Oops It's Not Gatorade, And Don't You Just Hate It When You Are Getting Shot At And Your Car Won't Start...

Tuesday, December 16, 2008 1822 hrs.

So it’s been awhile since I last wrote anything. Probably a good thing, because if the books I have been getting from my dear mother are any indication my use of the English language is offensive in the extreme. So bearing that in mind why don't we just continue on butchering it. C'mon it'll be fun.

First let me tell you the stories behind the title of this post. Number one is "Oops, its not Gatorade” Which could be a very disturbing story if you have ever been on a long road trip where you haven't stopped for any "constitutionals" for a long time. But that isn't what happened. Here is what happened.

We got this vehicle called an ASV. Don't ask me what the hell it stands for because I don't care. The Army and its acronyms really get on my damn nerves. But basically it’s a huge steel brick that is incredibly hard to get in and out of. So the soldiers operating this thing, once they are inside don't usually get out until the mission is over. So they have to cram everything they need for however long we are going to be gone into the damn thing. The inside is roughly the size of a sardine can anyways, so suffice it to say I always pull up a front row seat for them getting into this thing everyday.

So one of our soldiers who rides in this thing is...how can I put this gently...dumber than a football bat. We call him "Special Ed" due to his amazing lack of measurable intelligence. I still wonder how natural selection hasn't been able to weed him out yet. (We have made this world entirely too safe) But anyways he was sitting in the back of this thing. The place where the only real job you have is to hand drinks and snacks to the guys driving and shooting the guns.

So the driver, a friend of mine, we'll call him "Stretch" due to the fact that he is the only guy around here who is taller than me. He asks Special Ed for a drink. He wanted some Gatorade. And unfortunately for him, not only do we use Gatorade bottles for drinking and relieving ourselves, but since the Army doesn't see fit to supply us with containers for our vehicle fluids, we also use them to house all the oil, transmission fluid, and power steering fluid that we need to keep this hunk of shit vehicles running. Well guess which one he gave him...if you guessed transmission fluid then get yourself a cookie. Stretch proceeded to take a big ole' swig of tranny fluid and promptly began to vomit all over the inside of the vehicle while it was in motion. So there I am, in the truck right behind Stretch, completely ignorant of all of these goings on, and all I see is the truck violently turn to the right and sail off the road and right into a ditch. Luckily the tires on this thing are the size of Ted Kennedy's ass, so it was able to negotiate its way out fairly easily.

As soon as we got back and found out about this, we changed Stretch's name to "Tranny” He hates that, which makes it all the more fun for me.

Moving on, "Don't you just hate it when you're getting shot at and your car won't start”?

Well it finally happened, we got shot at. Nothing big, just Mr. Taliban Man reminding us that he was still here. Opened up on us with some machine guns and small arms and sent a few of those exploding rocks our way. Not exactly fun, but at least it livened up the day. The only real problem was that the lead vehicle started doing this stop and go thing.

It would run for about 35-40 seconds, and then it would die, and be dead for about 5 minutes, and we would sit there looking at it and then move along again. Not a big deal. Its not like I have a real full social calendar here. But when those little death pellets start flying around I would really like to be able to leave as soon as possible. However, now we had to sit there and just wait for the rain. If you know what I mean.

Then the fire came. Fun for us. I wish I could tell you more but once again the mighty mean green machine would be pissed at me because they really hate it when people tell the public that there really is a war going on here. But we managed to limp out of there 35 seconds at a time until we were safe. Then the fucking thing died. And stayed dead.

So we sat there for about 4 hours waiting for the recovery team to come and get us. Actually, I came closer to death from them than I did from the bad guys. In their haste to get out to us, they were driving incredibly fast in vehicles that weigh about 30,000 lbs. apiece. And we were around a bend in the road. So they flew around the bend, and missed the front of my truck by about 30 feet. I wish I would've shoved a lump of coal up my ass because with how hard I tightened up I would have myself a nice diamond right now.

But so it goes.

Now I have been informed that a friend of mine back home used one of my previous posts as the basis for his lecture at an actual university. One that I graduated from. (Excuse me while I pat myself on the back) Yep that was me shamelessly bragging. So now I actually have to come up with poignant and hard-hitting posts every time. Ahh, this is going to suck. But I'll embrace it. But John, if you or any of your students want to ask any questions, bring em on. I need inspiration.

Now, for everyone who has been sending me stuff. THANK YOU VERY MUCH. I have never seen so much shit in my life. Mail has come twice in the past two weeks and I have gotten at least 10 boxes each time. I have a lifetime supply of pop tarts, baby wipes, hand warmers and sunflower seeds. Not to mention, to the boys at 1205. The Illinois School Board Journal was indeed some very interesting reading! (How did you guys know I was a connoisseur of education journals?)...(Do you know how hard it is to spell connoisseur)

Thank you notes are on the way to all of you. I appreciate everything you are doing for us, more than I will ever be able to tell you.

Now what is going on now. There is an election coming up here. So we have to run all over the place trying to get people to vote and keep the routes open so they can register to vote and what not. Anyone who thinks soldiers aren't instruments of politics is fucking stupid.

So I will leave you with this. I am compiling a list. One hundred ways to know you are in AssCrackIstan. Here are the first 8.

1. You smoke to improve the quality of your dust.
2. Your hummer’s heat works in the summertime and the air conditioner works in the winter. But never the other way around.
3. You put 25 miles on your humvee within 1 click (1000 meters) of the FOB.
4. You have had an 8-year-old bum a cigarette.
5. Roads on your maps are really creeks.
6. If you have ever had a donkey bring your vehicle to a screeching halt.
7. You ever met a kid who wanted your pens more than he wanted your candy.
8. You have ever seen a man with no pants chasing a donkey with a leash on.
9. You have ever seen a grown man punch a goat.


I'll give you the rest when I come up with them.

Later, I am done now.

I love you mom...