Mrs Happy and I went to our first ever gun show last week. Did you know you can learn a lot at a gun show? I saw plenty of guns and grandmas. And Mrs Happy and I even discovered the origins of vegetarianism from a beef jerky salesman.
Then there's this guy. Yes, this guy. The guy with PTSD. What can I say about him? He's got his head on his shoulders and, well, his truck nutz hangin' low. I'm pretty certain anyone who proudly displays truck balls on their vehicle has a component of PTSD, whether they're a Vietnam Veteran, in the US Army, or just a redneck from the country.
As telling as this truck story is, the man has a point that is well taken. With PTSD not all wounds are visible. The truck balls clearly fill that communication gap. Heck, if all Hell breaks loose at the gun show, at least I'll know to avoid the white guy with the gun.
As telling as this truck story is, the man has a point that is well taken. With PTSD not all wounds are visible. The truck balls clearly fill that communication gap. Heck, if all Hell breaks loose at the gun show, at least I'll know to avoid the white guy with the gun.
This got me thinking. Cruising through the parking lot at the hospital should be a part of every history and physical examination for hospitalists. I mean, come on, had this guy been admitted, I need to know about these kinds of things. You know. So I can request a room for him on the end, way away from all that construction. And for God's sake, no IV fluids. That will just turn him into Rambo when it starts beeping.
I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free...to wear truck balls without persecution. Try gettin' that in Egypt, tough guy.
I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free...to wear truck balls without persecution. Try gettin' that in Egypt, tough guy.
