Read This: is this me? (Or why not me? Who Else?)

Still Thursday, eh?

and yeah: I edit as I go…


Picking up from the last half-chapter…

Matt, Rogers, and I were in Viva Young. I had been smitten.

But the ‘Smite –her’ was elusive, so Matt and I retired to the pool tables. Me hoping to fleece him outta some beer money. He hoping for good conversation and Lance Good Wolf-Ticket talk.

We both got what we wanted, until…

Until Pain walked in.

Pain (his real name) was my roommate back when I was in BUD/s Class 140. Pain was a pain in the ass. He was a tow-head boy, weighing in at about 150. All attitude. Bad attitude. He reminded me of Peanut, without the good to outweigh the bad. I did not like his style.

One of My Girls, (yes they were ‘mine’—this was My Bar, wasn’t it?) brought me a beer and said,

“Hey! Dat guy just walk in, he Na-bee Seal.”

“Yes Honey. I know him.”

“He yor frien?”

“Nope. He is trouble, and thanks for the beer.”

Still holding my pool cue, I walked over to Pain.

“Hey Pain!” I said. “How’s it hangin’?”

“Hey Ya.  Uh… don’t I know you from somewhere? Oh yeah; Buds. Back in ’86.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Class one forty. You were my roommate for a spell, until you got kicked out for smacking my other roommate upside the head.”

“Yeah he was an idiot.”

“Don’t think so. He was my Friend.”

“What was yer name? Mark… something or other……?”

“Yeah, that’s right: Marcom.”

“You rocked out didn’t ya?”

“Yeah, I rocked out. Got hurt. Apparently you made it. In SEALs.”

“Yeah, I didn’t rock out.”

“Good for you.”

“Wanna beer?”

“No Pain, I do not. What I want is for you to take your ass outta here. You see, this bar is for ‘Black Shoe Sailors’—Fleet Sailors. This is MY bar, and we don’t really want all you prima-donnas hangin’ out here. This is a private bar—my bar—So… mosey on on.”

“I go where I please. Fuck you!”

“Excuse me, but this ain’t your kind of place. This place is not big enuff to house your Navy SEAL ego; I suggest you amble on down to The California Club on Magsaysay. They have high ceilings and lots of bar girls. You will be welcomed there.”

“You’re pissing me off.”

By this point, I had reversed my grip on the pool cue, and turned it into a baseball bat. Matt came up to my shoulder and whispered,

“Lance, don’t do it.”

I had forty pounds on Pain. I could take him without the pool stick.

Mama-San, ever astute, came up to me and said,

“Sailor Man, you may need to sit down.”

I said, “Mama-San, Not until this asshole leaves.”

She said, “Okay, but you gonna fix the furniture.”

Standing two heads high over him, I turned back to Pain, “You need to leave Son.”

“Maybe I will check out that California Club after all.” He said. And left.

The Jar Heads on the other side of the bar applauded. One said,

“Great job! Squiddy! That guy is an asshole. Seen him around town.”

“Thanks!” I said. Then yelled, “Hey! Mama-San! Bring me a beer! I just saw my life flash in front of me!” (Not really. I fear no man, but it makes for good prose, eh?)

Pain was actually a good guy. But an asshole. Certainly I can relate, being same.


20 thoughts on “Read This: is this me? (Or why not me? Who Else?)

  1. You are very kind.
    I suspect I went off on a tangent last night….
    The news from the Middle East today is all bad. Maybe this is why I am getting so worked up. I don’t know.

  2. I wouldn’t call you an asshole, either. I’m not even sure that “not nice” quite captures it either. I gotta go and consult my immense vocabulary and come back with the right word. It’s out there, I just know it is. (And so am I, and so are you. O what, o what! are we poor slobs to do?) ((I just made that up.))

  3. There are few constants in this life.
    I just gave you one. Don’t look it in the mouth.

    Now… I gotta go see a dog about a man.
    (That is about as close as I will come to saying, ‘I love you.’–‘blog love,’ I mean.. that is…that was…that’s all…)

  4. If I were not so fucking fond of you, I would kick you to the curb.
    Yep. ‘Clinical’.
    C’est moi.
    But, you must admit: I give good blog.

  5. “Is it possible? That you, Scarlet, have grown the heart of a woman?”
    –Rhett to Scarlett, circa 1939

    But, SS… I don’t count on it, yet…
    You’re showing me ‘some’… and not like THAT.

  6. To answer your question:
    I wanted him to leave because he reminded me that I did not become a Navy SEAL (while he did)
    And that, my Dear SS, is the Fucking Truth.

  7. My Dear SS,
    I was one of those assholes back in ’05, who thought we were going to Iraq to ‘nation-build.’ How stupid was I?
    Real Stupid. (Read my SFM stories for ref)
    Needless, heedless to say…
    I believed in the ‘Mission”
    “We’ built seventy water treatment plants all over Iraq.. all Provinces, save one: Al Anbar.
    Guess where I spent a year of my life?
    Al Anbar.
    Probably the BEST year of my life.
    Maybe I need to shut up now…

  8. I don’t understand why you wanted him to leave so bad… Seems like you’re just being a cock. Also I don’t know that you’re an asshole, I don’t know that anyone is by definition anyways, but it’s not the word I would use to describe you.

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