Dennis Latham: Life, Fiction, and the Pursuit of Madness

On the list of most dangerous jobs. The 5 Most Dangerous Jobs In America 1. Police Officer (Job was always dangerous but has now made it to the top of the list as criminal behavior, terrorism, and anarchy are the new norm for some people .) 2. Preacher Wife (Being the wife of a preacher has a high mortality rate, an unusual number of preacher wives die under mysterious circumstances, disappear, or are  murdered. Women: think twice before you marry that smooth talking preacher. When he gets a jealous woman on the side, known as a *THOT, your days are numbered.  Start sleeping with a gun.) 3. Dog Ball Checker (Indiana has a dog ball tax, 2.00 for female dogs and 4.00 for male dogs, paid yearly. If you lie and get caught, you can be charged with perjury for not claiming dogs or lying about gender. Someone has to check dog balls in every county. Since dogs don't like strangers checking their balls without a fight, this is a very dangerous job. Th

The government spent 500,000 dollars to see if shrimp get tired on treadmills It didn't matter. They just printed the money. There Is No Real Deficit I've never heard anyone say: "I better hold back some of my money to help pay the deficit." Did anyone ever tell you they had dreams about the deficit? Yet, all you ever hear about from politicians is the deficit, like we should be concerned.  There is no deficit.  We just print more money. When Nixon took us off the gold standard and nothing backed our money up that's when real corruption began.  The Social Security Fund hasn't existed since President Johnson took the money during Vietnam. It's just another tax. How can you run out of money for an account that doesn't exist? How can you have a deficit when you print your own money? The Federal Reserve and the government tax us on money they print and pay themselves back with interest on money they print. They don't really

This VC Flag made on rice paper. I've had it since 1967. In Vietnam we had the Phantom Jet for close air support. While on operations, the jets would drop bombs in front of us, especially, if we were about to enter a Viet Cong village or enemy soldiers were in the open. Close air support was often an understatement. The pilots had to be good to keep from killing us along with the enemy. The Phantom would scream over, tilt up and drop a 500 pound bomb that looked like a wobbling cigar. A black smoke cloud would rise, and then the shock wave, a living thing, would ripple outward. You could see it coming, like an ocean wave, right before you heard the heart rate altering blast. Then shrapnel would patter down on your head, often mixed with minute fragments of anything else the bomb destroyed, including people. It was the only time I ever felt sorry for the enemy; humans should never be exposed to such destructive power. That's how I got the paper VC flag in the picture

(This entry has had a lot of comments, and I'm glad it can help bring Nam vets together or to help find each other. If you have a comment, please attach your name to the comment or from this point forward it won't be published. I've received many comments that are phony and obviously made up, submitted by anonymous submission. I do screen all comments. Click the photo to enlarge. Semper Fi.) This is the Liberty Bridge (click to make larger) in Quang Nam Province in Vietnam during July of 1968. Of the 14,000 Marines killed in Vietnam, 10,000 were killed in Quang Nam Province. (Figures in comment section show a little under 7000 KIA in Quang Nam.) This was late in my tour on July 2. The bridge had been blown once again by the enemy to isolate the Marine base at An Hoa. I was a 50 caliber machine gunner on a convoy to resupply the An Hoa Firebase. I called this the River Styx because it had a ferry boat. Once you crossed the river you entered a nightmare hell on earth cal

The end of an era? New Year's Resolutions This year I'm once again on New Years...giving up skydiving, rock climbing, any Alfredo sauce, alcohol, watching all pro football, peeing outside, and most gambling. It's a tough call. And since I'm a man, keeping my hand away from my crotch. (Back in the 50s that's all we had to play with most of the time.)  Tough habits to break.

A typical Sunnyvale resident back in the days I spent there. He never attended groups because he would sit on his own face. Written at Sunnyvale Mental Rehab in Fermonga, Ohio. A Short Excerpt From A Book You'll Never Read Chapter 41 Vito Nazarini and Monk Spitzanelli watched as the man they were supposed to kill stepped from a parked car. In a moment, they were at his side. "Hey, Frankie," Vito said to the victim. "Big Elmo says dat you is supposed to take a ride wit us, ha-ha." Frankie Garbaroni knew his executioners well, and though trapped with two ice picks jabbing his back, he had a plan. "Big Elmo who?" Frankie said. Vito and Monk looked at each other, and Frankie knew their limited third grade education might save his life. "Frankie, you know who it is," Monk said. "Big Elmo Maraconzon, uh, Maracuzzo, uh, you tella him, Vito." "Hell, Monk, I can't a pronounce dat nam