This is all kinds of fucked up

I'll preface this by telling you about an old friend of mine, Burley. He's a Vietnam vet. Back in my college days, during summer break, I used to hang out with his daughter and get stoned just about every night. Once in a while, if we couldn't get ahold of any pot, he'd hook us up by leaning over and flicking a joint from behind his ear onto the kitchen table. Good times.

Burley was in the heavy shit in Vietnam. I don't know what happened exactly, because he didn't talk about it much. But I do know from bits and pieces of conversations with him and his daughter that he was a bad mother-fucker and was involved in some truly terrible things. It's hard to reconcile that image with the kind, gentle man I know, but I don't doubt that it's true.

He's spent the years since the war thinking about it. Haunted, repentant, and truly convinced that he is going to Hell for the things he did. Medicated, self-medicated, and, more recently, in and out of mental hospitals.

And with that introduction I give you King of Zembla's post, Porn for Monsters.