What, Pray Tell, Will They Do To You?

These people of letters and words; of legalese and crafty language.  They will go home to the comfort of their abodes, secure in their knowledge that all is well.  They will be present during the celebrations, the exchange of gifts, the clinking of glasses as they toast to their health during these holy days.

And meanwhile, crouching behind rocks or walls of sand for cover, braving the menace that wants to kill them, they dodge the bullets, the bombs.  Not all of them will escape unharmed, but they are all there to protect those that revel "at home."

Far and away from their loved ones with their faces in the dirt, wind blowing the sand in their faces, downwind from a herd of goats, the rattle of gunfire in the distance, they know nothing this moment of how the very people that are supposed to have their backs in Washington have plunged the steely knives of betrayal between their shoulder blades.

Their pensions have been cut.  That small slice of security they were promised has been reduced, a casualty of "bi-partisan compromise" to hammer out a "budget deal."

It reads like this:  When you want to save some money, do it at the expense of those who risk their lives; sacrifice them and the well being of their families, to ensure your safety.

You saved some money and you did it at the expense of those that defend you from a horrible fate.  Are you happy now?  Will you sleep well now?

These perfumed pansies have targeted men that know their weapons well.  They have aimed their scissors at men and women who are trained well to do harm, who are experienced in battle, who know how to best their enemy and have done so many times and will do so again.

What, pray tell, will these empty suits in Washington, who live at the expense of those who defend them, do to you?

(Story)