What smell will you never forget?

Instinctively, I throw my hands out in front of me and slide, well, straight into the corpse, up to my elbows.

Me to the rescue! Bad-assed Marine for the save!

I see the guys knock. Knock, again. REALLY knock a third time. They try the door, it’s open. I watch them swing it wide and take a step back, back of their hands raised, placed against the underside of their noses… the universal DAMN THAT STINKS position. I perk up.

Why do men always bring up “the draft” (the last military draft was in 1972) when abortion rights are being discussed? - are they advocating that women ought to owe our bodies to the government? Should anyone owe their body to the state?

Get a call to a remote location for a Wellness Check. Old mobile home. The guys head in. I’m leaning against the squad, watching. No excitement here. Camera hanging around my neck.

I heard a little girl screaming, but never did figure out where she was or why she was screaming….

That’s a smell you never forget.

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All kinds of crunch noises and squishy grossness.

They enter. I take a few steps away from the squad, in the direction of the door. Can’t see inside from my angle. About 30 seconds goes by. I’m starting to relax.

My pals thought it was hilarious. I spent the rest of the day, after being attended to, sterilized, bandaged up from the many nicks and scrapes I received (most from maniacally tearing my arms OUT of the corpse) and tamping down the desire to murder.

Why do Democrats keep calling Patriots/President Trump supporters "sore losers"? Do they purposefully ignore the massive fraud that took place, or genuinely think that there was zero fraud?

I’m a young Marine just finished his first enlistment and thought I’d try civilian life. Ended up, after 6 months, headed to Flori-DUH to put my former fiance on the QE2 for England.

“GARY GET IN HERE!” one of them screams!

I cover the distance, wondering what they could have encountered where they’d need me, the Walking Death Machine, to intervene? I leap over the stairs and my left foot hits the carpet inside the door and… slips out from under me! I nearly go face-first over my own leg and I’m sliding across the carpet, which is soaked through with… well, the ‘wet’ parts of the deceased older lady that’s lying about 6′ inside the door, at the base of a ratty old couch.

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Typing this, my brain dredged up that smell…

Looked around, decided to stay for a bit. Got a job as an Associate Editor on a weekly, The Dunnellon Times. So, hard charger that I am, was doing as many stories as possible on many varied subjects; including First Responders. So, riding along with an EMT team.