Shawn used to have a job, and a pretty good one at that. He was in the US Army, protecting our country, keeping us free from those Islamic terrorist bitches. God, you know, we should just fucking nuke the whole Middle East, Lybia all the way to Pakistan. Turn it all to glass. That’d cure the problem of them bitches threatening our freedom.
Anyway. As I was saying. Shawn used to be in the Army. He served two tours of duty in Afghanistan. Back here in the states, he had a wife, and a baby girl. They rented a small apartment in Suffolk, VA. His wife, Bree (I think it was short for Brianna), worked as a nurse in the local hospital.
Everything was good. Both of them were hard working, good, Americans. You’d have been proud to know them.
But, you see, that was before. Bree tells people things happened in Afghanistan. Bad things. Things that keep Shawn awake at night, that make him wake up screaming, and sweating. Things that make him go out in the woods, where he puts empty beer cans on tree stumps, and shoots them full of holes.
Shawn used to have a job. But when he came back from his second tour in Afghanistan, his enlistment in the Army ended, and he didn’t re-enlist. Nope. Shawn got out of the Army.
Now, that good for nothing bastard doesn’t have a job, anywhere, not even at Walmart. He’s spent the past year moving from one job to another. Worked for three days at OfficeMax, then walked off the job. A Burger King hired him, then they fired him when they found him hiding in the supply room, crying like a little girl.
Now, nobody in their right mind’s going to hire him. He’s a hopeless case, you know. Can’t do the work. Sometimes he screams, for no Goddamn reason, and he acts like he’s seeing ghosts or something. Like there’s people with guns coming after him, or like a bomb just went off, and blew someone to bits. But there’s nothing there.
I’ll be honest. I think he’s acting like he’s done his good work for this life, and now he wants people to take care of him, and give him the money, and the things he wants.
Bree said they’re applying for disability, and for medical help from the VA. She said he’s got PTSD, one of those “mental illness” things. But, you know, there’s not a fucking thing wrong with Shawn. He’s got both arms, both legs, both hands, both feet. His eyes work, and so do his ears. He didn’t even get any concussions, or other injuries. And everybody knows that mental illness shit’s made up by doctors and the medicine companies, so they can convince people there’s something wrong with them, and get them hooked on drugs. It’s a money making game for them.
There’s not a damn thing wrong with Shawn. ‘Cept he’s gotten lazy. You ask me, that bastard should get a job, and hold it, and work hard at it, and take care of his wife and daughter, and not expect Bree to take care of him.
And if the government give that lazy bastard any disability or insurance money, you can bet your ass I’m writing my congressman.