Please help keep the truth alive - or all we have are lies!

Friday, March 29, 2013

You bourgeoisie!

You bourgeoisie with your non-fat mocha lattes, and your decadent baked goods draining the surplus value from the necks of the proletariats like the social vampires you are. I spit on your Dodge Durango as you drive your overstuffed marshmallow offspring to soccer practice.

 As I sit here sipping my bowl of hot water and eating my bread; I am mentally lining you all up and having you SHOT!

Thursday, March 28, 2013

GMO Crops: The Skinny Truth on Genetically Altered Food

I would like to remind the world that is harping over genetically altered crops that the Earth is dying faster than we can fix it!

Centuries of “The Earth is here for man to exploit” worldwide cultural mentalities have severely damaged the planets ecological balance, that now hundreds if not thousands of years will be needed to reverse the effects of the things we have already destroyed.

The population is quickly becoming well beyond the capacity of the Earth's sustainability ratio, due to longer life spans and social prosperity benefited by the modern age of technology which ironically and inevitably is slowly / rapidly killing us all if the population continues at this rate of uncontrolled growth.

Earth's overcapacity and failing sustainability, along with all of the world’s inhabitants devastating carbon footprints that are growing larger and larger around the world by the second, are not as easily erased as global societies common sense has over the last couple of hundred years

 World leaders are well aware of this real impending doomsday,  because the facts and statistics are irrefutable even to the average layman; these statistics are plane for every average citizen to see and research for themselves but world governments are confidently relying on the peoples lust for material wealth, knowing the daily 9 to 5 hustle will distract the general population of the world from catching on to this fact of life / death as governments prepare to save themselves; they know that by the true nature of the problem and encroaching world crisis – they cannot save everyone.

 If they told us that either millions of people around the world need to die in the near future, or we are all going to die, we would then immediately start to panic all at once, and then the government would have anarchy on their hands to deal with as well. (Thus the reason for America’s own government quietly placing crowd control and riot squad precautions around the United States of late, re-enforcing its homeland) - So maybe giant carrots that grow in the desert, and watermelons that are the size of a small cottage in the near future, might not be such a bad thing, plus it just might buy us all some more time. The scary fact is though; it still won’t save us without drastic action and sacrifice by the majority of the world’s population.

The average selfish human being is so far not willing to commit to, nor even acknowledge the ongoing problem in order to save the entire planet - let alone its fellow human beings. So the next time you are in the grocery store spending your eagerly hard earned cash on expensive organic vegetables, saying how much you care about and support a healthy planet - look deeper and deeper into yourself, then ask yourself the cold hard question –Is healthy happy materially successful human beings the best thing for- THE PLANET!

                                                        Genetically Modified Organism Traits:

( Image,, GM Crops: Costs and Benefits, University of Michigan, Web)

Sunday, March 24, 2013


It is the sole duty and responsibility of those who have reached the enlightened status of human beings, over the material spiritual degradation of the human animal: To protect, care for, and educate the ignorant.  
Brian Thomas Armstrong

Saturday, March 23, 2013

If Just One Letter Of History Was Changed

If just one letter of history was changed
Imagine the possibilities – OR THE REPERCUSSIONS!

Naaa Naaa Naaa – Na Na Na Na – Hey Dude

Dude Dude, Doody Doody Doody!

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Republicans and Democrats are in Agreement on Only One Thing: Let the Poor Eat Cake!

When I hear that American men, women, and children are starving and living in poverty in our own country; I do not reply with “Let them Eat Cake Then” as our governmental bureaucracy says by inaction. I reply,” Let us all share what we have so everyone can Eat Steak!” – Brian Thomas Armstrong

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Beware the Dark Things

     The city that was bustling with its usual procession of busy “Nine to Fivers” yesterday, was in total chaos today. Half the town was running around in panic indiscriminately tearing up whatever they could find to burn,  and then throwing the debris into gigantic piles in the middle of the streets in a large wild bonfire. The other half of the cities population defended their life, property, houses - and more importantly their stash of personal supplies with lethal force. As it started to get dusk  social hysteria and desperation escalated to a level of every man for himself, leaving no room left over for compassion towards the rest of humanity.

     No one knew where the creatures came from. No one really cared. That was inconsequential when weighed with the fact that they were here and were growing in numbers and boldness of attacks with every hour that passed. It was obvious they weren't humanoid by any earthly comparison. The creatures seemed not even of this universe. Although they were appearing in material form,  they looked to be created out of our own human nightmares rather than an image of god  or nature in any spiritual comparison; in fact they seemed to be material emanations sent straight from the imagination of hell with the sole purpose of dragging us all back into damnation with them.

    The supernatural emanations first started appearing in the dark shadowy recesses of our world: Basements, closets, attics,  and much to the horror of children and adults even from under the bed. It did not take long for the city of Seattle’s population to figure out that once it was dark,  the whole population of the cities lives would depend on the power company in a time of calamity and crisis – No one was willing to trust Seattle City Light with their very lives and the city quickly fell into total anarchy.

     More black portals opened up in the shadows around the cities inhabitants and violently, and in most cases quite brutally and bloodily dragged their kicking and screaming victims into their  black floating orbs, DE-materializing with their prey before help was ever thought of or possible. This sent part of the population outdoors and into the streets,  cutting them off from the precious modern technology accustomed and afforded them indoors. Sending them back in human evolution in an instant. Back into a pack of dangerous mentally wounded animals that acted accordingly to their new/old natures.

     Somewhere in the pandemonium of the city. In a family oriented rural outskirt of Seattle. A little boy named Jack waited in his living room listening to the overwhelming crescendo of public panic and mayhem outside his house. He was also wondering when his father would come home from the midst of it, and then wondering where his mom was when he turned to look for her.


        Jack could hear screaming and yelling coming from the outside of his small house in a dense but nice community just on the edge of the Seattle city limit. His mom had caught and chastised him several times already that day for sneaking peaks out the window. The heart attack she looked like she was having every time she caught him made him feel  guilty and he was too ashamed to sneak another peek after several warnings not to. The sounds outside the safety of his house scared and simultaneously intrigued his boyish curiosity. When Jack looked around for his mother to ask when his father was coming back, Jack saw the open door to the basement instead. Jack walked slowly over to the door and peered down the dusty stairway that led to the dark shadowy creepy basement below; he had always been secretly afraid to go down there, especially when he was alone. Jack went down a few stairs mustering up his courage and saw his mother cautiously approaching a shadowy dark corner in the cluttered back of the musty basement. He called to his mother – “hey mom, what you doing?”

     Nancy Chancellor looked up at her son with a nervous frightened look and shushed him to be quiet, moving towards the gloomy darkness of the junk strewn back of the basement with an old rake clutched tightly before her.

     Jack felt a cold prickly wave of icy chills go from the back of his neck and explode through his body and mind. He stood at the top part of the stairs so frightened that he was frozen to the spot and struggled to call out to his mother again in a wavering high pitched voice – “mom, please come back up stairs I’m scared” - Jack saw the clawed tentacles start to form out of a black portal swirling in the shadow of the basement corner. Jack tried to scream but couldn't, his mom was looking up at him on the stairs and did not notice until it was to late as a slimy black hook ridden tentacle wrapped around her leg flipping her violently to the cold hard basement floor, then it started to drag her helplessly towards the pitch black portal that was now clearly visible like a large hole ripped into hell behind her. She screamed Jack! -  In a terrified wail scratching frantically with her fingers at the floor and grasping wildly for anything at all to hold onto. Jacks mother Nancy managed to grab onto an old chair leg that was poking out from a pile of furniture; then she was instantly locked in a tug of war struggle of life and death against a demon sent from hell.

      Jack’s voice found its wind again and blew forth an earsplitting scream as he watched his mother struggle not to be pulled into the dark swirling pitch black portal by the unknown “thing” that protruded from it. Jack heard his mother cry out his name and then in an instant, watched as she lost her grip and was dragged terrified, screaming, flailing her arms as she was helplessly pulled by the slime ridden monster into the darkness of who knows what. There was silence. Jack stood there dazed like a zombie. He didn't or couldn't feel the warm stream of urine that fell down his leg like a small waterfall to puddle and drip and pool on the lower stairs. Jack’s trance was broken by the sound of a key turning in the front door and he heard his father open it then quickly pile the provisions he “procured” for his family inside. Sounding pleased with himself, Nathan said In an upbeat voice “ Hey, where you guys at?” then he walked to the open door of the basement and looked down at Jack.. His smile faded as he looked into the terrified eyes of his  son who stood there in shock. Jack could not muster up a rational thought in his head that wasn’t drowned out by the horror of what he had just seen. He was absolutely unable to find the words to explain what just happened to his mother; Jack could only stare back speechless at his horrified father.

     Nathan scrambled a plethora of desperate thoughts through his mind trying to think of a way to tell his son what he saw as their only option left. When Jack came back into the room after looking for something to wipe away both their tears with, Nathan made his move to try and convince Jack why they had to do it, why they had to leave the “safety” of the house. “Jack we have to talk” said Nathan. His son sat down and faced his father. This isn't working for us here anymore son, we are going to run out of supplies and if the electricity goes out at night we will be helpless. Nathan told his son bluntly that they would have to do something desperate soon, Nathan paused,” well we don’t have any other options son, do you understand?” Jack nodded his head. He was still having a hard time facing his father, and just starting to get his voice back. Jack started to say something to his father Nathan but then stopped, he just nodded his head once more in understanding. Nathan nodded his head as well with a warm encouraging half grin and said, “Well it’s settled then son, now be a good boy Jack and go fetch whatever luggage we have left, we have to pack light but pack well.”

          Jacks father had worked his way up to principle of Dixie Lee Ray Elementary. The schools name sounded too southern for Northwest Washington but Jack remembered his father explaining to him that the school was named after a Washington State Governor in the 1970 s. Jack liked the southern reference better though because of the adventurous visions of Civil War battles it instilled in his mind. Nathan Chancellor had always been dedicated to teaching young kids the skills he felt every child needed to survive in this world. Nathan’s dedication paid off when he was promoted to school principle but his idealist teachers ethics never wore off. Jack agreed with his father that it was only logical for them to drive to the school and see if any of the teacher’s and their families had congregated at their yet. Strength in numbers seemed like Nathan and Jacks only chance of surviving as society progressively slipped into lawless panic. Jack felt comfortable at the school because he was afforded certain privileges for being the principal’s kid. One of those privileges was that the other kids treated him with kid gloves just because of who his father was. Jack was graduating to middle school next year and was already anxious about starting out at a new school where he had no special privileges. Jacks father had always felt a little guilty about making Jack attend the same school that he was a principal at. Unbeknownst to Jack, Nathan had fears that the other boys would tease Jack, but in reality Nathan was Jacks protector at school and at home.

     The bags were stacked in the corner of the front room waiting to be carried out to the car. Nathan polished his father’s old hunting shotgun and dusted off a box of old unused shells that were also inherited with the gun,  years upon years ago. Nathan wondered to himself if the gun worked but did not want to find out by firing it. Nathan’s father was always an old school NRA card carrying believer in conservatism and Nathan turned out to be the opposite. Nathan was sensitive, empathetic, idealistic, and had a loathing for guns. Nathan also hated the notion of killing innocent animals that were just going about their busy routine in nature. Nathan felt it would be much safer with Jack at the school where people they knew and trusted might go for safety. If he had to leave his son alone again while he foraged for more supplies in the chaos outside, he might just come back to find Jack missing next; that thought was more than Nathan’s mind could bear.

    Jack came out from the back of the house with the pocket knife his father gave him one year earlier as a tribute to Jacks potential upcoming manhood. Jack had cherished and respected it after the long lecture his father grilled him with on knife safety, before actually giving him the knife. Jacks father called him over and looked him up and down making sure he was dressed for the trip to the school. The school was a fairly short distance, but with the state the city was in anything could happen and what Nathan expected at the end of the journey was still very uncertain.

     Nathan and Jack carried the supplies to the family’s 1998 Buick Century then packed the trunk and the back seat as full as they could make it hold, but still be able to drive. Jack looked back at the house that he grew up in and he saw a glimpse of a face peering out of the attic window at the roofs peak. Jack could have sworn it was his moms face, but the face was twisted in a sadistic smile. Jack subconsciously said “Mom” out loud and Nathan heard him then turned around to see the anguished look on his child’s face. Nathan thought to himself how hard it must be to leave the memory of Jack’s mom behind, especially so soon after loosing her; Nathan knew how hard it was on himself to lose his wife like that while he was away from the house-The guilt was overwhelming. Nathan tried to distract jack by saying “Let’s focus on the task of getting to the school son.

     ” Jack got in the passenger seat of the car and Nathan turned the key – rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr click rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr click rrrrrrrrr Click  rrrrrrrrrr Click! Nothing happened – the car wouldn’t start. Nathan looked at the gas gage and was surprised to see it read empty. “Damn” Nathan exclaimed – I Filled the Fucking Thing Up! Jack startled and jumped a little in his seat, then blushed. Jack was not used to his school principal father cursing in front of him. “Those creeps stole our gas Jack, but I prepared for that, don’t worry son, stay here.” Nathan Jumped out of the car and ran up the stairs to the front yard of house, and then to the back shed and uncovered the two five gallon containers of gas he hid yesterday under some old tarps.

     Nathan grabbed the gas cans and was about to go back to the car when he noticed old Mrs. Rieghton waving him over towards her with one hand. Nathan had felt sorry for her when her husband died last year and had been doing the traditional male gender outside of the house chores: Cleaning the gutters, occasional outside yard duties, and general upkeep that the neighborhood lawn boy refused to do - Nathan never charged her a dime.

     The old lady looked different somehow to Nathan. Strange in a creepy sort of way that he started to notice as he looked harder into the shadows at Mrs. Rieghton. She was standing behind her open back yard basement door. Something evil about the crazed looking sinister grin she was wearing like make up sent chills down Nathan’s back as the old lady kept beckoning to him like a machine with no real human qualities. A pun on humanity painted on her twisted face – Nathan now noticed the black color of her eyes, like two coal pits and her other hand / claw - He swore it looked like a claw. It fell to her side and then the old lady slowly faded away  into the shadows of her basement.

     Nathan was shocked for a moment and had to unfreeze himself from the spot he was in, shake his head to clear it, then muttered to himself” I must be cracking up?” Nathan thought about jack out front alone in the car and dismissed his crazy thoughts about what he had just seen. Nathan then ran back to the car and Jack. Nathan  hurriedly started pouring the first five gallons of gas in the Buick’s tank.

     Jack was sitting in the car anxiously hoping his father would get back quickly from whatever he was doing, Jack was trying to be strong for his father but in reality was thoroughly terrified most of his waking hours lately. Jack took another last solemn look at his soon to be old house and saw his mother Nancy Chancellor standing in the middle of the front hallway of the open door to jacks house. A twisted grin that seemed to use half her face in more of a grimace than a smile replaced his mother’s kind nurturing and reassuring gaze. The look Nancy had on her face now was the glee of a spider luring in its prey. She held out her arms to jack mouthing with those hideous wide jaws the words “Jack, come to me!” over and over. The sound of Nathan hitting the side of the car as he opened the gas cap and started filling up the tank brought jack out of the trance of seeing the twisted vision of his mother.

     Nathan looked into the passenger side of the Buick at his son and saw he was crying. He decided to let his son be.  Just let him cry it out he thought to himself; after all the poor kid had just lost his mother.

     The car traveled down the main road dodging flaming roadblocks, obstacles,  and occasional looters. The pandemonium of the last 48 hours had drastically cleared from the streets. There were eerie stretches of road where no one was on the streets for blocks upon deserted blocks. Some houses were indiscriminately on fire and a hazy smoky trail of wispy dirty clouds obscured the surroundings of the neighborhoods in a scary dark depressing haze. Nathan wondered what happened to the droves of  panicking citizens that ran through the streets the day before. He looked at his son. Jack stared through the window of the car as if in a daze. Jack felt like he was doing something wrong by not telling his father about the horrible vision of his mother before they left the house. Once again Jack could simply not find the words to tell his father what he’d seen.

     Nathan was relieved that the trip through the dangerous city streets had so far gone uneventful. The grade school was on the other side of the North Wedgwood Ave. Tunnel, and the building was only a few blocks from it once they were on the other side of the tunnel. Nathan stopped at the entrance. The street lights were out of service inside the tunnel and it was pitch black inside. The entrance looked like a gaping black chasm full of unknowns. Nathan checked Jack’s seat belt and revved up the V8 engine.

     Nathan said “Be ready son,” then he turned on the car lights and peeled out heading straight towards the entrance of the tunnel. Instantly they were enveloped in darkness except for the headlights that barely pierced the blackness. Horrible twisted apparitions of people Nathan and Jack knew from the neighborhood, the convenience store, at work, school, came out of the darkness of the tunnel and stood in front of the speeding car with horrible surrealistic grimaces while clawing for the car with mutated arms. Their faces were twisted parodies of what they once were,  cruel perversions of the people they were replacing. Some had claws for arms, mouths of sharpened gaping teeth, hooked black tentacles flowing out of wriggling shirts and jackets that held horrors not bodies underneath them.

     Nathan plowed through them all and they disappeared into wisps of blackness like scattered rain drops on a windshield. Portals of black orbs that swirled and appeared from nowhere in the darkest parts of the tunnel sent out hooked ridden tentacles, spines, claws and slimy webs that were shot out  by horrors made from man’s deepest fears and imaginary monsters - materialized from every depth of  hell that could be stored in  mankind’s mind.

     Nathan swerved to avoid the monsters from hell as they bounced ,scraped, scratched, and grabbed at the car trying to force it to the side of the tunnel so they could all pounce on Nathan and Jack in the darkness. Jack was still speechless and sat there like a stone unflinching at the calamity unfolding around him. Nathan saw the light appearing at the end of the tunnel and stepped on the gas  so hard that it was pressed all the way to the floor as the old Buick Century leapt into action and roared - Propelling them through the end of the tunnel and into the light of day.

     Nathan got about a block past the tunnel exit and stomped on the cars breaks skidding to a stop in the middle of the street. He unbuckled his seat belt and also unbuckled his son Jacks and grabbed him into his arms; both Nathan and Jack’s tears flowed like an endless rain down a dark alley, washing away the hidden dirt of its inhabitants, washing away the darkness. It was a beautiful cry but a tragic one even if it was past due. The beautiful part about the tears is that they were also tears of joy that they had made it so far together. They still had each other. A wonderful tragic beauty of kinship, trust, and true understanding that no one else could share between them -  In a suddenly cold, hostile, cruel, and  unsure world.

     The next few blocks to the elementary school where Nathan worked was uneventful. As Nathan pulled into the parking lot of the school the building and grounds looked deserted. Nathan’s heart sank and he started to feel like he let Jack down. He saw Jacks happy expression fade as his son started to come to the same conclusions – No one is here, and we both had hope for absolutely nothing, Now What?

      Nathan pulled up to front of the school building and now could see lights in the classrooms and hallways of the old school. He opened the door of the car and could  hear the generators running in the background. Jacks face brightened and he opened up his door and jumped out. He looked up at the building like an old trusted friend. Jack and Nathan stood there and both watched with glee as the excited faces came to the windows of the building. Nathan and Jack were overwhelmed by the sight of their classmates / students and their parents, and most Nathan’s co-workers made it as well. Then people started coming out the front and sides of the building  holding out  normal comforting arms to embrace them both with. Smiling in a natural way in a state of human joy and happiness; most important to Nathan and Jack was that they all looked like there normal god given selves, all coming out to join them in the light of day. 

Thursday, March 14, 2013

Definition of DICTATOR!

Definition of DICTATOR

a : a person granted absolute emergency power; especially :one appointed by the senate of ancient Rome
b : one holding complete autocratic control
c : one ruling absolutely and often oppressively

Kill Lists

American Citizen Assassinations

Indefinite Incarceration without Trial

Drones in America

Armored Vehicles Deployed in America

Censorship and Secrecy

Mafia Style Reconstruction

150 billion has been spent so far on reconstruction of Iraq and Afghanistan. Not the countries of course but the wealth and power of Bush era cronies through Mafia style contracting scams that not only robbed both the Iraqi and Afghan people of a chance of Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness, but the American Tax Payer as well. So the next time conservatives tell you there is not enough money for social programs like education, the environment, green energy, and health care, or they want to cut food programs for the poor. Tell them they owe us the 150 billion they stole and to use that money to pay for it!

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Form Letter From the White House

Thank You soooooo sooooo  much Government! For sending me a form letter three months later on gun control (Four years too Late!)  Still waiting on a letter for the last three controversial letters that got my E-mail re-routed to who knows where for three days until they determined I was just a harmless broke socialist nut writing the president. I better not hold my breath until I get those other replies from the letters I've written Obama so far ; the government would love that!

Dear Brian :

Thank you for writing.  President Obama has heard from many Americans about the heartbreaking events that took place in Newtown, Connecticut, and he has reaffirmed that our Nation will continue to stand with all those whose lives have been affected by this terrible tragedy.

On Sunday, December 17, 2012, the President traveled to Newtown to meet with the families of those who were lost in the tragic shooting, and to thank first responders for their work.  He offered the love and prayers of a Nation grieving alongside Newtown, and he also spoke about the need to engage Americans in efforts to prevent tragedies like the one in Newtown—reiterating that America’s first job is caring for our children.  To watch the President’s remarks at the Sandy Hook interfaith prayer vigil, click here.

Because the President believes our words need to lead to action, he announced at a press conference on December 19, 2012, that Vice President Joe Biden will lead a new initiative to identify concrete proposals for real reform.  The President made clear that this is a complex issue, and that solutions must be wide-ranging and include everything from access to mental health services to confronting a culture that, at times, glorifies violence.  But he also made clear that the price of doing nothing is much too high for our country to bear.  To watch the President’s remarks at the press conference, click here.

Hundreds of thousands of Americans from all across our country have asked their Government to take serious steps to address the epidemic of gun violence.  On December 19, 2012, President Obama responded directly to them.  To watch the President’s message on reducing gun violence, click here.

Thank you, again, for writing.  President Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama join all Americans in keeping those touched by this tragedy in their thoughts and prayers.


The White House

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Floating in darkness I am senseless


   Floating in darkness I am senseless. I “feel” nothing and nothing can be felt around me. I am floating. I am something but I know not what.
    An apparition of light that dances before my mind - do I have a mind – I have no eyes. Flaming wings of light flying before my senses – I have senses.
A dark silhouette swoops in and engulfs the winged spirit. It violently wrestles with the glowing apparition in a cruel struggle of life, death, rending, tearing - fighting to snuff out its very life – If it is alive?
 I cast them both away. Striking them from me without touching them physically.  Away from my senses. Away from my being. Am I truly being? I see nothing. I can touch nothing. I feel nothing I can see. I feel only what is inside of me as I float in eternity, not knowing what was before me. Who I am now. Who can I be? Have I ever been?
      There is a shadow coming towards my mind. Movement. Mass. What is it? Does it live? Am I alive?
The scientists gathered around “the Tank” for the swing shift and all of them silently collected their data at once. George calculated the readings from the digital readouts he daily checked one by one and then analyzed what he had found. George meticulously entered the information as usual on his official LabCore IPad that he turned into data analysis every day at the end of his shift. If George didn't turn it in on time the GPS tracking system automatically kicked in and Corporate Security Services would give him a ration of shit, or in the worst case, another dreaded corporate write up again for being five minutes late turning it in. Today though, George was more concerned about the data subject than the data.
George stopped his shift supervisor Nate, and without causing attention voiced his concerns. How long has he been in there? Asked George, Three days, Said Nate. Is that authorized or even legal asked George? This guy signed away all his rights as a human being to get out of being executed for murder, what is legal these days anyway; he’s alive isn't he? But is this ethical Nate? George asked.
Nate gave George a look like he was about to relieve him of duty and George dropped the subject after Nate said in a low voice meant only for his ears, “Do we need to take this in front of a clearance review board George.” No sir! George replied, and then continued to monitor the man in the metal isolation tank sheepishly without looking his boss in the eye.
  Little did George know that he had already been turned into Nate for acting suspiciously around his other co-workers. His commitment to the corporations’ ideals had been in question for some time and Nate felt he had no other choice but to call security and have George brought up on formal charges under the Direct Corporate Threat Act of 2014 outlawing all forms of governmental or corporate whistleblowing. Nate always liked George and felt somewhat guilty for betraying him, but felt no need to endanger his position let alone his family. George should have been a better patriot; he should have learned to keep his mouth shut Nate thought to himself as the audio equipped security cameras followed him out of the room.


Saturday, March 9, 2013

In the Middle of Midnight

The American “Cold War” with Russia was at its peak in the 1980 s. Our misunderstandings of each other compounded by our totally different ideologies and perceptions of democracy, life and liberty were of common worldly knowledge. What was not commonly known by the public now or then was how many times those differences almost threatened to destroy not only ourselves, but the entire World!

     At 2:27 pm Eastern Time, March 30th, 1981, President Reagan walked through the “President’s Walk” of the Washington Hilton Hotel after giving a speech to The American Federation of Labor and Congress of Industrial Organizations. Little did he or his Secret Service staff realize that a deranged John Hinckley Jr. was standing in wait to prove his delusional obsessive love to actress Jodie Foster by assassinating the President of the United States. Hinckley was lucky and managed to slip in unnoticed with Reagan fans so he was within fifteen feet of the president when he pulled a .22 caliber revolver and unloaded his weapon at Reagan six times as he went to enter his limousine. The first bullet hit Press Secretary James Brady in the head, the second hit police Officer Thomas Delahanty in the back of the neck as he tried to shield the president. The third bullet overshot the president and the fourth hit Secret Service Agent Timothy McCarthy in the abdomen as he tried to protect the president with his body as well. The fifth and sixth bullets hit the armored limousine, but the sixth ricocheted off and struck the president under his left arm lodging the bullet in Reagan’s lung. Stopping within an inch of the president’s heart. Neither the president nor his security team were wearing bullet proof vests due to the walk  only being 30 feet or so from the hotel to the presidents limo. An Ohio labor official who was standing by Hinckley hit him in the head and took down the maniac while agents, police, and citizen bystanders all pounced on him - violently subduing Hinckley. The President of the United States was rushed to George Washington Memorial Hospital and arrived there within four minutes; the arrival time was so short that no one had time to arrange a waiting emergency team. The president then insisted on walking into the hospital on his own power and immediately collapsed upon entry at the reception desk.

     After only 69 days in office the president had been shot and was is surgery. The Vice President of the United States, George H. W. Bush was away from Washington and returning as fast as he could, while fourth in line to the succession of the presidency in case of the president’s death, Secretary of State Alexander Haig who was in Washington DC at the White House when Reagan was shot, controversially stated he was in charge of the country until the vice president returned; he also stated that there would be no elevation of the nation’s threat level towards Russia. In another controversial move behind Haig’s back, Defense Secretary Casper Weinberger raises the threat level aimed at Russia, setting into motion a little known “Cold War” World Wide brush with global nuclear destruction over an American made nut with a Jodie Foster fetish and a gun.

     I dragged my ass up the front stairs of the 1940’s style old German Nazi barracks by the hand railing, moaning and groaning as I somehow made it to the second floor. I then found my way to my room and my bunk. These Mondays were tough and getting tougher every time I partied too late Sunday nights in Bad Kreuznach’s illicit German brothel night clubs. The booze and the hash, along with the young pretty cheep German women that went along with the party, made that five mile Monday run at six this morning cruel punishment for last nights crazy off base partying.

    The rest of the day after the run went just as bad with a hangover from hell following me around. It was being complicated by Sergeant Gatore’s constant critiques of my abilities, not to mention Gator’s personal remarks towards me all day that were obviously not meant to be constructive on his part; all I wanted to do now was to get into my bunk and fall asleep, trying not to think about tomorrows hell.

     I started to unlace my boots when the outside base alert siren went off. The other soldiers who shared the room with me started waking up asking what was happening. I shrugged and couldn't think of anything to say but “beats me!” The inside barracks shrill ear piercing alarm went off then as I jumped a bit off of my bunk in surprise, “what the fuck!” I looked around at everyone else with a puzzled expression on my face. Some of the guys were half out of bed by now in their underwear, scratching their heads, looking around irritated and blurry eyed.

 Staff Sergeant Leroy Gatore burst into the room and started shouting at everyone.
” git yer gear on,” he said and then threatened to dump anyone he saw still in their bunks on their ears.
     The sergeant’s young black specialist grade four followed him around handing out live M-16 magazines; this guy was as black as coal and very mild mannered and polite compared to his superior, a little to polite for the rest of the troops and there were rumors, but Gator ironically always failed to, or refused to see it. I took the ammo from him in somewhat disbelief, they never trusted us “shit birds” as they liked to call us with live ammunition; they must be really serious about something.
     I called out to the staff sergeant, “hey serge, what the hell is going on.” Sergeant Gatore flew across the distance between us and knuckle punched me in my chest which knocked me back, almost making me drop my magazines of live ammo.
 “That’s what’s going on, and yer gunna get more like it if you don’t shut da fuck up an git your damn combat gear on Private Armstrong!!!” I managed to catch my breath and squeeze out a “Yes Sergeant” without wheezing and turning blue. The sergeant took another irritated look at me, then shrugged his head and walked off muttering, “Fucking Armstrong.”

     My curiosity was put aside after that encounter with the staff sergeant and I frantically put the rest of my combat gear on while hearing more shouting, whistles, and sirens blowing, as upper ranking sergeants shouted and men scrambled to comply. Officers started to pile through the echoing yelling and the sergeants complied - All of them shouting orders at the same time and telling us to line up in formation immediately outside the barracks.

     The night air was a normal cold crisp German winter’s breath that hit me in the face as I stepped out of the barracks I had just minutes ago dragged myself into for some shut eye. I assembled with the rest of the platoon waiting for the other sergeants to arrive that were off duty and off base. My chest still stung from Gator’s knuckle ball and I started thinking back to my first miserable encounter with the staff sergeant when I arrived six months earlier.

     It was just after the last formation of the day and I was getting a little apprehensive the way everyone was asking me if I’d met Staff Sergeant Gatore yet, then smiling in a sinister way when I said that I hadn't. I was in my newly assigned barracks room getting my footlocker in order after being warned by my compatriots of incessant and meaningless surprise inspections that got your locker ransacked if it wasn't up to perfect predefined military specs. Suddenly a tall thin weathered face wiry staff sergeant staggers in the door with a cheap case of German beer. He  proceeds to plop himself down on my up until now perfectly made bed, simultaneously pulling out and opening a beer, then he shouts drunkenly to no one in particular, “who the fuck iz zis kid.” I told him my name was Armstrong. The sergeant shrugged off my polite introduction and said in a slurred southern drawl, “youz better not be another fuck up kid, in “Nam” we learned us how to take care of fuck upz real quick; you fucks up wiz me son and I’ll killz ya.” He then relentlessly tried to make me bet him twenty bucks he couldn't drink the whole case of beer in one hour. Not wanting to see what he was like after drinking a whole case of beer by himself in an hour let alone be near him while he’s doing it, I feigned poverty. I had dealt with a lot of nut ball Vietnam combat still fresh in their minds drill sergeants in basic, but the thought of this guy being in charge of me, along with the not even veiled first greeting death threats; man is this going to suck was all that was going through my mind. There was no doubt by the look in his eyes, the dead look of people who have seen to much to ever take back especially and most likely in some snake infested nightmare of a jungle. I re-assured him that I did not have any money and also did not plan on screwing up. He shrugged his shoulders and gave a sigh like he was bored of me now. He tried to get up out of my now crumpled bed but his legs buckled. He had to grab the bunk side bars and pull himself up. He turned as if to say something then stopped, shrugged his shoulders again, grabbed his beer, and then left stumbling back down the hall to another room of underlings to harass.

     Armstrong! Yo Armstrong. My mind came back to the formation and Sergeant Donny Lovon was standing in front of me asking” where were you boy?” What, I asked?  Where were you boy cause you sure ain’t here at the moment! “Oh yea I’m just tired,” I said. Donny and I had gotten to be fairly close in the past few months after he got to know me and vise verse. He was a carefree buck sergeant who brought his wife over to Germany and lived off base. I was one of the lucky few who got to go to his house and meet / party with his family; no military bullshit. We all called him “Donny Loven” as a company joke . But Donny took it seriously. That off base shit went back to normal on the job when he was my platoon sergeant and superior - but not there at his personal home. You got yourself in the shit now Armstrong, heck were all in the shit. You got your gear right; keep those live rounds secure, you know how they are about that shit. “What are we doing,” I asked? Some big shit cause they ain’t even telling me, I tried to ask top the same question and all I got was an irritated look and a, “when you need to know shit you’ll know shit speech.” Just then they called all the platoon sergeants to the front. After a brief period Sergeant Lovon went running back to us red faced, he then took his place along side the platoon and shouted attention! Forward March!

     They marched the whole company to the motor pool, and then marched us all to our assigned vehicle sections and we halted. Sergeant Lovon shouted “fire em up and wait for the order to move out.” We pulled in our truck and attached the generator trailer to the back. Everything was already in place and the trucks were kept full of gas for entirely just this reason. Donny ran up and tapped on our truck as we were pulling up into position to move out. He jumped inside and said “move out they gave the order.” Where we going serge? Said our teammate and driver Specialist Rodriguez, she was the cool one of the bunch in smarts and proficiency, she was a woman but let you know she was off limits and all business. If you wanted to talk with the boys and not want the Army brass to hear what you were saying, you shut up around her and did what she told you. Other than that she was alright. Donny told her to steer towards Baumholder. “Baumholder!” Me and Rodriguez both said at once. - “That’s where they keep the nukes,” I blurted out. Sergeant Donny Lovon looked at me with a serious expression we seldom shared together, he then simply said “that’s where were going,” and didn't say another word. We all stared straight ahead at the endless line of bug like military vehicles, all assorted according to their specialized operators and all converging on the exit of the military compound at once.

     When we arrived at Baumholder we didn't go in which confused me, “I guess we aren't staying,” I said perplexed. That’s when the long semi trucks with huge missiles on the back of them pulled out of the front gate of the base. Sergeant Lovon said “that’s our escort!” “Now where” Rodriguez said. “Just follow them Rodriguez, and don’t fall behind” Donny said, Specialist Rodriguez complied and there was silence once again. Suspicion and fear started to form a hard rock in the pit of my stomach, then infect my heart and mind – What the hell are we doing escorting nukes?

     The ride to the as yet still secret location was a strange and surreal trip of following an endless convoy of trucks into the mysterious dark German night, the destination a mystery. The situation upgraded itself to scary and not just weird anymore when the Autobahn signs on the freeway started saying were headed towards the East / West German border, otherwise known as the “Iron Curtain.” Crazy stuff was going through my mind - like the only reason to take nukes that close to the border is to use them. Desperate fantasies of hijacking a freighter and surviving nuclear destruction out in the middle of the ocean also ran through my mind and sounded better and better every time I looked at the machine gun in my hand and the stacks of ammunition clips they gave me. Coming to my senses I looked behind us at the endless trial of trucks following us and ahead of us and reality returned with the comic idea of our captain letting us just turn around and go our own marry little way in the middle of a mission. I chuckled to myself.  I've heard they shoot people for that sort of thing in war time – Is this War. In my M.O.S. (Military Occupation Specialty), the estimated time of survival in a war with Russia was five minutes on the battlefield before their equipment tuned in on my equipment, then sent rockets over to my exact address to destroy the area, equipment, and myself, right where I just set up camp. That was a depressing statistic back then as it was now; it always made me wonder why the Army felt the need to be so mentally cruel as to give me those kinds of statistical numbers. Obviously all they cared about was motivation and obedience to bullshit. The moral of the troops barely crossed their minds; not until it was usually too late and the damage was already done.

     I felt alone in the cab of the truck. Both Donny and Specialist Rodriguez had stopped communicating. I also realization this situation was overwhelming all of us. It was like we were separated in our own minds, but stranded together in the gravity and hopelessness of our situation. We were helpless to help each other cope, coping individually the best way we could. The glowing lights of the Iron Curtain were starting to become visible ahead in the darkness. A snaking massive terrible vision across the German landscape. It was bathed in a dark and light nightmare that festered somewhere in the middle of the midnight of our minds, preventing us from doing anything to turn away from it; hypnotized by it’s tragic horrible beauty. The radio crackled our code sign and Sergeant Lovon listened intently to the coded message writing it down on his small notepad, he quickly had me give him the code book, DE-coded the message, and then he sharply said into the microphone “Yes Sir,” followed by a confirmation and an over and out. Donny looked over to Rodriguez and said, “Turn it around specialist; we've been called back to base.” Rodriguez coolly said a “Yes Sergeant” back at him trying not to break into too much of a smile and keeping up her usual composure complied with Donny’s order. “What the fuck are you serious,” I shouted. Then I proceeded to grab Donny and shook him around a little until I realized what I was doing. That was too much for the specialist and she broke out in laughter and swerved a little on the road as the sergeant grabbed the dash and ordered me let go of him. He laughed and said “I know who I can trust now to keep their head.” He then nudged me and quietly said to me so Rodriguez couldn't hear,” one way or another were slipping away and getting a beer.”

     The trip back was a lively one that passed by like time was in hyper-drive. Our minds also reverted back to all the happy hopes and dreams that make and defined our existences, purposely dismissing the fact that we almost helped wipe those same human concepts from the planet by enforcing our government’s insanity. We dropped our nuclear friends off back at the base entrance to Baumholder where we picked them up at. When we reached our own base in Bad Kreuznach we were starving and exhausted after our mutual adrenaline rushes had long since worn off. We endured the long line back into the base and finally parked our rig in the motor pool after unhooking our generators. Now we were off towards the barracks and hopefully food. I shouted at a soldier what the fuck was all that about! He shouted back “President was shot.” What your joking I said. Donny said “Oh Shit!” Patted me on the back. “Sorry Armstrong I think I better get back to my wife in this kind of shit!” Later serge I said. Rodriguez lived off base also and said her quick formal goodbyes to me then left for home, I assumed to meet her boy / girl friend, I could never tell.

     As I entered the barracks I followed the hooting and hollering into the game room and found a melee of happy soldiers. The room was full of tables, piles of steaks in warmers with all the fixings, and a couple of kegs of Ice cold beer. I also found out after guzzling more than a few beers in a row that we were pulled back a little after President Reagan came out of surgery. Given how close we were to the “Iron Curtain,” I could only imagine what could have happened if he died right as we arrived with all our weapons of mass destruction. I looked at my plate of steak and my glass of beer, then looked at the taped Super Bowl on the television screen and thought to myself – This is our reward for giving into human nature and almost destroying it all - I felt a tingle up the back of my neck and turned around in my seat to find Sergeant Leroy Gatore standing behind me. His arm swung and I braced myself once more for an impending blow - The staff sergeant patted me on the back and said “Good Work Soldier,’ then bee lined for the kegs of beer. The ironic nature of the whole nights experience made one thing clear in my mind, a sort of new goal I was intent on fulfilling as soon as I could - Get the hell out of the Army!

In the Middle of Midnight

By Brian Thomas Armstrong


Quick Biography
Of Author

     I was born in San Francisco and moved to Washington State as a small child. I grew up a hippie kid in the 60 s and 70 s with very liberal parents. I joined the Army at the age of 17 and went to Germany. I was deployed to the Iron Curtain as an escort for a convoy of nuclear weapons when President Reagan was shot and we were recalled and turned back just in sight of the lights of the border when the President came out of surgery in stable condition. I was married, widowed, and then raised two boys as a single father. I moved on to commercial property maintenance and ran that business for twenty years until the economy wiped out my “Maw and Pop” shop owner clientele and I decided to go back to college.

Reagan Shot!

(First Paragraph, In the Middle of Midnight, Brian Armstrong, © 2 / 2013)

“He was within fifteen feet of the president when he pulled a .22 caliber revolver and unloaded his weapon at Reagan six times “

 (Image, Google Search, Reagan Shot, Web)

Germany – Bad Kreuznach
(Image, Map, Google Search, Bad Kreuznach, Web)

The Old Nazi Barracks

     ”I dragged my ass up the front stairs of the 1940’s style old German Nazi barracks by the hand railing, moaning and groaning to myself as I somehow made it to the second floor. I then found my way to my room and more importantly my bunk.” (Page one third paragraph, In the Middle of Midnight, Brian Armstrong, © 2 / 2013)

(Image, Google Search, Rose Barracks, Web)

Base Sirens!

(Page One Forth Para. In the Middle of Midnight, Brian Armstrong, © 2 / 2013)

     “I started to unlace my boots when the outside base alert siren went off. The other soldiers who shared the room with me started waking up asking what was happening. I shrugged and couldn't think of anything to say but “beats me!” The inside barracks shrill ear piercing alarm went off then as I jumped a bit off of my bunk in surprise, “what the fuck!”


“They marched the whole company to the motor pool, and then marched us all to our assigned vehicle sections and we halted.
Paragraph 10, Page one, In The Middle of Midnight – Brian Thomas Armstrong © 2 / 2013

                                     (Image,, Web)


“Donny told her to steer towards Baumholder. “Baumholder! ” Me and Rodriguez both said at once - “That’s where they keep the nukes,” I blurted out.”

                            (Middle eleventh paragraph, the Middle of Midnight, Brian Armstrong, © 2 / 2013)

(Image, Associated Press, Tactical Nuclear Weapon, Germany, Circa 1980 s, Web)

Oh what a wicked web we weave; when we believe in anybody but ourselves! -  Quote by Brian Thomas Armstrong ©2013

The Iron Curtain

(Image, Google Search, Iron Curtain, Web)

Escorting our Nukes to Hell!

     “It was bathed in a dark and light nightmare that festered somewhere in the middle of the midnight of our minds, preventing us from doing anything to turn away from it; hypnotized by it’s tragic horrible beauty."

(Para. 13, the Middle of Midnight, Brian Thomas Armstrong, © 2 / 2013)

Called Back To Base

     The radio crackled our code sign and Sergeant Lovon listened intently to the coded message writing it down on his small notepad, he quickly had me give him the code book, DE-coded the message, and then he sharply said into the microphone “Yes Sir” followed by a confirmation and an over and out. Donny looked over to Rodriguez and said, “Turn it around specialist; we've been called back to base.”

(Paragraph 14, Page 2, In the Middle of Midnight, Brian Thomas Armstrong © 2 / 2013)

Back to Normal

“We were starving and exhausted after our mutual adrenaline rushes had long since worn off. We endured the long line back into the base and finally parked our rig in the motor pool after unhooking our generators. Now we were off towards the barracks and hopefully food. I shouted at a soldier what the fuck was all that about! He shouted back “President was shot.”

(Paragraph 16, Page 3, In the Middle of Midnight, Brian Thomas Armstrong ©2013)

Sergeant Gator

     I felt a tingle up the back of my neck and turned around in my seat to find Sergeant Leroy Gatore standing behind me. His arm swung and I braced myself once more for an impending blow - The staff sergeant patted me on the back and said “Good Work Soldier.”

 (16th Para.-Ending of In the Middle of Midnight, Brian Thomas Armstrong © 2 / 2013)

Reflection Letter

     I think about those times in my life when I was young and naive as some of the greatest tests of my soul’s integrity; passed or failed. I strive to pass the story on to at least show some people how other people deal with those terrible predicaments in life that every man or woman faces at one time or another; the choice to do right or wrong or nothing at all, and then forever reflect on it.

Brian Thomas Armstrong
(Author, In the Middle of Midnight, © 2 / 2013)

Interview: Laurie Armstrong, mother of Brian Thomas Armstrong, author of In the Middle of Midnight.

l      Brian Armstrong:  Hi mom how are you feeling today?
l      Laurie Armstrong: I am feeling just fine, thank you dear, I am looking forward to spring and my garden and it feels good to see the sun poke its head out from the clouds.
l      Brian Armstrong: Did you read the ruff draft I sent you of my short story In the Middle of Midnight?
l      Laurie Armstrong: I did read it and I am very proud of you, both in the way your writing is improving and in what you went through and how you made it through it without going to war with a place like Russia, especially in those times.
l      Brian Armstrong: I didn’t have time to think about it really and they didn’t give us any information to think about. They just yell at you and you jump up and do it just like they train you to do and that’s it – the thinking process is taken out of the equation when it comes to enlisted men.
l      Brian Armstrong: Do you remember when I first told you I had enlisted?
l      Laurie Armstrong: Yes I certainly do! I almost wrecked my car- I could have brained you at the time.
l      “Mutual laughter”
l      Brian Armstrong: You hit the brakes so hard you swerved and almost ditched us then started shouting different desperate ways to UN-enlist me, but I told you it was too late and I was going.
l      Laurie Armstrong: I got used to the notion of you being away in the service overseas but I never really liked it; I am so glad you never made a career out of it.
l      Brian Armstrong: That makes two of us mom!
l      “Mutual Laughter”
l      Brian Armstrong: Thanks mom for doing this small interview. Love you mom.
l      Laurie Armstrong: I love you to son, keep up the good work.

l      End of Interview with Laurie Armstrong
mother of Brian Thomas Armstrong.


                            Global -



In the Middle of Midnight on Yahoo

l      In the Middle of Midnight  2/25/2013

The American “Cold War” with Russia was at its peak in the 1980 s. Our misunderstandings of each other compounded by our totally different ideologies and perceptions of democracy, life and liberty were common worldly knowledge. What was not commonly known was how many times our differences almost destroyed us all.