A 74-year-old man just went to war

And I had 2 eggs (over-easy), about 5 strips of bacon, toast, coffee, grapefruit, and orange juice for breakfast.

The title and the introduction paragraph have absolutely nothing to do with each other. I know. But I just wanted to shed some light on paths.

My path can not be distinguished from that of my neighbors and their neighbors and the folks across the street. Maybe they had some vegemite or some of the Honeybunches, but for the most part we're gonna slep on a Serta tonight and do the whole damn thing again tomorrow.

Then there is the path of this 74-year-old doctor. He is off to war. For about the 3rd time and on one of his previous deployments he took care of Saddam Hussein.

I ask, and maybe I'm being a tad unfair or a bit cavalier toward myself and my path, but would you consider this man way more salty than I?

I'm doing the American thing. Choosing my choices. So is he. I put toward and redeem from the GNP of this great nation. So does he. I'm perhaps saving lives in deciding my route to work and my decision to recycle and compost. So as he is saving lives on his own as well. But who would ever consider me a hero? (Beside those anti-war people) What will I ever do at 74 that will pop up on msn.com and create a buzz?

Like I said my breakfast and this man's deployment mean nothing to each other. But I feel as if this isn't and apples to oranges or even apples to apples comparison.

The Worst Thing a Person Can Do

Think for a minute about the absolute worst thing possible. It's not selling your great-Grandma's dagger collection or breaking up with a priest or anything. No. I encountered, but did not participate in, the exact act of complete and total worstness.

I was outside a McDonalds in a busy thoroughfare and some guy next to me straight farted with audibility.

I'll give you a damn minute.

Or two.

It was the total worst thing. You got the greasy, industrial meat microwaving smell, mixed with actual car-induced methane, and then person induced methane intermingling. Whoa! It was intense and uncalled for.

Not like a suicide Coke. Not like a handful of Jelly-Bellies. Not like a Tampon variety pack.

No...it was like a pot-luck of smelly, nasty nuances. Like if your company had a Anglo-East African-Scottish-Lebanese themed potluck and then drenched everything in day-old mayonnaise and washed it down with a nice Tahitian Treat.

It wasn't right.