I was in the pain clinic yesterday. I have a couple of serious pain issues due to a severe auto accident I was in a couple of years ago. An exceedingly ancient old lady that was far, far too old to be driving did a u-turn in front of me without warning. No signals, no brake lights, nothing. I broad-sided her driver's door on my Sportster. Needless to say I was in a world of hurt. She just hit the gas and kept going, blue and white smoke billowing from her old beat-up jalopy. We've all seen her type: From behind all you see is a white halo of hair just above the driver's seat and two sets of white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. That's all...lol. Sometimes I wonder if she even knew what had happened. She was so incredibly old and senile that it's very probable she didn't. We need to pass laws to stop these people. If we don't they drive until they die..or kill someone else, which is usually what happens. Then all the relatives run to Granny's defense, never thinking about the lives she's wrecked. I've seen this too..over and over to the point of disgust. The upshot is that now I suffer from chronic pain in several locations where the bones didn't knit properly.

But let me return to my subject:
At the clinic I see a lot of people come and go. Many of them are just fakers, trying to get high. The doctors are very experienced and bounce these characters every day. Sometimes they make a scene. I get a kick out of their antics. But yesterday was different. As I sat in the waiting room with a dozen other people, a man entered in a wheelchair. Everyone gawked at him the way they do when there's a car wreck. People disgust me. They're such damned ghouls. I've lost count of the times I was stuck in a freeway traffic jam for hours only to find it wasn't the insignificant fender bender that blocked traffic, it was the thousands of ghouls that slowed down, holding up the entire freeway, hoping they'd get to see some blood and gore. People make me sick. No wonder Obama won the primary. America will never live that down. They stared and gawked and whispered to each other while they eyed him sideways. Disgusting. And I could see it bothered him really badly. You see, he was an Iraqi war veteran that had been hit by a raghead Moslem IED. It had blown away both arms, both legs except for a couple of stumps above the knees, and blown his face off to boot.

Yeah, let's all campaign for Palestinian rights... From the looks of him the doctors had done over a dozen surgeries trying to patch together his face, and it showed. He was a horror to behold. Four or five different types and shades of skin covered his face, neck and head in two-inch squares, and huge, livid scars were everywhere. His eyes bugged from burned away sockets and his lips were only shreds. Scant tufts of hair stuck up randomly on his seared scalp, and the over-all effect was horrifying. It takes a lot to move me to tears anymore because this soul of mine has seen a much harder life than I could ever explain to those that don't know me. But this poor man made me tear up. All those self-centered bastards in the waiting room knew their stares were hurting him, but they didn't care. They wanted to gawk! And he was silently crying from embarrassment and hurt. I caught the glimmer of a tear in his eye as I glanced ever so quickly his way, then turned away. I only looked at him once fleetingly, taking in everything I needed to know in an instant, then I ignored him and treated him just like any other co-patient. I tried to set an example for the others to follow, but to no avail. The Mexicans and their kids were the worst, one punk Mestizo even had the balls to giggle at him. When I came out from my appointment I had to take a seat again to be set up with another appointment for the following month. After a few minutes I felt eyes on me. Glancing up I saw that it was the patchwork hero. And he was smiling at me. I smiled back and returned my attention to my book, but out of the corner of my eye I could see that he was still looking at me and smiling...in gratitude. Because I had treated him a like a man, like any other man instead of some freak show. Then it was his turn to go, and he left with his head a little higher than when he first came in. Someone had shown respect... He's my hero...

People ask me a lot why I get so worked up, and why I fight the system and government corruption with such a venom. HE is why. Him, and all the other young men that have been killed or maimed directly or indirectly by our corrupt leaders through unnecessary wars, open borders, political correctness, integration, and all the other evils that are taking the lives of so many innocent whites. All those deaths and injuries and lost lives have one cause: corrupt men in power. And as long as I live, I'll fight for those they have hurt, and for those they haven't yet been able to hurt. I fight for all the patchwork heroes....