There's No Going Back To That

Right. I am baffled by sausage. Here's where I'm at: how does it always taste the same? If I am correct in my vast knowledge of sausage making, they scrape up all the loose junk, leftovers, hoofs and whatever else sluices out the gutted animal, then they cram it into edible plastic and I eat the shit out of it. I love this process. Because the result is my taste buds erupting in orgasmic joy. However, it baffles the shit out of me how the same sausage always tastes the same. For instance, pepperoni is the jet. However, I always wonder how they get the right mixture of lower intestine, fur, lips, scrotum and eyelid to make this delight? You'd think once in a while the guy would add in too much bone marrow and the acidity would throw off the Ph balance and it would taste totally different. But no. It's sad that sausage scientists are more advanced than the idiots who make cell phone batteries.
If you haven't slept in 4 days like me, then the previous paragraph is the funniest thing you've ever read.
When I step outside myself and look at my life I come to two realizations. One, if me at any other age prior to my current age saw me, the younger me would kick the piss out of me. Two, when I am old and my grandkids ask me what I did during the war I will be forced to say the USR. I will loose all street cred right then and there.
So with leave time and all, I figure I have about 2 years left before I split from my current employer and hopefully onto brighter skies. So where are you at in finding me a job? Nowhere I'd bet. Ingrates.
I think a good thing for me to do when I get out of the Army would be to beg for change and drink a lot of apple wine.
I think they ought to outlaw bars where the bar sticks out in the middle of the room so the bartender is operating on all fronts. I want this outlawed because when I show up to drink alone, I don't want to look across the bar at me in 40 years still drinking alone. I want to look at shelves filled with booze and I plan on drinking that booze for the kids. Because you can't stop progress. But that's fucking depressing. I don’t want to be reminded that I wouldn't like me if I met me. I don't want to be reminded of my solitude future where I still drink in bars because I don't have the decency to drink alone at home like a real man. He looked kind enough though and he drank quietly as he read his paper and then as he read the subtitles to Sports Center. He gave me a knowing nod and smiled. I left to drive around drinking a couple 40-ounce Miller's hoping that one day I could get my dog back from my mom.
But mainly I was thinking of that man and the future Yossarian and how both have so much inside pounding to get out. Beating the respective inside of the skull to be let loose until the day we die. I was thinking of the stories, advice, inspiration, mentoring, jokes and laughs each have bottled up inside waiting for someone to come around and bask in them. You'll never get it all out of me. And more than likely, you won't get anything else.