In the Navy

Guess who got a brochure from the Navy Reserve?

Yeah, that's right, me! Your dear old pacifistic, conscientious objector pal, me.

The reason they dropped me a line? They know I'm in the health care field and my compassion is just what they're looking for. They want me to be a hospital corpsman.

I am seriously worried about the intelligence our Navy is using.

Now, granted, $20,000 just for looking down the throats of little kids in "exotic locations" seems like a great idea, and that's where my brain starts boiling, because I start wondering how many poor kids fall for that, thinking they're going to be a dentist and hand out lollipops and shite when what most likely is coming into hospital ships is nothing so fuzzily cute.

But I digress.

What I found most amusing is that I'm not in the health care field. Have Google and WebMD snitched me out for looking up so many skin diseases? I don't really care, because there's a lot of humor to be found in the image of me trying to administer medication to 1,000 naval men and women when I can't remember to take Excedrin even though my head has cracked open and fire is pouring out.

Compassion? Oh yeah, that's why my family calls me fun names like "Nazi" and "terrorist."

Oh boy, did I just get flagged. But no, compassion to me is just not killing someone that day. And that brings me to the reason I don't do more killin': I don't like to touch people. Really. I'll touch my family, sometimes, but generally, and particularly if you have some bodily fluids or perfume coming out of you, I don't really want to get near that. Is this what our military deserves? No, I think not. I have too much respect for our armed forces to put me in their path to healing and recovery.

The Navy wants my skills. My skills are falling down and speaking in funny voices. That's when my voice is working. Not to say the Navy wouldn't smack the jaw stiffness and crazy right out of me, but I know me better than the Navy, and aside from my deep-seated fear of the Kraken, I don't even get to the telephone in time to pick it up, so I'm pretty sure if I was faced with a bleeder (and cute little children's teeth can bleed too), that poor bastard would be dead.

And then where would my $20,000 be? Paying my funeral. Not that my funeral would cost $20,000, but the family of the little kid who died because I couldn't remove the IED from its molar would probably want some compensation.

In the Navy