the future's so bright, we gotta wear shades

Old-fashioned democracy -- the stuff dreams are made of -- seems to be back in style.

Again, I'm not tolerant of your hurtful sarcasm at all.

CHAPTER ONE

New Life

Not much is known about the early life of the man who would someday be known as the Proud Liberal Vet. Born Clarence Patrick Lamdin in a small hospital in the heartland of America, PLV’s politics were formed at an early age when he saw a group of boys tormenting a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest.

“Little birdy…little birdy…” One of the boys threw a rock, striking the bird on the head.

“Hey, nice shot.”

“Groovy, man.”

PLV came upon the scene and seeing the bird’s horror at its treatment, moved to stop the boys. “Hey, guys. It’s not nice, what you’re doing. Leave that poor birdy alone.”

The largest of the boys approached PLV. “What did you say, fag?”

Scared, PLV stammered, “I…uh…leave…birdy…you should be nice!”

All of the boys laughed. One of them stepped forward and crushed the bird under his boot, then turned to PLV, who now had tears running down his face.

“What’s wrong, fag? Were you in love with the little birdy?” He brayed laughter into PLV’s face, then shoved him to the dirt. As he fell, and the boys began to kick him, a single thought formed in his mind.

Never again. Someday, I’ll protect people. Never. Again.

Much later, that little birdy grew into a penguin, which killed PLV's Uncle Ben.

That's when PLV learned: "with great (rhetorical) power, comes great responsibility."

And: "Did boys ever say 'Groovy, man,' while throwing rocks at a small bird?"

CHAPTER TWO

The Rejection

"No, Clarence. I won't go out with you, now STOP ASKING!"

The girl's voice carried throughout the hall, and like a bad movie, everyone stopped talking for a split second as they all turned to stare at PLV and the girl he'd just asked to the prom.

Then the laughter began.

PLV ran into a bathroom, his tears beginning to flow as he sat in the dirty stall. A voice from the next stall over startled him.

"Psst. Hey, Clarence!"

Oh, God. Not again. "Howard, I don't want to play again. I'm tired of your games."

"Come on, Clar. It will only take a second. I'm so ready."

PLV sighed, and walked over to his friend. The games had started so long ago, he could barely remember when. He and Howard had been typical boys, and as they sat reading comic books, his friend had an interesting proposition.

"Hey, want to play doctor?"

PLV looked up from the adventures of Superman. "What?"

"Doctor. You know I've always wanted to be a doctor. I plan to be one someday. You can help me practice."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Howie. What do you mean by play doctor?"

Howard smiled. "Well, first, you take off your pants and I'll do an examination." PLV was shocked.

"But if I do that, you'll see my..."

"Yup."

PLV thought about it a second. They were friends. What's the worst that could happen?

Later, as he went home, he thought of what the little game had led to, and started talking to himself, saying everything was okay and that those sorts of games are normal between friends.

Still, try as he might, he couldn't get the sound out of his head. The sound his friend Howie had made as they had played.

"YEEEEEARRRGHHH!!!!"

And Osama has a 10% approval rating, which has cratered since 2000. It mirrors his likely physical status (sitting at the bottom of a crater under tons of rubble).

CHAPTER THREE

The 'Nam

In his letters home, PLV did not mention the horrors of Vietnam. He did not mention the stench of rotting livestock after a bombing or the way agent orange hung off the trees and stuck to clothes. PLV did not mention the way napalm heated up the air and stuck to kids.

None of this was included in his letters, not because he was afraid of offending or scaring his mother, but because he saw absolutely none of it.

"Hey, Lamdin! You want to pull your head out of your ass and get us some more noodles over here?" PLV hated the Ell-Tee in charge of this mess. The guy was an asshole who rode his crew like Jenjis Khan or something.

"Coming, sir!"

PLV brought the hot pan of spaghetti noodles over to the serving line and dropped it hard on the counter.

"Lamdin, what the fuck, man?" The corporal serving the food whipped him an ugly look.

"Sorry about that, shift leader. The pan is...hot and I burned my hands. It hurt."

The corporal shook his head. "You're such a fag, Lamdin."

PLV snuck away, hoping the shame he felt didn't show on his face. When he got back to the kitchen, the other cooks were talking about weekend plans.

"So, Rogers, what are you planning to do tonight?"

Rogers, a skinny Irish kid from New York, smiled. "I was thinking about going into town, bangin' myself some hos." He and the other cooks laughed.

PLV had no plans for the weekend, and spoke up. "So, um. Where do you go to find those hos, 'cause, um, I'd like to bang a few this weekend as well."

Rogers looked at him for a second, then laughed. "Fuck off, little boy. The adults want to talk. Plus, it's not like you're interested in girls, right?"

It was then PLV realized that rejection, and old friend and constant companion, would not be defeated in 'Nam, no matter how hard he tried. His tour of duty was almost up here, and he wanted to stay in the Army.

Maybe there's a place I can go with no people to reject me, he thought. Maybe...

Loose shit - calling it an autobiography. Fixed in this one.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Cold

"First rule of the 'Tic, man. Watch out for the fucking penguins, man. Those motherfuckers will fuck you up big-time."

PLV listened to the sergeant, bored with his warnings. Already the guy had told horror stories about the ice, the chill of the water and the dangers of frostbite.

"No, shit, man. Fuckin' penguins. I once saw them tear a guy limb from limb. The guy was awake through it all, man. Even when they ate his tongue." The sergeant took a puff from a cigarette. "Unfuckingbelievable."

PLV looked at his watch. "Yeah, well. I gotta go. The snowmobiles aren't going to fix themselves, right?" He smiled, an expression not returned by the sergeant.

"Someday, Lamdin, you're going to find out the hard way that I'm not shitting with you, man. I've been in the 'Tic for two years, man, and I've seen shit..."

Right. What's the worst that could happen? "sure thing. See you later, sarge." PLV put his parka on, pulled the hood over his head and went into the bracing cold.

A small snowstorm had picked up steam and visibility was down to only a few feet. For a few seconds, PLV thought about going back, then dismissed the idea. It was only a few yards to the snowmobile shack, and he could find his way.

He trudged along the path, keeping his head down. When he looked up, he expected to see the friendly lights of the shack, and the people working there. But there was only darkness.

"Shit. Musta gotten turned around. Fuckin' snow."

He walked for a few feet in the other direction, and the edges of panic began to creep into his consciousness. He was able to keep it down as the headed toward what he thought was the base.

Then he heard the noise, coming out of the darkness.

*Chirp*

*Chirp*

*CHIRP*

Is it too much poetic license to work Tubby Tubino in there somewhere?

LOL! This is good.

CHAPTER FIVE

Recovery

"NOOOOO!!!" PLV sat up in bed, his body covered in a cold sweat. He fumbled for the light on the table beside him. This dream had been especially bad. The penguins were tearing chunks of flesh out of his arms, out of his legs and in his dream, the sarge wasn't there to stop them.

After the attack, the Army had sent PLV to Landstuhl in Germany to recover from his wounds and get psychological treatment for the nightmares. His wounds bad been bad, but not life-threatening.

PLV barely remembered being transpored to Landstuhl. The first thing he remembered after the penguins was coming back to life in a warm bed and looking up at a rugged face.

"Wh...where am I?"

The man standing next to his bed smiled. "You're safe, at Landstuhl in Germany. I'm Sgt. Tubino, your corpsman."

PLV smiled. "You're like an angel from heaven," he said sleepily.

Tubino laughed. "Well, I've been called a lot of things, but never an angel. Time for you to sleep." He turned a valve on the IV drip and PLV felt warm, so warm...

In the weeks of recovery, PLV and Tubino spent a lot of time together. Before joining the Air Force, Tubino had been a student in the physical therapy program at a large college, so part of his duties at the hospital was to oversee the physical therapy of some patients.

"Seventeen...eighteen...nineteen...TWENTY!" Tubino grinned. "That's great. Nice job. Your legs are getting stronger every day."

PLV smiled back. He had grown fond of the man he'd called an angel on his first day. A secret part of his mind wondered just how fond, but the memories of his times with Howie hurt too much for him to make a move.

As it turned out, he hadn't needed to. One night, as Tubino wheeled him back to the room, he asked "So, Lamdin. How long since you've had a beer?"

PLV licked his lips. There had been no beer in 'Nam or in the 'Tic. "Man, I'd love a cold one. It has been awhile."

Tubino said. "Well, then. Tonight's your lucky night. You had a good day, so it's time to celebrate."

And so they did.

They should have been more careful, though. A doctor who discovered the nature of their celebration made a call to his commanding officer.

The next week, PLV got orders to ship out to Korea, effective upon his recovery. Tubino was assigned to a different wing of the hospital.

They never saw each other again.

Obviously, our first priority in Afghanistan was ending the training camps which were sending people to come kill our families. Thanks, military! As a regular civilian, I appreciate it when you stop people from coming to kill me.

But beyond that, what we've done for the people of Afghanistan (who have been through decades of civil war, which is hell I can't even imagine) is something pretty amazing. They're still very poor and burdened with a host of social problems it will take them decades to solve, but they're a lot better than they were before. We've brought hope back to their country, literally.

There are a lot of fine reasons to be very proud of America.

They never saw each other again.

And so they meet here in, of all places, AOSHQ. It's touching, really.

Alternate ending: Maybe Tooby Turbine and PLV .... are the same tortured 17 year old quadrapaegic kid. It was all a dream, all a dream ...

[Fade Out]

Bad news of the hollywood left in afganastan they think of you has what lays on the street and people step in yuk hang the dog hang it high