MD: God, this is MD.

God: I know you.

MD: God? Can I call you God? I know there’s been this thing about your name.

God: You can call me anything but “late for dinner”.

MD: Quite a sense of humor You have there. Like just now when everything was weighing on me so heavily as it has for months, to years, and beyond years. I search for You. I meditate. I put off doing this task of writing things down after considerable time goes by. Days go by. I feel like You want me to say something. So I set this computer up in a comfortable place and finally, today, I turn the computer on to put my questions and feelings into words. I feel it useless to even ride my bicycle before I at least attempt to peck some words into this machine.

So I turn on the computer. It starts humming away. However the computer screen does not light up. I turn the monitor off, then on, then off, then on. I check all the wires. Everything is as it should be. So, of course, I think, “Perhaps God is saying He doesn’t want to hear from me. So God, what was the “monitor not coming on thing” all about?

God: I was just messing with you again. You know like sometimes I let you think you look good in some clothes when you don’t. Like when I let you stand up in that all white patron restaurant in an all white town and let you tell everybody they were essentially butt-heads for using the N word. Of course this was many years after I told you to date the black girl in your small bigoted home town. I tell you that was funny. Even though it seemed to give you some male credibility, because she was the prettiest girl in the world, it was funny. I especially like the part where you took her, and her younger sisters, to the movie theater downtown.

Let’s face it MD- you make me laugh out loud. Step back and look. At an early age I instill a sense of duty, bravery, patriotism, love of family, and fear of ME. I send you to a war. I turn the world upside down when I reveal to you and thousands of other soldiers, that the war was bogus. It was just a way to stimulate the “economy” for a few. So I get you home and let you think you might become the “holy man” for which your mother prayed. I make you wear your hair long, including your beard. Now that was funny. Look back. You can see Me looking down on you wanting to be a holy man, in a world run by a wink and a nod.You're sixty years old and still you can't cut your hair. People think you have a choice. Right now you look like Gallagher, Santa Claus, and Charles Manson all rolled into one. But like Johnny Cash wearing black, you can't cut the hair. But this separates you from the pretenders. The chameleons don't shave. They take up whatever color, shape, or tenet they need to blend and deceive.

It was then that You and I really became close. You were an eyesore. Parents wanted to blame the downfall of their children and civilization on you. You didn’t goose-step. When you were falsely arrested for the dastardly deed of having grains of marijuana in your Prince Albert tobacco, you knew that I was close to you. You finally knew the absolute truth about your world. You stood tall for a short man. I really liked the final words you had for the jury, “if poor people get together and shove rutabagas under their arm pits, pretty soon rutabagas will be outlawed”. Of course I blinded the jury. They actually blinded themselves. I just didn’t open their eyes. The chief of police also went into the jury room and sabotaged the outcome. The jury didn’t even ponder the statement of the law officer that said he could see “grains” of marijuana from where he was sitting in a car. That would be x-ray vision. You and I know it was just more of the same lies that people in governments tell. You and I were very close. You just liked rolling tobacco cigarettes like with the old trapper Markely Sharpe on his rickety old porch. But we don’t have time for the old trapper today.

You went to the notorious “chain gang” for 45 days out of a possible 90. You remember the movie “Cool Hand Luke”. Pretty much a true story by the way. They put you with a white guy in one cell and all the blacks were in another large cell. You became close with these blacks. You picked the yellow jackets off one brother out at the landfill. Of course the landfill was one of many jobs you had to join in on, such as cutting back the briers and brush on county roads and certain private roads of the county "Illuminati". You worked and never feared a thing because you and I were close.

You remained a vegetarian while on the chain gang. That is a little funny. Here is more humorous irony- you were given Beech Nut smoking tobacco in a pouch, so you could “roll your own” smokes while you were incarcerated. Come on now- that’s a little funny. You went to jail for Prince Albert but now you're smoking Beech Nut. Every comical incident cannot produce a big laugh.

MD: But God I remember those times as being very lonely. I wanted to do your will and be recognized for it, such as the prophets of the bible.

God: You wanted instant gratification like so many. You couldn’t see that you were recognized by those prisoners who sorely needed to see somebody, something different, than what they had seen prior to you. These were the only ones deserving to see you at that moment in time. Still you and I were tight. You had no fear. But you were funny and I was just creating memories to amuse myself, mostly later. You would be amused much later.

Talk about funny. You have to admit, MD, the “interrogation” of the first incarceration was one of the funniest moments, in retrospect. There you are in a room full of town cops, county cops, the magistrate, and other local dignitaries you didn’t know. The room is crowded. The figures are making a complete perimeter around you. They ask question after question about your drug use which is actually almost non-existent compared to the legal “diet pills” and other “elixirs” the “physicians” are dispensing in that era and this. The interrogation room is dark, with a light in the center, as the old “B” movies depicted.

The grilling is non-stop. Then the inquiring minds want to know, “what all kinds of stuff are you on?” MD, your reply was absolutely golden. You had actually done your homework on drugs by reading about them and they had obviously not. I’ll never forget what you said. You said, “well I boil down a little heroin and shoot it into my eyelids every once in a while”.

Most people don’t have this sense of humor. It’s complex humor. It could be considered dark humor. You see, MD, I don’t go to the theaters for humor. The popcorn costs too much. I depend on people like you for my humor. Sure, you’re considered a dingbat by your fellow brethren, but believe me, you are like Robin Williams quite often. The biggest difference is that you’ll never ride with the US Postal Team. But, to be funny in a difficult crowd like these vermin, now that's funny.

I almost wish I hadn’t allowed you to be subjected to this next chapter. After the “I boil down a little heroin and shoot it into my eyelids statement”, one of the “concerned citizens/interrogators asked, “you trying to be funny?” I made you laugh. I allowed them to force you to turn yourself into the mental hospital.

This was your darkest hour. It wasn’t being at war. It was the horrors of being at war. It was complete captivity. It was worse than any prison. In prison you may have some certainties such as why you were there, how long you might be there, does any body care?

You want to, but you never will forget, 15 East, where you were medicated, and then medicated to unconsciousness when you protested. 15 East is where every minute lasts a thousand years. Remember the “attendant” that gave you that buffalo shot? His son played ball for USC. Ah, the glory years of USC basketball. But I digress. Unless a person was on 15 East, they have no idea of who you are, and how you have come to be. I was there with you. I know. I love you Michael for this alone. You harmed absolutely nobody, yet you went to hell. You were sent to hell by the “good citizens”. You were kept in hell by the “good citizens”.

I did send you love and hope in the form of a red haired “candy-striper”. You remember the eternity spent there but you also remember the glimmer of hope, beauty, and love that you will still receive. She is real. That beauty and love are real.

You were gone. You were dead. It was only this thread, this iota of hope and kindness, that you needed, to escape 15 East. Sure you tried to escape and did escape successfully, however briefly. But it was the thread of hope that triggered your mind to adopt a better plan.

It was only in hiding the medication under your tongue that allowed you to think better. You were able to hide it behind the bottom of the curl of your tongue. You then adopted the phrase, “I’m getting much better now”. You would never get out by any other means.

MD: But God, I was considered an outcast and still am today. And what about the red haired candy striper?

God: So you want to be adored, or even respected, by people who would never give what you have, their lives, or freedom for you? You care what people think, these, who would never hoe a garden for an aging couple? These people who would never defend their country but believe that you should. These people who would use even your injuries against you, who own more than one car, one home, and would never allow you in any of them, these people concern you.

MD: God, I see a little of what you’re getting at, but I just have a hard time with it all. I mean we want to instill a work ethic in everyone, correct? We want teamwork, right? We want to promote the things that make us a better world, right? We want to reward those who do good works. We want to hold these people up as examples, don’t we? I know it’s said in your books that you can’t get to heaven by good works, but by faith –something like that- You know the scripture.

God: Let me just say now, though, that this scripture has been used out of context quite a bit. Folks can’t just be jerks all their lives and then at the last second say “hocus-pocus-dominocus, I love God’s Son”, and have a get out of hell card.

As far as getting credit for one’s work- you don’t. I give credit as I see fit and it is most often when only I see it.

Right now I’m only painting you as a source of humor for me. A lot of people, not enough, stop their car, truck, bicycle or what-not, and pick up debris, or cut trees fallen in the road, as you do. A lot of people create works of art with the incredible labor like you have. But tell me how many people could do what you’ve done, like work every day, sometimes until after dark, mixing concrete, laying rock, and other heavy work? Then a friend calls. You haven’t been on your bike much for months. The friend wants you to join him in St. Louis for a 560 plus mile bike ride though the Ozark Mountains of Missouri, and you have 60 hours or so to compete it. Who would drop it all and ride Boston-Montreal-Boston, 750 miles on a whim with an aging friend?

These are more funnies though. Don’t think for a moment that you did not amuse me.

MD: I’m just glad I could be there for you my Lord.

God: Remember how I gave you the idea that you could use this crazy ride of steep climbs and long distance in Missouri, to ride yourself into shape? Wasn’t really untrue. You’d be in a little better biking condition before you'd toss it all away again in cement or some other chore. But I also let you think that you could use your momentum to get up and over most of the ascents because you were told that the hills weren’t long just steep? Those were the worst hills. Glascow, Missouri was funny, huh? You call it, "the most redneck town in America".That would be quite a contest though. Nothing quite like riding through a gauntlet of idiots.

That Bike Across Missouri was so funny. You wrote about Boston-Montreal-Boston, Paris-Brest-Paris, Assault On Mount Mitchell, and other rides but you never wrote about BAM.

MD: It was suffering. I had written about suffering too much. It would sound just exactly like the other rides or maybe just a hybrid. God, I really didn’t mean to get into this time consuming dialog we’ve having.

God: Look MD, there is no way that we cannot talk and you get better.

MD: What about your time?

God: It’s my time and besides how would you know if I’m multitasking, or I’ve just farmed out this conversation with you to one of my subordinates, and am merely supervising? After all everything to you adds up, and to anyone else you’re a freaking loon.

MD: I bow humbly, to your wisdom and humor.

God: See, you can’t see the big picture. Take the Bike Across Missouri Ride. Please. Just kidding. But seriously, back to BAM- You decided to ride the ride as a RAAM qualifier which meant you had to ride alone, no drafting. It was my idea, but I let you explain it as you were not in shape, and did not want to be intimidated to ride at another rider's pace. It was after you signed up that you learned that BAM went through some of the worst red-necked areas there were. Glasgow, Missouri was supposedly home of the bad type of redneck that would line up at the entrance to town, form a gauntlet, and flail the riders with belts as they rode by. BAM was the only ride that encouraged personal automobile escorts. It is still illegal for any support crews to be on the courses of Paris-Brest-Paris or Boston-Montreal-Boston.

So Bike-Across-Missouri starts off being funny, in retrospect, before you even get on the bike. You take the shorter time limit and later start-time as usual. The majority of cyclists have left hours before. You haven’t ridden in months to any degree. You have no idea that it’s been hostile towards cyclists in this area. You sign up to ride alone. You have no support. To make it funnier, you always get sick on long rides.

Even starting out you were told you would be given an escort out of town by an auto so you didn’t need arrows or that part of the cue sheet. When the car and lone rider disappeared and left you and others in the middle of nowhere, you returned to the start finish line to start all over with proper directions.

I remembered your disappointment when you were dropped by the principle players. You had long bouts of mileage where you wondered if you were still on the correct course. You were riding in the dark with little to see. Loneliness is most of what a long distance rider is all about. But, even then, I sent that redneck to you. I wanted to give you a little hope about being on the right road. You should realize that the bottle missing your head was no mistake on my part.

MD: God, I don’t mean to carp, but why save me from a bottle in the head, but allow all the other things to happen?

God: Hey, remember, this was before you threw up.

MD: Oh yeah, right.

God: Right! Before then though, you would concede defeat in so many ways. You even dipped into the silliness of your plight when you started picking up tools that you would see on the road. If you will recall I even gave you another 3/8 wrench, open end and boxed end. How many of those do you have now? Do you see the humor? It would have to be explained to most people that the wrench is of almost no use to a bike mechanic who deals with metric wrenches, but even so, the mechanic has a lifetime supply.

I hate to go into Vietnam much but it’s like explaining the MOS joke. You would have to explain that an MOS back then was “your job”. If a man just carried a rifle he was merely a grunt with an MOS of 0311. Even a person in an office position was a grunt. Your MOS, MD, was 0351. You were not merely a grunt. You were trained to use explosives, fire the 106 recoilless rifle, carry a LAAW, or toast someone with a flame thrower. Of course you did the mine sweeps with an M-30 machine-gun as well.

So on to the joke (?): After walking point for the entire battalion, going back up stream for casualties, spending the night in the middle of the stream on a rock with your good friend Rodney Watson, after almost being killed by your own soldiers, after picking up C-4, an 80mm mortar round, and a 45 cal. pistol dropped by our guys, after picking off the leaches, after climbing back up to your company , after collecting water from a mud puddle while trying to strain the bugs out, after cutting bamboo for the drops of water in the sections, after getting to the top, after setting up a perimeter, and after digging foxholes, you sat with "crazy-as-a-loon" Flannigan from Montana and other Marines.

Because your company walked point, you reached the top and witnessed the endless drudgery and parade of some of America’s elite fighting men climbing a mountain after months of being in the bush, carrying a full pack, rifle, ammunition, and more while wearing a helmet, flack jacket, and really smelly clothes.

Entrenching tools had to be used to dig footholds in the muddy mountainside. 81mm mortars were brought and someone might say "only God knows why". But I don't. It was a mistake. 61mm mortars maybe, maybe not. The huge plates for the mortars had to be thrown ahead or drug behind.

The feet are infected. Socks and underwear have been burned. The pack has some food left, maybe an inflatable mattress. There is an entrenching tool- shovel to civilians. There may be lots of unneeded crap sent from home, unneeded, but for memories.

While you, Flanagan, and a few more Marines play cards and watch the endless procession of dirt, sweat, smells, weaponry, and tired, thirsty, and hungry to the bone soldiers. A Marine climbs up with all the accoutrement with grenades, bandoleers of rounds draped around him, and even a 30 cal. machine gun in one hand. In the other hand is a banana tree with large bites taken from it. The Marine has been chewing on the banana tree for fluids.Everybody on that mountain knew what this man's job was but:

Flannagan looks up at him and says, “So, what’s your MOS?”

Now MD, you know that was funny. You and everyone that heard that, cracked up. Of course the Marine killed everybody that laughed. Just kidding.

You’ve studied comedy and you know how long it may take to set up a great joke. Now I didn’t set up the Vietnam War just for this joke. It’s just a by-product. Unfortunately this war was started by “concerned citizens” and perpetuated by more “concerned citizens”. You’re all too familiar with these folks. Two million plus people died needlessly. The punishment will fit the crime, believe me.

MD: God, I appreciate your time and explanations, etc. but I’m at my half-wit’s end (pun intended). I’ve been in tears for years. I feel like I’m physically beaten as well as spiritually. Can you make more sense of this?

God: Of course you feel like you’re beaten. You have been beaten. Remember that drunken wrestler at Cam Lo? You’ve been choked by teachers, hit by cops, hit by cars, fell off a truck, down a waterfall, blah, blah, blah. You look like Evel Keneival’s unlucky dog, for crying out loud. I just want you to have a different perspective. Look at a bigger picture.

MD: But God, it never ends. Look at this mess.

God: Do you wish anyone harm? Do you wish anything but the best for anyone?

MD: I wish no one harm. I do not wish for anything but the best, for others.

God: What would you expect from those involved? Have you not given twenty years of servitude to an ex-wife? Has she taken charge of all your possessions? Has the wicked judge abetted this “crime”? Has the high-sheriff abetted this deed? Have the relatives and clergy helped heap doodeecocka on you? Did you seek help from these “concerned citizens” and even the ACLU? Have you avoided lawyers?

MD: God, the answer to all questions, is yes.

God: Don’t be concerned with these jackasses. The high sheriff ignored your pleas to be free of harassment. The so called judge refused to back up his own court rulings and went against court procedure in judging you. Even the ACLU refused to hear you out.

MD: But doesn’t ACLU stand for American Civil Liberties Union? Wouldn’t the name imply that a citizen should have fair hearings and trials?

God: AmericansCouldn’tcareLessaboutU.

MD: I even wrote the news paper.

God: That pathetic piece of tripe? MD, MD, most papers are a locally pacifying news letter, at best. They really don’t cater to hardly anyone but a republican audience, not that democrats have a good grip either. But that whole county is republican. You had to be republican to buy land in the county at one time. Actually that’s a story that’s retold very often, like the story of blacks being loaded onto a train and sent away back in the early 1900s. Of course you’ve even seen a deed or bill of sale for a slave sported about by one of the locals. And of course one of his favorite stories is how he cold-cocked a black athlete during a high school basketball game. His brother insisted on hunting on your 5 acres of land while leaning against you. This is the county where people rode by you as you worked your butt off. They called you lazy as you worked. This is where you asked for help from “family” and couldn’t get it. This is where you, a short, small, broken up man stood up to giants and said your family would not be trifled with.

Now again, you’ve got to look at the humor. There was this giant of a man leaning, actually leaning on you. The best athlete the county ever knew according to the brother of the moron who was leaning on this very small bicycle rider for heaven’s sake. Of course now to you, their legacy is that of being cowards, ready to take cheap shots at great people. Remember the bragging about hitting the black basketball player as he was running down court? And if all else fails they will take a crap in the back of your pick-up truck, as the giant did another fellow in the area. This is lore that they are passing on to further generations. This is the legacy of some of your detractors.

When deer carcasses were dropped off in your driveway, when your signs of your "Inn” were torn up, you made imprints of tracks made in the snow and mud. You measured the distance between tires. There were only 2 vehicles that matched those at all, after months of searching the possibilities. Once you even followed the tracks to the home of the perp. You didn’t get help from the high sheriff or anyone else at the sheriff’s department. As a matter of fact you were treated as though you were the problem.

Even with the lack of support of relatives and most people, you join the fire department, and meet the better part of the county. These were the people that were the best.

When your newly moved in neighbor tried to harass you and even ruin your business, you did nothing but try to make friends. When the much taller and bigger neighbor poked you in the chest and put a lit cigar in your face, you did nothing. When the much bigger neighbor poked you in the chest and put a lit cigar in your face again, you did nothing. You did warn him to avoid such behavior in the future. When the much taller neighbor poked you in the chest and put a lit cigar in your face the third time, after puffing heavily on it, you hit him in the chest and pushed him toward his fence. You could have finished the sorry ____ (excuse me, sometimes even I get carried away) but you didn’t. You allowed him to search for a stick, a stone, or something else and then you allowed the sorry ____ to go back to his home and get his gun.

You chose to wait before telling the high sheriff. But the ____ would have relatives to race their engines and tear by your home or he’d try some other subtle means of driving you out though you never once did anything to this ____.

MD: Don’t you think people, especially Christians are going to erupt when I write that God said “____”?

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MD: So God, why did my computer freeze last night as we were really getting somewhere?

God: It was late. You’re talking to me, I’m talking to you in the manner you and other men of action and comedy have spoken largely to each other, but you’re writing these words down and too many religious cultists will make matters worse. So go back, and instead of describing some of these _____ as _____, just say "fine citizens". Because, these folks want others to be fine citizens, they want others to think of them as fine citizens, but no, they have no ambition to actually “be” the "fine citizens".

So you finally wrote a letter to the high sheriff. You enlightened him to the fact that your neighbor poked, pushed, and may have tried to set your beard on fire. You reminded the high sheriff that your neighbor was a prison guard and he would never change. Nothing that you had done had made a difference and you tried. You felt like that some things needed to be told, now. You explained to the high sheriff that there was no arena that this taller and bigger neighbor could defeat you in. You laid your cards on the table. You explained in clear words that your neighbor should be warned that MD would defend his home and family. You did more than most of the big bullying cowards of that county. These cowards would be king of the “cheap shots”. They would gang up on you. They would tear your signs down in the dark of night. They would leave animal carcasses on your property.

You were honest. What did the high sheriff say about the letter? Right. Nothing. The high sheriff is one of the cowards of the county. He can’t talk to you, man to man. He is lazy and obviously has selective investigative skills. He won’t investigate crimes that may influence the next vote. He has certainly ignored every plea you have made about the harassment you have endured. When you went to war, you knew your enemy. You never know your enemies when you're "home".

When the Army Ranger, his wife, and baby were harassed on Roses Branch, shots were fired near the home, you volunteered to help the ex-Ranger put an end to it. The high sheriff wouldn't. Just moving the wife and baby out of the area would have freed you two ex-soldiers to introduce some jackasses to Me. The Ranger declined and moved away from the dirty little county but once again, you were you. You would stand up for someone else before you would stand up for yourself. You and the Ranger are better off out of the dirty little county. You two fellows wouldn't be able to stop the ignorance that is perpetuated there. It's rampant.

MD: I’ve got to take a break. It’s the same old story. I’m tired of acknowledging that things are being said that aren't true. I’m burned out with being drawn into a discussion that only leads to a trap door of lies.

God: Let’s both take a breather. I get tired of watching this crap too. What’s been going on has been false. You have been maligned. This continuation of lies about you, and the unwillingness of the “rulers” of your country to ignore your plight, is inexcusable. It has no redeeming value at all.

The "rulers" and "leaders" are bought. They have their thirty pieces of silver.

What’s going on with you is going on, and gone on, with Vets since wars began. A lot of soldiers have died in a ditch before that drunken war hero, Isaac Hayes.

MD: I just want to ride my bike and watch my favorite movies. I want to work a crossword puzzle. I don’t need exposure. I want peace.

God: MD. MD. It’s just not funny. I need funny stuff, often, to counter the inhumanities against humanity. Look at where you’ve been. Look at what you’ve seen. I’m not getting into your charitable contributions. You’ve given little in comparison to others but you’ve give quite a lot with so little to give.

Look at what I’ve given you. How many near death experiences do you need? You’ve been hit by 2 cars and a truck while riding your bike. Not many people have felt that huh?

MD: But God, I don’t think I needed the second and third automobile smack down. Certainly I didn’t need the second.

God: Ah, but you’re wrong. If you’ll remember, the first time you were unconscious and had amnesia after you were hit.

MD: Oh yeah, thanks.

God: You’ve been to war. You defended your country. You stood up to too many jackasses and you’ve felt bad that you didn’t stand up to more. You have a very little behind. You’re old. Your knee and shin have cysts that have bothered you for decades. Most people don’t know about them because you speak of your back and neck pain so often. Pain runs down your arms. Pain and numbness run down your back and leg.

MD: I suppose there will be a point to this as well.

God: The point is you never were an athlete. You’ve been small, you’ll get smaller, and you never will dance any better. But you’re funny- to me.

You weren’t chosen to attain the affection of country, many friends, or family as of this date. You were chosen to touch the people you’ve touched in the way that you have.

You've touched the friends you have, the cyclists, the maids, the janitors, the hitchhikers, etc.

MD: Thank you Lord. But it hurts to hear lies. It hurts to read things that are malicious. It maims when people use children against me. Do you know what it’s like to be accused of being a danger to a child?

God: Yes, I do.

This paper that bothers you most, says you stopped supporting your daughter but it fails to mention the thousands of dollars that you sent her and a home worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.

It says emails and letters have been sent. That is supposed to be a negative? You were not even close enough for smoke signals. How were you to carry on a business? You weren’t. How were you to get any of the things that were boxed, stored, and broken? Does North Carolina not recognize that because you were married you owned half of what she owned? How could you do anything at all because hysteria, meanness, laziness, lies, slander, prejudice, etc., etc. have indeed ruled the day and the court.

This “court” has issued it’s edicts to you going on 2 years now. They have listened to her and her entourage intently, and you were not permitted to hear a word. You grew up believing the accused would face his accusers in a court of law. You know different now. You have written the sources, that would have appeared once, to be of help.

What you have not done is take one stick or brick out of your family’s home. You've done what you said you would do, and you've not done what you said you would not do. You have not spent a dime on legal fees. You have not retaliated an iota for having a pittance of your personal property put in containers. You were forced to take some items with an “escort” of a law officer which meant very little time indeed. Today you don’t know where many of your prized possessions and memories are.

You gave 20 years of your life….

Take a break.

MD: Right. Am I speaking/writing too much from the pain? Am I allowing You to speak to me?

God: Doesn’t matter. You’re not lying about anything. It’s just like I said. This stuff has no redeeming value at all. It’s not funny at all. The only lesson at all would be that things are not as they appear.

You’re going to see Willie Nelson tonight.

MD: Yes sir.

God: He’ll never know that you plugged the diner juke-box with quarters and played all Willie Nelson songs after a local put him down in Spartanburg.

You can laugh, you can cry, and sometimes it’s all the same.

Take a break.

MD: God?

God: What now?

MD: I removed all the names.

God: And you think I don't know? Do you think I don't know the names of these morons? You think I've had fun with you? Just wait and see what I have in store for them!