The musings of a madman...

     So when I left you , I was king of a small village, if only because the people who lived there were enamored with my Americanized sense of humor.  It is worth mentioning that Muhammad Ali was dead right when he said “ain’t no Viet Cong ever called me n**ger!”      At home in America, I was a threat.  Too smart and too vocal for “them,” and too weird, too “them” for my own.  And best believe there weren’t enough Viet Congs to not call me that word back home.  Outside of the fact that most--…  fuck it, ALL of these guys had never even seen a black dude in their lives, they basically treated me like another dude.  Until, as I mentioned, they took my weirdness as commendable and made me their leader.      With all of that said, I didn’t wanna fuckin’ LEAVE the place!  They fed me first and best as their king.  As king, I didn’t have it in me to mistreat or even handle them unfairly at...

     As a great many of you know, Independence Day was this week.  Like a great many of you we celebrated with grilled meat, alcohol and fireworks. [ Note: there may or not have been a stop for Taco Tuesday at a local spot while we were downtown ]      My attention to the first couple of things have been ongoing since early Saturday afternoon for my birthday but the fireworks was my opportunity to REALLY fuck with someone’s holiday this time.      Nearing the end of the night and fully ensconced in my Crown Royal from earlier and a beer or two in the ballpark, I joked aloud “Damn, these fireworks remind me of Sarajevo in 1995.  Between this shit and growing up in the hood, I might come unglued out here.” My girlfriend rolled her eyes. The lady sitting on my left, though?  She hit the metaphorical ceiling.  “Look here buddy, this day is to celebrate America and you’re out here making lame PTSD joke...