In the most recent edition of my newsletter, I was so caught up with updates about my book with Bad Religion that I neglected to mention my friend Greg Olear had published one of my essays in the Sunday Pages edition of his very popular newsletter, PREVAIL.
For the last year or so, Greg has been writing about the widespread corruption endemic to the Trump White House. He’s not the only one on doing this, but Greg serves his serious, well-written takes with a side of humor that never crosses the line into hysteria. He’s the Trevor Noah of the anti-Trump beat.
That, to my mind anyway, made PREVAIL the perfect place for a short essay about an experience I had while I was in the Navy. The essay had been published in a few other places, including Incoming, an anthology of veteran writing by the San Diego literary non-profit So Say We All; but unless you’ve had the misfortune of hearing me read it aloud, very few of my friends and acquaintances have heard this story.
Perhaps that’s for the best. It’s not so much an essay but the kind of story one tells late at night when your judgment goes out the window and the meanness you’ve kept at bay comes to the surface. You can either get in a fight or tell a story like the one I’m going to share with you now, and ruin everyone’s night.
It’s a true tale of the twisted fleet. It’s a mean, low-down, disgusting story. It’s called “Beef.”
You’ve been warned.
Enjoy your Sunday.
If you can.
Yer pal,
Jim
P.S. Want a second helping? Perhaps you’ll enjoy this short story about a woman who opens a vegan food truck with her worthless husband.
I mean, Mike was just saying what we're all thinking