The military was like a family to me.
They provided me with room and board, a uniform,
free health care, career training, moral instruction
(Character Guidance and the Uniform Code of Military Justice),
I had transportation to my duty assignments, paid leave, holidays,
there were hobby shops and service clubs, a base library, a base theater,
and, overseas, the booze and cigarettes were tax-free and there was hot and cold
running pussy, plus a houseboy to do the shit details. You could go to college.
You could get married. You’d have an allotment for your dependents.
Base housing. Or separate rations and a housing allowance.
If you stayed in 20 years you could retire at half pay.
You’d be eligible for the Old Soldiers Home and the VA hospital.
You’d be pretty much used up, like an offensive interior lineman in
the National Football League. Got his bell rung
one time too often. I got out. It was not for me.
It was fun while it lasted. I got overseas.
To
I saw The Air Force Story
in basic training.
Bombers B-52.
No, that was later.
That was after I reupped.
Dr. Strangelove. I saw Dr. Strangelove at
a SAC base. Peace Is Our Profession.
War is peace, freedom is slavery, ignorance
is strength. Demolition is historic preservation.
It isn’t just the military. It’s public relations.
It’s business majors. They cannot tell the truth.
They go into management. They cheat the customer
and fuck the help. They make shoddy products.
They destroy the environment.
They corrupt politicians.
Bossmen rule!
Rule what?
What’s left?
They ruined it.