Aerial View of the Nebraska State Penitentiary
"Mom, I work inside a fence with 1,200 kidnappers, murderers, drug-addicts, rapists, and chimos. Perhaps this is not the exact part of the human race we want to join."
Questionable Moral Character
Maybe women should run the world. Men have had their shot, and they are not showing any clear cut dominance or talent for it just yet. After all, women have half the money now, and they have always had all the pussy. If that is not the combination of the two most powerful things on the planet, I do not know what is. The trouble with this line of thinking is that there are many powerfully intelligent women in the world that think the human race can survive without men.
Man as a gender or sub-species, might not last long if those women were in power.
What is questionable moral character (QMC)? Do all Marines have it? Does everybody have it? Whose perspective counts? If somebody questions you, does that make you questionable? The individual in question will usually say they do not have QMC. Others may say they do. I guarantee that most folks out there have had somebody question their moral character at one time or another. Hell, folks even questioned Jesus Christ's moral character. That being the case, who does not have questionable moral character?
My name is Hector Batiste. Daddy said it "Bat," like the fl ying mammal and "Teest," long e in the middle, with the silent e on the end. Friends call me Heck. You might guess from my name that I am of Hispanic descent. You would be right. My father's father was half Mexican, and that makes me an eighth Hispanic. Do not ask me what the rest is, because I have no fucking clue. I may be part Hispanic, but about the only Spanish I know is Tengo un gato de vente cinco libras en me pantelones. If I said that correctly, I have a 25-pound cat in my pants.
A friend in the Corps gave me my fi rst valuable Spanish lesson; He said to tell the waitress, "Dos Cervesas, por favor." I said, "Hey, doesn't dos mean two?" He replied, "Yes, you're buying me one for the lesson." Above all things, I am an Old Corps Marine, and I place tremendous value on honor, integrity, and credibility, even though I sometimes struggle at maintaining them. I was born on April 14th, the day the Titanic struck the iceberg, the same day President Lincoln was shot, and Pete Rose's birthday. It is not outside the realm of possibility that I have a dark shadow hanging over my life. I should not be surprised that on the day of my birth, 14 April, 1954, the British Charts had Doris Day's Secret Love listed as their number one song. Perhaps this was a bad omen.
There are three things I have faith in that I can not see: God, gravity, and electricity. I am a simple guy, and I can live with that. I like money, but I do not want to work very hard for it. I love getting drunk, but I do not like hangovers. I love pussy, but I do not like women. That could be interpreted in a lot of ways. What I really mean is, I do not want them to talk to me or have needs when I am fi nished. Do not lay with me, do not cuddle, just go away. If you want, you can leave me your number; make me a sandwich or a pot-pie before you go, but go. I have shit to do that does not involve you.
It is unfortunate that this lifestyle is so hard to accomplish. I am a realist. Experience has forced that down my throat. However, in the last few years, despite some diffi culties, I have inched a step or two closer. That requires some explanation. Over the last few years, I have experienced some life-changing events. I received a fi veyear suspension from teaching, lost most of an eye in Iraq, and was run out of the local National Guard for questionable moral character (mostly due to the teaching suspension). At the age of 49-ish, I am starting a career in corrections and my soon-to-be-ex-wife is no longer interested in sex.
I would say my life is sucking badly. Those of you with thinner skin are probably wondering why I do not just end it all, and kill myself. Well, I might. I have come up from nothing a couple times before, but I have not hit rock bottom yet. Besides, I have attended Thick-Skin 101, and.I have a girlfriend who does not suck badly.
I started "working" in corrections. In reality, I am a grossly overpaid babysitter with a benefi t package. I sit on my rather large and growing ass, teasing inmates with my bon-bons for 30K per year. When I took this job, Dad told me I would be working with certifi able dullards. He must have been wrong, because since I have been here, I have met some of the smartest people. What's that? Oh, maybe he was referring to the staff.
I have this theory about corrections and its relation to how we name our children. If you name your child Shaniqua, Sha-Cole-Slaw, or something else that makes your family tree look like the McDonald's value menu, you have given them a predisposition for unemployment. I hope you are not named after the special sauce. Please, stop naming your kids after hefty garbage sacks, household products, and tampons. Nobody will hire your daughter if their name is Velveeta, Stay-free, Always, or Freedom. That gives them a predisposition for doing crimes. Then they become single mothers, and have sons who perpetuate the process.
If you are named after a season, a seasoning, precipitation, or a confectionary product, you have a predisposition to be a hooker or a stripper. That does not mean I will not like you, but it does mean you will dance on tables and perhaps stand in line for cheese later in life.
In addition to my full-time work, I collect a nice supplement to my state income from a National Guard unit across the state line in Missouri, and an additional bonus from the Veterans' Administration for permanent partial disabilities suffered during a sandstorm in the war on terrorism in January of 2004. It is not completely work-free, but it is an arrangement with which I can live comfortably. The hangover dilemma is not completely fi xed yet, but Captain Morgan followed by lots of water and aspirin is very close. If I could just stay away from Anheuser-Busch products, I would have it made. They seem to have the most negative impact on me. But who am I to turn down a free, cold beer? It is, after all, a Marine's favorite.
Now, if I could just keep supplied with constant "strange" about four or fi ve times a week, I would be Golden. Why, you might ask? Women are interesting. They have more crevices. In fact, the only bad camel toe I have seen was on a camel. For now, I watch a lot of Bang Brothers, wear out penis-pumps, and collect women that settle for 20 to 30 minutes without needing anything further. Needing more than that causes me to invoke the lemon law. You are probably wondering how that is working for me. Not too good at this point. Hey, I am hung like Einstein and smart as a horse. I wish it was the reverse, but I have to live with what I have been given.