If you have been reading some of my recent posts, you are probably aware that I have been talking about some of my exploits and experiences after being assigned to the JITC at Fort Huachuca, Arizona. My story today centers around a subject that is totally unrelated to anything that I have been talking about lately. Cuz lately I have been talking about the custom home that my wife and I were having built in Sierra Vista. Yeah. This post has nothing to do with that. This post also has nothing to do with hunting or running. Nope. Nada. Zilch. Now, sit, right back and relax while I spin a tale of suspense, intrigue, mystery, and murder. That’s right. I said murder. Oh. I forgot to mention that it also includes travel. Now, suppose for a minute or two or three or five or even a day or two or five that the hero or our story travels from our friendly outpost at Fort Huachuca, Arizona to the land of glamor and celebrities and show business. That’s right. Well, that’s not exactly right, but it’s pretty close. Cuz Hollywood’s right there in the same vicinity. Thus, there are lights, cameras, and movie stars, as well as all of that other bullshit that I mentioned just a bit ago. You know. The suspense, intrigue, mystery, and murder. I hope you haven’t forgotten already. Cuz it’s all related, sort of, in a lopsided kind of way. To put you into the right frame of reference, you have to jump back to early June 1994. Set your way back machines for the first week of June 1994. Okay. Okay. I know that you need a location. Or at least the latitude and longitude. Cuz you also have to know where you’re going, just in case you haven’t already figured it out. I mean, come on, I gave you some pretty good clues. As a result, you should have been able to guess that our friendly neighborhood hero was traveling to Los Angeles, more specifically, to Long Beach. Close enough. Long Beach is in the ballpark. And our friendly neighborhood hero isn’t traveling alone. Oh hell no. He’s taking along his faithful sidekick, an Air Force Lieutenant Colonel just for shits and giggles. Why? Well, the Air Force Lieutenant Colonel could argue that the mission is his baby and that it can’t be done without him along for the ride. Possibly. But our hero does not want to argue. He has a job to do. The powers that be have sent him on a mission, so he willingly takes his sidekick along for the ride. Coincidentally, on the eve of his arrival in the city of lights (Los Angeles) a brutal double murder is committed in the wee hours of the morning or the late hours of the evening (take your pick). Evidence and past history quickly suggest that a famous, legendary, retired, professional football player committed the double murders. Our friendly neighborhood hero and his sidekick note with keen interest the breaking news as it occurs. And like everybody else in the city of lights, their eyes are glued to TV sets to follow the news on CNN for updates at every chance they get. At the end of that week, they quietly slip out of town and head back to their quiet locale in the desert. When our friendly neighborhood hero and his sidekick arrived back home and went to work the following week, everybody at work accused them of committing the heinous murders. There were only a few problems with their theories. First, our friendly neighborhood hero didn’t have a clue exactly where in the hell the Brentwood neighborhood was. Sure. He could have purchased a map of Los Angeles and performed a vehicle reconnaissance of the neighborhood with a rental car. He could’ve done that. That was feasible. But not very likely. Second, he didn’t have a clue who in the hell the victims were or what they looked like until their pictures were flashed on the TV after the murders. Third, and this one is the real doozy, nobody had any idea that the gloves would be too small for the accused murderer’s hands until the trial several months later. Oh sure, those damn gloves might have fit the hands of our friendly neighborhood hero or his sidekick, but then you have to ask yourself, self, where was the other pair? I know. I know. You’re scratching your heads and thinking what other pair. The other pair of gloves, of course. If there are two perpetrators, there have to be two pairs of gloves. Right? Right. But there was only one pair of gloves. Oops. Oh. I get it. Our friendly neighborhood hero wore one of gloves, and his sidekick wore the other glove. Right? Wrong. Otherwise, their fingerprints would have been all over the damn crime scene. But they weren’t. I know. I know. You’re thinking exactly like those backwoods hicks down at Sierra Vista had thought. They thought we had pulled off, excuse me, our friendly neighborhood hero and his sidekick had pulled off the perfect crime. But it was purely coincidence. We just happened to be in the city of lights for training when those heinous murders occurred. We witnessed history almost first-hand and escaped without any real exercises in futility.
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Hey people!!!!!
Good mood and good luck to everyone!!!!!