“Ray…oh God, Ray”, she moaned. But the vibrator paid her no mind. It had work to do. Vibrator work….

I have the feeling that this column By Jennifer Harper in the Moonie Times is gonna make Peggy Noonan hotter than Georgia asphalt.

He’s a lean stretch of American soldier: 6 feet of him, with the burnished edges of a man who’s spent time in the desert.

Ray is on leave from Iraq.

He has had two weeks to revel in the good stuff of home — the clean sheets and hot showers, the pretty girls and perfectly tuned engines he left behind.


For now, Ray has replaced his desert fatigues and body armor with black leather leggings, faded jeans and black leather jacket embroidered with an American flag across the back and a sewn-on patch for a Beretta 92 pistol. He stands beside a flawless blue 1340cc Harley-Davidson, a formidable portrait in the parking lot of a rest stop on a Virginia highway.

The 18-wheelers thunder past, and Harleys, too, their tell-tale roar clear and pointed above the traffic noise. Ray doesn’t see the traffic. He doesn’t even turn to watch his brother Harley riders go by.

He keeps his eyes fixed on a line of trees done up in the autumnal colors of a temperate climate: amber, bronze, marrow red, set off against a blue sky.

“The trees, man,” he says. “Beautiful. Beautiful, man.”

Yeah, man….



Yeah. Like I would tell you....