genie answered quickly grinning ear to ear.

Max stepped back and looked the genie in the eye.  “I wish


Just another piece in my ongoing efforts to examine my own libertarian/voluntarist/pacifistic anarchist world view point.

We Need a Monster

America’s Big Game


Posted in My Views On The Real World

Life, Training and Reactions


Waiting for the Parolee to come home and  a neighbor on the other side of the shrubs lights a large firework and the noise echo’s off the brick house and comes back at me.

I am twenty in Ft. Benning with Drill Sergeants Bailey, Carter and Smalls; all are yelling at us to get our butts down if we want to live.

My stomach tightens up and I focus on the conversation with the Parolee’s mother and he pulls into the driveway.  I do a breathalyzer, he passes and I drive away with heightened senses.

I am near the end of Infantry training running the grenade qualification with my Battle Buddy Josh Walton, we both score high enough to get the Expert Badge.

Next Parolee’s house, a trailer in a mobile home park, getting out of the car I hear fireworks a few trailers away.

I am still in basic training on the night infiltration course crawling underneath barbed wire an M60 is firing over head and artillery simulators are blowing up in sand bag enclosures. 

The Parolee is waiting outside of his trailer, his neighbor is firing off those fireworks that whistle then go bang. 

I  am twenty-six out running with Sergeant First Class Pavlov near the American Embassy getting close to the MASH Unit when mortars start dropping. Dmitri and I grab a Malaysian soldier who is standing in the middle of the road confused and we throw him in the nearest ditch with us on top of him. 

Talking to the Parolee he tells me about his new job and I am trying not to pay attention to the fireworks but I look down towards the tire of my vehicle wishing I was laying in the dirt smelling the black Firestone rubber. 

I am still in Mogadishu but out with Major Ellerbe the S-3.  I am riding in the gunner position of a unarmored no door Hummv leading the ambulances towards a few wounded members of the 2/14th Infantry on Operation Thor and Odin.  Cobras are strafing the other side of the open area, I fire a couple rounds towards a flash in a window with my M-16.  Our Hummv gets in a misunderstanding with a Malaysian Armored Personnel Carrier which flattens our rear driver side tire and hangs us up on a big rock.  The wounded are in the ambulances and we head back inside the compound.  We relax once inside the walls, then someone lets loose with a Rocket Propelled Grenade at the compound.

My insides are tight, my mind tells my body they are only fireworks and I am perfectly safe.  My body wants to get behind some cover and draw my weapon and check for threats.  I conclude the interview with my Parolee and drive away.   


I can only tell my story and this is not for sympathy, what I go thru with a few simple small bangs is nothing compared to what some of my brothers and sisters go thru all the time and not just around the 4th of July.   Please remember those that walk around all the time looking for a safe place.