CONTENTS The DavidScully Post

the va

aka the veterans' administration

The VA has been an arm of the security agencies, and have given me prescriptions that were harmful to me. For 7 years I have limped around with extremely swollen knees, suffering from inflamed bursa (and what's called a Baker's Cyst) For 7 years! And I brought it to the attemtion of the VA several times. On two occasions, they had extremely young and attractive females give me sonograms, running the instrument by hand on the back of my knees and up my thigh close to my groin So they just played nonsensical head games of some sort, but never treated the inflammation. They mentioned aspiration (draining it) but never did it. I deferred, thinking the medical professionals knew better, and never imagining they would be violating their oath by failing to treat me. Eventually, recently, after it became crystal clear to me that the VA is my enemy and not my friend (because they always now have security agency people attending to me, not medical personnel, or medics who are also security agents), I studied about inflamed bursa and Baker's Cysts on the internet, and the consensus was that aspiration is a trivial process. One site put it this was, "If you're even thinking about it, you should do it. It's that trivial."


It was trivial. The doctor stuck a needle behind my left knee and took out 3 1/2 vials (35 ml) of fluid. He aspirated 5 vials (50 ml) of fluid from my right thigh.

The Juarez doctor expressed astonishment that I had been able to walk. SUCH IS THE VA AND THEIR TREATMENT OF THIS VETERAN. Wait. It gets worse.

Back near sacramento at the mather va (formerly mather afb), right there under the controlling thumb of U.S. Senator barbara boxer's office, and a short distance from sac state (cal state univ sacramento) they seemed obsessed with giving me colonoscopies. I actually let them do it once (again, deferring to the medical pro's), but then they said it was only a partial, and that they wanted to do it again, and it seemed that for years any va that I ever went to seemed obsessed with giving me a colonoscopy. The first one was humiliating as two middle-aged females who looked more like they belonged in barbara boxer's office stuck a tube in my ass and it was like they were sexing me, and it was unpleasant. In retrospect, the macabre notion that they were just "fucking with me" again is all too real. At the va hospital in lebanon pa, near middletown they seemed so interested in my stool. They wanted me to mail my stool to them every week, or something. In retrospect, this obsession with colonoscopies (fucking me) and my stool seems related to barbara boxer as commentary on the newsletters I wrote (i.e., they were "shit"). In fact, the time barbara boxer tried to frame me with bankruptcy fraud ( it's in my ebook, www.davidscully.com/TheTruth.htm ) the bankruptcy attorney who was conspiring with them was jerking me around and wasting all my time there in the federal building near barbara boxer's office and he presented me with a scrap of paper and had me write and sign something and the imagery there and the symbology, again, is that what I wrote at sac state was trash.

but this is where it's at with what I did at sac state in 1982. I was right and I am still right. they were wrong and they are still wrong. If they don't like the way I got so tough on them in my newsletters, they could have, in a civil and collegial manner, responded and engaged in the community dialogue I requested when I overtly requested a university community dialogue about the entitled 1960's white bratch COBOL instructor from Georgia (where they had slavery) and hippie department chair's wife, sticking her finger to my nose scolding "white men have it coming to them!" and telling us we can't say the word "gal" anymore, while she used the nword! Specifically, this entitled white womens' libber of the sixties, julie gwynn, of The Oldest Childrenation, the brats born in the forties, my COBOL instructor (in a position of authority), the wife of the hippie john gwynn, the department chair, lured me to "network" with the department at The Graduate sports bar, engaged in continuous sexual flirtation and mockery in concert with other faculty and senior students, etc. etc. etc, told us that her daughter at stanford said we couldn't say "gal" anymore (I'd never said it), and told us that "CALLING A WHITE WOMAN A WOMENS' LIBBER IS JUST AS BAD AS CALLING A BLACK MAN A N!@%^R" AND SHE ACTUALLY SAID THE WORD (SHE DIDN'T SAY "NWORD". SHE SAID "N!@%^R".) (I NEVER SAID THAT WORD EITHER) MEANWHILE, HER FINGER POINTED SCOLDINGLY AND AGGRESSIVELY TO MY NOSE, SHE, FROM GEORGIA WHERE THEY HAD SLAVES, AND ME FROM NEW JERSEY WITH AN ANCESTOR WHO WAS A UNION ARMY OFFICER.

And then, a couple of decades later, we have armstrong and getty, radio brats at limbaugh's station kfbk in sacramento, saying "she was just trying to get you laid, man." So here are my two retorts to the white womens' libbers, those sixties brats of The Oldest Childrenation, and to those African American who seek reparations. So, to all white females who complain of attempted rape or rape, the proper reply should then be, "Aw, we was just tryin' to get you laid, girl!" And to the African Americans, I say this, "You were mum when I asked, outraged, for you to express your opinion about her statement that essentially equated the experience of being a white women's libber to the experience of being a slave. So...good. That's your position. Let the white Graduate Student endure an avalanche of shit for requesting a civil dialogue.. Ignore him. Remain mum. No, better yet, join in the harassment and intimidation. Ok, so then, you are cool with it that being a slave is just equivalent to being a white womens' libber. Discussion over. No reparations.


(Now, I have recurrently thought over the "WHY" of this over the decades. In my ebook www.davidscully.com/TheTruthOurGraduateStudent.htm I discussed the self-doubt I experienced as almost everyone I spoke to just shook their heads cluelessly, saying that they just didn't get it. WHY did they pick on me? I can think of three reasons. 1. I had a creepy ex-brother-in-law, Charles Weldon, who was a computer science professor at City College in Manhattan, NYC. He used to be my mentor and advisor but he used me to spite my sister after their bitter divorce (they stood on a corner in Paris, spitting on one another during their "honeymoon.") He was Jewish (funny, he didn't LOOK Jewish!) 2. I came from a culture and a time of expressive writing (think Norman Mailer and Tom Wolfe) (I do not idolize Mailer but he influenced me when young and with his writing and intellectual courage. I think he was nutty to stab his wife and write a book trying to get into the mind of a murderer. Who cares? What a waste of time? It was offhand remarks by my mother, who thought she was sophisticated, but also this: Mailer was a WWII combat veteran who was a leading antiwar activist against the vietnam war. Torn between obedience to family and jesuits and the persuasive antiwar arguments of the rest of the world, Mailer was a voice that said, "It's ok to protest the vietnam war. I'm a WWII combat vet." And, he was a distinguished Harvard intellectual and Pulitzer Prize winning writer.) and when I had an over-the-top flaky History professor at UCD, (back to the thought) I came from a culture and a time of expressive writing I wrote an over-the-top term paper in response. The course title was "European Intellectual History 1850 to 1890" or some such dates. He locked himself up in his room for the hour before his class. Then he took a deep breath and ranted for an hour nonstop without taking another breath, going on and on about bob dylan and the "exciting" feminist movement and how many Jews (sic) (I say "Jewish people") went to harvard. We clashed over my honest and creative term paper which was totally relevant to his class as he presented it. 3. I married a filipina who worked in a club on the strip in olongapo, philippines. It was a huge mistake (nobody's perfect. the navy should never have approved of the marriage). She was a disaster, resentful, sullen, disappointed (she already had two children, and one had died and I often wonder if it really was an accident) (she had a maid when we were in Olongapo, but all the filipinas over here had a job and no maid). I was busier than hell just trying to make it (and give her a nice life). Everything I did was "abusive," but those weren't her words. Her English was so poor she didn't even know what the word meant. She got it from the american complaining culture she encountered, who encouraged her to fight me. I taught her to drive a car. That was abusing her. I enrolled her in an ESL class in Alameda. That was abusing her. Everything I did was abusing her. She said I would really, really be "soo ah ree." "you will see, Debit. You will be so soo ah ree." I just figured she was experiencing culture shock and what she said didn't make sense, because I was only providing and working. Problem is, we weren't in love, and she wasn't being spoiled with a maid. I just ignored her and carried on working and figured she'd adapt and adjust to live over here. I ALWAYS went out of my way to find filipine families to live near and to socialize with them, for her sake. Anyway, she was true to her word (and it mirrored a story she told me of how she got a boy on her filipine island in trouble). She did nothing but commplain to everyone about me. It was her full-time occupation, complaining about me. So the story fit the liberals' stereotype of the abusive American and the poor filipina, even though the opposite was true. I was the innocent American boy and they hustled us to the marriage ceremony and hustled her to the U.S. Her strategy did turn out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy to a certain extent as she sabotaged every effort and dream I ventured upon (2 1/2 acres of land in knights landing, ca, law school, employment at sacramento county, ownership of the house in sacramento, and reasonable custody and father/daughter relationship with my daughter).

Similarly, simple religious fanatic stevie wartgo who fantasizes about being a military officer could have had a dialog with me if he heard things he didn't like in the four days between hiring me Thursday and having teachers yell at me ane stick a knife to my belly Tuesday. The fact that he didn't take this common sense step EVER indicates that the entire thing was a SETUP and A FRAUD and that his dream came true in that he WAS working for the fbi/cia/security agencies, just like the simple-minded nitwits at the trucking conmpanies.

Another thing. At the va in minot nd, they sent me for a hearing test. Why? I don't know? I had never indicated (or presented) in any way as hard of hearing. They said I could hear the left better, though I thought I could hear the right better. But it probably wasn't about hearing at all, in the literal sense. It was probably to mean that I couldn't hear the messages that the LEFT and the RIGHT were giving me. I guess both of those messages were/are "FUCK YOU!" They just work together and scratch each others' backs and wash each others' hands. the minot va is the one that sent me to a hospital to have a hot teenage girl run her hands up and down the backs of my legs around my knees with a sonogram. What was the point? Some kind of psych game. They never aspirated the fluid. I HAD TO GO TO MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS IN JUAREZ MZ TO GET THAT DONE! But wait. It gets worse. They lured me into trying to get a PTSD claim. (a lot of luring done, just like they lured me into The Graduate bar at sac state) My Indian doctor there at mather said I showed signs of PTSD. I rejected the idea of accepting a mental health stigma, but eventually I figured "what the hell. I've been sanctioned and I can't get any employment worth having,, so PTSD claims are welfare for veterans and everybody does it. Not much of a stigma there. But then they played "bait and switch" and the vietnamese psychiatrist, who saw me once for 10 or 15 minutes, and who couldn't speak a word of intelligible English (it was all ding, dong, ng, nang, gong, ang, dick, dong, doong, ding, etc.), and a few psychology majors from sac state (out to destroy me since 1982), and gave me a couple of prescriptions. Another doctor said "if it helps, take it," and I thought his reasoning made sense because, after all, I buy lots of supplements off the Wal Mart shelf because I've read that they're good for you, so why should I be biased against prescription "supplements?" One of them knocked me out to sleep even in the smallest doses (quetiapine), so I used it as a sleeping pill sometimes. They gave me another one too, which I took sporadically but I couldn't feel any effect, and had no idea what it was for or what it was supposed "to make better," but I was trusting in the medical personnel. UNTIL, many years later (5 or 6 years later or so) the physician at the camp hill pa va outreach medical clinic told me to stop taking it because it was only making me lethargic and causing weight gain.

In other words, the vietnamese psychiatrist at mather and the sac state psychology majors were just drugging me on orders from barbara boxer.