WWII military commentator? Even a dog could be one.

37. Sean Wayne and MacArthur's Fuck Greeting

Life is tough, but Sean perseveres.

They still have to earn money themselves. Although they are wealthy, they don't feel like wealthy people.

As the car drove on, when they arrived in Las Vegas, Sean, though he had expected it, found that Las Vegas in 1940 was very different from what he had imagined.

Outside the car window were ordinary streets with concrete surfaces; there were no tall buildings in sight, the tallest being only three or four stories high.

There are no dazzling neon lights all over the streets, nor are there large screens everywhere.

Sean looked around for a long time but couldn't find a single casino hotel.

Is this still Las Vegas?

Sean felt a huge sense of disillusionment; the Las Vegas of today couldn't compare to Atlantic City, near New York, which was the gambling capital of this era.

Vegas today is just a young man who founded the city, who is less than 35 years old.

The roads are wide, and there are some one- or two-story clubs along the highway, as well as quite a few bars.

The roadside was lined with cars that all resembled beetles in shape, but there were no rectangular sedans in sight.

Sean looked up at the sun in the sky, which was bright and dazzling. The air was filled with the smell of scorching earth, and the heat made him feel uneasy.

We arrived at the venue set up by the organizers, the Nevada Club.

Sean looked at the two-story building in front of him, its exterior painted orange-red, making it look like an orange; it resembled a supermarket.

They parked the car in the parking lot opposite the club, and the three of them got out, carrying their own luggage bags.

A huge cardboard sign was erected at the entrance of the club, surrounded by colorful balloons.

Gun Hunting Festival

Is this a low-budget version of the 1940 World's Fair of Light Arms?

As the three walked to the entrance, a man in front of the club's main entrance curiously sized up Sean.

"Are you here for the hunting festival?"

Sean also sized up the other man, a middle-aged man with a scar on the corner of his mouth and burn marks where his neck and left shoulder met. He should be a World War I veteran.

"I am Sean Wayne."

"That critic, Sean Wayne?" The man looked at the young man in front of him with surprise.

The other person was wearing a dark gray shirt and gray trousers. Unlike others, he didn't tuck the hem of his shirt into his trousers, but left it casually hanging out. His collar was also unbuttoned, giving him a very relaxed look.

This is quite different from mainstream fashion.

The young man had a smile on his face and a gentle gaze, devoid of any aggression.

This was completely different from the military expert I had imagined. God, he was too young.

"it's me."

Hearing Sean's answer, the man still couldn't hide his surprise. He extended his hand, "I'm a director of the Rifle Association. My name is McDonald, Martin McDonald."

"Hello." Sean also extended his hand.

"Welcome, Mr. Sean. You and your wife share a room in the accommodation area at the back of the club, E213. Your daughter lives next door, 214. Your daughter is lovely, and your wife is beautiful."

"I'm single," Sean said solemnly.

Hanni chuckled softly, her lips pursed, while Marilyn glared at her fiercely.

What? I should have heard "thank you" instead.

Martin looked behind Sean and saw Hanni standing quietly, holding her handbag in both hands.

Marilyn Monroe, with her short blonde hair and tomboyish attire, kicked the ground with a disgruntled expression.

Are you single? Then who is the woman behind you?

"I'm sorry, I need to inform the association to reschedule."

"No need, they can have one room, and I'll have one room."

"Alright, if you insist, Mr. Sean, the German army landed in Norway yesterday. How will the war develop from here?"

As soon as Martin finished speaking, Marilyn burst into laughter and reached out her hand to Hanni.

"Am I right? The first thing they'll ask about is the war. $5, you've lost."

Hanni picked up her bag and counted the coins for the little guy.

Martin gave an awkward laugh. "Sorry, you must be tired. I'll take you to your rooms first."

Sean was also embarrassed; everyone who saw him only wanted to ask how the war would go.

Can we talk about something else? Can't men talk about women?

The Nevada Club, despite its name, is essentially a hotel, featuring a lawn and swimming pool at the back of a massive two-story building.

There are some accommodation rooms around the pool, similar to those in a motel.

The swimming pool was in the center of the courtyard, and there were many people in the two-story walkway around it, who seemed to be attendees of the conference.

"Mr. Sean, besides you, there are also some business representatives and newspaper reporters here. We will set up a booth at the club, and there will be an open exchange meeting at the club tomorrow morning. The day after tomorrow, there will be a shooting competition that anyone can participate in."

Colt will cover all your expenses this time.

"Oh, by the way, Mr. Sean, would you like to join the Rifle Association? I can be your recommender."

"The Rifle Association?"

"Yes, if you join the Rifle Association, we will issue you a gun license, and you can legally own and carry some powerful firearms when you go out."

"OK."

Martin smiled happily, "Actually, our association has a strong network and influence, and we have millions of members."

Many of them are World War I veterans. You know, we've been on the battlefield. We can't live without weapons. Without guns, we can't even sleep; we feel uneasy.

Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

Sean understood why these people insisted on owning firearms. Of course, the Rifle Association's members were not only veterans, but also a large number of ranchers and private landowners.

These people feel safe only when they have weapons.

Therefore, every issue concerning firearms is met with obstruction from the Rifle Association, and of course, the influence of the military industry also plays a role.

"Isn't the Veterans Affairs Bureau going to handle this?"

"All they do is tell us to fill out forms and wait for notification. Haha, nobody cares about us veterans," Martin laughed self-deprecatingly.

They're making trouble because they don't have money, especially since the economy hasn't taken off yet.

Sean followed Martin to his room. Looking inside, although it wasn't very luxurious, it had a fan, a shower, and a black-and-white television.

"Okay, I won't bother you anymore."

Martin smiled and left, telling Sean before he left, "I'll get your membership card ready tomorrow, and your rifle certificate too. You know we have the authority to issue certificates."

Martin reiterated the power of the Rifle Association.

Sean smiled nonchalantly; having multiple certificates wasn't a bad thing.

After putting down my luggage, I went into the bathroom for a refreshing shower, but the sticky sweat on my body made me feel uncomfortable both physically and mentally.

The next morning, Sean turned on the TV and opened the door.

The first breath was filled with the scorching Nevada air.

This place is really no fun. There are no shows, no casinos, and you can't even see an amusement park.

I woke up feeling sticky and irritable all over.

"Ugh, FCUK!" Sean vented his frustration.

"FUCK TOO!" came the same shout from the house across the street.

I didn't insult you, I was just venting my frustration. Look at this guy.

"FUCK YOU!" Sean exhaled sharply, letting out a hard sigh.

"FUCK YOU TOO!" The other side didn't hold back either.

Sean laughed. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Douglas, my name is Douglas."

"FCUK YOU Douglas".

"What's your name?"

"Sean, Sean Wayne!" Sean yelled at the top of his lungs.

"FUCK YOU TOO Sean!" the other person yelled back, straining their neck.

The two exchanged friendly greetings like neighbors, and one by one, the doors of the surrounding rooms opened, and a group of people came out to look at the two madmen.

Martin handed Sean two small notebooks. "Mr. Sean, do you know General Douglas MacArthur, our guest from the Philippines?"

"What?" Sean listened quietly, pointing to his neighbor across the street, "You mean that's Douglas MacArthur?"

"It's him!"

"I don't know him."

"Don't you two know me? Why are you 'FUCK'ing me like that?" Martin's eyes were filled with confusion, but his face was happy, as if to say, "Good for you!"

"Hey Mike." Sean gripped the railing with both hands, looking towards the pool.

"WHAT?"

"OMG Fuck!"