Awesome. Medics were the craziest of the crazy. And they were the to do the opposite of everything. My grandfather is on this memorial in Shedden, Ontario. He was with the Water Rats infantry that took Juno Beach on D-Day: He was just over 17 years old that day, he lied when he enlisted about his age. Like...seriously. A generation of youth that willingly signed up to be dropped in the War To End All Wars. That's why they're the Greatest Generation. They certainly aren't called that because of their parenting skills. You want horror stories from yesteryear? That's your ticket.
They were definitely built from different timber back then. "Jack Lucas, who at 14 lied his way into military service during World War II and at 17 became the youngest Marine to receive the Medal of Honor, died Thursday in a Hattiesburg, Miss., hospital. He was 80." http://www.seattletimes.com/nation-world/wwii-vet-who-was-youngest-medal-of-honor-winner-dies/ They may have made shitty parents, but Holy fuck were they tough.
My favourite name in WWII has to be Jack Churchill. A British coffin nail of a man who passed on your typical soldier rifle options to take a hand-carved long bow and heavy Scottish broadsword into the front lines. He was the only WWII veteran to kill an enemy combatant with a bow and arrow, and once captured at least 20 German soldiers single-handedand kept them all in line for miles back the base with just his sword. He also escaped several POW camps and once (after his company was slaughtered) played the bagpipes alone until getting blown up by a grenade. After recovering he escaped that POW camp too. The absolute Madman. "A man who goes into battle without a sword is improperly armed." You have to love a traditionalist.
Ugh. I think about even my dad, a Boomer, started working part time at 12 years old shoving hot bread into an oven right after school every day. To come home and clean the house for two hours so his WII airbourne drunk dad didn't beat the fuck out of him. The Good Old Days.
My wife has started calling me a little bitch saying I can't take the pain of my upcoming chest tat. So I put icy hot on the toilet seat. We'll see who can't take the pain now.
That's another thing that makes me wish I could've met my Uncle O'Neil. My grandfather was a mean bastard. Meaner then mean. When I lived in Mississippi I ran into a lot of old people that told me he was the most miserable SOB in the entire county. After my grandfather's first wife died, he married my grandmother who already had two kids. For some reason he hated my Uncle Steve and used to beat him constantly. One day, at 16 or 17, my Uncle O'Neil said "That's enough of that shit. You want to beat someone, try me." Grandad blinked first and that was the end of him beating Uncle Steve. It breaks my heart that someone like that was taken away so young. He was one hell of a man, and had an empathy for others that is far to much to uncommon. (In my grandfather's defense for being a pissed off old man at an early age....his father died when he was 5 and, as the oldest child he couldn't go to school, because he had to help support the family. At 5 years old. I'd probably be a salty old bastard too.
I like your wife. She seems to have a good sense of character. Have her post her tits in the boobie thread. For @Rush-O-Matic , of course.
My grandfather had a Japanese flag that he took off of a guy that he killed with a knife on Okinawa. I have a certain amount of respect for my dad simply because he risked trying to sleep with that guy's daughter.
It's a generation of childhoods stolen because of harsh times. Such painful years. What happens when you have no childhood? You go berzerk. Just ask Michael Jackson. My dad is sweet, kind, knowledgable. He has never hurt not threatened me once despite having s young adult life he refuses to talk about with me to this day. My dad got the SHIT beat out of him. A LOT. Belt buckles, tin ladles, or a shank piece of lumber you name it. Once my grandparents and dad were at a party, when some change went missing from a bedroom ashtray. My grandfather instantly and wrongly accused dad and beat him to-a-pulp unconscious with a wallet chain wrapped around his knuckles in front of thirty friends and their families. My dad was ten years old when that happened. Merciless, cold and unthinkable. I look at my kid and think "What does it take? To drive you into a deep enough frenzy to want to beat a defenceless kid like that?" Well, maybe being in six....SIX plane crashes. That might drive someone up the wall. Best generation. Worst parents.
Apparently you're unfamiliar with women that marry rednecks. They start out hot, but after five years they hit twenty years old and their boobies are kind of used up and disappointing.
Sounds like that comes from experience. My wife is the polar opposite of me. She hates nature. Her idea of hell involves fireflies and a campfire. She prefers watching Friends re-runs or real housewifes of guidoville to hunting, fishing, anything that involves bugs or the potential to be outside of a climate-controlled environment. But she's cool with me doing my stuff and doesn't complain, so it works.
Jesus fuck. That's horrible. One of my exes' fathers was a WWII ace. He flew P-38's....one of the reasons she and I hit it off is my family has a lot of pilots. Anyways, he never talked about his experiences during the war. One day he got some grape jelly on his hand during breakfast and freaked the fuck out. For years she didn't understand why, but just before he died he explained it to her. He was shot down twice. One of the times was in Northern Italy and he was captured by the Germans. He was being held in a cabin by two Germans and one of them walked outside, leaving just one German guarding him. He grabbed something sharp and stabbed the German to death, then went outside and dispatched the other. The grape jelly on his hand triggered him back to when he had blood all over his hands from killing these guys. As a side note, her father also smuggled his gun camera footage home and eventually had it put on VHS. It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen. Dogfights where the other pilot was not more then 20 feet away, strafing runs on airfields, trains, and ships. It was better then anything on History Channel.
Ok, business as usual. This week on VI"s 'Should Have Been Hits' I'm going with a great pair: The solos are stellar. Nett has stories about one of them, hopefully he'll tell it.
Even up here that g(greatest) generation from what I saw and heard, quite honestly it about a 50/50 chance that they weren't too big with blacks. My "nice" grandfather never voiced or hinted at any spite towards minorities, but he still referred to black people as "darkies". Once at a restaurant I was treated to him getting a black waiter's attention by shouting "Hey, Jackson!" Complete oblivious that he was being a tad out of line. Perhaps the sight of his family tunnelling into the palms of their hands at the table was also a hint. I guess if you were old enough to remember Al Capone, well...
I find that anywhere rural girls who like to rural-party have a higher potency for nekkidness. After that the Eye Of The Beholder takes the wheel. I loved bush-bashes and corn cob hob-nobs. It's just drinking and music and good times. Not crowded like in a house. First and last time I ever got my ribs broken with a cowboy boot.
Take a vet to lunch. Really. 20 veterans a day commit suicide in the U.S. alone. Many more are dying of "natural" causes. Many have trouble getting around, are too depressed to do much of anything, are fighting drugs or alcohol problems. If you are related to a vet, know a vet, or just live down the street from one, knock on his/her door with your checkers/chess/backgammon board and play a few games, or take a vet to a ball game, or the beach, or . . . You get the idea. Saying thanks for your service is appreciated, but an extra step could make someone's day.