For those of you following Hector updates; he had a bad attack of the bleeding ulcer this noon (vomiting blood).  Got some Kaopectate and some MSM. Has stopped hunching, is curled up asleep on the couch.  We didn’t think we’d get him to Thanksgiving. No, we’re not forcing him for us; he still likes to eat and purr and sneak out of the house under our feet, but he’s getting weaker every day. He’s just not THERE yet.

(An early Black Manuscript character died of a bleeding ulcer.  She was an SS officer.  Hector’s black.  I’m an art-witch.  You do the math.  I never thought it would go for the animals.)

A very useful story unit is the Lost Patrol. On the wrong course, pissed off, trying to stay within the schedule and get back with all working parts (including the organic ones).

And not take the blame.  Otherwise known as CYA (Cover Your Ass).

Sorry. I come from a period in the military before it got Southernized (Walter Scott sloppy sentimentality). We were cynical and smart-mouthed, even us RA (Regular Army) Lifer types (I was a volunteer so was officially a “Lifer”). The attitude of the draftees ran the joint. None of the drippy soldier porn we have today.

I’ve heard people saying we could fund doctor education by sending them through the army.  Ever SEEN a drafted doctor? M.A.S.H. was the mild version.