The Killer Inside Me

Plus, SCOTUS

Sometimes, the killer inside me wants to come out and play.

That’s a very awkward sentence for people to read. It makes them uncomfortable when I say it to their face. It makes people cringe. They don’t like it. I see it on their faces.

I must admit that it tickles my fancy just a wee bit. We’ve been teaching my daughter the difference between mischievous and devious. She’s got a little of both inside of her with that bazooka for a brain. She comes by it naturally, I must confess.

Anyway, that killer has to come out. He (sorry, it has a gender) must come out and slay. For nearly 20 years, my government trained me to kill. I learned how to kill. I killed with my weapon, though I’m an awful shot. I killed via command. I also killed my enemies in the shadows.

All forms of killing elicit different responses. Up close and personal is far more visceral. There’s blood. There’s moaning. There are screams of pain that reverberate inside your soul.

But there’s satisfaction in that kill. Yes, killing another human being can be immensely pleasurable.

I know. That’s hard to hear. But I assure you, I’m not the only one who thinks that.

I took pleasure in killing Talibs. I took pleasure in slaying Muqtada al-Sadr’s henchmen.

Men who murder, kill, and rape innocents deserve to die. And I’m of the school of thought that some people just need killn’.

Don’t get it twisted, my friends. War is state-sanctioned murder.

My good friend, Benjamin Parker, wrote about the inherent paradox of war crimes. That’s understandable because all war is a crime.

All of it. I’m committing murder on your behalf. All those fancy lawyers, with their big words and highfalutin concepts, have connected a series of principles called the Just War Doctrine. It’s important. You should read about Just War and all of that stuff.

But at the end of the day, in my humble opinion, that’s just the West’s way of sanctifying their own way of war, which is fine. There is no judgment here.

I will attest that we don’t always follow our rules, though nobody ever really does. Rules are made to be broken. The good lord knows I’ve done it quite a bit on the battlefield.

Nevertheless, killn’ takes its toll on the soul. I spoke with many Israelis throughout my saunter through Zion, and I could tell the war was slowly but surely eating away at their spirit, though their resolve was firm. War changes you. It changes societies.

War destroys everything it touches. It’s the most powerful drug I’ve ever consumed. Booze and nicotine do not hold a candle to war because it allows you to tap into the killer inside of you.

That little part of yourself you don’t want others to see because you’re afraid they might judge you for your bloodlust.

But, my dear readers, let me assure you that deep down inside you—yes, you—a killer awaits.

I’ve seen the nicest Mom press a button and kill scores of humans halfway around the world. These quiet assassins do the deed via computer, but it’s just as effective, if not more. The men and women of America’s intelligence community have the largest body count.

Try killing via drone. Oh boy. That’s a doozy.

I know young Americans, barely old enough to buy booze, who’ve killed hundreds from a nondescript building somewhere in America. Just a middle aged man killing our nation’s enemies, while juggling the absurdities of modern day America.

Yet when they come home, they’re told they must “transition” into the civilian world. I must be the one who adjusts my way of thinking, writing, and talking to better suit their preferred states of reality.

Fuck that.

I’m a killer. My country made me a killer. I enjoy it. What can I tell you? At the end of the day, there’s nothing wrong with a man taking pleasure in his work.

There are monsters in this world. They are hell-bent on killing my friends, family, and fellow Americans. And I don’t want anyone to harm them.

Liberals, progressives, nat-cons, libertarians (yes, even you), and all the rest need men and women like me to do the dirty work, so you can press that little button on your phone that allows a package to arrive on your doorstep.

Your way of life, the one you adore, is built on state-sanctioned violence. Oh yes, you own my killing, too. Just because you voted for the other team doesn’t mean you’re not represented in my kills.

Yes. You. Are.

When I slayed for my country, I wore the American flag while killing. That my friends, represents most of the people who read this here newsletter.

For nearly six months, I’ve been among American civilians. And, don’t get it twisted, I love retirement. Love it. I do not miss the military. No, sir, I do not.

But I’m no longer the naive young man who joined after 9-11. I’m the man mowing the yard, trying to keep the killer inside him at bay. I do all the things the psychologists, shrinks, and medical practitioners tell me to heal.

However, I’m not a fool. I know that the killer inside me is still there.

I’ll end this little rant with a quote from a great movie, In the Line of Fire. This 1993 classic features Clint Eastwood, who plays a secret service agent, and John Malkovic, a former assassin for the government who wants to kill the president. This little dialogue is where I’m at.

(And, no, I’m not trying to kill anyone, people. Just go with it)

• Mitch Leary (John Malkovich) : [over the phone]  Frank, you of all people, I want you to understand because we both USED to think this country was a very special place...

  Frank Horrigan (Clint Eastwood) : You don't know what I used to think!

  Mitch Leary : Oh, but you know about me? Do you have any idea what I've done for God and country? Some pretty FUCKING HORRIBLE things! I don't even remember who I was before they sunk their claws into me!

  Frank Horrigan : They made you into a real monster, right?

  Mitch Leary : That's right and now they want to destroy me because we can't have monsters roaming the quiet countryside, now can we?

I’m the killer everyone celebrated when I went downrange repeatedly. I’m the killer beside you. I’m the killer in your neighborhood.

And I’m not changing who I am anymore.

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SCOTUS

My BFF,

Kate Kovarovic

, brings the heat today.

Watch out.

Being a lawyer is a lot like being in a cult. In both cases, you pledge your allegiance to the rules established by a supreme authority — in my case, the Supreme Court.

I hate to say it, but I think I’ve joined the wrong cult.

Read the whole thing.

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The Harris Gamble

Wise words from David Frum.

Great presidents have summoned Americans to heed the better angels of their nature, in Lincoln’s famous phrase. But before they became great, those presidents first had to become president—and that meant taking Americans as they are, not as the angels they might be. That same Lincoln again and again deferred to prejudices that he could not in the moment defeat. He even made use of impulses he did not share. As his law partner William Herndon said of him, “He was not impulsive, fanciful, or imaginative; but cold, calm, and precise.” Lincoln took the fewest possible risks; he habitually expressed his boldest ideas in the most conservative language. He had a democracy to save. So do we.

Read the whole thing.