... of God's warriors.

As does Secdef Hegseth.

Wouldn't expect anything less from an infantry officer, 11 Alpha.

Can anyone imagine 'Jowls' Austin doing this?

Even AI could not produce an image of the previous Secdef, depicting that fat ass doing PT.

D.E.I. = DIE

The United States military, despite tranny admirals and D.E.I. policies, remains the most powerful military in the world.

It's lethality has been lessened by the previous four years of evil and traitors.

The Demoncrats think lethality is a bad thing.  They place recruiting ads that further damage esprit de corps with all their woke BS.

  Who wants to serve in such a military?

Young men who have been ostracized by the Demoncrats because they are, well...

 ... men,

are flocking to the Trump Train.

Recruiting is through the roof.

Here's hoping President Trump will troll the POS Biden before his lying 'physician' is brought before congress.

Remember the Hur report?

Too far gone to stand trial, yet OK for the duties of the most powerful man in the world...

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/biden-special-counsel-report-handling-classified-documents/

Special counsel finds Biden "willfully" disclosed classified documents, but no criminal charges warranted...

Will there ever be any accountability?

Kevin C. O'Connor is an American physician and retired U.S. Army colonel serving as the physician to the president.  

The Uniform Code of Military Justice provides punishment for this sort of treason.

Perhaps too late for UCMJ adjudication via a court-martial, but not for the NEN.

Further, he has tarnished the reputation of my Army with his lies and obfuscation.

Perhaps the most scandalous period in American presidential history...

With the exception of a great ophthalmic team at the VA in Murfreesboro, who performed my cataract surgery several years ago, my experience with the VA has been less than inspiring.

Consequently, I was unsurprised when I contacted the VA for evaluation of a torn MCL and waited six months for an appointment.

Anxious to get definitive treatment, as I noticed increasing pain while on the bike, I arrived to the VA facility early.

The Sergeant Major always emphasized such...

At any rate, I waited for about a half hour or so in a tiny office before the arrival of a tiny old man in a clinic jacket.  I assumed this distinctly unmanly man was the orthopedic surgeon.

Yikes!

Slapping my radiograph on his viewer, he

spent five minutes with me, declaring the 'white stuff' observed on my radiograph was due to arthritis.

"My wife has arthritis..." and left the room.

I suppose he was implying 'get used to it...' (!).

I had no time to point out that this radiographic manifestation, condensing osteitis, also occurs with injury of a joint...

Especially after six months, asshole.

Sorry, Martha...

He looked eighty or so; I would not take advice from him for a stubbed toe.

90 % of military-associated physicians are unacceptable, in my view, from personal experience over a few decades.

The converse was true with the Army dental corps.

 When I went on active duty in 1981 after graduation from dental school, I joined a group of dental officers who were exceptionally talented.

Further, all Lieutenant Colonels and above were board certified specialists; they were ubiquitous. 

In 1981, the Army dental corps was only accepting dental graduates who were in the top 10% of their class.

The quality of those individuals who not only possessed outstanding clinical skills, but also a strong character, have endeared them as some of the most outstanding colleagues I have had in my life.

There were, of course, exceptions. 

 Those early efforts at D.E.I., an offshoot of Affirmative Action, placed race-based criteria on virtually every aspect of society.

Decades of this nonsense have increased the virulence of this racist dogma to the absurdity we see today.

President Trump will fight this.

Again, D.E.I. = DIE

I have previously alluded to the worst O-6 (while I was stationed at the Aviation Center) and O-1 (Yongsan Garrison) Army officers I ever encountered during my years as a dental officer, both receiving commissions from HBCU ROTC programs.

I will never forget the laziness of the O-6 who rarely saw a patient...

And the young 2LT who bragged about stealing cassette tapes while he worked at 

Montgomery Ward...

And who allowed his smelly water buffalo of a wife to spend the night in the BOQ where I was designated senior occupant.

 An indication of that status was prominently posted outside of the BOQ.

 As senior occupant, I was responsible for any violations...

... and that's a violation.

Get a hotel, you cheap SOB.

This dumbass second lieutenant had a chronic blatant disregard for regulations.

He wasn't even supposed to be in my BOQ, as it was designated  for O-3 and O-4 occupants.

Probably Affirmative Action (!)...

Further, this POS officer raided our pantry and stole our food (!)...

Who does that?

After a week of tolerating his cow of a wife, reeking of some sort of aroma and who, for five days, prevented our access to the common bathroom with her early morning rush there...

... and locking the door behind her.

0600 hours and a two-hundred-plus pound black woman has denied access for a major and 3 captains.

As a consequence of the actions of a second lieutenant.

...it was time to get rid of this disgrace of an officer. 

I was gentle at first, providing counselling to the ne'er-do-well, hoping to influence his behavior.

After discovering this bastard was stealing our food, I lowered the boom.

As I have described earlier, I contacted his battalion commander and informed him of the insubordinate 2LT.

Meeting him for lunch at the Officers' Club, the LTC smiled and thanked me for providing the proverbial straw that severely inured the camel...

The young lieutenant was on thin ice already due to a number of previous actions; this most recent and serious breach of security provided by the Affirmative Action beneficiary required separation from the Army...

Which prompted the subsequent outrage this dumbass expressed to me that evening when I returned to my BOQ from Carius dental clinic.

"How dare you!", he bellowed.

 He rapidly approached me, parking himself inches from my chest.  

Alvin was a good size man, about my size, standing eye to eye and poking his finger into my chest.

"Thanks, lieutenant.  You just assaulted an officer."

The MP's arrived at the BOQ, handcuffed the young lieutenant, and provided a few days of residence in the stockade while he awaited his court-martial.

From a clinical perspective, shoddy dentistry was infrequent from my observations, but I did learn about the 'NYU prep'.

Instead of having a few degrees of convergence of the crown preparation walls, the NYU prep featured the 'teepee' prep, lacking the proper convergence required for retention of the crown.

Further, I had personal clinical observations of a Meharry dental school graduate.

Uninspiring, let's say.

Again,  there were very few exceptions to the quality of Army dentistry. Those rare dental officers who were worthless were directly attributable to policies from Jimmy Carter and the Dems.

The broader picture of the quality of Army dentists vs physicians...

No contest.

Alright, let's get this over with...

 Didn't see that coming...

 Spidey Sense fully activated...

Yes, Martha - the Spidey Sense of Dread!

   No worries -

Molecular biology to the rescue...

 I wish PSA biomolecular technology had been available as a screening mechanism,

 perhaps avoiding those intimate probing adventures,

endured with those annual exams as required by the Army.

The universal anxiety of 'what if ...'

Maybe, if it's borderline, I will bargain with the doctor, promising to entertain a more frequent regimen of antigen quests...

In lieu of the finger pointing.

 Yes, Martha...

The Art of the Deal

Indeed.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/L%27Inconnue_de_la_Seine

The distinctive face of Resusci Anne was based on L'Inconnue de la Seine (English: The unknown woman of Seine), the death mask of an unidentified young woman reputedly drowned in the River Seine around the late 1880s.

 Toymaker Åsmund S. Lærdal chose to use a woman's face on the mannequin as he thought male trainees might be reluctant to kiss a man's face.

 The face was sculpted by the Norwegian-Danish sculptor Emma Matthiasen.

CPR training was highly stressed during dental school, woven into the fabric of an extensive four year paradigm shift from traditional dental education.

As part of that supercharging of the Governor Winfield Dunn-inspired quest for  world class training, the Oral Surgery Department provided highly talented instructors, including Dr. Brian Schenck's dad.

Their tutelage and demonstration of surgical skills, (including suturing lots of pigskin in lab sessions...) armed me with the ability to accomplish my future mission as a US Army dental officer.

As a consequence of Dr. Kenny Schenck's careful and most extensive instruction in the removal of third molars, skills further honed by interaction with highly talented clinicians found at DC #1, their delivery became routine.

Further, all general dental officers were expected to be capable of extracting fully erupted thirds.

Most of my fellow dental officers at Fort Rucker were further capable of Class 1 and 2 impactions removal.

Boarded oral surgeons in the Army were highly valued and only available at certain Medical Centers (MEDCEN).

These studs moved faces and skull parts around.

And a few were on staff at Walter Reed... 

LBJ and his 'projects' have produced breeding grounds for depraved, amoral purveyors of evil.

Why? 

 No father or positive male role model.

Remember, LBJ stipulated that neither could be in the house or those benefits would vanish...

Mo babies, mo money...

Destruction of whole communities...

901 Taylor Street, Goldsboro, NC, was my #1 favorite destination.

My incredible grandparents, living in their 'project' of well groomed lawns, clean sidewalks and loving elderly neighbors, provided a colossal memory data base of a much-loved extended family of aunts, uncles and cousins.

They were safe for the children; everyone knew each other and provided a collective network of community.

Yes, Martha, even a Sunday School bus...

 The playground provided an arena to settle scores and right the ship with relationships.

Then back to playing together...

But no firearms...

 My teachers had the Board of Education to provide guardrails to behavior...

Repeat offenders earned enrollment in 

Reform School....

To reiterate:

LBJ was the puppet of the Democrats; his loss of support due to his feckless approach to Vietnam risked power loss by these racist evil hordes.

Our soldiers were dying by the thousands...

Remember, Martha, the Democrats fought for slavery and segregation.

Joe Biden's mentor was Robert Byrd and a noted KKK leader.  Biden's own racism, to borrow a phrase from Oprah, was 'marinated' in Democrat racial dogma and his admiration of the West Virginia senator.

His captivation with Senator Byrd culminated in his providing the eulogy for this Democrat racist.

Pressure from the Democrat apparatus dictated LBJ's capitulation to the Republicans.

He reluctantly signed the Republican-sponsored 1964 Civil Rights Act and issued his 'Notable Quotable' proclaiming that blacks represented a Democrat monolithic voting bloc.

"...for two hundred years."

 2 overriding thoughts:

First, thankful I was a dental officer.

Infantry officers and all infantrymen are subject to these battlefield injuries.

The Sergeant Major, as an 11 Bravo, was the tip of the spear...

The second overriding thought:

Thank you, God, for shielding my father during those intense firefights...

 Fire mission!

 Yes, indeed, Rip gave new meaning to the term 'extended rest'...

It was 2200 hours, normally my finishing time for typing a few hundred bills of lading, as required by my position as billing clerk at Overnite's 26th terminal.

Second shift employment as a billing and rating clerk at Overnite Transportation Company allowed daily classes at UTC.

My terminal manager, Bill Waters, was a blessing in that he was flexible on my starting time.  Generally, 1600 hours worked well, as the drivers started returning to the terminal on Shallowford Road @ I-75 and avoiding the rush hour traffic.

The dozen or so city drivers arrived first with, generally, around a hundred bills of lading to type.

The real bulk of bills were found with the drivers from Dalton and Calhoun.  Carpet rolls by the thousands were picked up daily, providing me with a few more hundred bills of lading to type.

At 10 PM I should be near completion of those billing tasks which must be completed - no deferment to the following day.

After all, Mr. Cochran's company was named 'Overnite'...

That Friday night found severe thunderstorms sweeping through North Georgia, causing a number of accidents on I-75...

... resulting in a delay of several hours before the drivers, with all those bills, reached the terminal.

I was wearing out my IBM Selectric as I pounded out hundreds of those bills of lading, anxious to get some bedrest before a most challenging day in the woods on Saturday.

At any rate, I departed the office around 3 AM.

I was due for an 0600 formation at the Catoosa training site, nearly an hour drive from 707 Mississippi Avenue.

I picked up some NoDoz on the way back to Hixson.

This Saturday, with entirely Ranger operation training for the duration of the daylight hours, was going to be a challenge...

Indeed.

 Starting at the crack of dawn -

Sorry, Dawn...

I mean O-dark-thirty...

First mission of the day, consolidation on the objective located about ten clicks (kilometers) from our base camp.

I was now an MS 2 cadet, having spent my freshman year as part of the CLF (Catoosa Liberation Front), aggressing the 'regular Army' cadets day and night.

The CLF's rations included, of course, C-rats, but also a healthy supply of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.

I remember the gentle taunting of the upper classmen cadets I provided when I was part of the CLF assault team who disturbed their beauty sleep.

I would leave a few empty wrappers of my recently-consumed candy delight, left conspicuously in their tents...

As a second year cadet, however, these 

field exercises were considered much more serious and important for the development of young men as soldiers.

I had to retire an Army uniform nameplate that I had modified from 'Bell' to 'Hell', transforming me to Sergeant Hell, Catoosa Liberation Front.

On this particular day, Major Siebert tasked me with providing communications  for the patrol. This eighteen year old felt rather manly, strapping on the pric77 (ANPRC-77) field radio and assuming the proper position within the platoon-sized element.

The deluge of rain received the night before in north Georgia, however, made our land navigation somewhat treacherous.

Especially when Major Siebert selected a quite challenging route to the objective's location, forcing two stream crossings in our 'over hill, over dale...' brisk movement toward the objective.

About four clicks from base camp, I encountered my first challenge, the crossing of a stream, via a conveniently-placed log.

God's Laws of Physics are inescapable, however.

I recall Kelly Rippa's unceremonious entrance at Princeton...

The soles of my wet combat boots and the slick surface of the moss-laden narrow log combined to launch me into the swollen creek.  Fortunately, I wasn't required to swim with the radio strapped to me, as the water was only a few feet deep.

After clambering out of my predicament, and now on the other side of the creek...

... Major Siebert, shaking his head, "Cadet Daw, go back to the AO and put some dry fatigues on...".

I relinquished the pric77, no worse for the wear, to another cadet and ran back for a quick change of clothes.

This time, without embarrassing myself when I recrossed that creek...

Although my field jacket was still somewhat wet, I was otherwise dry and 'unburdened by what has been', as regurgitated by The Call Girl. 

That's why we always had a spare set of fatigues...

I started running to the objective, about a ten kilometer trek.

Fortunately, I knew the route to the objective well, as I had visited it a number of times as Sergeant Hell.

With that ignominious start of this day of Ranger operations, I was determined to regain Major Siebert's respect with no further screwups.

It was now approaching noon.

Two more 'consolidation on the objective' missions were accomplished, interspersed with conducting a number of ambushes.

Noting the sun's descent, Major Siebert indicated it was time to return to base camp, not quite 10 kilometers away.

As we hurried back with the rapidly increasing darkness, our group of twenty or so started losing stragglers.

We were stretched out for a mile or more.

Again, determined to make up for that damn wet log, I was among a squad that had been able to keep up with Major 'Run Like a Deer' Siebert.

The major indicated that we rest for a few minutes so that the rest could catch up...

 ...and those NoDoz tablets had long since worn off...

 My eyes snapped open an hour or so later.

It was now full blown dark.

I was alone.

After getting the haze out of my brain while engaging my Spidey Sense, I wanted to ascertain where I was.

Fortunately, God had provided a Ranger Moon after the clouds had parted.  All I had to do was gather a little terrain recognition and use my map to pinpoint my position.

I learned a very important lesson that evening in North Georgia and why I spent four years in development as an infantry officer.

It's called training; learn from your experiences, good and bad.

That night was a highlight of the last FTX that my map was not safely protected by a ziploc bag...

Yup, Martha, that log adventure earlier in the day had thoroughly rendered the only reference to my global position useless.

That beautiful Ranger Moon was bathing the countryside in a luminescence, allowing me the ability to identify ridges, valleys, saddles and enough topographic recognition to easily ID my location.

"Ruh Roh", to quote Scooby...

... upon the discovery that my carefully-folded map, in the caress of one of my field jacket's pockets, was now a wet chunk of paper.

My absence had yet to be discovered, as I had heard no weapons discharge, indicating my comrades were trying to locate me.

A soldier is taught, in the event this eventuality is presented, he is to fire his weapon three times.

If there are any searchers out there, they will answer with a similar response.

The process is repeated until the soldier's location is fully determined.

Martha, I was fully ready to retire for the evening, huddled next to that tree.

As my mother might say, I was worn slam out.

Following my training, however, I sent a volley of 7.62 mm rounds skyward.

Actually, they were blanks...

Somewhat surprisingly, I heard the retort.

After the prerequisite ribbing for my, say, lack of attention in the accomplishment of my mission, I was subsequently known as Rip Van Daw.

 Until after the Leadership Development and Assessment Course (LDAC) in the summer of 1975 at Fort Reilly...

 ...and my subsequent marriage to Kris' beautiful mother before the start of my senior year as an MS 4.

After evidencing my RECONDO and Pathfinder training accorded by the ROTC cadre had been effective, per my LDAC evaluation, that moniker disappeared.

Scores of graphic injuries were displayed on giant screens.

All from Houston.

These images depicted the destruction of human flesh on a scale I had never seen before.

I was relieved no Vietnam battlefield injuries were shown.

Two years of my life, viewing embedded news correspondents filming the evacuation of the wounded by those gallant Dustoff heroes, will never be forgotten.

Always fearful my father, an infantryman, would be on one of those litters.

Or worse.

As each scenario was presented on the screen, the instructors allowed us about five minutes to determine how this particular injury could be treated.

One large screen was filled to its perimeter with the face of a man, shot in the face.

Profuse bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds to the face...

Martha, gushing...

"Ladies and gentlemen, what strategy would you employ to stop the bleeding?" 

 How would it be possible to apply compression or hemostatic control in such a catastrophic injury?

Unsurprisingly, the facial artery is quickly depleting this patient's blood volume...

Bleeding from the mouth, pulsing, involves the lingual artery...

Dr. Sid Cohn's very thorough Gross Anatomy course, my first year in dental school, joined Organic Chemistry and Biochemistry in the complexity factor, perhaps surpassing them.

Neuroanatomy was not far behind.

With the exception of the extremities and sex organs, Dr. Cohn left nothing to the imagination.

Six months were spent on the head and neck alone.

Actions, origins and insertions of the muscles, as an example, would also include where the cell bodies lay of the neural network required for said muscle to operate. 

Further, would those be GVA or 

GVE fibers?

Now would that be on the dorsal or ventral  aspect of the spinal cord...

Further, dissections of cadavers were considered absolutely essential when Governor Dunn was developing his world class reshaping of dental education in Tennessee.

Governor Dunn realized dentistry involved more than 'fixing teeth'.

Vital motor skills were acquired, necessary for the performance of dental and oral surgical procedures.

Many hours were spent in Gross Anatomy lab, each of the four members of the dissection team wielding that #15 blade while the other three observed and followed with an open textbook.

Three hour sessions weekly.

  Every Monday there was a practical examination.

Over the weekend, our team would assemble in he Anatomy lab and study, study and study some more in preparation for that practical.

       Monday morning would find twenty or so cadavers, each with something tagged and a series of questions presented.

Spidey Sense fully engaged...

Again, to reiterate, not only would a tagged muscle require its naming, but also 

what nerve provided innervation...

... and where do the cell bodies lie?

All Gross Anatomy labs were morning sessions.

During lunchtime, I would normally hop on my 750 F, cast a nod to Baptist Memorial Hospital (location of the last known siting of The King) on my left and  made the short ride to midtown Memphis. 

My first exposure to Popeye's fried chicken in Memphis prompted me to always have some on hand at our apartment. 

On occasion, I would utilize the cafeteria in the student center.

I recall the first time that 

Don Davison, Jake Dobbins, Lewis Dillahunty and I walked through the cafeteria.

Like the parting of the sea, as the four of us headed toward the food bar, folks on either side of us turned their heads with that

'What is that smell...'

look on their collective faces.

"Dental student?", asked some.

 Our clothing, despite the wearing of lab jackets, tied at the waist, gave us away.

Upon completion of that day's dissections, we hung our lab jackets in our lockers; that pungent formaldehyde aroma, however, lingered in our clothing.

After three hours of dissections, our olfactory mechanisms were not aware;

their receptor neurons were fried.

Oh, but everyone in the student center could smell it...

Medical students would never experience this aromatic environment, as they did not actually perform any dissections of cadavers.

Their class viewed an instructor performing those dissections in a large auditorium via a number of monitors.

Cadavers were a precious commodity, most of whom were provided by those who donated their bodies for that specific purpose.

What an unselfish act and one that God surely rewarded...

Our team was fortunate in that the tiny black lady, discovered deceased on a bench in Overton Park, provided fat-free dissections, particularly during those abdominal explorations.

She deserved better than being alone in that park.  Her ascension to Heaven has provided that...

God bless her soul.

The medical school conceded the physicians would acquire further surgical training after med school.

So, only the dental students carried that ambient scent...

These folks would enjoy the stench I would smell seven years later when I encountered Europeans in Itaewon. 

 Even in the absence of that Gross Anatomy fragrance, dental students presented a striking departure from the medical students campus wide.

Governor Dunn insisted on a dress code and proper grooming.

Those unsightly beards and flip-flops, found on many of the medical students, were not allowed.

As a young Second Lieutenant, this was a continuation of my ROTC years.

Major Siebert would not have approved of my haircut during those four years...

 Exercising caution to not place the hemostats on the internal carotid...

...requiring further dissection to ensure the artery about to be ligated gives off a branch.

Placing a hemostat on the internal carotid, which has no branches, will most assuredly kill the guy.

That was, in fact, exactly what this particular trauma surgeon had performed on a number of occasions.

I was surprised when he informed us that the worst sequelae, as a consequence of this procedure, he had witnessed was a small amount of necrosis on the tip of the nose and floor of the mouth.

But the patients survived.

 Doctor Sid Cohn, who referred to breasts as 'modified sweat glands'.

Dr. Cohn, as a function of his reverence for the cadavers and the serious nature of this class, hardly smiled.

Very rare, indeed...

One day, during lecture, the class joker posed this question to our most knowledgeable and quite reserved Gross Anatomy professor:

"Dr. Cohn, what do the chorda tympani and the vagina have in common?"

I was in disbelief he was asked this question and wondered how this was going to turn out...

I was further surprised that Dr. Cohn was seriously contemplating what that commonality might be.

Our class joker informed Dr. Cohn that ...

"They both transmit taste to the anterior two thirds of the tongue."

Yikes!  How is Dr. Cohn going to respond to that....

As my beautiful bride might say,

"He busted out in a big smile!"

In the defense of our sexist joker, only 10%  of our class of more than 160, were ladies.

And they were all excellent clinicians and good sports.

A shout-out to the husband and wife dental duo, Dr. Jill Prichard Hodges and her stud Manly Man husband, Anthony.

These two classmates were and are excellent practitioners.

Anthony's Civil War collection and knowledge is a reflection of a true Southern man.

Anthony and I both share in God's grace:

We both are above our paygrade with our brides.

Jill, arguably, was the apex of the beautiful ladies who blessed our inaugural class of 1977.