i bitch about my mom coming to see me. i say that it will ruin my weekend. i get all fucked up because the retard at starbucks didn't make my latte with soy milk. i complain about boredom.
i feel indignant, as if i am owed these simple comforts. i slip the newspaper from its dew soaked plastic skin. my eyes meet pat tillmans. tears jump to blur his face from my eyes. $3.6 million he passed up to join the army rangers. he feel obligated after 9/11. he didnt sit at home on a fucking website and complain about the morals of soldiers while the real men fought.
shame. it trickles in slowly then rushes to fill me. our boys are somewhere in the god forsaken desert, images of death and suffering burned into their minds. an american flag draped over their hearts. what would they give to see thier moms today. what would they give for a lazy saturday with a cow milk starbucks latte.
my insignificance is suffocating. i think of
and all the others. faceless, nameless and yet all their names when written on top of each other spell history and liberty and humanity. fuck this war, fuck bush, fuck the lies, destraction & revisionist history. but, the men that fight the war they never would have chosen to wage are the silent heroes, paid in the blood of comrades and the spit of fucking hippies.
i am nothing in the shadow of these american men.
i feel indignant, as if i am owed these simple comforts. i slip the newspaper from its dew soaked plastic skin. my eyes meet pat tillmans. tears jump to blur his face from my eyes. $3.6 million he passed up to join the army rangers. he feel obligated after 9/11. he didnt sit at home on a fucking website and complain about the morals of soldiers while the real men fought.
shame. it trickles in slowly then rushes to fill me. our boys are somewhere in the god forsaken desert, images of death and suffering burned into their minds. an american flag draped over their hearts. what would they give to see thier moms today. what would they give for a lazy saturday with a cow milk starbucks latte.
my insignificance is suffocating. i think of
and all the others. faceless, nameless and yet all their names when written on top of each other spell history and liberty and humanity. fuck this war, fuck bush, fuck the lies, destraction & revisionist history. but, the men that fight the war they never would have chosen to wage are the silent heroes, paid in the blood of comrades and the spit of fucking hippies.
i am nothing in the shadow of these american men.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
>wrong, few things make me happier than a naked girl
>gyrating her titties in my face, but isnt it a bit like walking
>into a restaraunt hungry, looking at all the food you wish
>you could be eating and then leaving without ever taking
>a bite?
who says you can't bite?
no, really, that's why i'm not a frequent visitor to the clubs. but every now and then, it's nice to go to the orchard and look at all the different kinds of beautiful fruit. and then go home and bite into your girl's plumskinz.
Whatever your decision is you are supported.