I had the good fortune to win 3 tickets to a Blue Jays game, and good ones at that; a couple rowes up from the first base. I head down to Toronto with my friends Kevin Clark and Donny Walsh. We check into a hotel close to the Rogers center, and have pre game drinks by the jerrycan. We get to the park early and order our first $10 glasses of draft. Before the game there is an event where the players chip golf balls into the crowd, which sounds dangerous, but everyone seems to enjoy it. I managed to snag one of them; a Titlest with a Blue Jays logo.
Soon the game starts, and it is as boring as it is watching it on TV. But one of the opposing players fouls one over our heads, and it bounces off someone and lands in my lap... Yippee, a golf ball and a baseball!! Time for another $30 round of beer! During the 7 inning stretch, some bambinos come out with a t-shirt cannon. They fire one our way, but just to our left,, and it hits a towel head in the head and bounces into my lap. Now I have won 3 things! Another $30 round of beer is ordered. Yes, I have won about $7.00 worth of prizes and still order $30 rounds of beer. Shortly thereafter I have to go to the bathroom and so does Kevin, so we leave our seats and my treasures with Donny to guard. We get to the men's room, and I know I'm in trouble because I can hardly aim to get my pee into the urinal and not in my back pocket. Me and Kevin head back to our seats. As we go through the gate we see there is a commotion going on down below. We joke that it is probably some drunk getting thrown out. On our way to our seats we see in fact that it is Donny Walsh getting the heave ho. I ask him where my loot is, and he just says the towel head started something that he wanted to finish. Me and Kevin go to our seats in time to watch the Jays lose.
OK, that is behind us, time to hit the bars of Toronto and have a good time. Before that we ask a policeman where we can pick up Donny in the morning. We jump in a cab and ask the cabdriver to take us to the best bar in the city. We are soon dropped off at a mostly black exterior and interior bar that played only a deep bass chord, intermixed what we can only guess is a jackal screaming while getting plowed in the back end by a hyena. We leave and jump in another cab.
This cab drops us off in a bar with more or less our music and lots of girls dancing. The beer is reasonable and we soon have a couple of chicks that we are feeding bullshit too. IE, I never knew that Kevin was from Australia and was a ski instructor in Austria. Of course he didn't know that I was Scottish and owned a distillery on the shore of Lock Scnell. We were having a great time! Then Kevin noticed some big dude pushing a chick, and of course had to interfere. He walked up to the guy and asked him if he wanted to push around someone his own size? I never actually seen his right hand move, but soon Kevin was reeling from a vicious right jab from this guy. It rocked Kevin, but instead of getting upset, he actually admired the dudes fast hands. By now the pushed chick had left, so we invited the big dude to our table for beers. We got along grandly.
The next thing I know I walking around outside by myself. In the distance I see the CN Tower, so I know that is where our hotel is. I head in that direction, crossing several busy streets on the way. All of a sudden, with the tower in the background, I discover that I'm on a back street that is dark, no streetlights. I wonder how I've gotten myself into this, and attempt to back track to find a better path to the CN Tower, and this just gets me into darker streets. I walk down a street, and before I know it, get approached by a guy. He asks "What the hell you doing down here boy?" A thought flashed through my mind to answer him that I was down here plotting a new location for a KFC, but instead just replied "just trying to make my way to my hotel". He says this ain't no place for tourists, and I answer that I reckon not. He pulls out a small flashlight and lights up my face. I'm trying to put on a face of fearlessness with just a touch of aggression. Somehow he asked me if I'm a soldier. I say yes I was. He says follow me and guides me through the area to the nearest lit up area on the way to the CN Tower, Rogers Center, and my hotel. He tells me that I should probably not visit this area of Toronto again. I thank him and head towards my hotel.
I stagger into the hotel lobby and get to the elevator. I go up and down the elevator until I find my floor. I focus with one eye on the room number on the card, and still can't make out anything else but the first number which is 6 which means the sixth floor. After an hour of trying my card in every door, I finally find one that lights up green and I'm allowed in. Kevin is on the couch with a half eaten pizza on the coffee table. The mini bar has one beer left and I crack it open and have a slice of pizza. As I eat pizza and drink beer, I think that this may have been a once in a lifetie Toronto night.At least I sure hope it is ,,!!
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Another twisted dream...
I have a couple saved up from the last couple of nights...
I was back in the army. We were in some training area training on tanks. Our Sqn (C) had been picked to represent the Regiment at the next Canadian Army Trophy (CAT). I have no idea what the year was. We were doing Troop training, which means that the 4 tanks in our troop were practising moving as a troop and conduction various drills and SOPs. We stopped for a break, and me and my gunner, Jay, walked through a treeline to watch another troop manouevre. I explained to him how the troop was moving and the tactics involved.
After a while we walked back through the treeline to our tanks. When we got through we found that the tanks were gone. We thought that maybe we took the wrong path trough the trees and went back into the woods to try to find a different path. We always came back to the same area, so we decided to set off and try to find the troop. So we began to wander around the training area in search of our troop. After many hours of wandering we came back to the actual base area. I knew somehow that we were on the eastern side of the base, and had to go western part to get to our unit lines.
It seems that there was a Brigade sports day happening, and we looked mighty curious in our combat gear travelling across sports field towards our lines. Somewhere along the way I lost Jay and it was just me. I finally got to the unit lines and there was a big crowd of folks in PT Gear getting ready to participate in the sports. I entered our hangar and was quickly heading towards where I knew our troop would be parked, when I brushed by a fellow member of the Sqn. All of a sudden I seen a huge flash and then blackness.
I awoke in my bed in the barracks. I glanced at the clock to find out it was 0825 hours and I was obviously late for work. My head really hurt and I was in no hurry to get ready for work. As I was getting ready, a friend showed up. I told him the story of the day before, ending with the flash of light and then nothing. I mentioned that I had just brushed past that blonde haired friend of ours... some guy named Jim or something, but I couldn't remember his last name. As I held my pounding head in my hands, I looked up towards my friend and noticed his name tag was REID. It was then I discovered that he was the guy I had brushed by. I felt elation as I knew he was in the area that I last remember, and could fill in the gaps of my memory. I asked him what he seen. He said; well Chris you brushed by me and then I hit you.
It took me a moment to digest this. Here is a guy that is my friend, who just told me he hit me for some reason. I did the only thing I could think of and asked him why? He told me that the rest of the Sqn resented me because I was brought back into the army and was getting more attention than the guys that had been in for the 5 years that I'd been out of the army. They didn't like that I came back in as a Sgt, and that I had an air of superiority over them. Now this got me thinking. I still had some doubts that I was actually back in the army officially, by that I mean that I was getting paid. I thought I was offering advice to the younger guys, not being an "air of superiority".
Along about then another soldier showed up. He gave me a piece of paper from my Troop Warrant, Dan Stearns. On it was a shopping list for the upcoming troop party. Apparently the Sergeant Major had left it up to Dan to punish me, and his idea of punishment was to make me buy everything for the troop party. Fair enough I thought. I looked at the list of party supplies and found the obvious, a case of every beer the beer store sold, a box of pretzles, a gross of beef jerky, a large pickle, an original book of Tom Sawyer, and an original Wagner flight of the dutchman. So I naturally thought that this doesn't sound right. Dan would never ask for anything so couthfull.
As I considered my options, I realized I wasn't in the barracks, but in a bedroom in a PMQ(Private Married Quarters), and my better half just walked in the front door. She was a pleasant looking gal, with curves in all the right places, and I wondered where the heck she came from. My wonderment was ended by the instantaneous bitching she started in on me. Apparently I wasn't much of a boyfriend, being more in love with beer than her. As I wandered around the place, I was surprised to find an unkempt place, which is not my style.
From here the dream regresses into a booze filled, senior citizen loving kind of madness that should not be published anywhere, at any time.
I was back in the army. We were in some training area training on tanks. Our Sqn (C) had been picked to represent the Regiment at the next Canadian Army Trophy (CAT). I have no idea what the year was. We were doing Troop training, which means that the 4 tanks in our troop were practising moving as a troop and conduction various drills and SOPs. We stopped for a break, and me and my gunner, Jay, walked through a treeline to watch another troop manouevre. I explained to him how the troop was moving and the tactics involved.
After a while we walked back through the treeline to our tanks. When we got through we found that the tanks were gone. We thought that maybe we took the wrong path trough the trees and went back into the woods to try to find a different path. We always came back to the same area, so we decided to set off and try to find the troop. So we began to wander around the training area in search of our troop. After many hours of wandering we came back to the actual base area. I knew somehow that we were on the eastern side of the base, and had to go western part to get to our unit lines.
It seems that there was a Brigade sports day happening, and we looked mighty curious in our combat gear travelling across sports field towards our lines. Somewhere along the way I lost Jay and it was just me. I finally got to the unit lines and there was a big crowd of folks in PT Gear getting ready to participate in the sports. I entered our hangar and was quickly heading towards where I knew our troop would be parked, when I brushed by a fellow member of the Sqn. All of a sudden I seen a huge flash and then blackness.
I awoke in my bed in the barracks. I glanced at the clock to find out it was 0825 hours and I was obviously late for work. My head really hurt and I was in no hurry to get ready for work. As I was getting ready, a friend showed up. I told him the story of the day before, ending with the flash of light and then nothing. I mentioned that I had just brushed past that blonde haired friend of ours... some guy named Jim or something, but I couldn't remember his last name. As I held my pounding head in my hands, I looked up towards my friend and noticed his name tag was REID. It was then I discovered that he was the guy I had brushed by. I felt elation as I knew he was in the area that I last remember, and could fill in the gaps of my memory. I asked him what he seen. He said; well Chris you brushed by me and then I hit you.
It took me a moment to digest this. Here is a guy that is my friend, who just told me he hit me for some reason. I did the only thing I could think of and asked him why? He told me that the rest of the Sqn resented me because I was brought back into the army and was getting more attention than the guys that had been in for the 5 years that I'd been out of the army. They didn't like that I came back in as a Sgt, and that I had an air of superiority over them. Now this got me thinking. I still had some doubts that I was actually back in the army officially, by that I mean that I was getting paid. I thought I was offering advice to the younger guys, not being an "air of superiority".
Along about then another soldier showed up. He gave me a piece of paper from my Troop Warrant, Dan Stearns. On it was a shopping list for the upcoming troop party. Apparently the Sergeant Major had left it up to Dan to punish me, and his idea of punishment was to make me buy everything for the troop party. Fair enough I thought. I looked at the list of party supplies and found the obvious, a case of every beer the beer store sold, a box of pretzles, a gross of beef jerky, a large pickle, an original book of Tom Sawyer, and an original Wagner flight of the dutchman. So I naturally thought that this doesn't sound right. Dan would never ask for anything so couthfull.
As I considered my options, I realized I wasn't in the barracks, but in a bedroom in a PMQ(Private Married Quarters), and my better half just walked in the front door. She was a pleasant looking gal, with curves in all the right places, and I wondered where the heck she came from. My wonderment was ended by the instantaneous bitching she started in on me. Apparently I wasn't much of a boyfriend, being more in love with beer than her. As I wandered around the place, I was surprised to find an unkempt place, which is not my style.
From here the dream regresses into a booze filled, senior citizen loving kind of madness that should not be published anywhere, at any time.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Dream 19 Aug 2011
More of the same last night.
I was in the Army again in Germany. I was with Recce Sqn and we had a SUE (small unit exchange) with the Irish Army. The base we went to was on the west coast and was pretty isolated. Most of the Irish Recce coy we were visiting was in Lahr on their part of the exchange. One of the units on base were the Irish Parachute Brigade..
Of course we swooped into this area with lots of $$ and partying on our mind. Hence we flooded the few local bars and romanced many of the local chicks. The Para guys didn't like this at all, but knew we were only there for a week, so attempted to just wait it out.
The second day I was there I actually went alone to the Para mess to have some beers. The older barmaid was very friendly and the Para guys I met were also friendly. It seems that this exchange had no scheduled events, so all we did was drink to the point of excess, sleep in, and then start all over. I continued to go to the Para mess as my first place for beers (breakfast). After a few days the Para guys were a little pissed off at us, but they majority of the guys I met in the Para mess were still friendly. The barmaid was always telling me to come back in the future and visit her birthplace; an island off the west coast. Apparently there was lots of historic sites to see, but the only thing that attracted me was the fact that there were more pubs per capital then anywhere else in Ireland.
The tension between us and the Paras was ratched up after a few of them were beat up in a bar fight at one of the local pubs. Of course the next night, they dished it out to us. Soon a major confrontation was coming to be.
I still went every day to the Para mess for breakfast (about 4 pints of Guinness). The guys that had become friends were still there, but others whom I didn't know showed up. They talked to their Para buddies and I could tell that they didn't like me being in their mess. I bought a round of Jameson's Irish whiskey for everyone, toasted them all, and then made a quick escape before any thing evil happened.
That afternoon, when tensions were coming to the boiling point, I sat in my truck and plotted out a route to the barmaid's island for a visit the next week. My truck was parked inside the local mall, and I soon got asked about it from my Recce Sqn comrades. Since I had no idea why/how my truck was there, I made up a story that I had it shipped here by train, because I was taking 2 weeks of holidays after the exchange. That seemed to satify them and I soon went about washing the truck. Unfortunately I was on the second floor of the mall, and all my waste water flowed into the pharmacy and I had to escape in a hurry. Luckily the mall had a big enough elevator to handle my little truck.. That was Thursday, and beyond a few fights between us and the Paras, it was quiet.
Friday morning came. Everyone knew in the community that there was going to be a big fight between us and the Paras that night. I went to the Para mess for breakfast and recieved a map and directions from the barmaid to get to her home island. A few of my Para drinking buddies were there and we drank beer and joked. But soon some other big dudes showed up and gave my the hairy eyeball. I finished my beer and left.
Afterwards I visited the Irish Recce unit's mess, where the majority of our Sqn were drinking at. There were a few others present, and I realized that some of the big tankers from our Regiment were sent up by train to bulk up our Sqn. We drank Guinness and Kilkenny, and had a steak and kidney pie before we left the mess on our way to a downtown bar to face the Paras.
As the bulk of us left the mess, I bent down to tie my shoelace, and then the other one,, and then when I was the last I strolled over to my truck and drove it about a km outside of town and went to sleep in my truck. So I started my holidays about 2 hours early, but hey, If I would have accompanied the gang on this assault, they would probably have to stumble over my knocked out corpse just to get to a Para. I'm sure that our Sqn could have handled the Paras in a fair fight, and the fact that we had some heavy callsigns attached to us, they didn't need me amongst the fray, collecting punches and swinging my fists of cotton candy fury...
Then I back in a high school scenario.
I have the usual female teacher that loves/hates me. And I have gathered that I hate/hate her. She has been on my case for ever, and I kinda recognize that she is giving me a hard time because at 45 years old, I may know more than the 16/17 years olds in my classes. There are also some of the folks I went to school with back in the day, but they don't merit the attention I get.
So I'm in the back of her classroom and try to follow along with what she is teaching. Now remember that I've taken all the classes she is teaching 30 years ago, but I have no clue what she is going on about. She brings equations and fractions and so forth to answer a simple question. She may as well be conversing in Klingon.
The next class I get their early and have time to sharpen my pencil. I spy a sharpener up by the chalk board. I go to it, but it doesn't have an opening to put a pencil into it. I think that this sharpener has a factory fault in it and some Joulio mounted it without testing. I head back to my desk. By the time I sit down, there is a young student sharpening her pencil with the sharpener. By the time I rush to the front to see how she is doing it, she has finished and heads back to her desk. Not to look like the fool, I grab a brush and commence to clean the blackboard of some faint chalk images.
Soon Beeazlebub enters and settle's in to her desk in the front of the class. She asks one of the front row students to collect last night's assignment. As he goes from desk to desk collecting papers, I quickly write down enough numbers and letters that it will fool this guy into thinking that I really have an assignment, as I know that the teacher won't look at them until later,,, probably midnight in the garden of good and evil; mostly evil..
So she begins today's class. It is some sort of thing about the public and polititians and whatever I wasn't listening to her. But she asks confirmatory questions and I answer every one directed to me with either "in what context that may be" and/or "can you use that in a sentence".
I soon realize that I'm looking like the fool. The teenagers are sniggling and texting each other about old man Chris being an idiot, and the older students are trying their best to count how many ceiling tiles there is in the classroom. I resolve to pay attention and jot down some notes.
So I start paying attention and make some notes.. Unfortunately I'm taking notes on bristle board with very large letters. I soon have a large stack of bristle boards beside my desk with about 37 words in total on them. Along about then my desk starts sliding to the back door. I manage to stop it and bring it back to the front of the class. As soon as I start taking notes again, it begins to move to the back door. Devil Spawn soon notices this and guides her laser eyes into the desk legs and welds them to the floor right in front of her desk.
I'm somewhat relieved, as my desk is not mobile, I'm in the front so have to pay attention, and I have lots of bristle board left for notes. In a few seconds my head starts to hit the desk because I'm dreadfully tired. I try to stay awake but am unable to. In between naps, I notice that the teacher has changed into some form of alien. I try to stay awake to combat her/it, but I'm so tired.
Luckily I switch to another dream.
I'm in a big truck with my Uncle Charlie and some dude that that hijacked us. This dude has some history with me, (father maybe), and is trying to cross the Confederation Bridge. But before then we drive around Charlottetown. I realize that I'm in a movie, and try to point out the landmarks I know. Because the town is so small, the movie crew often film the same street but going backwards and so forth. Finally the police catch up to us, and the dude is starting to panic. My uncle Charlie takes this oppurtunity to grab the dude's gun and try to convince that it is all over. The dude breaks down and hugs Charlie, Charlie groans and starts to spit blood, as the dude has stabbed him. The police soon corner us, and the dude get's out and points his gun at the police, and subsequently gets shot dead. I notice that his gun is only a starter's pistol and wonder at the madness of it all.
Again in the army I have a bunch of new troops that have no discipline at all, and show no respect for anyone. I have 3 months before we deploy to Afghanistan, so I'm pretty sure that I either have to get this motley crew together, or fire them and start anew. I also wonder why I'm back in the Army and also why the powers to be would let me go back to Afghanistan. Whatever, I try my best. The new guys are mostly men, but there are also some chicks.
We end up at my grandparent's place on Jordan Crescent. Of course the are gone, but my uncle Mickey still lives there. The new guys are giving me grief over everything, and all of my bluster and threats mean nothing to them. I eventually tell them all that they are fired and won't deploy to Afghanistan with us, and that seems to satisfy them greatily. They would rather stay in Petawawa and get paid well and get pregnant and not get in harm's way.
The grandparent's place has a curling rink in it's basement and I think that a game of curling would take all our minds off of everything. Along with my troops, there are also a bunch of kids around 10-14 years old. Unfortunately the ice in the rink is melting and there is no way we can get it to freeze in a day. The rebel troops call everyone a loser and turn their attention to their smartphones and such.
For some reason I find myself in my uncle Charlie's car with a load of kids. He has a big old car and we are on the way to somewhere. I realize I don't have my seat belt on and click up. Charlie doesn't have his on, and since the backseat has at least 6 kids, I realize that they don't either. Oh well, we are driving slow anyway, I try to comfort myself with. Then Charlie starts driving like he is in a Nascar Race. Burning rubber at every corner and fishtailing around corners. We go down town in Charlottetown and he parks out side the big hotel. He gets a blanket from the trunk and enters the hotel, telling us to stay put. So here I am with a bunch of kids. I decide to take them into the restaurant and get them a meal of nutricious junk food. Afterwards we head out to the car. The hotel staff start giving me grief for parking in a 10 minute zone. Then eventually the police come and I give in and drive the car about a half block away. Just then my patrol of coyotes come by doing some sort of training. The first one goes down a boat ramp and parks on a barge. I walk over to the second and notice that the driver doesn't have his headsets on so can't listen to the commander give him direction. What's more the coyote is straddling a guard rail next to the boat ramp. The driver starts to drive forward and all my yelling won't stop anything.. Just before the coyote clears the guardrail, it gets pushed over and lands on its roof on top of the other coyote.
I rush down to the coyotes and at the same time the Troop Officer pulls up in his coyote. He is a good and trusted friend. The coyote that fell has rolled over and is now on its wheels next to the other coyote. We climg up that coyote and discover the commander and gunner has been turned into paste. The driver has been injured and the surv op is ok. We check the other coyote and see the surv ops head is gone, but the rest of the crew alive. The living listen to everything we tell them and do what we tell them. I am sad that the only way we could turn these young dudes into soldiers was to experience death in a training accident before we even got to Afghanistan.
The rest of the dream time involved me coming and going between several different homes and appartements. I remember one that was a nice 2 bedroom, but the only thing that divided it from a similiar 2 bedroom apartement was a 6 foot high divider.
Needless to say, when I come back to reality at the end of these night and discover I'm in my little house in Gowan Brae, I breath a sigh of relief.
I was in the Army again in Germany. I was with Recce Sqn and we had a SUE (small unit exchange) with the Irish Army. The base we went to was on the west coast and was pretty isolated. Most of the Irish Recce coy we were visiting was in Lahr on their part of the exchange. One of the units on base were the Irish Parachute Brigade..
Of course we swooped into this area with lots of $$ and partying on our mind. Hence we flooded the few local bars and romanced many of the local chicks. The Para guys didn't like this at all, but knew we were only there for a week, so attempted to just wait it out.
The second day I was there I actually went alone to the Para mess to have some beers. The older barmaid was very friendly and the Para guys I met were also friendly. It seems that this exchange had no scheduled events, so all we did was drink to the point of excess, sleep in, and then start all over. I continued to go to the Para mess as my first place for beers (breakfast). After a few days the Para guys were a little pissed off at us, but they majority of the guys I met in the Para mess were still friendly. The barmaid was always telling me to come back in the future and visit her birthplace; an island off the west coast. Apparently there was lots of historic sites to see, but the only thing that attracted me was the fact that there were more pubs per capital then anywhere else in Ireland.
The tension between us and the Paras was ratched up after a few of them were beat up in a bar fight at one of the local pubs. Of course the next night, they dished it out to us. Soon a major confrontation was coming to be.
I still went every day to the Para mess for breakfast (about 4 pints of Guinness). The guys that had become friends were still there, but others whom I didn't know showed up. They talked to their Para buddies and I could tell that they didn't like me being in their mess. I bought a round of Jameson's Irish whiskey for everyone, toasted them all, and then made a quick escape before any thing evil happened.
That afternoon, when tensions were coming to the boiling point, I sat in my truck and plotted out a route to the barmaid's island for a visit the next week. My truck was parked inside the local mall, and I soon got asked about it from my Recce Sqn comrades. Since I had no idea why/how my truck was there, I made up a story that I had it shipped here by train, because I was taking 2 weeks of holidays after the exchange. That seemed to satify them and I soon went about washing the truck. Unfortunately I was on the second floor of the mall, and all my waste water flowed into the pharmacy and I had to escape in a hurry. Luckily the mall had a big enough elevator to handle my little truck.. That was Thursday, and beyond a few fights between us and the Paras, it was quiet.
Friday morning came. Everyone knew in the community that there was going to be a big fight between us and the Paras that night. I went to the Para mess for breakfast and recieved a map and directions from the barmaid to get to her home island. A few of my Para drinking buddies were there and we drank beer and joked. But soon some other big dudes showed up and gave my the hairy eyeball. I finished my beer and left.
Afterwards I visited the Irish Recce unit's mess, where the majority of our Sqn were drinking at. There were a few others present, and I realized that some of the big tankers from our Regiment were sent up by train to bulk up our Sqn. We drank Guinness and Kilkenny, and had a steak and kidney pie before we left the mess on our way to a downtown bar to face the Paras.
As the bulk of us left the mess, I bent down to tie my shoelace, and then the other one,, and then when I was the last I strolled over to my truck and drove it about a km outside of town and went to sleep in my truck. So I started my holidays about 2 hours early, but hey, If I would have accompanied the gang on this assault, they would probably have to stumble over my knocked out corpse just to get to a Para. I'm sure that our Sqn could have handled the Paras in a fair fight, and the fact that we had some heavy callsigns attached to us, they didn't need me amongst the fray, collecting punches and swinging my fists of cotton candy fury...
Then I back in a high school scenario.
I have the usual female teacher that loves/hates me. And I have gathered that I hate/hate her. She has been on my case for ever, and I kinda recognize that she is giving me a hard time because at 45 years old, I may know more than the 16/17 years olds in my classes. There are also some of the folks I went to school with back in the day, but they don't merit the attention I get.
So I'm in the back of her classroom and try to follow along with what she is teaching. Now remember that I've taken all the classes she is teaching 30 years ago, but I have no clue what she is going on about. She brings equations and fractions and so forth to answer a simple question. She may as well be conversing in Klingon.
The next class I get their early and have time to sharpen my pencil. I spy a sharpener up by the chalk board. I go to it, but it doesn't have an opening to put a pencil into it. I think that this sharpener has a factory fault in it and some Joulio mounted it without testing. I head back to my desk. By the time I sit down, there is a young student sharpening her pencil with the sharpener. By the time I rush to the front to see how she is doing it, she has finished and heads back to her desk. Not to look like the fool, I grab a brush and commence to clean the blackboard of some faint chalk images.
Soon Beeazlebub enters and settle's in to her desk in the front of the class. She asks one of the front row students to collect last night's assignment. As he goes from desk to desk collecting papers, I quickly write down enough numbers and letters that it will fool this guy into thinking that I really have an assignment, as I know that the teacher won't look at them until later,,, probably midnight in the garden of good and evil; mostly evil..
So she begins today's class. It is some sort of thing about the public and polititians and whatever I wasn't listening to her. But she asks confirmatory questions and I answer every one directed to me with either "in what context that may be" and/or "can you use that in a sentence".
I soon realize that I'm looking like the fool. The teenagers are sniggling and texting each other about old man Chris being an idiot, and the older students are trying their best to count how many ceiling tiles there is in the classroom. I resolve to pay attention and jot down some notes.
So I start paying attention and make some notes.. Unfortunately I'm taking notes on bristle board with very large letters. I soon have a large stack of bristle boards beside my desk with about 37 words in total on them. Along about then my desk starts sliding to the back door. I manage to stop it and bring it back to the front of the class. As soon as I start taking notes again, it begins to move to the back door. Devil Spawn soon notices this and guides her laser eyes into the desk legs and welds them to the floor right in front of her desk.
I'm somewhat relieved, as my desk is not mobile, I'm in the front so have to pay attention, and I have lots of bristle board left for notes. In a few seconds my head starts to hit the desk because I'm dreadfully tired. I try to stay awake but am unable to. In between naps, I notice that the teacher has changed into some form of alien. I try to stay awake to combat her/it, but I'm so tired.
Luckily I switch to another dream.
I'm in a big truck with my Uncle Charlie and some dude that that hijacked us. This dude has some history with me, (father maybe), and is trying to cross the Confederation Bridge. But before then we drive around Charlottetown. I realize that I'm in a movie, and try to point out the landmarks I know. Because the town is so small, the movie crew often film the same street but going backwards and so forth. Finally the police catch up to us, and the dude is starting to panic. My uncle Charlie takes this oppurtunity to grab the dude's gun and try to convince that it is all over. The dude breaks down and hugs Charlie, Charlie groans and starts to spit blood, as the dude has stabbed him. The police soon corner us, and the dude get's out and points his gun at the police, and subsequently gets shot dead. I notice that his gun is only a starter's pistol and wonder at the madness of it all.
Again in the army I have a bunch of new troops that have no discipline at all, and show no respect for anyone. I have 3 months before we deploy to Afghanistan, so I'm pretty sure that I either have to get this motley crew together, or fire them and start anew. I also wonder why I'm back in the Army and also why the powers to be would let me go back to Afghanistan. Whatever, I try my best. The new guys are mostly men, but there are also some chicks.
We end up at my grandparent's place on Jordan Crescent. Of course the are gone, but my uncle Mickey still lives there. The new guys are giving me grief over everything, and all of my bluster and threats mean nothing to them. I eventually tell them all that they are fired and won't deploy to Afghanistan with us, and that seems to satisfy them greatily. They would rather stay in Petawawa and get paid well and get pregnant and not get in harm's way.
The grandparent's place has a curling rink in it's basement and I think that a game of curling would take all our minds off of everything. Along with my troops, there are also a bunch of kids around 10-14 years old. Unfortunately the ice in the rink is melting and there is no way we can get it to freeze in a day. The rebel troops call everyone a loser and turn their attention to their smartphones and such.
For some reason I find myself in my uncle Charlie's car with a load of kids. He has a big old car and we are on the way to somewhere. I realize I don't have my seat belt on and click up. Charlie doesn't have his on, and since the backseat has at least 6 kids, I realize that they don't either. Oh well, we are driving slow anyway, I try to comfort myself with. Then Charlie starts driving like he is in a Nascar Race. Burning rubber at every corner and fishtailing around corners. We go down town in Charlottetown and he parks out side the big hotel. He gets a blanket from the trunk and enters the hotel, telling us to stay put. So here I am with a bunch of kids. I decide to take them into the restaurant and get them a meal of nutricious junk food. Afterwards we head out to the car. The hotel staff start giving me grief for parking in a 10 minute zone. Then eventually the police come and I give in and drive the car about a half block away. Just then my patrol of coyotes come by doing some sort of training. The first one goes down a boat ramp and parks on a barge. I walk over to the second and notice that the driver doesn't have his headsets on so can't listen to the commander give him direction. What's more the coyote is straddling a guard rail next to the boat ramp. The driver starts to drive forward and all my yelling won't stop anything.. Just before the coyote clears the guardrail, it gets pushed over and lands on its roof on top of the other coyote.
I rush down to the coyotes and at the same time the Troop Officer pulls up in his coyote. He is a good and trusted friend. The coyote that fell has rolled over and is now on its wheels next to the other coyote. We climg up that coyote and discover the commander and gunner has been turned into paste. The driver has been injured and the surv op is ok. We check the other coyote and see the surv ops head is gone, but the rest of the crew alive. The living listen to everything we tell them and do what we tell them. I am sad that the only way we could turn these young dudes into soldiers was to experience death in a training accident before we even got to Afghanistan.
The rest of the dream time involved me coming and going between several different homes and appartements. I remember one that was a nice 2 bedroom, but the only thing that divided it from a similiar 2 bedroom apartement was a 6 foot high divider.
Needless to say, when I come back to reality at the end of these night and discover I'm in my little house in Gowan Brae, I breath a sigh of relief.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Mara Velebit 18 August 18:03 "Stone but should be"
Mara Velebit 18 August 18:03
Kamena ali valja
Dok ovoga ljeta neko
crkava od vrućine
mili Bože,kakve li miline
kuća kamena i stara
davni dana ozidana
Zidovi su joj velike širine
pa kad su vrućine
na krevet se izvali
i biljac preko nogu stavi
netreba brate ,elektro naprava
u ledenoj kući lijepo se spava
predveče-što da se veli
dugi rukav na ručerde spremi
dan kad se smiri-vatru potpiri
u ror ,po starom se zna
u njega po koji kumpijer daj
tako od nakljupljene tugei
muke ,malo osladiš brke
natrpaš punu pupu kumpijera
i zaspeš ko da nemaš problema
m.v.
Stone but should be
While some of this summer
Churches of the heat
dear God, what a gracious;
and an old stone house
built of bygone days
Her walls are large width
So when the heat
the bed is removed
and put a leg over Biljača
netreba brother, electrical devices
in the ice house are sleeping well
evening-which is said to
long sleeves to save ručerde
day to calm down the fire-rely
in ror, as usual it is known
in him to give kumpijer
So the sadness nakljupljene
passion, a little mustaches osladiš
natrpaš full pupu kumpijera
and passing out to have no problem ko
m.v.
Kamena ali valja
Dok ovoga ljeta neko
crkava od vrućine
mili Bože,kakve li miline
kuća kamena i stara
davni dana ozidana
Zidovi su joj velike širine
pa kad su vrućine
na krevet se izvali
i biljac preko nogu stavi
netreba brate ,elektro naprava
u ledenoj kući lijepo se spava
predveče-što da se veli
dugi rukav na ručerde spremi
dan kad se smiri-vatru potpiri
u ror ,po starom se zna
u njega po koji kumpijer daj
tako od nakljupljene tugei
muke ,malo osladiš brke
natrpaš punu pupu kumpijera
i zaspeš ko da nemaš problema
m.v.
Stone but should be
While some of this summer
Churches of the heat
dear God, what a gracious;
and an old stone house
built of bygone days
Her walls are large width
So when the heat
the bed is removed
and put a leg over Biljača
netreba brother, electrical devices
in the ice house are sleeping well
evening-which is said to
long sleeves to save ručerde
day to calm down the fire-rely
in ror, as usual it is known
in him to give kumpijer
So the sadness nakljupljene
passion, a little mustaches osladiš
natrpaš full pupu kumpijera
and passing out to have no problem ko
m.v.
Pismo majci - Letter to my Mother
Mara Velebit 18 August 17:39
Pismo majci
Primila sam tvoje pismo mama,
ostala sam odjednom sama
možda ima ljudi oko mene
ali moja duša polako vene
Ljubila sam tvoja kriva slova
i željela da su kod Tebe moja
da ih čitaš u suzama vrelim
oa srca bi bila upućena tebi
Što mi pišeš,da si postarila mama
kako nećeš ali nijesi sama
tvoja djeca daleko su sada
budi hrabra moja mila mama
Što ti pišeš,tata krave čuva
kamo sreće da se unučićima ruga
da ih vodi po našemu polju
pa nek skrši i desnicu nogu
čini mi se lakšnje mi bi bilo
nego ovo što se snaba zbilo
Jedva čekam mamice moja
da Ti kleknem pred koljena tvoja
da ti ljubim ispaćeno lice
mila moja ljepotice
da Ti kažem koliko te volim
da me duša za tobom boli
da sm ti jadna ,moja mila mama
i da sam Ti posve sama.
m.v,
Translated by Google:
I received your letter to mom
I was left alone at a time
maybe there are people around me
but my soul is slowly veins
I loved your letters wrong
and wanted to be with you my
to read the hot tears
oa heart would be sent to you
As we write, that you mum postarila
so you will not but they are not alone
Your children are far away
Be brave my dear mama
As you write, Dad keeps cows
If only the grandchildren mocks
to guide them on our field
and let the right wing and broke the legs
I think we would be lakšnje
but what happened to gas supply
My mommy can not wait
that you kneel in front of your knees
you love the person paid reduction
mila beauty
to tell you how much I love
soul to me for the pain you
sm poor that you, my dear mama
You and I all alone.
m.v.
Pismo majci
Primila sam tvoje pismo mama,
ostala sam odjednom sama
možda ima ljudi oko mene
ali moja duša polako vene
Ljubila sam tvoja kriva slova
i željela da su kod Tebe moja
da ih čitaš u suzama vrelim
oa srca bi bila upućena tebi
Što mi pišeš,da si postarila mama
kako nećeš ali nijesi sama
tvoja djeca daleko su sada
budi hrabra moja mila mama
Što ti pišeš,tata krave čuva
kamo sreće da se unučićima ruga
da ih vodi po našemu polju
pa nek skrši i desnicu nogu
čini mi se lakšnje mi bi bilo
nego ovo što se snaba zbilo
Jedva čekam mamice moja
da Ti kleknem pred koljena tvoja
da ti ljubim ispaćeno lice
mila moja ljepotice
da Ti kažem koliko te volim
da me duša za tobom boli
da sm ti jadna ,moja mila mama
i da sam Ti posve sama.
m.v,
Translated by Google:
I received your letter to mom
I was left alone at a time
maybe there are people around me
but my soul is slowly veins
I loved your letters wrong
and wanted to be with you my
to read the hot tears
oa heart would be sent to you
As we write, that you mum postarila
so you will not but they are not alone
Your children are far away
Be brave my dear mama
As you write, Dad keeps cows
If only the grandchildren mocks
to guide them on our field
and let the right wing and broke the legs
I think we would be lakšnje
but what happened to gas supply
My mommy can not wait
that you kneel in front of your knees
you love the person paid reduction
mila beauty
to tell you how much I love
soul to me for the pain you
sm poor that you, my dear mama
You and I all alone.
m.v.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
Dream 15 Aug 2011
Well, the good news is I didn't have any more back in the Army dreams; but I did have a few others that are recurring.
The first one was the back in high school dream. I'm in PEI living at my parents. I have been out of the Army for a few years and DVA wants me to do some retraining and get back into the workforce. To satisfy them, I take some adult education classes at my old high school, Bluefield. The classes are a mixture of teenagers and folks my age, in fact I recognize some of the older crowd from 30 years ago in high school. I take history, chemistry, english, math,etc. Since I have already graduated with all these classes, this will be more or less a review for me. Anything to get the DVA off my back.
At first everything goes well and it is all pretty easy. My old best friend from high school, Robert, is in all my classes. He also graduated with all these, but I'm not sure why he is taking them again. We car pool to the high school. Once there, I follow him around to the various classrooms, as I don't have a schedule and the layout of the school is different than what I remember. A constant in these dreams is a female teacher of around my age who is highly suspicious of my being there. She has never married and has no kids. There seems to be some underlaying sexual tension between us. I'm not sure who or what she represents in my dreams; maybe every female I've ever had dealings with?
Then one day, I'm wandering the school on my own. I know I have a class soon, but have no idea where or even when it is. I remember that I may have a schedule in my locker, but of course have no idea where that locker is. In some of these dreams, I actually find the locker, but can't remember the combination of it. I finally see one of my classmates and follow them to the class. As I sit in the class, I realize I am quite lost on the subject matter. The teacher is blabbering on and on, sometimes asking confirmatory questions, but it is like I have never been to any of the classes ever!
It is near mid-term exams, and I fail every one of them. All my teachers take a dim view on this. Most of the teachers don't know my history, the female one seems to know too much of it. I concentrate as hard as I can on doing better, but more and more of my time is spent wandering around wondering where/when the next class is. My friend Robert is no longer going to school, as he has turned into a kind of an idiot, and was starting fist fights over every minor thing.
One time I'm in the female teacher's class, and try as hard as I could, I couldn't concentrate on what she was saying. Time after time I would come back to reality to see she was right in front of my desk asking me a question. Of course, I had no idea. I tried again to pay attention, but noticed that my desk was full of all sorts of pens, pencils and so forth that I was lost again.
Eventually it turned into some sort of challenge for her; trying to teach me stuff that I didn't care about. I would often make up questions and answers just to annoy her. Finally she wants me to stay after class to talk to me. Most of these one on one conversations end up the same way; me saying I will pay more attention and study hard for the final exams. This always seems to make her happy, and then I would leave the school and of course like most dreams try to find my vehicle. I search all the parking lots, and then finally find my truck just before the shop students begin to dismantle it. I take an eventful drive to Gowan Brae. I never go to the school again.
This melded into a dream about my house and property in little old Gowan Brae. In reality I have a house and garage on 13 acres with no close neighbours. In my dreams it appears that I have neighbours and my house is actually attached to another house. There is a large family living in that house. Sometimes I wake up to find several of them sitting around my kitchen table drinking tea and having a good old chat. I try to get upset over this, but they always explain that it was part of the contract I signed when I bought the house; and curiously I accept that at face value. They always clean up after them selves and it seems I have an endless supply of tea and cookies for them. I haven't been around much, what with all the times living with my parents and adventures in Gagetown, Petawawa, Lahr, etc. So I don't really know this family. They seem to be close knit, and enjoy getting together for celebrations. Sometimes when I awake and stumble to the shower nekkid I burst through one of the doors that separates my house from theirs. And of course on the other side is a bunch of folks who are either shocked or just plain erupt in laughter due to my misguided search for the bathroom.
Then this one time I'm driving up my driveway and notice when I get to my house there is a bunch of folks coming out my front door. They are taking out jars and containers of something. I've had this dream before so it is not really news. They seem to prefer to just walk right by me and out the driveway. Again I try to sound upset, and ask them what they are doing. The oldest dude says it is all part of the contract I signed when I bought the house. Again I take this at face value. I ask what they are up to, and get told they have been picking strawberries and using my kitchen to turn them into jam, etc. This gang of folks looks like something out of the deep south: men wearing overalls and females in dresses. It seems a complete family unit, with grandparents, parents, and a bunch of children. I want to tell them it is OK, but if they ever take anything from my house, there will be trouble. Instead I agree to help them pick strawberries the next day.
That night I'm in my bedroom. The floor is very slanted towards the window, which is just a pane of glass half attached to a rotting frame. I check out the other rooms and it is more of the same. I wonder why I bought this place in the first place.
The next morning I'm awoken by the sound of a door closing somewhere in the house. Soon there is a small brown little person walking into my room like she owns the place. She marches into my bedroom and sprays the window sill with something and wipes it off with a rag. Apparently included in this contract was a maid service. She has been in the house about 3.5 minutes, and is demanding a payement. I can't remember what it was but it was outrageously too much for 3.5 minutes of work. After stuffing my cash in her cleavage, she leers at me and informs me that there is another service she is willing to sell. I actully contemplate it, but I remember the Seinfeld episode where he slept with the maid and she ended up doing no cleaning at all, just taking Jerry's money. So being the gentleman that I am, I ask her if she has any bigger and younger sisters. She gives me a glare that could peel the paint off Satan's sedan, and slams every door on her way out.
So I'm left there in bed, getting ready to take a shower and planning my way to my own bathroom, not the neighbour's. After that I'm all set for a day of picking strawberries for strangers, and then letting them turn them into jam, jelly, preserves or what ever in my own kitchen. I think to myself that this is nothing like I signed up for on my return to PEI after an Army career. I've probably led that female teacher into further subsequent man hating years, gotten comfortable with walking nekkid into my neighbours house, pissed off a little person - aka midget/dwarf, and getting ready to work for free for a bunch of hillbillies.. Just then I remember that the old hillbilly mentioned something about strawberry booze. I think that no more driving around with my head stuck out an armoured vehicle during monsoon season or freezing rain, no more rations, hot water every day, no performance evaluation reports to do, and no dressing up to eat an expensive shite meal with a bunch of friends, but even more arse dips. I then remember that I have a dog and a couple of cool cats; and I think to myself,,, what a wonderful day!!
I'm sure hoping that little hobbit comes around tomorrow morning ,,!!
The first one was the back in high school dream. I'm in PEI living at my parents. I have been out of the Army for a few years and DVA wants me to do some retraining and get back into the workforce. To satisfy them, I take some adult education classes at my old high school, Bluefield. The classes are a mixture of teenagers and folks my age, in fact I recognize some of the older crowd from 30 years ago in high school. I take history, chemistry, english, math,etc. Since I have already graduated with all these classes, this will be more or less a review for me. Anything to get the DVA off my back.
At first everything goes well and it is all pretty easy. My old best friend from high school, Robert, is in all my classes. He also graduated with all these, but I'm not sure why he is taking them again. We car pool to the high school. Once there, I follow him around to the various classrooms, as I don't have a schedule and the layout of the school is different than what I remember. A constant in these dreams is a female teacher of around my age who is highly suspicious of my being there. She has never married and has no kids. There seems to be some underlaying sexual tension between us. I'm not sure who or what she represents in my dreams; maybe every female I've ever had dealings with?
Then one day, I'm wandering the school on my own. I know I have a class soon, but have no idea where or even when it is. I remember that I may have a schedule in my locker, but of course have no idea where that locker is. In some of these dreams, I actually find the locker, but can't remember the combination of it. I finally see one of my classmates and follow them to the class. As I sit in the class, I realize I am quite lost on the subject matter. The teacher is blabbering on and on, sometimes asking confirmatory questions, but it is like I have never been to any of the classes ever!
It is near mid-term exams, and I fail every one of them. All my teachers take a dim view on this. Most of the teachers don't know my history, the female one seems to know too much of it. I concentrate as hard as I can on doing better, but more and more of my time is spent wandering around wondering where/when the next class is. My friend Robert is no longer going to school, as he has turned into a kind of an idiot, and was starting fist fights over every minor thing.
One time I'm in the female teacher's class, and try as hard as I could, I couldn't concentrate on what she was saying. Time after time I would come back to reality to see she was right in front of my desk asking me a question. Of course, I had no idea. I tried again to pay attention, but noticed that my desk was full of all sorts of pens, pencils and so forth that I was lost again.
Eventually it turned into some sort of challenge for her; trying to teach me stuff that I didn't care about. I would often make up questions and answers just to annoy her. Finally she wants me to stay after class to talk to me. Most of these one on one conversations end up the same way; me saying I will pay more attention and study hard for the final exams. This always seems to make her happy, and then I would leave the school and of course like most dreams try to find my vehicle. I search all the parking lots, and then finally find my truck just before the shop students begin to dismantle it. I take an eventful drive to Gowan Brae. I never go to the school again.
This melded into a dream about my house and property in little old Gowan Brae. In reality I have a house and garage on 13 acres with no close neighbours. In my dreams it appears that I have neighbours and my house is actually attached to another house. There is a large family living in that house. Sometimes I wake up to find several of them sitting around my kitchen table drinking tea and having a good old chat. I try to get upset over this, but they always explain that it was part of the contract I signed when I bought the house; and curiously I accept that at face value. They always clean up after them selves and it seems I have an endless supply of tea and cookies for them. I haven't been around much, what with all the times living with my parents and adventures in Gagetown, Petawawa, Lahr, etc. So I don't really know this family. They seem to be close knit, and enjoy getting together for celebrations. Sometimes when I awake and stumble to the shower nekkid I burst through one of the doors that separates my house from theirs. And of course on the other side is a bunch of folks who are either shocked or just plain erupt in laughter due to my misguided search for the bathroom.
Then this one time I'm driving up my driveway and notice when I get to my house there is a bunch of folks coming out my front door. They are taking out jars and containers of something. I've had this dream before so it is not really news. They seem to prefer to just walk right by me and out the driveway. Again I try to sound upset, and ask them what they are doing. The oldest dude says it is all part of the contract I signed when I bought the house. Again I take this at face value. I ask what they are up to, and get told they have been picking strawberries and using my kitchen to turn them into jam, etc. This gang of folks looks like something out of the deep south: men wearing overalls and females in dresses. It seems a complete family unit, with grandparents, parents, and a bunch of children. I want to tell them it is OK, but if they ever take anything from my house, there will be trouble. Instead I agree to help them pick strawberries the next day.
That night I'm in my bedroom. The floor is very slanted towards the window, which is just a pane of glass half attached to a rotting frame. I check out the other rooms and it is more of the same. I wonder why I bought this place in the first place.
The next morning I'm awoken by the sound of a door closing somewhere in the house. Soon there is a small brown little person walking into my room like she owns the place. She marches into my bedroom and sprays the window sill with something and wipes it off with a rag. Apparently included in this contract was a maid service. She has been in the house about 3.5 minutes, and is demanding a payement. I can't remember what it was but it was outrageously too much for 3.5 minutes of work. After stuffing my cash in her cleavage, she leers at me and informs me that there is another service she is willing to sell. I actully contemplate it, but I remember the Seinfeld episode where he slept with the maid and she ended up doing no cleaning at all, just taking Jerry's money. So being the gentleman that I am, I ask her if she has any bigger and younger sisters. She gives me a glare that could peel the paint off Satan's sedan, and slams every door on her way out.
So I'm left there in bed, getting ready to take a shower and planning my way to my own bathroom, not the neighbour's. After that I'm all set for a day of picking strawberries for strangers, and then letting them turn them into jam, jelly, preserves or what ever in my own kitchen. I think to myself that this is nothing like I signed up for on my return to PEI after an Army career. I've probably led that female teacher into further subsequent man hating years, gotten comfortable with walking nekkid into my neighbours house, pissed off a little person - aka midget/dwarf, and getting ready to work for free for a bunch of hillbillies.. Just then I remember that the old hillbilly mentioned something about strawberry booze. I think that no more driving around with my head stuck out an armoured vehicle during monsoon season or freezing rain, no more rations, hot water every day, no performance evaluation reports to do, and no dressing up to eat an expensive shite meal with a bunch of friends, but even more arse dips. I then remember that I have a dog and a couple of cool cats; and I think to myself,,, what a wonderful day!!
I'm sure hoping that little hobbit comes around tomorrow morning ,,!!
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Dream 14 Aug 2011
Another rough night for dreaming:
I was again back in the Army, this time in both Lahr, Germany and Petawawa. In Lahr, I am living in the shacks(barracks) and my Mom comes to visit. Somehow she got a room in the shacks also. My last day at work before a couple of weeks off to travel with Mom, C Sqn (C Squadron) leadership are giving me a hard time about my leave, as the Sqn are deploying to the field on Monday for a long exercise. They also give me a hard time for not keeping up with Sqn PT in the morning. I say that I'm injured and do PT at my own pace, which is a lot slower than the rest of the Sqn. As for the leave, I have a signed leave pass, why did they sign it in the first place? Then I remember that I work for RHQ (Regimental Headquarters) and not C Sqn. I got sent up there in the first place because I was injured and couldn't be deployed to the field or anywhere. I have a desk near the Operations Warrant and do mostly clerical work.
Monday morning is when we are going to embark on the train for travels across Europe. We had spent the weekend seeing the sights around Lahr and drinking at the TAV. I'm awoken early by the sound of much activity outside the shacks and look outside to see in the pre-dawn darkness that a Sqn has moved into the area to await their turn to load up on the trains. I go out to the parking lot to find my car/truck. Not only do I not know where I parked, but I also have no clue as to what kind of vehicle I drive. I look at the keys for a clue, but they don't indicate anything. Not sure if my Mom is up, I decide to around the outside of the shacks to see if her room light is on. Along the way I get told many times to put out my white light flashlight, and also bump into the OC and SSM from C Sqn, who again give me grief over not deploying with them. I eventually make my way through their area and search for my Mom's room. Along about then I realize I have no idea where my Mom's room is from the outside so go back to my room to await my Mom. I lay down on the bed and fall asleep.
I awake to find myself shuffling along the hangar lines of RCD Petawawa. I try hard to figure out why I'm there but can't understand it at all. I lay down on the hangar floor to give my brain a rest. I'm awoken because the RSM, Donny Head, has me by the collar and is dragging me down the hangar floor. He is with the CO and they both do not seem amused with this at all. They go on, and I decide to walk around to see if there is anything I can do. I walk outside and see there is a Troop changing track pads so help them. They are all new guys and they don't know, or care to know, who I am. After that task is finished, I move along and jump into a tank that is being cleaned by the crew. I jump into the commander's hatch and help them out. I begin to piece some clues together: I have been out of the Army for about a year, but have worked at both the Armd School and Germany for a few months each. During this time I wasn't getting paid. Now I'm back in Pet and also am not getting paid.
I begin to reason this out. I come to a theory that both the Germany experiences are just dreams. But I'm sure that the Pet time with the Regt and Gagetown actually happened. I decide to go to the Sqn OR (Orderly Room) to see if I'm getting paid or not for the past 3 months or so. The OR is located at the end of the hangar on the second floor, much like our hangar's actually offices are. But there is no staircase to the second floor, just a small metal ladder that you have to climb up from the hangar floor, and then a small walkway to the door of the offices. Only one person at a time can go up or down, and there is a small line up of folks waiting to climb up. It seems the rule is that you have to wait for someone to climb down before you climb up to avoid overcrowding in the offices. I await for a long while to climb up, then I find that I can't raise my arms up over my head to grab the ladder. After a few moments of struggling, the line up behind me calls for me to either climb up or get out of the way. I give way to the rest and wander outside again.
Sometime during this I actually wake up in my bedroom here in Gowan Brae for a few seconds before going back into the dream. But back in the dream, as I'm wandering outside the hangar, I realize that maybe these were only dreams also. I recall telling my parents that I was travelling back and forth to Gagetown from PEI every week to work for the Armd School and that Jim Brown had given me the job. I remember telling him at the time that part of my medical release was that I was not employable for the Army, reg or reserve force. He said he would take care of this. I also remember going to the school OR and being told that not only was I not getting paid, I was nowhere in the system. To me, this revelation further proves to me that it is all just dreams.
By now the various Sqn's seem to be deploying somewhere in a hurry. The hangar lines are filled with tanks and armd vehicles moving in every direction - very fast and with no ground guides. Soon folks begin to get run over and chewed up in tank tracks. I watch with horror, but can't get any one to listen to me to slow down. Soon I'm just barely dodging the vehicles myself. Also among the traffic are the big LAV-3 APCs; it seems we have Infantry in our lines now.
Here is where the dream changes from bizarro to just plain silly:
I watch as a PPCLI (Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry) officer gets half mangled by a tank track. A crowd gathers around him and folks actually listen to me to get a stretcher, blanket, etc. Well I think they are listening to me, but in reality these things were happening before I said anything. We begin to carry the officer up to the UMS (unit medical station). There are about 8 of us who accompany him, 6 young Patricias and me and another young Dragoon. Apparently this was a popular officer.
We get him up to the doctor who immediately calls for 47 pints of blood to replace all the blood he lost. We ask the doc how is he? He replies that he is pretty bad, due to the tank track and his pre-existing condition. We ask what condition, the doc replies that the officer is pregnant. The officer is a man, by the way...or is he? The doc tells us he is going into labour. We wait outside the room. Soon one baby boy arrives, then another, then another, etc. The total is 8 baby boys!! - the officer has given birth to a whole section of little Patricias ,,!! Everybody is estatic over this, but I slip quietly out to gather thoughts.
I really start to work my few remaining undamaged brain cells to sort this out. Is it all just a dream and/or a collection of recurring dreams? Working for no pay and being on course month after month? I sorta come to this conclusion and get a happy feeling in the dream. Perhaps this realization will stop these recurring dreams? But I have been fooled this before where I was on a course that actually ended. But soon came other dreams of being on another, equally stupid, course. I guess only tomorrow night will tell....
I was again back in the Army, this time in both Lahr, Germany and Petawawa. In Lahr, I am living in the shacks(barracks) and my Mom comes to visit. Somehow she got a room in the shacks also. My last day at work before a couple of weeks off to travel with Mom, C Sqn (C Squadron) leadership are giving me a hard time about my leave, as the Sqn are deploying to the field on Monday for a long exercise. They also give me a hard time for not keeping up with Sqn PT in the morning. I say that I'm injured and do PT at my own pace, which is a lot slower than the rest of the Sqn. As for the leave, I have a signed leave pass, why did they sign it in the first place? Then I remember that I work for RHQ (Regimental Headquarters) and not C Sqn. I got sent up there in the first place because I was injured and couldn't be deployed to the field or anywhere. I have a desk near the Operations Warrant and do mostly clerical work.
Monday morning is when we are going to embark on the train for travels across Europe. We had spent the weekend seeing the sights around Lahr and drinking at the TAV. I'm awoken early by the sound of much activity outside the shacks and look outside to see in the pre-dawn darkness that a Sqn has moved into the area to await their turn to load up on the trains. I go out to the parking lot to find my car/truck. Not only do I not know where I parked, but I also have no clue as to what kind of vehicle I drive. I look at the keys for a clue, but they don't indicate anything. Not sure if my Mom is up, I decide to around the outside of the shacks to see if her room light is on. Along the way I get told many times to put out my white light flashlight, and also bump into the OC and SSM from C Sqn, who again give me grief over not deploying with them. I eventually make my way through their area and search for my Mom's room. Along about then I realize I have no idea where my Mom's room is from the outside so go back to my room to await my Mom. I lay down on the bed and fall asleep.
I awake to find myself shuffling along the hangar lines of RCD Petawawa. I try hard to figure out why I'm there but can't understand it at all. I lay down on the hangar floor to give my brain a rest. I'm awoken because the RSM, Donny Head, has me by the collar and is dragging me down the hangar floor. He is with the CO and they both do not seem amused with this at all. They go on, and I decide to walk around to see if there is anything I can do. I walk outside and see there is a Troop changing track pads so help them. They are all new guys and they don't know, or care to know, who I am. After that task is finished, I move along and jump into a tank that is being cleaned by the crew. I jump into the commander's hatch and help them out. I begin to piece some clues together: I have been out of the Army for about a year, but have worked at both the Armd School and Germany for a few months each. During this time I wasn't getting paid. Now I'm back in Pet and also am not getting paid.
I begin to reason this out. I come to a theory that both the Germany experiences are just dreams. But I'm sure that the Pet time with the Regt and Gagetown actually happened. I decide to go to the Sqn OR (Orderly Room) to see if I'm getting paid or not for the past 3 months or so. The OR is located at the end of the hangar on the second floor, much like our hangar's actually offices are. But there is no staircase to the second floor, just a small metal ladder that you have to climb up from the hangar floor, and then a small walkway to the door of the offices. Only one person at a time can go up or down, and there is a small line up of folks waiting to climb up. It seems the rule is that you have to wait for someone to climb down before you climb up to avoid overcrowding in the offices. I await for a long while to climb up, then I find that I can't raise my arms up over my head to grab the ladder. After a few moments of struggling, the line up behind me calls for me to either climb up or get out of the way. I give way to the rest and wander outside again.
Sometime during this I actually wake up in my bedroom here in Gowan Brae for a few seconds before going back into the dream. But back in the dream, as I'm wandering outside the hangar, I realize that maybe these were only dreams also. I recall telling my parents that I was travelling back and forth to Gagetown from PEI every week to work for the Armd School and that Jim Brown had given me the job. I remember telling him at the time that part of my medical release was that I was not employable for the Army, reg or reserve force. He said he would take care of this. I also remember going to the school OR and being told that not only was I not getting paid, I was nowhere in the system. To me, this revelation further proves to me that it is all just dreams.
By now the various Sqn's seem to be deploying somewhere in a hurry. The hangar lines are filled with tanks and armd vehicles moving in every direction - very fast and with no ground guides. Soon folks begin to get run over and chewed up in tank tracks. I watch with horror, but can't get any one to listen to me to slow down. Soon I'm just barely dodging the vehicles myself. Also among the traffic are the big LAV-3 APCs; it seems we have Infantry in our lines now.
Here is where the dream changes from bizarro to just plain silly:
I watch as a PPCLI (Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry) officer gets half mangled by a tank track. A crowd gathers around him and folks actually listen to me to get a stretcher, blanket, etc. Well I think they are listening to me, but in reality these things were happening before I said anything. We begin to carry the officer up to the UMS (unit medical station). There are about 8 of us who accompany him, 6 young Patricias and me and another young Dragoon. Apparently this was a popular officer.
We get him up to the doctor who immediately calls for 47 pints of blood to replace all the blood he lost. We ask the doc how is he? He replies that he is pretty bad, due to the tank track and his pre-existing condition. We ask what condition, the doc replies that the officer is pregnant. The officer is a man, by the way...or is he? The doc tells us he is going into labour. We wait outside the room. Soon one baby boy arrives, then another, then another, etc. The total is 8 baby boys!! - the officer has given birth to a whole section of little Patricias ,,!! Everybody is estatic over this, but I slip quietly out to gather thoughts.
I really start to work my few remaining undamaged brain cells to sort this out. Is it all just a dream and/or a collection of recurring dreams? Working for no pay and being on course month after month? I sorta come to this conclusion and get a happy feeling in the dream. Perhaps this realization will stop these recurring dreams? But I have been fooled this before where I was on a course that actually ended. But soon came other dreams of being on another, equally stupid, course. I guess only tomorrow night will tell....
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Kosovo Crisis: Serbs Facing Food Shortages, Albanians Burning Serbian Products
Three days after NATO's Kosovo force has blocked food, medical and heating fuel supplies to Serbs in northern Kosovo, Serbia warns such measures may lead to a "humanitarian catastrophe", and accused the West of supporting Albanian interests in disputed territory.
"Representatives of the international community (KFOR and EULEX) must remain neutral and should not take sides as they are doing now by refusing to talk with legitimate representatives of the Republic of Serbia and by blockading convoys of food, which could lead to a humanitarian catastrophe," Serbia’s Prime Minister Mirko Cvetkovic said in a statement.
Northern Kosovo, with majority of Serb population, heavily relies on Serbia for food and medical supplies. After the KFOR took over checkpoints Jarinje and Brnjak, suppliers from Serbia are unable to deliver bread and milk, and local shops are on the verge of selling out of meat and sugar products, the Belgrade-based Beta news agency reported.
Meanwhile, some Kosovo Albanians are celebrating the new situation by publicly burning Serbia-produced foodstuff. Reportedly, in the city of Srbica the symbolic burning was accompanied with different anti-Serb paroles such as: ”Let’s burn all the Serbs, Serbia and all their goods!”. On another location, in Podujevo, the goods were firstly covered by the Serbian flag and then set on fire.
Some Albanian civil organization called on boycott of Serbian products, and Kosovo’s Trade and Industry Minister Mimoza Kusari said they should be replaced by other goods produced in Albania and other countries.
According to AFP, more than 90 percent of Kosovo's imported food comes from Serbia, one of its main suppliers with goods totaling $370 million a year.
MORE EVIDENCE THAT RACAK WAS A FRAUD AS WAS SREBRENICA
MORE EVIDENCE THAT RACAK WAS A FRAUD AS WAS SREBRENICA
Posted on October 26, 2008 by Felix Quigley
by Felix Quigley
October 26, 2008
In response to the whitewashing of McCain Palin by Israpundit and its editor Ted Belman we are going to look afresh at some of the issues in the destruction of Yugoslavia, especially the role played there of McCain, Lieberman and Biden
As an introduction to this we have a very fine article produced by the former Byzantine Blog organization, now under a different url as shown below. It concerns a pivotal figure in the Racak Massacre hoax, itself closely connected witht he Srebrenica Massacre hoax story. This research is fresh off the presses as they say. We are indebted to our friends for this research.
[The Ranta story begins here]
Oct 24th, 2008
William Walker was instrumental in providing a trigger event to the US leadership and NATO for the planned aggression against Serbia
Helena Ranta Accused Western Officials of Pressuring her to Set the Serbs Up
Several days ago, a Finnish online news source reported Helena Ranta, forensic dentist involved in Racak hoax, complained in her recently published biography she was pressured by the Western authorities to accuse the Serbs for the “massacre”.
Ranta also revealed William Walker, an American official stationed in Serbian province of Kosovo and Metohija in 1999 under the OSCE umbrella — notorious for being sent to stir problems in various parts of the world, rather than help calm the tensions — was so angry over her apparent refusal “to use sufficiently strong language” against the Serbs, that he broke the pencil at some point and threw the pieces at her.Ranta’s story sparked a lot of interest in Serbia, since the Racak fraud was used as a justification and trigger for the US-led NATO bombardment of Serbia that lasted almost three months (78 days). Ranta was promptly interviewed by Vecernje Novosti, where she further explained Walker insisted she should tell the media that Serbs have committed a massacre in the village of Racak, and that the killed were not combatants, but “innocent civilians”.
At the same time, she resolutely denied there were two different forensic reports she had put together, as established by the three Berliner Zeitung reporters, Bo Adam, Roland Heine and Claudius Technau. Speaking to Belgrade reporter, Ranta insisted there was only one report she wrote and that she acted perfectly professionally at all times, being it was simply not up to her to issue judgments on one side’s innocence or guilt.
However, according to the Serbian forensic expert Dr. Slavisa Dobricanin, the head specialist who examined the bodies of 40 Albanians in the Racak ravine, and investigative judge Danica Marinkovic who inspected the scene of the alleged crime, Ranta is merely weaving a new web of lies almost ten years later.
Too Little, Too Late: Do Spare Us the Crocodile Tears!
According to them, the woman who appears to have “opened her very soul” these days to the media, revealing the kind of pressures she was under while working on the bodies piled in the Racak ravine has, in fact, personally stated everything for which she blames the former OSCE Mission chief in Kosovo province, William Walker. That those were the “innocent victims massacred” in Racak, that they were “unarmed civilians” and that it was a “crime against humanity” — those were Helena Ranta’s words, former Director of the Institute of Forensic Medicine in Pristina Professor Slavisa Dobricanin confirmed for Novosti.
“I’m not surprised by the things Ranta is saying now, but she still hasn’t admitted her own statements back then were false. I clearly remember she was constantly under surveillance by the German embassy and the Finnish ministry. The Finnish Minister for Human Rights Timo Labelma (sp?) was at the Institute all the time, as well as the German embassy’s Second Secretary. She was very nervous and constantly outside the autopsy room. She was always in the Institute hallways, talking to someone on her mobile phone”, Professor Dobricanin, who was leading the team of Serbian pathologists in the Racak case, recalls.
Helena Ranta, Finnish forensic dentist, never expressed regret over the ugly role she played in providing an alibi for the US-led NATO aggression against Serbia, based on lies and false allegations
Pointing out Ranta did not have sufficient expertise to determine the nature of the Racak conflict, Dobricanin is not prepared to forgive the lies with which Ranta smeared Serb pathologists at the time, claiming their analysis of the gunpowder residue found on the hands of the KLA terrorists piled up in the Racak ravine was “outdated”.
“When a person shoots from the firearm, the traces of unburned gunpowder remain on the palms of the hands. When we suspect someone has been using firearms, we check for those remains with the adhesive strips and diphenylamine solution to determine whether the residue found is the gunpowder. We have followed the same procedure in the Racak case. On the palms of the hands of 37 bodies out of 40 we have found the gunpowder residue. There was absolutely no question that those men were the terrorists,” Dr. Dobricanin asserted.
“But, for Helena Ranta this method was ‘old and outdated’. She claimed Interpol had prohibited it way back in 1968. Only she said that much later, despite the fact that every single autopsy report, and there was a total of 40 of them, was jointly signed by the international and Serb pathologists without a shred of disagreement,” Dobricanin said.
“Her claim that such analysis was ‘outdated’ was incorrect. When I testified at the trial against Slobodan Milosevic in the Hague, I submitted to the judges an article from the American magazine about the company which produces the material we have been using in our analysis. Would the Americans continue to produce ‘outdated’ forensic tools and material for their own market?,” Dobricanin asked.
He said that, after the autopsy reports were completed and jointly signed without any objections on behalf of the international forensic experts, the members of the international team decided to hold a press conference in Pristina. Members of the Serbian forensic team were not allowed to attend.
“William Walker was extremely nervous. He could barely stand still and he kept drumming his fingers on the chair. He did not speak. It was Helena Ranta that said all of it: that the killed were the unarmed civilians, that the massacre was committed, and that it was the crime against the civilians. The very three things a forensic specialist can not say,” Dr. Dobricanin concluded his recollection.
Investigative Judge Danica Marinkovic confirms the bodies found in the Racak field belonged to the armed terrorists, not “innocent civilians”. She went to the inquest with her team of investigators the moment the bodies were reported as discovered.
“As soon as we arrived to the village we found a large amount of weapons, both heavy and light. Machine guns, automatic, semi-automatic guns, the ammunition cases.. were all over the place,” Judge Marinkovic remembers.
“They opened fire at us when we went to examine the bodies. That lasted for three days, whenever we tried to enter the village. All the reports, by everyone who was involved in performing the autopsies in the line of duty, were the same — in regards to the cause of death, the injuries and in every other respect. But Helena Ranta, who was sent there with the political agenda, had issued her own statements. The reason why only her claims made it to the public was the bombardment that started only few days later”, Marinkovic said.
Racak Charges Removed from All the Indictments
Danica Marinkovic and Slavisa Dobricanin both testified at the Hague, on behalf of the former Yugoslav President Slobodan Milosevic’s defense. As expert witnesses, they refuted prosecution charges, especially in respect to the names, gender and the age of the victims. Then-prosecutor Geoffrey Nice went as far as calling the Serbian judge and forensic pathologist “criminals”. After a while, when the prosecution data on the Racak KLA victims was “reevaluated”, he too quoted Marinkovic and Dobricanin, citing results of their investigation.
Following the evidence presented by the Judge Marinkovic and Professor Dobricanin, Hague prosecution removed Racak charges from all the indictments: from that of the late Yugoslav and Serbian President Slobodan Milosevic, from the process against the former Serbia’s President Milan Milutinovic, and from the processes against another five former Yugoslav and Serbian functionaries.
To this day, biography and all, Helena Ranta has never expressed regret over the ugly role she played in providing an alibi for Washington and NATO to start an aggression against Serbia, based on lies, conjectures and false allegations.
Posted on October 26, 2008 by Felix Quigley
by Felix Quigley
October 26, 2008
In response to the whitewashing of McCain Palin by Israpundit and its editor Ted Belman we are going to look afresh at some of the issues in the destruction of Yugoslavia, especially the role played there of McCain, Lieberman and Biden
As an introduction to this we have a very fine article produced by the former Byzantine Blog organization, now under a different url as shown below. It concerns a pivotal figure in the Racak Massacre hoax, itself closely connected witht he Srebrenica Massacre hoax story. This research is fresh off the presses as they say. We are indebted to our friends for this research.
[The Ranta story begins here]
Oct 24th, 2008
William Walker was instrumental in providing a trigger event to the US leadership and NATO for the planned aggression against Serbia
Helena Ranta Accused Western Officials of Pressuring her to Set the Serbs Up
Several days ago, a Finnish online news source reported Helena Ranta, forensic dentist involved in Racak hoax, complained in her recently published biography she was pressured by the Western authorities to accuse the Serbs for the “massacre”.
Ranta also revealed William Walker, an American official stationed in Serbian province of Kosovo and Metohija in 1999 under the OSCE umbrella — notorious for being sent to stir problems in various parts of the world, rather than help calm the tensions — was so angry over her apparent refusal “to use sufficiently strong language” against the Serbs, that he broke the pencil at some point and threw the pieces at her.Ranta’s story sparked a lot of interest in Serbia, since the Racak fraud was used as a justification and trigger for the US-led NATO bombardment of Serbia that lasted almost three months (78 days). Ranta was promptly interviewed by Vecernje Novosti, where she further explained Walker insisted she should tell the media that Serbs have committed a massacre in the village of Racak, and that the killed were not combatants, but “innocent civilians”.
At the same time, she resolutely denied there were two different forensic reports she had put together, as established by the three Berliner Zeitung reporters, Bo Adam, Roland Heine and Claudius Technau. Speaking to Belgrade reporter, Ranta insisted there was only one report she wrote and that she acted perfectly professionally at all times, being it was simply not up to her to issue judgments on one side’s innocence or guilt.
However, according to the Serbian forensic expert Dr. Slavisa Dobricanin, the head specialist who examined the bodies of 40 Albanians in the Racak ravine, and investigative judge Danica Marinkovic who inspected the scene of the alleged crime, Ranta is merely weaving a new web of lies almost ten years later.
Too Little, Too Late: Do Spare Us the Crocodile Tears!
According to them, the woman who appears to have “opened her very soul” these days to the media, revealing the kind of pressures she was under while working on the bodies piled in the Racak ravine has, in fact, personally stated everything for which she blames the former OSCE Mission chief in Kosovo province, William Walker. That those were the “innocent victims massacred” in Racak, that they were “unarmed civilians” and that it was a “crime against humanity” — those were Helena Ranta’s words, former Director of the Institute of Forensic Medicine in Pristina Professor Slavisa Dobricanin confirmed for Novosti.
“I’m not surprised by the things Ranta is saying now, but she still hasn’t admitted her own statements back then were false. I clearly remember she was constantly under surveillance by the German embassy and the Finnish ministry. The Finnish Minister for Human Rights Timo Labelma (sp?) was at the Institute all the time, as well as the German embassy’s Second Secretary. She was very nervous and constantly outside the autopsy room. She was always in the Institute hallways, talking to someone on her mobile phone”, Professor Dobricanin, who was leading the team of Serbian pathologists in the Racak case, recalls.
Helena Ranta, Finnish forensic dentist, never expressed regret over the ugly role she played in providing an alibi for the US-led NATO aggression against Serbia, based on lies and false allegations
Pointing out Ranta did not have sufficient expertise to determine the nature of the Racak conflict, Dobricanin is not prepared to forgive the lies with which Ranta smeared Serb pathologists at the time, claiming their analysis of the gunpowder residue found on the hands of the KLA terrorists piled up in the Racak ravine was “outdated”.
“When a person shoots from the firearm, the traces of unburned gunpowder remain on the palms of the hands. When we suspect someone has been using firearms, we check for those remains with the adhesive strips and diphenylamine solution to determine whether the residue found is the gunpowder. We have followed the same procedure in the Racak case. On the palms of the hands of 37 bodies out of 40 we have found the gunpowder residue. There was absolutely no question that those men were the terrorists,” Dr. Dobricanin asserted.
“But, for Helena Ranta this method was ‘old and outdated’. She claimed Interpol had prohibited it way back in 1968. Only she said that much later, despite the fact that every single autopsy report, and there was a total of 40 of them, was jointly signed by the international and Serb pathologists without a shred of disagreement,” Dobricanin said.
“Her claim that such analysis was ‘outdated’ was incorrect. When I testified at the trial against Slobodan Milosevic in the Hague, I submitted to the judges an article from the American magazine about the company which produces the material we have been using in our analysis. Would the Americans continue to produce ‘outdated’ forensic tools and material for their own market?,” Dobricanin asked.
He said that, after the autopsy reports were completed and jointly signed without any objections on behalf of the international forensic experts, the members of the international team decided to hold a press conference in Pristina. Members of the Serbian forensic team were not allowed to attend.
“William Walker was extremely nervous. He could barely stand still and he kept drumming his fingers on the chair. He did not speak. It was Helena Ranta that said all of it: that the killed were the unarmed civilians, that the massacre was committed, and that it was the crime against the civilians. The very three things a forensic specialist can not say,” Dr. Dobricanin concluded his recollection.
Investigative Judge Danica Marinkovic confirms the bodies found in the Racak field belonged to the armed terrorists, not “innocent civilians”. She went to the inquest with her team of investigators the moment the bodies were reported as discovered.
“As soon as we arrived to the village we found a large amount of weapons, both heavy and light. Machine guns, automatic, semi-automatic guns, the ammunition cases.. were all over the place,” Judge Marinkovic remembers.
“They opened fire at us when we went to examine the bodies. That lasted for three days, whenever we tried to enter the village. All the reports, by everyone who was involved in performing the autopsies in the line of duty, were the same — in regards to the cause of death, the injuries and in every other respect. But Helena Ranta, who was sent there with the political agenda, had issued her own statements. The reason why only her claims made it to the public was the bombardment that started only few days later”, Marinkovic said.
Racak Charges Removed from All the Indictments
Danica Marinkovic and Slavisa Dobricanin both testified at the Hague, on behalf of the former Yugoslav President Slobodan Milosevic’s defense. As expert witnesses, they refuted prosecution charges, especially in respect to the names, gender and the age of the victims. Then-prosecutor Geoffrey Nice went as far as calling the Serbian judge and forensic pathologist “criminals”. After a while, when the prosecution data on the Racak KLA victims was “reevaluated”, he too quoted Marinkovic and Dobricanin, citing results of their investigation.
Following the evidence presented by the Judge Marinkovic and Professor Dobricanin, Hague prosecution removed Racak charges from all the indictments: from that of the late Yugoslav and Serbian President Slobodan Milosevic, from the process against the former Serbia’s President Milan Milutinovic, and from the processes against another five former Yugoslav and Serbian functionaries.
To this day, biography and all, Helena Ranta has never expressed regret over the ugly role she played in providing an alibi for Washington and NATO to start an aggression against Serbia, based on lies, conjectures and false allegations.
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