I Cut The Damn Thing Off

It was 1972 and I had been back from 'Nam about 2 months. i had seen and been in an area where there were constant firefights. I saw friends and fairly close 'associates' die. I had one friend in front of me who caught an AK-47 round in the head. His pink brain matter splattered all over my face and shirt. I had enough and started smoking Thai sticks with people. I had two more years left in a Marine Corps enlistment. I 'volunteered' and did two tours of duty, each 2 years. I finally realised what a fool I was for ever volunteering. In a matter of 13 months I graduated from Marijuana to Heroin. I was sniffing up to $25 a day. Back then that was a hell of a lot of dope. I finally got my head back together and even though I was using 'horse' I was still an efficient killing machine. I actually was enjoying it more and more. Something like the Chinese on their human-wave attacks during the Korean War of the 1950's. I had no doubt the Viet Kong were using Heroin also. I had seen some who continued to fight with an arm or two legs blown off. I saw a Claymore go off and fill three VC with hundreds of .0 balls and one was laughing as he died. I saw other instances where no logical explanations could be imagined except a brain full of good dope. I wasn't feeling no pain either, but I kept it together. The more I killed the better I felt. As for killing little children, there was no way around it. The kid's mamasans would pull the pin on a grenade. They would tell their little kid close their hands around the grenades and go give it to the nice Americans. I heard of one US Army Captain who was murdered like this. I didn't personally know him, but I had met him one time in a bar in Hanoi a year earlier when I was on R & R (Rest & Relaxtion). The year I was on 'Horse' I personally counted my kill of 71 VC. This was unofficial, but my count was accurate. The last 6 months I was a Marine Corp sniper. I was fully functional with all types of firearms. Many times, I was the point-man who carried a shotgun. I was an outdoorsman who had made many game kills before I enlisted in the Marines. I was originally from West Virginia and had hunting and fishing in my genetic makeup and blood. I was an aquaintance of Charles Manson, before Charley moved to California and became 'famous' there in 1969. Charley wasn't anything, but a two-bit punk in West Virginia who had been in prison before California. I was raised on the poor side of town and his mama was a cheap whore. I went to school with him in the 7th and 8th grade. He dropped out in the ninth grade and we sometimes saw each other at the Main Street pool hall. I personally counted 35 kills as a sniper. This was during a 6-month period. I always lied about it and my 'official' count was usually lower. I didn't want any recognition. I was always high on Horse and didn't feel I deserved any. I didn't feel good about murdering because I had killed somebody's daddy, brother or best friend. War brings nothing but grief. I finally ETSed in January 1972. The war had mainly slowed down and many were mustering out. My voluntary time had come to an end. I went back to West Virginia expecting to be considered a hero. I couldn't believe what was going on in America. As I came through the San Francisco airport, I had fifteen or so hippies spit on me and call me a 'child-killer.' What the hell had I done to deserve this? I knocked the shit out of three of them until an airport police officer put a stop to it. I could have easily beat the shit out of 7 or 8 of the damned hippies. The police officer had run off the longhairs three times in a month and fully understood the problem. He simply told me to have a safe trip back to West Virginia and thanked me for the fine job I had done for my country. He told me he was a Korean War veteran himself. I told him thank you and moved on and boarded my plane to Chicago and then to my home. I couldn't believe how everybody had changed. I had purposely stayed in Viet Nam my entire enlistment because I was Gung-Ho. The long-haired hippy movement had totally captivated and captured everybody everywhere. The biggest 'thing' was smoking Marijuana. Many of my friends were using majic mushrooms and dropping LSD. I had forced myself off Heroin by having a close, genuine friend chain me to a tree in Viet Nam. He stayed with me 2 and 1/2 days to give me water when I could stand it. I didn't want anything to eat and would have puked it back out. I screamed in pain and begged for mercy. Every person I had murdered came back in my field of vision and I sweated and shook the first day and 1/2. I had only two people I could fully trust and one helped me give up Horse. We are still friends today and we usually have a reunion in the Cayman Islands or some other exotic resort destination every two years or so. He's now a successful lawyer and I have made my wealth in real estate and insurace. I had tried LSD 4 or 5 times in 'Nam and didn't really care for it. At the time I had a friend who was a chemist and he was involved with a group who were making green/blue Microdot and Windowpane acid. I started using hallucinogens all the time. You use to hear about four-way window pane this and that, but my friend made real four-way. It was hard to cut the small film looking paper four-ways and many dropped the entire four at once. You could take a complete four-way and place it in your eyes near the tear ducts. It was so pure you would be fully tripping in 10 minutes or less. You could place it under your tongue and be off in 5 minutes. From '72 to '74 I probably dropped acid 4oo times. I really fell in love with it. I was working at a truck stop and going to school at night. I probably sold 150 hits and 100 pounds of weed to truck drivers. It helped finance my way through college. To cut a longer story short, I was dating one of the most beautiful girls in town who I eventually married. She loved acid and weed as much as I did. We eventually had four kids . I am very thankful my kids weren't born with a hand growing out of their foreheads or an extra leg or something. At the time, this was the garbage the system liked to feed society. Me and my wife were both worried, but we loved dropping acid too much to quit. Around 1979, I ran into an old friend who had frozen, in the home freezer, 50 hits of Orange Sunshine acid he bought in San Francisco in 1970. He gave me ten hits. I was really afraid, but all four of my kids had been born normally, so what the hell. It would be like old times again. My friend and his wife and me and my oldlady went camping one weekend to have some old-time fun again. I was fairly prosperous and had a 35' long airstream trailer we camped in 4 or 5 times a year. We entered the Mocassin Creek camping area and parked the Airstream. I had an old Pontiac Vista Crusier station wagon with a large big-block engine and it pulled the airstream trailer at 50 to 70 MPH without any problems. I kept the Pontiac only to pull the trailer. We unhitched the trailer and went to the beer store and bought three cases of Rolling Rock beer. My friend and his wife brought 1/4 pound of Columbian Gold. We both had some acid. We were really planning on getting 'sloshed' for the weekend. We went back to the trailer, had supper and went outside and smoked some weed. I drank 7 beers in 1 1/2 hours. I was already on the road to becoming an alcoholic so what the hell? It was a grand reunion. I dropped three hits of Orange Sunshine. I was so drunk and stoned it was too late before I realized I made a big mistake. My friend and his wife were laughing their asses off. They knew how high I would be. About 45 more minutes I was so high I imagined I was an old fleabag stray dog who was eating cat shit and barking at the moon. The full moon was out and it was incredible. I then thought I was a werewolf and actually got on my hands and kness and started barking and growling at everybody. I had to piss out beer and pulled it out right there. There were still people walking their dogs and a few kids playing around outside late at night. My friend and my wife picked me up and walked me to the public showers/bathroom area which was about 200 yards away. I was tripping so hard that as I was walking I thought I was the Jolly Green Giant and was walking on farms and farmers killing everybody I saw. I finally got to the restroom and stood at a urinal 10 minutes trying to figure out what a urinal was. My friend and my wife got so pissed-off they left after fifteen minutes of waiting. I finally made it to a bathroon stall and sat down on the toilet seat. I thought I was the king of the world, on my throne, and I was judging the entire world to see who was full of shit. When I killed somebody I stuck their head in the toilet bowl and flushed three times. I finally figured out I needed to pee. I stood up and dropped my pants and underwear and set back down. I started peeing all over the floor in front of the toilet. I barely remember this, but I believe I thought I was a fire marshall who used a dick hose and I was really putting out fires all over the world. Then all of a sudden my dick grew into a 6' long rattlesnake and it was violently flipping and flopping around and spewing venum. Actually I was only peeing. If kept on moving around and finally changed from an Eastern Diamondback into a King Cobra. I was an Indian snakecharmer and I was blowing a snake flute to the rhythms and movements of my King Cobra. I thought a group of people were watching and I was fully aware the King Cobra was coming out from between my legs. And then it started violently flopping around until I couldn't stand it anymore. I was tired of this shit and reached in my pants pocket for my 6" long Old Timer pocket deer-skinning knife and stabbed the SOB at least 10 times and finally cut off the snake's 'head'. I saw a lot of blood flowing, but I didn't care. I killed the nasty 'snake'. I couldn't get my pants up and eventually walked back to the airstream with my pants down. I suddenly heard more screaming and hollering than I had heard since leaving Vietnam. I shouted what the hell's the matter? I didn't see anything wrong. After all I had killed two poisonous snakes. I was rushed to a small community hospital were they brought me back to 'earth' with a lot of Niacin and sedatives. They claimed I was so high it took them three hours to bring me off my trip. I was asleep, because they gave me Barbituates. When I finally awoke and realised what I had done, I cried like a little baby for at least a month. My wife stayed with me five more years and then divorced me. I was making 100,000s of dollars a year and she and the kids will be taken care no matter what. She eventually forgave me for cutting off my dick, but what the hell. I previously had my tubes 'tied' and wasn't planning on any more kids. Now it's really an inconveinance to have to sit down on a toilet and drain my plastic pee bag every time I need to piss. All that's left of my peter is a little nub that pees in the bag. They had to surgically rebuild the nub. I don't let anybody know the truth because it's so embarassing. I am dating a puritan Mormon girl. She probably wants to marry me for money than anything. She's only 25. If we ever get married how can I explain to her the truth? I love her, but don't have anything to love her with. She and her kind don't believe in and won't divorce. I want to trick her into marrying me and then I'll figure out what to do next. I really don't get high anymore. I'll buy an ounce of weed and make it last 6 months. I like to smoke Salvia sometimes, but I'm afraid I'll cut off my peebag and balls. I live a fairly normal life now and I hope this teaches all of you a valuable lesson. The moral of this story is, if you ever get close to a snake, honor the wonderful creature, because it you have a flashback, the dick you cut off may not be your own.

 

wow, holy shit man. god bro, i wish you so much strength and love and happiness. fuck, but really man, you should tell that mormon girl and not try to "trick" her into marrying you but fuck man, im only a 16 year old punk, and i know your situation is a tricky one. i dont know man. but i wish you so much strength and love.

 

***blink blink blink***

the next time I meet sid I may just wave and let him pass by

***who am I kidding, I'll just duct tape my bits down best as I can***

 

If you're going to invest that much time writing a story, use paragraphs and better punctuation.

 

Seconded and passed.

 

i dont know... i found it easy (but disturbing) to read

 

This shook me up-- it's true-- my no-fault bull-shit detector didn't ring.


The people you killed in Nam don't count against your eternal soul-- battlefield deaths are the price for that particular game. I'm a draft-dodger, and proud of it. I lived in NYC and SF in the 60's, but I NEVER spit on returning soldiers and I knew none that did. We were all pawns in the same game.
You are in severe pain. Mentally and physically. Mostly mental.

Forget your dick; forget your past; it is only NOW!

Your post broke my already-wounded heart into smaller pieces. (I met Charlie Manson in 1967 in SF on my first acid trip-- Purple Haze.)

You'll survive-- I'm going to pray for you right now-- O.K.-- I did it-- prayed to both Jesus and Buddha.

Of course, I'm a great sinner, too, so maybe my prayers aren't worth squat, but it's the idea, ain't it?

 

um, paragraphs? sorry, hard to read.

 

As a former Marine I say...lay off the drugs dude.

 

Jee, I taught Uh ment , dreads, cut off those damn dreadz, wow, how could Ih tink dat?

 

Not another "spit on" story.Not that you didn't deserve it.Probably what that morman girl will do to you when she finds out you're dickless.Pretty good fiction though.

 

There are so many conflicting events in that story.....errr (entirely too many for a first-person account)

maybe true, maybe not...who knows

I've read it 3 times. "I'm paid up".

 

The structure of the whole story was off kilter. It would trail off in odd places and leave you going, WTF.

I didn't care for the story, it was too blatently Violent. It did not blend well at all.
A clear bash on hippies "about 15 hippies spit on me" Hippies didn't and don't spit on people. I lost a husband in Nam, Soilders are our Sons, Brothers and Husbands, I find what you said offencive.

I have taken over 1000 miks of LSD at a time for months at a time for years and years and never, ever even concidered harming myself in anyway. ESP, in such a bloody and painful way. I would think after the first "stab" I would have said ouch and stoped there. I was stung by a Bee one time while I was trippin' and the pain was 10 fold.

The slanted message your sending is illinformed and uneducated. You obviously have NOT been in any of these situations you are writing about. It reads like you have taken tales from others writings and mixed them in a hodge-podge conglomeration and thought it would float.. It really doesn't.. It is positively the worst piece of trash that hit the forums. MHO!!
sh

 

Very entertaining read. What happened to the rest of the orange sunshine? Just wondering.

 

Yeah, I kinda wondered too. Why do you think I read it 3 times? hehe

 

that brought back memories..... ah man, shit. .

 

it got too long for my short attention limit tonight so i skipped from nam til his snake turned into a cobra,,,, makes for a much more entertaining read,,,,, if ya know what i mean...

 

OR...

The "devil" is in the details.....I guess.

 

Good observation. I've tripped and tripped hard, I've seen people trip even harder. Never seen anyone actually anestisized by acid. Could always still feel some pain. Never seen anyone do this type of bodily harm. Also, in the years he speaks of, Thorazine was well known as an almost instant come down drug, in about every ER or clinic in the country. Niacin and Barbs were a thing of the past for use as an emergent drug for bad trips. They were still used, sometimes for long term tripping and after effects, but not as emergent therapy for acid freak outs, not in most places.

Silly. I don't beleive this dude doesn't have a penis. One of his other posts are about how awful "hippies" are, how much they smell ect. He obviously confuses simply drug abuse with the Hippy Lifestyle. Don't quite understand his motivation. Good catch on the details, oakie.

I am almost tempted to move this to the fiction section of the writing forum.

JMO.

 

i dont know if this story is true,...but i think it will make a great movie