"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids, The Exciting Conclusion!

VIETNAM 1969

    Sarge was now up, and had been so for hours. Dusty gave Sarge some of his beef band-aids to patch him up a bit, but he didn't seem right in the head, it was like something snapped inside his head. He went into the command tent and came out with his M16 and ordered the motley crew to "saddle up" and that they were going on a "rescue assignment." They couldn't question his orders as he was the acting CO on base. Floodwatch, not wanting to start a second conflict remained silent. Shortstop wanted to speak out, but knew that Sarge wouldn't take him seriously because of his race. Dusty never questioned orders, he always assumed that there was a reason that they're given. Frostbite just liked the thrill of the kill.
    Dusty and Floodwatch both picked up standard issue M16 rifles, only Floodwatch stuck a bayonet on the end of his "just in case." Dusty brought his tin of beef bandages which he had deemed a good luck charm. Shortstop picked up an M60 light machine gun, a particularly odd (and humorous) choice for a man of his small stature. Frostbite took his trusty scoped Springfield and an M1911 pistol.
    They slogged through the jungle for what seemed like hours, and Dusty disarmed his 100th mine, but nobody knew a nickname for him. After a while Floodwatch finally got the courage to speak up. "Uhh... Sarge? Just where are we headed? And who are we rescuing?" "We are headed to coordinates Eight-Six-Seven-Five-Three-Oscar-Niner Private! We're goin' to rescue Lieutenant Haystack." "Wait, you mean Lieutenant Bill "Haystack" Williams? He's been dead for five months!" Dusty's heart sank. "Those coordinates that u just rambled about? Those aren't even real! Sarge we need to get you back to base! You're not okay in the head!"
    Sarge's eyes were unnaturally wide, he was twitching, eyes darting between the other men. "I don't know what you're talking about! Stay back! GET AWAY FROM ME!!" Floodwatch reached out for Sarge's arm and Sarge jumped back and grabbed his M16. "Woah Sarge you don't want to do that, give me the rifle..." "NO! GET AWAY" Sarge fired a round into Floodwatch's gut and screamed a terrible scream. Floodwatch fell like a stone hands clamped down on his wound. Shortstop yelled "NOOO!!" and hip-fired his M60 into Sarge. There was a single tear on Shortstop's face.
    Dusty dropped to Floodwatch's side. He pulled out his beef bandages and put some in the wound. "Don't waste those on me man, I'm done for." "Don't say that Floodwatch you hear me?" "No... no... I won't make it back to base..." he gave a shuddering chuckle "Heh, Sweepy..." "Did you just give me a nickname? Floodwatch? ANSWER ME!" But Floodwatch was gone. Dusty took his dog tags and put them in his band-aid tin. The remaining members began to march back to base.
    After a long, silent march, they were almost back at base. Then suddenly there was a plinking of metal and Dusty was knocked to the ground. It was as if he'd been punched in the chest. they then heard the crack of a gun a second later. "SNIPER!" Yelled Frostbite. Shortstop fired his gun into the brush, but then suddenly he collapsed as if he were a rag doll. Another crack of the gun a second after he collapsed. Frostbite dropped onto the ground and looked into the brush. He fired once, but recoiled less then a second later, he'd been shot in the same instant that he fired.
    "Sweepy... Sweepy... I got him... come closer..." Dusty crawled closer to Frostbite, there was blood seeping through his uniform by his right lung. He coughed a wet hacking cough and began to tell the story that he swore that he'd only tell on his death bed. "My mother. She was the only one who brought any warmth in my life. She was a Scottish immigrant, always carried a pound with her. One day I came home to an ambulance, they were wheeling my mother out on a stretcher. She was deathly ill. The last thing she said to me was 'Get indoors honey, you wouldn't want to catch frostbite...' I'd tell you my name, but I'm afraid... I've.... forgotten....." Frostbite couldn't draw breath anymore. With his last bit of strength and willpower, pulled his Mother's Scottish pound out of his pocket and held it out. He gave Dusty a steely gaze that said "Take it, remember me, remember my story." Frostbite died right there, eyes still gazing into Dusty's. Dusty shut Frostbite's eyes and put the pound and Frostbite's dog tags in his tin. He walked over to where Shortstop fell and took his tags as well. Dusty walked back to base and radioed in for assistance....

PRESENT DAY

    "So young'ns thats the story of m'tin and m'nickname. I still have the dog tags, the pound, and the bullet m'lucky tin caught and saved my life from." Ritchie and Jimmy were dumbstruck. "Wow Mr. Sweepy! You must've gotten every medal there is!" "Oh no, kiddies. I didn't get a single medal, and you know what? I'm fine with that. All of those brave men I served with deserved the medals, not me. The only shame was that they didn't live but I did, al because of a silly novelty band-aid tin. I've sworn to live a life good enough for all of them."

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids (Part Eight)

  "I still to this day don't know why Frostbite held me back." said Sweepy pensively. "Maybe he didn't like Floodwatch, maybe he didn't like Sarge, maybe he just liked a good fight, or maybe he liked watchin' other people suffer... "

VIETNAM 1969

  It was Sarge that threw the first punch, but it was miles off. Floodwatch saw the wind-up from a mile away and sidestepped it. Sarge then threw a back-fist at Floodwatch, but he took a quick step backwards and it just missed him, "I warn you Sarge, one more punch and I'm gonna fight back!" Sarge yelled and threw a kick aimed for Floodwatch's gut and this time Floodwatch didn't sidestep, he twisted in place, letting Sarge's boot graze his fatigues. "Kicks count too!" yelled Floodwatch as he grabbed Sarge's leg and swept the other out from beneath him. He dropped his knee into Sarge's gut and punched him in the face, hard enough to knock him unconscious. "Well Ahn-Toh-Ni, Dusty, Frostbite, we had better get to know each other real well. I don't think that were going to live here very long after good old Sarge here wakes up." Frostbite said, "Huh, I would've bet money on Sarge."
  They spent the next half hour telling each other their stories (except Frostbite, who swore that he'd only tell his story on his death bed). Ahn-Toh-Ni told the story of his childhood growing up in the streets of Saigon, how his mother died when he was only 6, how he learned how to shoot a gun by 8, and how he learned how to play baseball by age 10. (which is where we got the name shortstop!) Floodwatch told us his real name, Damien Stachowski, how he lived in California amongst the hippies, and how he never did any drugs, because his mother told him not to and he loved his mother to death. He told them that his name actually came from a dill instructor back in the states. He had been issued fatigues that were 2 sizes too small and his drill sergeant said "Are you waiting for a flood Stachowski?" Dusty said that he didn't have much of a story to tell, that he worked in his parents butcher shop, how the beef bandages that he got in the care package were the novelty ones that were kept on display on the counter in the shop. How he'd successfully disarmed 99 mines. Frostbite looked disturbed by all of this talk of mothers, started playing with his pound and walked away to check on Sarge. The group disregarded Frostbite and agreed that they'd give Dusty a nickname as soon as he disarmed mine number 100. Frostbite then called out to them "Hey guys! He's comin' around..."

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids (Part Seven)

  "That was the first time any of us saw Shortstop..." Sweepy said pensively. "We didn't treat him very hospitable-like (Except Floodwatch of course. We didn't understand why at the time). Up 'til then, the only Vietnamese contact we'd had before then was with the enemy. Yeah we made sure he drew the short stick every time there was a dangerous assignment. Sarge was the worst out of all of us! If I could take it back I would. He didn't deserve what we put him through... He would and did lay down his life for us and our cause..."

VIETNAM 1969

  "Do - you - un - der - stand - me? I - said - mop - out - the - la - trines!" Sarge was pretending like Ahn-Toh-Ni  didn't know how to speak English again, and Floodwatch was sick of it. "He understands you Sarge! He speaks perfect English but you wouldn't know that because you never let him get a word in edgewise!" At this, Sarge's face turned brick red. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU SAY TO ME PRIVATE!!?!" "I believe I told you to treat him like a human and not like an animal, sir." There was a venom in Floodwatch's voice that nobody in the squad had heard before. "I will treat him any way I damn well please private, and if you don't like that then you better be prepared to be spiting out chiclets before the day is through." "I don't want to fight you Sarge, but I'm not going to let you keep treating Ahn-Toh-Ni like garbage."
  At this point, Dusty and Frostbite ran onto the scene to see what was happening. They saw Sarge and Floodwatch square off to fight. Dusty started off to break up the fight, but Frostbite grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and said "No, it's time for Floodwatch to put his money where his mouth is."

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids (Part Six)

  "Mr. Sweepy!" Little Ritchie Marcus had been holding all of his questions in like a two year old holding his breath to get his way, and they all burst out at once. "Why didn't they call you by your nickname? Why did they call Floodwatch Floodwatch? You mentioned a guy named 'Shortstop' before, who is he? Why haven't you mentioned him yet? Why is his name Shortstop? And what does any of this have to do with your beef bandage tin!?" Sweepy chuckled heartily. "Woah, wooah slow down thar little feller! I'll get to that part of the story when I get to it!"

VIETNAM 1969

  "Hey Floodwatch," said Dusty, "Don't worry about Sarge, he's just a tough sonofagun." "It's okay man, I can't make him like me, all I can do is take his abuse gracefully, lettin' him know that I couldn't care the slightest that he's yellin' at me. Besides, I could kick his sorry butt in fight." Frostbite gave a humorless chuckle at this. "Nobody can beat Sarge in a fight, not even me." "Sure I can!" exclaimed Floodwatch. "You guys remember that show that used to be on TV?" "Which one Floodwatch?" "The Green Hornet! You know Bruce Lee?" "Was he that Asian guy who played Kato?" "One and the same! I met him!" "Get outta town!" "No man Im serious! I told him how I loved his show and we got to shootin' the breeze and we really hit it off man! Eventually I told him how I got drafted into the army and he said 'You're a good fellow Stachowski, I wouldn't want a nice guy like you getting killed over there, so you want to learn some of what I do?' To which I responded 'Chyeah man! I'll take whatever knowledge you can give me!' We trained together in a style he called 'Jeet Kune Do' which is a form he made himself! Hey, you know he's working on a movie script called 'Enter the Dragon'?" "Wait, is he the dragon or does he fight a dragon or-" "FAAAAAALLL IIIIIIIN!!!!" They were all snapped out of their personal lives and back into reality. They all lined up immediately. Sarge was standing with a short South-Vietnamese man. "This man has been lumped into our unit. His name is Ahn-Toh-Ni Ya-Uung. He's part of our family now. Treat him as such..."

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids (Part Five)

  "Frostbite was one cold son-of-a-gun! And with good reason! I was the only one to hear his story from his own mouth... his dying words... But! I haven't told y'all about my other companions now have I?" Said Sweepy with a slight chuckle, as if shaking off some painful memories. "Let's start with good ol' Floodwatch! He was an odd one he was ol' Floodwatch, if there was anybody that didn't belong in the army it was Floodwatch..."

VIETNAM 1969

  "Listen to me Dusty," said Frostbite, "you hang on to those bandages your mother sent you." He pulled out a Scottish pound and began twirling it between his fingers. "You never know how long you'll have a mother..." Dusty felt like that pound had some greater meaning tho Frostbite, but before he could ask him about it  he heard Sarge screaming at Floodwatch. "ARE YOU HIGH AGAIN PRIVATE!!?!" Floodwatch looked back at the Sergeant serenely and said "I've never been high before and I'm not high now unless you count being high on life man." "Well then perhaps you'd like to show me your forearms?" "Here they are Sarge." He held out both arms, both were needle track free. "Well you seem clean Private, but perhaps you should take off your sunglasses!" Sarge snatched the glasses off of Floodwatch's face, only to reveal deep-cerulean blue eyes, that were not bloodshot in any way. "I'd appreciate it if you would give those back sir, I particularly like the way they keep things from getting in my eyes. If the damn army would just let me grow my hair out then I wouldn't need these things man!" "You know what? I just plain don't like you 'Flood-Watch', so I'm making you take a mandatory drug test!" "Good!" exclaimed Floodwatch. "I've had to pee all day!"

IT'S A SENSATION!

  Have you noticed lately that the news is getting more and more excited about things that are less and less important? I long for the days of Walter Cronkite, Back when the news told you the happenings of the world with no spin, no agenda. Nowadays the major news organizations, such as NBC, CNN, and Fox news especially, all seem to want to scare you over to their side. Whether acknowledging rumors of the president being a secret muslim (by the way, what is so bad about being muslim?), spreading lies about "death panels" being in a proposed universal healthcare bill, some of the "news" today is downright absurd. I mean, death panels? Come on! When in the history of the United States has ANY official EVER said that a panel of people deciding whether or not you live or die was a good idea? I don't know either, and do you know why? Because an official like that would NEVER be elected and has NEVER been elected. But it isn't just on the fox news end of the spectrum. I also seem to remember an offensive and downright racist picture on the cover of the new yorker depicting President Obama and the first lady as terrorists "fist-bumping" in the oval office. I so tire of this melodrama, this sensationalism that the media uses to grub ratings and money. I know that the media will cling to the constitution to defend these stupidities as their free speech, and that they will continue to spout lies in order to further their own agendas. I can't, however, help but hope for a bipartisan future where the media is unbiased and politicians will work together to achieve common goals for the greater  good of America itself, even though this seems like a pipe dream.

Back in my day!

"Back in my day, we could (insert phrase here)!" or "Back in we knew how to (insert phrase here)!". Have your elders ever told you something like this? They sure have told me! Whether telling me how the clothing used to be more modest, to naming skills such as fixing a car or general repairs around the house, I used to write this off as random rantings of an old person's aging mind. But lately I've realized how true these "ramblings" were. I've realized how much we rely on technology and other people to do what we need, in fact, we hardly do anything anymore! Car's broken? Call a mechanic. Problem with the plumbing? Call a plumber. Driveway's cracked? Call a paving service. Need warmer clothing? Go to an outlet store. Hungry? Call for pizza or go out to dinner. Noticing a pattern? "Back in the day," people knew how to fix things, how to cook, how to make clothing, etc. Nowadays, we rely on technology far too much, and for things that technology can't fix, we look to other people to fix for us in exchange for an excessive amount of money. So what trying to say? Am I saying that we should give up tech all together? Of course not! Tech can be very helpful, all I'm saying is that we should try to learn some helpful skills, if only for the sake of saving money and becoming more self-reliant.

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids (Part Four)

  "You see fellers, back in the day, personal mail came few and far between. I reckon I was the only one in m'squad to get anything from home, not Sarge, not Floodwatch, not Shortstop, and definitely not Frostbite. Mama's package was like a light that could break through any haze that 'Nam could throw at me..."

VIETNAM 1969

  Dusty laughed warmly to himself, the first time he'd done so in weeks. "What's so funny?" asked Lance Corporal "Frostbite." (Nobody knew his real name, not even his commanding officers. Everybody called him "Frostbite" because of his reputation as a sniper, and because it was rumored that he had permafrost on his skin and ice water in his veins. Everybody, including people who outrank him...) "Its nothin' Frostbite, just somethin' my Ma' said in this letter." "What did she say?" "Well I don't se how tha-" Frostbite fixed him with an icy stare. "Uhh... Well she sent me these beef bandages because she thought that I'd get a chuckle outta them, seein' as I used to work in a butcher shop back in Tennessee. And as for the sixty-two cents, she said it was my allowance, and that if I wanted more then I had to get my sorry butt back home and do my chores." Dusty chuckled to himself but Frostbite's expression remained stoic. The man really must have been all that his nickname suggested. The only words he spoke, after pondering for what seemed like ages, were "Huh. That's funny."

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids (Part Three)

"You see kids, I never wanted to be in the army at all! I was drafted 'n dragged into basic, trainin' that is, kickin' an' screamin'. Once I was in 'Nam, I was jittery as a jumpin' bean on the fourth o' Gee-lye! I got me a nervous titter any time I was called by Sarge, 'cause it usually meant there were mines to be disarmed! But this time was different, this time he gave me a care package my Ma sent me..."

VIETNAM 1969

"Here you go corporal." Sergeant Tank Daily handed the package over to Corporal Dusty Hoover. "Th-th-thank you kindly Sarge!" said Dusty, beginning to tear at the wrappings of the box. He shook the box gingerly, being gentle enough to not disturb the contents of the box, but firm enough so as to hear what was inside. he heard a faint rattling, like something clinking against tin. He tore the box open. When he saw what was inside it was like Christmas came early. It was a letter from his mother back in Tennessee, sixty-two cents, and a tin with pictures of t-bone steaks on it.

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids (Part Two)

  "Well kids, if Imma gonna tell this story right, Imma gonna have to start from the beginnin' " said old Sweepy the janitor to his favorite middle schoolers, Ritchie Marcus and Jimmy Henderson. "It all started on April 22, 1969. It was a particularly misty day in Vietnam...

VIETNAM, 1969

  "Corporal Hoover!" yelled Sergeant Tank Daily. "W-w-what is it Sarge?!" Corporal Dusty Hoover cried back in terror. "There ain't anymore o' them g-dern mines out there, is there Sarge??" "For Pete sake man, get a hold of yourself! We're at base camp you gibbering, namby-pamby, lily-livered, Tennessee hick! The reason I hollered for you is that you've got a care package from home. Something's rattling inside, must be something good..."

"Sweepy" and the Band-Aids (Part one)

   It was a school day like any other, nothing out of the ordinary. Little Jimmy Henderson and Ritchie Marcus were just let out of school when they saw their favorite janitor "Sweepy" in the main hall. "Hey Sweepy!" they both cried out. "Jimmy! Ritchie! How are m'favorite students doing today?" he replied jovially. Ritchie and Jimmy were just discussing Sweepy before the final bell. Sweepy always carried an odd tin of bandages with him. They had decided that the next time they saw him, they would ask about it.
   "Hey, Sweepy? We were wondering why you always carry that weird bandage tin around with you. Why does it have a hole in one side and a dent in the other? And why does it have pictures of meat on it?" "Well young'ns," Sweepy replied, "m'name didn't always used to be Sweepy. I used to be Corporal Dusty Hoover, explosives expert, 23rd Recon back in 'Nam! If you two got the time, I'll tell y'all the story of how I got m'nickname and this here band-aid tin..."

Happy Days v. Jersey Shore, the Moral Decline in the Entertainment Industry

   Today's entertainment industry is on the decline. There aren't really many arguments that can be made against this opinion. For example, take one of todays most popular program's, the Jersey Shore. This show doesn't just show, let's be frank here, lower forms of being; it delights in them. A spray-on tan, breast enhanced, revealing clothing wearing, dance club hopping, hair-product induced Gomorrah filled with egos to boggle the mind, that frankly makes my eyeballs want to puke. It makes me wonder: what ever happened to the golden years in television? Back when the raciest thing on the idiot box was "The Fonz" kissing more than one girl in one episode of "Happy Days"? (even then they insisted that they were all Fonzie's girl friends because "kissing without a relationship" didn't exist back then). What happened to the days when being the good guy was cool and not the opposite? What happened to the days when John Wayne always brought the bad guy to justice? I yearn for good television in an age where truly all good ideas have been exhausted. But it isn't just in the television industry that this moral decline is occurring, the music industry is also traveling downhill.
   In my personal opinion, today's popular music sounds like what would happen if you crammed all the cast members of "The Jersey Shore" into a cannon and blasted them into a synthesizer which was then blasted into and editing room with an electronic microphone, but that's just me. Today's music (much like its television) is focussed on sex. I won't go into any lyrics here, suffice it to say that if you've heard the music, you know what I'm talking about. Whatever happened to bands like The Beatles who said "I wanna hold your hand" ? Music also used to tell a story, but now it is little more than sentence fragments set to a tune with a beat. Mindless drivel that you can dance to, all sounding the same, like using the same reused dough cut with the same dull cookie-cutter. It saddens me on a level not known by many people today, who seem to be happy with the status quo.
   Others seem to like this kind of programming and this kind of music, and they look at me as if I have lobsters crawling out of my ears and tap-dancing on my shoulders. Perhaps they're correct in their belief that their music is "good" whereas mine "sucks." Perhaps I'm just the weird one with the "old people music" and the "corny old shows." I believe, however, that I've simply come to expect a higher quality of entertainment than the crudest of humor and the cheap sex attempting to brainwash me like Goebbels or Pepsi cola.

Spoiled Brats (The Dysfunctionality of Government Today)

   Most people who know me know that I don't believe in the competence of our government. It seems that lately the folks up on capital hill keep giving people more and more reasons to agree with me, and its getting worse and worse. The folks in congress and the house of representatives are acting like a bunch of spoiled children in a classroom with their new teacher, Mr. Obama.
   On one side of the isle, you have the nerds (democrats) and on the other, you have the bullies (republicans). Lets start with the nerds. The nerds are those smart kids who always think they know the answer, even when they don't. They back down to the bullies demands too easily because they want to be seen as the reasonable ones and hope that the bullies will be happy once they get what they want, even though that never happens. When things go badly they blame the bullies because it was their idea.
   Then you have the bullies. They're loud, obnoxious, and they also think they know the answer and will never admit when they're wrong and will argue that the general view of the rest of the populous is incorrect because they're afraid of looking stupid (even though this makes them look even more stupid than "man-ing up" and admitting that they're wrong). They like to ignore the other classes in the school (countries in the world) because they aren't "the best darn class in the school"like they assume themselves to be. Even when there are more nerds than bullies they always get what they want because they will threaten the nerds with anything that they have to make sure that they comply.
   Lastly you have the teacher, everybody's enemy, poor Mr. Obama. Even though he's been teaching at the school for 3 years now, none of his students respect him because he doesn't know how to discipline. He always tries to give everybody what they want, to help the bullies and the nerds compromise for the good of the class. The bullies usually get what they want, however, because they are always more "insistent" than the nerds. Add to that that Mr. Obama wants to be liked by everybody, especially the bullies, because this would show everybody how anybody can get along through compromise. The Bullies have other plans, however. As far as they're concerned, Mr. Obama is the biggest nerd in the entire class and every time they get what they want, it shows how bad a teacher Mr. Obama is. Meanwhile, the other nerds in the class are growing more and more resentful toward Mr. Obama because  he only ever lets the bullies do what they want to do, even though they're the well behaved ones.
   I know that some out there would tell you that our system of representative democracy is the best system of government ever, but is it really? I put it to you that any form of government only sounds good   "on paper." Sure, a group of people with different ideas, elected by the masses, coming together to solve the problems facing a nation sounds nice, but what if the men who were elected were then bought off by special interests groups who want to make sure that laws want to come out the way that will benefit them the most? What if i told you that these men would sign their own values over to their party leaders, ignoring what they believe to be right for the sake of their "public image?" I argue that not only are these "men" aren't men at all, but spoiled children. In fact, to call them spoiled children is a truly grand understatement. These "men" are not children on a playground fighting over "their spot" on the jungle gym; their petty squabbles affect real people everywhere in this beautiful country of ours. Their greed and corruption is like a tumor on an otherwise great country.
  You may think me wrong, and that's your right, one of the many that make this country great. Maybe you think I'm just an angry, idealistic kid; but I'm just a concerned citizen, worried about the future, and hoping for folks to set aside their differences, to stop acting like spoiled brats, and to do what is necessary for the greater good of the nation and not for personal gain.