So. It's been hot and miserable and I have the windows open when what to my wondering ears does appear but the steady thumpa thumpa thumpa of some dude working out his masculinity issues with electronic substitutes. When I go outside---after having to get dressed, dammit----I find myself confronted with what I think at first is a mother and son, or Jack Spratt and his wife; an extremely skinny, hyper, pale, dentally challenged, shirtless white dude in a trucker hat that practically screams 'meth user' and his, er, woman---twice his age and twice his size, that that says much. I can't remember the exact words except in a few instances, because he spoke so fast and jumped around so much.
Here's the exact prhse I remember: "My woman. Tell my woman. My woman this, my woman that." Gee, way to emphasize that, dude. Are you afraid I was going to mistake her for, you know, your sheep or something?
"I'm in the Marines." At this I squinted and asked, "Where were you?"
Kuwait, for those of you in the cheap seats, is like saying you were in Hawaii, except the sand-to-water ratio is reversed. It is a hella cushy assignmen compared to the shit storms going on elsewhere where people are actually dying instead of drinking Starbucks. "Where else?" I asked.
".... See? Look! I have my dogtags!" Yeah, he actually said that, then pulled them off his scrawny chest. Yeah, interesting that he's boasting about Kuwait. I guess you have to go with what you've got but...no. He never answered the second question, which means he was dodging it. A final impression; no military bearing whatsoever, especially for a Marine. No military haircut, slouching, that boast with no specifics....And Marines tend to use 'sir' or 'ma'am' especially if they've done that much time abroad. I think I have a faker on my hand.
"I'm an American patriot." Yeah, how come really patriotic people who aren't trying to overthrow the US government never say this?!
"You and those seven cats...." Huh. That's really specific. Is he a friend of anybody I know?
"I'm gonna turn you in for your yard." Yeah, not a Marine. Great. I bet he's got a lot riding on that, and now he's practically in my back yard, plus whatever stimulants he's probably doing and dealing. Why do these guys always think that if they have a bitchin' sound system that gives them every excuse to use it? I don't care what kind of stereo you have, asshole, I don't want to hear it. I won't ask you again; I'm telling you now and that's all there'll be. And if you threaten me, I will fucking come down on your ass so hard that all that's left is a scrawny little beer and piss stain smelling of motor oil, Axe, with some obscenity-bearing trucker hat resting on top like a mouldering, mildewed cherry.
That kind of passive aggressive whiny ass cowardly threat is what sealed it for me. "Are you threatening me?" I demanded. Unlike him, I do have military bearing. "Are you threatening me?" He stumbled over his own feet backing away.
These faker dudes----especially a tweaked-out one like this---are compensating for shit. He might have his other inbred beer clatch buddies convinced he's a Marine because he wears dog tags, but I'd like a look at them. When you get them from Army Surplus, they look different--hell, they sound different---from the ones you're issued at Basic. Sure, people lose them. But I've yet to meet another service member---or, really, a good service member---who I didn't peg as such from a ways away. Especially Marines. He should have been saying, "I was in the 123rd out of the 435th...." instead of tapdancing the way he did.
So. Yeah. Asshole. My money's on meth and weed plus I bet he shoots cats. I have to get Shadow in to the humane society. What an asshole. Why do people like this not suffer childhood trauma or police brutality? When the smoke clears, it's always scrawny little tweaking happy assholes like this who are left standing, shivering like a puppy near a percussion section.