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First Name: Bank
Last Name: View Full ListingAge: 46
Email Address: View Full ListingCell Phone: View Full ListingCity: KHcYGRNWz
Country: Dominican Republic
Height Feet: jVWdn9hQ
Height Inches: jVWdn9hQ
Weight: V67sipGbN
Job Description: NqJAEt574
Languages: DN3pq6zjgac
Hobbies:
I was in Cap Hatien way back in the foggy past, on a Carib cruise, coutersy of my Uncle Sam. Cheapest rum I've ever bought, and the worst hangover. We were briefed by these two guys who looked like the Blues Brothers, except the Blues Brothers didn't have 1911's in shoulder holsters. They were Ton-Tons, the local secret police. To become a Ton-Ton, you had to be a Voodun, a witch doctor. The head witch doctor was Papa Doc, the dictator. We were told to look for the red line on certain signs, and not to go past it. If we did, we weren't coming back. Not even if there were 20 of us. One of the gentlemen informed me that my pale blue eyes were full of magic, and would be eaten by some lucky person before morning. Even allowing for Good Ol' Boy humor at the expense of some 19 year old Marine and Navy tourists, not really my kind of town. A dirty, sleazy place, with mutiliated kids begging for change, and, I can't remember the name of the philosophy, but a voodoo belief fresh from Africa that there was no guilt, no individual responsibility. Anything less than optimal I felt like doing was O.K., because if I decided to steal, rape, or murder, it was because an evil spirit took possession of me. I was only a helpless puppet. A sick place, filled with sick people, and it ain't the germs I'm talking about. The Dominican Republic was next, and it was amazing. We had been shooting at those people three years before, but they couldn't have been nicer. A guy in my squad, Manny Martinez, was Cuban, and he took over as tour guide. Sure there were areas where you held on to your wallet, and people you avoided. That happens in every place. But by and large, some of the truely nicest people I have ever met. Smile and treat them with coutersy and they'll give you the world. It's not race. Dominicans come in every shade, from blond to black, and they all seem to have class and good humor. But the half of that island that is Christian and Spanish speaking is a place where mostly good people mostly get along. A tropical paradise where, should you stick a seed in the ground, it explodes into food. Half the island is too lazy to stick that seed into the ground. They would rather steal from someone else, or stand in line for American freebies. I have to blame 50 years of Yankee welfare for creating that sewer. Dominicans work, Haitians pick your pocket. After clubbing you. A sucky culture, made far worse by the arrival of the "It's not your fault" fundamentalist Christians out to save another soul from the witchdoctor in Rome, buying those souls with cornmeal and spam. As soon as another church sets up a block away with better goodies, they go there. After services and distribution of freebies, they wander home looking for something to steal, do a little voodoo to make things right, and make some more welfare recipients. My brother Ray ran the medical end of the Haitian program at Gitmo. He had 40% HIV positives for patients, because their standard means of having fun was promiscuous anal sex. Unprotected because it felt better for the user. The Bantu cultures regard us as stupid, because the way we do it, you make babies, and have to put up with women for something that's quicker and easier with another male or a hooker. It was typical to see a 12 year old boy drop trou in a company street and bend over for a candy bar. After a while the MP's got them to go in a tent, but that was as far as they were able to change the activities. I imagine the arrival of U.S. Government largesse has only made the situation worse. The Adventists and Jehovah's Witless must really have to crank up the volume and go heavy on the canned hams to compete. How about giving every Haitian family a tent, 3 months of MRE's, a hoe, a shovel, some seed corn and a few chickens, then leaving? That way, if they all starve, it will be their fault.
About Me:
I was in Cap Hatien way back in the foggy past, on a Carib cruise, coutersy of my Uncle Sam. Cheapest rum I've ever bought, and the worst hangover. We were briefed by these two guys who looked like the Blues Brothers, except the Blues Brothers didn't have 1911's in shoulder holsters. They were Ton-Tons, the local secret police. To become a Ton-Ton, you had to be a Voodun, a witch doctor. The head witch doctor was Papa Doc, the dictator. We were told to look for the red line on certain signs, and not to go past it. If we did, we weren't coming back. Not even if there were 20 of us. One of the gentlemen informed me that my pale blue eyes were full of magic, and would be eaten by some lucky person before morning. Even allowing for Good Ol' Boy humor at the expense of some 19 year old Marine and Navy tourists, not really my kind of town. A dirty, sleazy place, with mutiliated kids begging for change, and, I can't remember the name of the philosophy, but a voodoo belief fresh from Africa that there was no guilt, no individual responsibility. Anything less than optimal I felt like doing was O.K., because if I decided to steal, rape, or murder, it was because an evil spirit took possession of me. I was only a helpless puppet. A sick place, filled with sick people, and it ain't the germs I'm talking about. The Dominican Republic was next, and it was amazing. We had been shooting at those people three years before, but they couldn't have been nicer. A guy in my squad, Manny Martinez, was Cuban, and he took over as tour guide. Sure there were areas where you held on to your wallet, and people you avoided. That happens in every place. But by and large, some of the truely nicest people I have ever met. Smile and treat them with coutersy and they'll give you the world. It's not race. Dominicans come in every shade, from blond to black, and they all seem to have class and good humor. But the half of that island that is Christian and Spanish speaking is a place where mostly good people mostly get along. A tropical paradise where, should you stick a seed in the ground, it explodes into food. Half the island is too lazy to stick that seed into the ground. They would rather steal from someone else, or stand in line for American freebies. I have to blame 50 years of Yankee welfare for creating that sewer. Dominicans work, Haitians pick your pocket. After clubbing you. A sucky culture, made far worse by the arrival of the "It's not your fault" fundamentalist Christians out to save another soul from the witchdoctor in Rome, buying those souls with cornmeal and spam. As soon as another church sets up a block away with better goodies, they go there. After services and distribution of freebies, they wander home looking for something to steal, do a little voodoo to make things right, and make some more welfare recipients. My brother Ray ran the medical end of the Haitian program at Gitmo. He had 40% HIV positives for patients, because their standard means of having fun was promiscuous anal sex. Unprotected because it felt better for the user. The Bantu cultures regard us as stupid, because the way we do it, you make babies, and have to put up with women for something that's quicker and easier with another male or a hooker. It was typical to see a 12 year old boy drop trou in a company street and bend over for a candy bar. After a while the MP's got them to go in a tent, but that was as far as they were able to change the activities. I imagine the arrival of U.S. Government largesse has only made the situation worse. The Adventists and Jehovah's Witless must really have to crank up the volume and go heavy on the canned hams to compete. How about giving every Haitian family a tent, 3 months of MRE's, a hoe, a shovel, some seed corn and a few chickens, then leaving? That way, if they all starve, it will be their fault.
About My Match:
I was in Cap Hatien way back in the foggy past, on a Carib cruise, coutersy of my Uncle Sam. Cheapest rum I've ever bought, and the worst hangover. We were briefed by these two guys who looked like the Blues Brothers, except the Blues Brothers didn't have 1911's in shoulder holsters. They were Ton-Tons, the local secret police. To become a Ton-Ton, you had to be a Voodun, a witch doctor. The head witch doctor was Papa Doc, the dictator. We were told to look for the red line on certain signs, and not to go past it. If we did, we weren't coming back. Not even if there were 20 of us. One of the gentlemen informed me that my pale blue eyes were full of magic, and would be eaten by some lucky person before morning. Even allowing for Good Ol' Boy humor at the expense of some 19 year old Marine and Navy tourists, not really my kind of town. A dirty, sleazy place, with mutiliated kids begging for change, and, I can't remember the name of the philosophy, but a voodoo belief fresh from Africa that there was no guilt, no individual responsibility. Anything less than optimal I felt like doing was O.K., because if I decided to steal, rape, or murder, it was because an evil spirit took possession of me. I was only a helpless puppet. A sick place, filled with sick people, and it ain't the germs I'm talking about. The Dominican Republic was next, and it was amazing. We had been shooting at those people three years before, but they couldn't have been nicer. A guy in my squad, Manny Martinez, was Cuban, and he took over as tour guide. Sure there were areas where you held on to your wallet, and people you avoided. That happens in every place. But by and large, some of the truely nicest people I have ever met. Smile and treat them with coutersy and they'll give you the world. It's not race. Dominicans come in every shade, from blond to black, and they all seem to have class and good humor. But the half of that island that is Christian and Spanish speaking is a place where mostly good people mostly get along. A tropical paradise where, should you stick a seed in the ground, it explodes into food. Half the island is too lazy to stick that seed into the ground. They would rather steal from someone else, or stand in line for American freebies. I have to blame 50 years of Yankee welfare for creating that sewer. Dominicans work, Haitians pick your pocket. After clubbing you. A sucky culture, made far worse by the arrival of the "It's not your fault" fundamentalist Christians out to save another soul from the witchdoctor in Rome, buying those souls with cornmeal and spam. As soon as another church sets up a block away with better goodies, they go there. After services and distribution of freebies, they wander home looking for something to steal, do a little voodoo to make things right, and make some more welfare recipients. My brother Ray ran the medical end of the Haitian program at Gitmo. He had 40% HIV positives for patients, because their standard means of having fun was promiscuous anal sex. Unprotected because it felt better for the user. The Bantu cultures regard us as stupid, because the way we do it, you make babies, and have to put up with women for something that's quicker and easier with another male or a hooker. It was typical to see a 12 year old boy drop trou in a company street and bend over for a candy bar. After a while the MP's got them to go in a tent, but that was as far as they were able to change the activities. I imagine the arrival of U.S. Government largesse has only made the situation worse. The Adventists and Jehovah's Witless must really have to crank up the volume and go heavy on the canned hams to compete. How about giving every Haitian family a tent, 3 months of MRE's, a hoe, a shovel, some seed corn and a few chickens, then leaving? That way, if they all starve, it will be their fault.
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