To AirmanMom and anyone else who wants to send me books. I would love any of the classics. Shakespeare, Twain, Dostoevsky, or any of those books. Particularly Henry V. But any books would be great, if I don't read them someone will.
Secondly, I would like to ask all of you to send me your questions. Ask me about the Army, Afghanistan, deployment, or whatever you want. The more the better. I WILL answer them all.
Thanks
Later,
I love you mom...
Jan 7, 2009
Two Balls Following A COCK...
Wednesday, January 7, 2009 1801 hrs.
Yep that's right I was one of the testicles following the COCK today.
I love this because now I figured out a way to bitch and be funny at the same time, so come along with me won't you.
Like I told you we are the platoon that has to guard this joint now. So we only have to really work like 8 hours a day. Which is pretty much heavenly. I mean after the shit we have been through, only working 8 hours is paramount to being off. So we figured out a way that we could work the schedule so that we would only be actually working 2 out of every 4 days.
Sweet Mary Mother of God, and Jesus, Mary & Joseph and all the saints! Then our platoon daddy apparently went on his period today and decided that we were being lazy and needed to be introduced to the 7th level of suck!
So I was outside smoking a cigarette or as the Brits would say, "A Fag"
Side-note: When I was in Korea I got to work for a little bit with a British officer. One day he asked me to go outside with him and smoke a "fag” I was very young at the time and not as well read as I am now, so I only knew the American slang definition of "fag” So I didn't quite know what to say until he showed me a cigarette and explained it to me because at the time I thought he wanted to go outside and shoot a homosexual.
Back to my day, I was standing there smoking and from my three o'clock comes a booming, "Hey What are you doing?" Now bear in mind I had just awoken after having slept in two whole hours. It was 8 a.m. And anyone who knows me will tell you that I am not a morning person. I am cranky as a grizzly bear with a thorn in his paw.
So I reply, while staring directly at my cigarette and without looking to see to whom I am speaking, "I am fucking skiing!" Then I turn to see a rather pissed off E-7 staring at me. Well there you go again dip-shit, open mouth insert foot. So he says to me find your squad leader and get your uniform on we got some work to do. Oh joy, I actually manage a day off and I have managed to get it taken from me within 10 minutes of being out of bed.
So I go and get my uniform on, and tell everyone I can find to hide because Ram-boner is on the warpath this morning. You know the old adage, Out of sight, out of mind. It works around here because our platoon daddy has the attention span of a Ritalin laden 6 year old. Anyways, I get back out there and thankfully my squad leader was already there because I hadn't gone to get him yet.
Then we got into COCK formation. My squad leader and I functioning for all intents and purposes as the testicles while my platoon daddy assumed his rightful throne at the head of the formation as the COCK! And this cock dragged us around all over post all day long. Yep from about 0800 until 1500 he dragged us around in cock formation. Telling us all the myriad different ways we have been fucking up.
1. The trucks were dirty
2. The ammo was still in the trucks.
3. There are cigarette butts all over the FOB.
4. Everyone's rooms are filthy.
5. Your garbage can is dirty. (Not a joke)
6. There is dust on your furniture.
7. Why aren't all the trucks in line?
8. Why does it take so long to count ammunition?
9. Why haven't you vacuumed out the trucks?
10. Where are all the maintenance sheets on these trucks?
And on, and on and on he went. To the point where I was starting to feel as though I was going to start bleeding from the ears. So I have compiled a response sheet to the questions and concerns that he raised today. I am sharing them with you because I could not get a word in with this guy because he didn't shut up!
1. The trucks are dirty because WE ARE IN AFGHANISTAN!
2. The ammo is still in the trucks because the trucks are where the guns are! You know the two kind of go together.
3. Cigarette butts are all over the FOB because we just had an entire company of assholes from someplace else that don't care about throwing them around because they knew they wouldn't have to pick them up.
4. Everyone's rooms are filthy because, well first of all they aren't, but once again they are filthy because WE ARE IN FUCKING AFGHANISTAN.
5. My garbage is dirty because it is in fact garbage. If it were not dirty I would probably call it my "stuff".
6. There is dust on my furniture because there is dust on everything here. That is the only thing we have plenty of here. I am going to be digging dust out of my ass for six months after I leave this place. Get over it
7. The trucks aren't in line because you told us to get them fixed if they needed repairs. To which he responded, well then get them from maintenance. To which I replied, they aren't done yet. I know maintenance is good but they cannot fix six trucks overnight!
8. Why does it take so long to count ammunition? Because there is like 50,000 rounds lying all over this place and none of it is in the boxes anymore. So we have to count almost all of it individually. To which he inquires, why isn't it in the boxes anymore? BECAUSE WE HAD TO FUCKING SHOOT IT AT MR. TALIBAN MAN, AND IT DOESN'T SHOOT WELL FROM INSIDE THE BOX!!!
9. Why haven't you vacuumed the trucks? Are you kidding, the air here is thick with dust. I can see blowing out the air filter and shit, but actually vacuuming the inside of the truck? What are we worried about resale value?
10. Where are all the maintenance sheets? In maintenance where they belong, Sergeant Dick-bag!
So I continue along in COCK formation while he drags us this way and that to chew our asses over the littlest things. Some of which I didn't even know existed. For example, did you know that apparently E-7's are nauseated by the smell of febreeze? Yes, I had just given my room a nice saturation of febreeze in order to counteract the smell of kitty litter and ass that permeates our barracks. (The whole thing, not just my room) And he came into my room and started to gag. Whereas everyone else around complimented me on my room's smell being comparable to that of a French whore. And yes there are plenty of guys here who would know. I will let you decide whether or not you think I am included on that list.
For seven hours we marched around...two balls following a COCK. (I was the left nut) By the end of all of this I realized that we had made it to the 7th level of suck. I have yet to determine just how many levels of suck there really are. But it seems that on an almost daily basis they introduce us to a new level, which would actually put us on more like the 150th level of suck, but the 7th sounds so much better.
You see this is what happens when E-7's are bored. They come off their steroids and start to PMS. Well somebody get the Midol folks because I don't know how much more of this I can stand.
But everything got better when I got to chow and the cooks are nice enough to play music while we eat. Well luckily for me they played "Buttercup Baby" (I have no idea what the name of that song is) and my buddy "The Friendly Ghost" and I danced and sang a little bit. And that just brightened up my whole day.
So all is well that end's well, and I am done for now.
Later,
I love you mom...
Yep that's right I was one of the testicles following the COCK today.
I love this because now I figured out a way to bitch and be funny at the same time, so come along with me won't you.
Like I told you we are the platoon that has to guard this joint now. So we only have to really work like 8 hours a day. Which is pretty much heavenly. I mean after the shit we have been through, only working 8 hours is paramount to being off. So we figured out a way that we could work the schedule so that we would only be actually working 2 out of every 4 days.
Sweet Mary Mother of God, and Jesus, Mary & Joseph and all the saints! Then our platoon daddy apparently went on his period today and decided that we were being lazy and needed to be introduced to the 7th level of suck!
So I was outside smoking a cigarette or as the Brits would say, "A Fag"
Side-note: When I was in Korea I got to work for a little bit with a British officer. One day he asked me to go outside with him and smoke a "fag” I was very young at the time and not as well read as I am now, so I only knew the American slang definition of "fag” So I didn't quite know what to say until he showed me a cigarette and explained it to me because at the time I thought he wanted to go outside and shoot a homosexual.
Back to my day, I was standing there smoking and from my three o'clock comes a booming, "Hey What are you doing?" Now bear in mind I had just awoken after having slept in two whole hours. It was 8 a.m. And anyone who knows me will tell you that I am not a morning person. I am cranky as a grizzly bear with a thorn in his paw.
So I reply, while staring directly at my cigarette and without looking to see to whom I am speaking, "I am fucking skiing!" Then I turn to see a rather pissed off E-7 staring at me. Well there you go again dip-shit, open mouth insert foot. So he says to me find your squad leader and get your uniform on we got some work to do. Oh joy, I actually manage a day off and I have managed to get it taken from me within 10 minutes of being out of bed.
So I go and get my uniform on, and tell everyone I can find to hide because Ram-boner is on the warpath this morning. You know the old adage, Out of sight, out of mind. It works around here because our platoon daddy has the attention span of a Ritalin laden 6 year old. Anyways, I get back out there and thankfully my squad leader was already there because I hadn't gone to get him yet.
Then we got into COCK formation. My squad leader and I functioning for all intents and purposes as the testicles while my platoon daddy assumed his rightful throne at the head of the formation as the COCK! And this cock dragged us around all over post all day long. Yep from about 0800 until 1500 he dragged us around in cock formation. Telling us all the myriad different ways we have been fucking up.
1. The trucks were dirty
2. The ammo was still in the trucks.
3. There are cigarette butts all over the FOB.
4. Everyone's rooms are filthy.
5. Your garbage can is dirty. (Not a joke)
6. There is dust on your furniture.
7. Why aren't all the trucks in line?
8. Why does it take so long to count ammunition?
9. Why haven't you vacuumed out the trucks?
10. Where are all the maintenance sheets on these trucks?
And on, and on and on he went. To the point where I was starting to feel as though I was going to start bleeding from the ears. So I have compiled a response sheet to the questions and concerns that he raised today. I am sharing them with you because I could not get a word in with this guy because he didn't shut up!
1. The trucks are dirty because WE ARE IN AFGHANISTAN!
2. The ammo is still in the trucks because the trucks are where the guns are! You know the two kind of go together.
3. Cigarette butts are all over the FOB because we just had an entire company of assholes from someplace else that don't care about throwing them around because they knew they wouldn't have to pick them up.
4. Everyone's rooms are filthy because, well first of all they aren't, but once again they are filthy because WE ARE IN FUCKING AFGHANISTAN.
5. My garbage is dirty because it is in fact garbage. If it were not dirty I would probably call it my "stuff".
6. There is dust on my furniture because there is dust on everything here. That is the only thing we have plenty of here. I am going to be digging dust out of my ass for six months after I leave this place. Get over it
7. The trucks aren't in line because you told us to get them fixed if they needed repairs. To which he responded, well then get them from maintenance. To which I replied, they aren't done yet. I know maintenance is good but they cannot fix six trucks overnight!
8. Why does it take so long to count ammunition? Because there is like 50,000 rounds lying all over this place and none of it is in the boxes anymore. So we have to count almost all of it individually. To which he inquires, why isn't it in the boxes anymore? BECAUSE WE HAD TO FUCKING SHOOT IT AT MR. TALIBAN MAN, AND IT DOESN'T SHOOT WELL FROM INSIDE THE BOX!!!
9. Why haven't you vacuumed the trucks? Are you kidding, the air here is thick with dust. I can see blowing out the air filter and shit, but actually vacuuming the inside of the truck? What are we worried about resale value?
10. Where are all the maintenance sheets? In maintenance where they belong, Sergeant Dick-bag!
So I continue along in COCK formation while he drags us this way and that to chew our asses over the littlest things. Some of which I didn't even know existed. For example, did you know that apparently E-7's are nauseated by the smell of febreeze? Yes, I had just given my room a nice saturation of febreeze in order to counteract the smell of kitty litter and ass that permeates our barracks. (The whole thing, not just my room) And he came into my room and started to gag. Whereas everyone else around complimented me on my room's smell being comparable to that of a French whore. And yes there are plenty of guys here who would know. I will let you decide whether or not you think I am included on that list.
For seven hours we marched around...two balls following a COCK. (I was the left nut) By the end of all of this I realized that we had made it to the 7th level of suck. I have yet to determine just how many levels of suck there really are. But it seems that on an almost daily basis they introduce us to a new level, which would actually put us on more like the 150th level of suck, but the 7th sounds so much better.
You see this is what happens when E-7's are bored. They come off their steroids and start to PMS. Well somebody get the Midol folks because I don't know how much more of this I can stand.
But everything got better when I got to chow and the cooks are nice enough to play music while we eat. Well luckily for me they played "Buttercup Baby" (I have no idea what the name of that song is) and my buddy "The Friendly Ghost" and I danced and sang a little bit. And that just brightened up my whole day.
So all is well that end's well, and I am done for now.
Later,
I love you mom...
Jan 6, 2009
Pigpen's Thought of The Day...
Treat every situation like a dog would.
If you can't eat it.
Or hump it.
Piss on it and walk away.
Stay tuned for more deep thoughts from Pigpen.
I love you mom...
If you can't eat it.
Or hump it.
Piss on it and walk away.
Stay tuned for more deep thoughts from Pigpen.
I love you mom...
My Mom Told Me To Get Off My Soapbox and Tell Some Funny Stories...
So I have been doing a lot of writing as of late. I have started about 4 posts that I have not finished. I don't know if I actually have writers block or if I have just run out of shit to piss and moan about. I am not particularly worried about it, given the fact that it is only a matter of time before the Army gives me another abomination to be pissed about. But in the meantime I have nothing really. The four posts that I started have the following titles...
1. Grandma, Sit down until Frank's Done Singing.
2. Greetings, Mr & Mrs Friendly Ghost.
3. There & Back Again.
4. Alright Mom, You Were Right All Along.
I don't know why I told you that but I figured we could hold another vote as to which one I finish first. So cast your ballots folks on which one of these you think would be the best. Knowing nothing but the titles should make this interesting.
Oh, and I came up with #15 on the list of "Ways To Know You Are In AssCrackIstan"
15. You keep high explosives next to your jelly in the refrigerator.
I know, it is probably not the best place to keep high explosives but I didn't want to leave them laying on the floor and the only enclosed space I had left was the refrigerator. So I stuck some in there. (Nobody ever said I had to be smart to be in the Army)
Moving on, I couldn't figure out what the hell to write about so a buddy of mine suggested that I write about writing. So I said, "Why the hell not?, I mean we all know that the dog's used to it" (If you get that reference you are either here with me, or you have been reading this blog for entirely too long.)
What does writing do for me? It's therapy, I told you all that before. The Army is a rather large insanity factory. Meaning it takes raw material, in this case my boys and I, and turns us into loons. So I need the therapy.
Why do I write? Actually its mostly because there are so many people back home that I want to keep in touch with, but the problem is that I am incredibly lazy. So instead of writing letters and emails to all of them, I write this so that everyone of them can read it. Surprisingly, I picked up a bunch of new pals from writing this which has been cool, especially on mail day. So that is definitely an added bonus.
I don't really know if my writing helps anyone but me. In fact I am fairly certain aside from the entertainment value it helps very little. However, I do think that maybe somewhere in this mountain of shit that I call a blog there might be one little gem of insight or an idea that sparks something in someone who might be able to make a difference.
Oh, I did forget to welcome Mr & Mrs Joe K. to the mix. They are the parents of the guy who did the pictures that were in the last post. They stumbled across my blog while surfing the net. I can only imagine their surprise when they started reading and got to the bottom of the first post and saw a picture of their kid. He's the guy in the middle.
In addition to that I apologize to anyone who decided to look through all my pictures on flickr. I don't care that you saw them but I figured that I better put all but the ones for the blog onto private status. I mean I am not sure that all my wonderful readers appreciated being introduced to all the nice young ladies I met at "Nudes-A-Poppin" a couple years back. But hey it was fun for me, and if you didn't like them, well you need to lighten up.
Well I just got up from my computer for a minute because my squad leader came in with all the bullshit that I have to do tomorrow and he gave me a little piece of information that is incredibly depressing. Someone here got their credit card stolen, and they think it was by the company that sells us our phone cards here in country. Well if that is true, no one knows for sure. What kind of world, check that, country do we live in when people will take advantage of deployed soldiers in a war zone? Again, that is not a rhetorical question, I want to know the answer.
So it goes. Unfortunately for all of us, my life just became incredibly boring. We went from mission platoon over to the tower platoon. Which means for 8 hours every day I stare out of a window with a rather large machine gun in front of me and watch as the world goes by. I can't really complain that much about it. I needed the break from missions for a while. Now give me a week or two and I will be going insane from staring at the same 4 walls and I will be anxiously waiting to get back on missions. In that sense, I am damned if I do and damned if I don't.
Well whatever, I actually just got back from calling home for the first time in a while. Who did I call? Of course, you guessed it. The mom. And I realized a very depressing fact. Even from 9000 miles away this crazy woman can lay a guilt trip on me. Really! And the biggest part of all of this is she didn't even realize that she was doing it, nor was she actually trying. I can't even imagine what she would've been able to pull off if she was putting some effort into it. She told me to get off my soapbox and start telling the funny stories again. So I pretty much have to otherwise I risk the wrath of Attila the Mom. Alright then, here goes.
So we didn't have a white Christmas this year. No snow, even though we are like 7000 feet above sea level and it was as cold as penguin balls. Well what do you do if you don't have snow? You make it! What do you make it out of? Shaving cream!
It began innocently enough. One of the chicks came into my room and started shooting my roommate with marshmallows. Apparently, they make some kind of pump action marshmallow projectile weapon nowadays. (Jeez, I wish the Taliban would fight us with marshmallows!) So as was his right, he decided to retaliate. By filling a Frisbee with shaving cream and smashing it ever so gently into her face. Somewhat reminiscent of a Laurel & Hardy pie in the face gag. From there it turned into an absolute free-for-all. Everyone running this way and that, carrying cans of shaving cream, shampoo, lotion, and whatever else would make a mess and make you smell phenomenal all at once. We continued to do this for about an hour. Now if you could picture for me please, several GI's, about 20 of us. Sprinting all over the damn place with two hands full of shaving cream or whatever and proceeding to smash this stuff into each other. Combine that with the water pistols, water balloons (filled with shaving cream and water), and water bottles conveniently altered to make them into water bombs, and you have a recipe for a really good picture! And bear in mind that we did most of this with little Santa hats on. Making us look all the more ridiculous, and making it all the more fun.
Here Is A Picture Of The Aftermath...
After that and after we had gotten off the last of our missions, our NCO's decided that there will be no time off here. (Whatever sucks the most) And that we needed to help the fobbits unload all the water that got dropped off recently. Like fucking 15 truckloads of it! (Not an exaggeration) So you have about 12 GI's all standing around unloading water off a pallet that is about 20 meters from where the water actually needs to be. Now does the Army find a forklift for us to move the entire pallet at once? Hell no, they say move it one by one! OK, this should be fun. So we start moving this water, and tossing it down the line. I am sure you have all seen this somewhere before. A line of men all turning back and forth as they grab one case of water at a time and pass it on down the line until it makes it to where it has to go. You get the idea. So about half way through all of this shit we stop for a smoke. And as soldiers are known to do, we got bored! As soon as we get bored we find whatever we can to entertain ourselves. In this particular case we found the water bottles. Fortunately for us the wall of the FOB was about 20 meters from where we were loading this shit. Don't ask me why, but we started trying to kick the water bottles over the wall. Probably had something to do with us never wanting to see another bottle of water again. 15 truckloads is like...a shit ton of water. Well after a while, this little spectacle just degenerated from a field goal contest into a full blown game of dodge ball with water bottles. Let me tell you, full water bottles (plastic) sting like a bitch when it is like 30 degrees outside.
So they finally reined that in, and made us finish the job. Now at the end we had to take all the cases of water that broke open and put all the loose bottles of water into one big pile in this building that they use to house our water. By the way, the building they chose to store the water has the best floors in the whole FOB. Sure, send the GI's to the barracks with a crumbling dirt floor. Put the water in the building with a brand new concrete floor. Thanks Uncle Sam.
Well now we are sitting there looking at a pile of water that is about 10 meters squared at its base, and its like 10 feet tall. You know it was almost like one of those pools of balls they have for kids at amusement parks. You know you jump in and the balls fly all over and they are all multi-colored and shit. Kids love that stuff. And so do GI's. Mostly because we are, by-in-large, only moderately more mature than your average 6 year old. So yep, we jumped on in and sent this water flying. We actually managed to bury one of our smaller soldiers using nothing but water bottles. Why did we pick him? Well he's little and the little guys can't fight back as well, and it didn't take long to bury him because, well, he's little.
Once again folks, this is your military at work. Your hard earned tax dollars send us water and what do we do? We kick it over the fence, throw it at one another, then we jump on it, and bury each other in it.
You are nice enough to send all your soldiers shaving cream and other personal hygiene substances and we manage to, once again throw it at each other, rub it in each others faces and generally cause a lot of mayhem and make a huge mess with products specifically designed to clean!
So hopefully that satisfies my mother's want of a few funny stories. I'll let you know as soon as I make some more.
I am done for now.
Later,
I love you mom...
P.S. Here is another funny picture that Pigpen and I took. Yes those are what you think they are. We have way too much time on our hands sometimes.
1. Grandma, Sit down until Frank's Done Singing.
2. Greetings, Mr & Mrs Friendly Ghost.
3. There & Back Again.
4. Alright Mom, You Were Right All Along.
I don't know why I told you that but I figured we could hold another vote as to which one I finish first. So cast your ballots folks on which one of these you think would be the best. Knowing nothing but the titles should make this interesting.
Oh, and I came up with #15 on the list of "Ways To Know You Are In AssCrackIstan"
15. You keep high explosives next to your jelly in the refrigerator.
I know, it is probably not the best place to keep high explosives but I didn't want to leave them laying on the floor and the only enclosed space I had left was the refrigerator. So I stuck some in there. (Nobody ever said I had to be smart to be in the Army)
Moving on, I couldn't figure out what the hell to write about so a buddy of mine suggested that I write about writing. So I said, "Why the hell not?, I mean we all know that the dog's used to it" (If you get that reference you are either here with me, or you have been reading this blog for entirely too long.)
What does writing do for me? It's therapy, I told you all that before. The Army is a rather large insanity factory. Meaning it takes raw material, in this case my boys and I, and turns us into loons. So I need the therapy.
Why do I write? Actually its mostly because there are so many people back home that I want to keep in touch with, but the problem is that I am incredibly lazy. So instead of writing letters and emails to all of them, I write this so that everyone of them can read it. Surprisingly, I picked up a bunch of new pals from writing this which has been cool, especially on mail day. So that is definitely an added bonus.
I don't really know if my writing helps anyone but me. In fact I am fairly certain aside from the entertainment value it helps very little. However, I do think that maybe somewhere in this mountain of shit that I call a blog there might be one little gem of insight or an idea that sparks something in someone who might be able to make a difference.
Oh, I did forget to welcome Mr & Mrs Joe K. to the mix. They are the parents of the guy who did the pictures that were in the last post. They stumbled across my blog while surfing the net. I can only imagine their surprise when they started reading and got to the bottom of the first post and saw a picture of their kid. He's the guy in the middle.
In addition to that I apologize to anyone who decided to look through all my pictures on flickr. I don't care that you saw them but I figured that I better put all but the ones for the blog onto private status. I mean I am not sure that all my wonderful readers appreciated being introduced to all the nice young ladies I met at "Nudes-A-Poppin" a couple years back. But hey it was fun for me, and if you didn't like them, well you need to lighten up.
Well I just got up from my computer for a minute because my squad leader came in with all the bullshit that I have to do tomorrow and he gave me a little piece of information that is incredibly depressing. Someone here got their credit card stolen, and they think it was by the company that sells us our phone cards here in country. Well if that is true, no one knows for sure. What kind of world, check that, country do we live in when people will take advantage of deployed soldiers in a war zone? Again, that is not a rhetorical question, I want to know the answer.
So it goes. Unfortunately for all of us, my life just became incredibly boring. We went from mission platoon over to the tower platoon. Which means for 8 hours every day I stare out of a window with a rather large machine gun in front of me and watch as the world goes by. I can't really complain that much about it. I needed the break from missions for a while. Now give me a week or two and I will be going insane from staring at the same 4 walls and I will be anxiously waiting to get back on missions. In that sense, I am damned if I do and damned if I don't.
Well whatever, I actually just got back from calling home for the first time in a while. Who did I call? Of course, you guessed it. The mom. And I realized a very depressing fact. Even from 9000 miles away this crazy woman can lay a guilt trip on me. Really! And the biggest part of all of this is she didn't even realize that she was doing it, nor was she actually trying. I can't even imagine what she would've been able to pull off if she was putting some effort into it. She told me to get off my soapbox and start telling the funny stories again. So I pretty much have to otherwise I risk the wrath of Attila the Mom. Alright then, here goes.
So we didn't have a white Christmas this year. No snow, even though we are like 7000 feet above sea level and it was as cold as penguin balls. Well what do you do if you don't have snow? You make it! What do you make it out of? Shaving cream!
It began innocently enough. One of the chicks came into my room and started shooting my roommate with marshmallows. Apparently, they make some kind of pump action marshmallow projectile weapon nowadays. (Jeez, I wish the Taliban would fight us with marshmallows!) So as was his right, he decided to retaliate. By filling a Frisbee with shaving cream and smashing it ever so gently into her face. Somewhat reminiscent of a Laurel & Hardy pie in the face gag. From there it turned into an absolute free-for-all. Everyone running this way and that, carrying cans of shaving cream, shampoo, lotion, and whatever else would make a mess and make you smell phenomenal all at once. We continued to do this for about an hour. Now if you could picture for me please, several GI's, about 20 of us. Sprinting all over the damn place with two hands full of shaving cream or whatever and proceeding to smash this stuff into each other. Combine that with the water pistols, water balloons (filled with shaving cream and water), and water bottles conveniently altered to make them into water bombs, and you have a recipe for a really good picture! And bear in mind that we did most of this with little Santa hats on. Making us look all the more ridiculous, and making it all the more fun.
Here Is A Picture Of The Aftermath...
After that and after we had gotten off the last of our missions, our NCO's decided that there will be no time off here. (Whatever sucks the most) And that we needed to help the fobbits unload all the water that got dropped off recently. Like fucking 15 truckloads of it! (Not an exaggeration) So you have about 12 GI's all standing around unloading water off a pallet that is about 20 meters from where the water actually needs to be. Now does the Army find a forklift for us to move the entire pallet at once? Hell no, they say move it one by one! OK, this should be fun. So we start moving this water, and tossing it down the line. I am sure you have all seen this somewhere before. A line of men all turning back and forth as they grab one case of water at a time and pass it on down the line until it makes it to where it has to go. You get the idea. So about half way through all of this shit we stop for a smoke. And as soldiers are known to do, we got bored! As soon as we get bored we find whatever we can to entertain ourselves. In this particular case we found the water bottles. Fortunately for us the wall of the FOB was about 20 meters from where we were loading this shit. Don't ask me why, but we started trying to kick the water bottles over the wall. Probably had something to do with us never wanting to see another bottle of water again. 15 truckloads is like...a shit ton of water. Well after a while, this little spectacle just degenerated from a field goal contest into a full blown game of dodge ball with water bottles. Let me tell you, full water bottles (plastic) sting like a bitch when it is like 30 degrees outside.
So they finally reined that in, and made us finish the job. Now at the end we had to take all the cases of water that broke open and put all the loose bottles of water into one big pile in this building that they use to house our water. By the way, the building they chose to store the water has the best floors in the whole FOB. Sure, send the GI's to the barracks with a crumbling dirt floor. Put the water in the building with a brand new concrete floor. Thanks Uncle Sam.
Well now we are sitting there looking at a pile of water that is about 10 meters squared at its base, and its like 10 feet tall. You know it was almost like one of those pools of balls they have for kids at amusement parks. You know you jump in and the balls fly all over and they are all multi-colored and shit. Kids love that stuff. And so do GI's. Mostly because we are, by-in-large, only moderately more mature than your average 6 year old. So yep, we jumped on in and sent this water flying. We actually managed to bury one of our smaller soldiers using nothing but water bottles. Why did we pick him? Well he's little and the little guys can't fight back as well, and it didn't take long to bury him because, well, he's little.
Once again folks, this is your military at work. Your hard earned tax dollars send us water and what do we do? We kick it over the fence, throw it at one another, then we jump on it, and bury each other in it.
You are nice enough to send all your soldiers shaving cream and other personal hygiene substances and we manage to, once again throw it at each other, rub it in each others faces and generally cause a lot of mayhem and make a huge mess with products specifically designed to clean!
So hopefully that satisfies my mother's want of a few funny stories. I'll let you know as soon as I make some more.
I am done for now.
Later,
I love you mom...
P.S. Here is another funny picture that Pigpen and I took. Yes those are what you think they are. We have way too much time on our hands sometimes.
Jan 3, 2009
Have You Ever Felt Truly Helpless...
Saturday, January 3, 2009 1218 hrs.
So I got my first taste of what it feels like to be truly helpless. Or a better word might be useless.
Let me explain. The military has a million and one rules about everything. I have said it before that they probably have a training manual on how to brush your teeth properly. Now a lot of these rules are stupid, but some of them have a point.
Some of these rules prevent movement. Movement of any kind, vehicle, helicopter, plane or LPC is prohibited. (LPC=leather personnel carrier AKA Boots) Usually these rules about movement work out in our favor. If the rules say we cannot move for whatever reason then we don't have anything to do and we get to go back to sleep, any day when you get to go back to sleep is a glorious day in the military.
Sometimes, like today, these rules really bite you in the ass. Sometimes your buddies are outside the wire and you can't go and get them and bring them home. So there will be no sleep had today, probably none tonight, maybe none tomorrow. No one will ever understand the bond that you develop with your fellow soldiers. I am sitting here in my room with the heater blasting, and I am still shivering knowing that my boys are out there freezing in the snow, and the rain and the cold.
So here I sit like an impotent jerk with no recourse and nothing to do. While they sit out there in Taliban land and wait. Wait for us. Wait for me. We should be out there with them. We all go home, or nobody goes home. However, sometimes the Army makes a rule that prevents you from doing that. Now don't get me wrong, the rule is actually in place for our protection and it is probably a good rule. Save for the fact that right now it sucks major balls.
Here I will sit, until someone lifts the movement prohibition and then it will be on. My boys and I will fly out that gate like there is no tomorrow and God help anyone or anything that gets in our way because we have some buddies to bring home. But for now we sit...and wait...and watch. I hope that someone up there is watching out for us, because if we ever needed a little help from above it's right now.
Ah, I don't know what to think. Sometimes I see these military rules as good things that will keep soldiers out of trouble and other times they seem like apron strings attaching us all to our big green mother. Still other times I see them as unnecessary constraints that prevent us from actually taking the fight to the enemy, getting our asses out there and killing these bastards.
They (the Taliban) attacked another school the other day. They are dropping IED's all over this country; they are instilling a sense of dread and terror in the people of this nation. And what are we doing? Sitting here behind our nice walls, and our big guns, and watching the whole spectacle. Let me tell you something about the people we are fighting here. Something that every peace loving American should understand, and it might be just a tad hard to swallow, but it's true. There are people in this world that deserve to die. They deserve to be hunted down like dogs throughout the countryside to the ends of the earth and when they are caught they should be shot right in the fucking face. The Taliban and their boys are just such a group of people. Now whether or not that is the United States' job I don't know I am not that smart, but I always was taught (by my dear old mother) that the strong should stand up for the weak. With that as a guiding principle, then we absolutely should be here for these people. Me personally, I don't give a shit about Afghanistan, its just land, I care about these people.
With that being said, so much of what is happening here is playing out like so many other conflicts in our recent history. The fucking politicians have gotten a hold of this war and are fighting it politically. They have taken over, both from within and from without. Hamstringing military commanders to the point where they won't make any decision that could get them into any sort of trouble. Well sorry folks that just won't cut it. War is a messy business. People die, shit is going to explode, and mistakes will be made. You cannot have a military function properly if they are absolutely terrified of fucking up. Now by all means, place all the safeguards you possibly can into the machine but then turn it loose. You have an ever more emboldened enemy because of the fact that some of our rules of engagement are so open-ended that you could drive a tank through them. Whereas the punishment prescribed is so severe, and draconian that no one in their right mind would want to engage the enemy unless they could actually see the whites of their eyes. (An exaggeration of course)
Could you even begin to imagine what some of the wars of our past would've been like had the military of that time been under the same constraints that we have now? Could you imagine what WWI, or WWII would've been had the commanders of that day been under the same "minimize collateral damage" mandate that is out there now. Be advised however, that the word "minimize" is the key one in that sentence. However, the word should be read as "eliminate" because that is how commanders view the directive now. Or what it would've been like had they had to get prior approval from their commanders in order to wipe their asses. Or how it would've turned out if... Well shit, there is no way they could've functioned under the rules we have now, and if they could have then the outcome may very well have been different.
Well holy o' shit man, that was quite a mouthful. Sometimes I wish I could turn my brain off and kind of zombie walk my way through this war. I can tell you for absolute certain that my chain of command would appreciate that greatly. A whole lot fewer headaches for them. In any case, I cannot do that so I will probably continue to spew things such as this for the remainder of my time here. But, fear not, faithful readers, my sense of humor has not been damaged by such things. In fact it has only been sharpened. However, my talent lies in words, whereas a pal of mine, his lies in pictures. He is a great photographer and an even better editor. So I would like to share two of his photographs with you and get a vote on which one you like better. The two pictures are edited versions of the same photo. Please let me know which one you like better, and suggest any changes. With the wonder of modern computing I could probably put a dunce cap on at least one of us. (Just not the handsome fella on the left!)
Anyways, I am done for now.
I love you mom...
So I got my first taste of what it feels like to be truly helpless. Or a better word might be useless.
Let me explain. The military has a million and one rules about everything. I have said it before that they probably have a training manual on how to brush your teeth properly. Now a lot of these rules are stupid, but some of them have a point.
Some of these rules prevent movement. Movement of any kind, vehicle, helicopter, plane or LPC is prohibited. (LPC=leather personnel carrier AKA Boots) Usually these rules about movement work out in our favor. If the rules say we cannot move for whatever reason then we don't have anything to do and we get to go back to sleep, any day when you get to go back to sleep is a glorious day in the military.
Sometimes, like today, these rules really bite you in the ass. Sometimes your buddies are outside the wire and you can't go and get them and bring them home. So there will be no sleep had today, probably none tonight, maybe none tomorrow. No one will ever understand the bond that you develop with your fellow soldiers. I am sitting here in my room with the heater blasting, and I am still shivering knowing that my boys are out there freezing in the snow, and the rain and the cold.
So here I sit like an impotent jerk with no recourse and nothing to do. While they sit out there in Taliban land and wait. Wait for us. Wait for me. We should be out there with them. We all go home, or nobody goes home. However, sometimes the Army makes a rule that prevents you from doing that. Now don't get me wrong, the rule is actually in place for our protection and it is probably a good rule. Save for the fact that right now it sucks major balls.
Here I will sit, until someone lifts the movement prohibition and then it will be on. My boys and I will fly out that gate like there is no tomorrow and God help anyone or anything that gets in our way because we have some buddies to bring home. But for now we sit...and wait...and watch. I hope that someone up there is watching out for us, because if we ever needed a little help from above it's right now.
Ah, I don't know what to think. Sometimes I see these military rules as good things that will keep soldiers out of trouble and other times they seem like apron strings attaching us all to our big green mother. Still other times I see them as unnecessary constraints that prevent us from actually taking the fight to the enemy, getting our asses out there and killing these bastards.
They (the Taliban) attacked another school the other day. They are dropping IED's all over this country; they are instilling a sense of dread and terror in the people of this nation. And what are we doing? Sitting here behind our nice walls, and our big guns, and watching the whole spectacle. Let me tell you something about the people we are fighting here. Something that every peace loving American should understand, and it might be just a tad hard to swallow, but it's true. There are people in this world that deserve to die. They deserve to be hunted down like dogs throughout the countryside to the ends of the earth and when they are caught they should be shot right in the fucking face. The Taliban and their boys are just such a group of people. Now whether or not that is the United States' job I don't know I am not that smart, but I always was taught (by my dear old mother) that the strong should stand up for the weak. With that as a guiding principle, then we absolutely should be here for these people. Me personally, I don't give a shit about Afghanistan, its just land, I care about these people.
With that being said, so much of what is happening here is playing out like so many other conflicts in our recent history. The fucking politicians have gotten a hold of this war and are fighting it politically. They have taken over, both from within and from without. Hamstringing military commanders to the point where they won't make any decision that could get them into any sort of trouble. Well sorry folks that just won't cut it. War is a messy business. People die, shit is going to explode, and mistakes will be made. You cannot have a military function properly if they are absolutely terrified of fucking up. Now by all means, place all the safeguards you possibly can into the machine but then turn it loose. You have an ever more emboldened enemy because of the fact that some of our rules of engagement are so open-ended that you could drive a tank through them. Whereas the punishment prescribed is so severe, and draconian that no one in their right mind would want to engage the enemy unless they could actually see the whites of their eyes. (An exaggeration of course)
Could you even begin to imagine what some of the wars of our past would've been like had the military of that time been under the same constraints that we have now? Could you imagine what WWI, or WWII would've been had the commanders of that day been under the same "minimize collateral damage" mandate that is out there now. Be advised however, that the word "minimize" is the key one in that sentence. However, the word should be read as "eliminate" because that is how commanders view the directive now. Or what it would've been like had they had to get prior approval from their commanders in order to wipe their asses. Or how it would've turned out if... Well shit, there is no way they could've functioned under the rules we have now, and if they could have then the outcome may very well have been different.
Well holy o' shit man, that was quite a mouthful. Sometimes I wish I could turn my brain off and kind of zombie walk my way through this war. I can tell you for absolute certain that my chain of command would appreciate that greatly. A whole lot fewer headaches for them. In any case, I cannot do that so I will probably continue to spew things such as this for the remainder of my time here. But, fear not, faithful readers, my sense of humor has not been damaged by such things. In fact it has only been sharpened. However, my talent lies in words, whereas a pal of mine, his lies in pictures. He is a great photographer and an even better editor. So I would like to share two of his photographs with you and get a vote on which one you like better. The two pictures are edited versions of the same photo. Please let me know which one you like better, and suggest any changes. With the wonder of modern computing I could probably put a dunce cap on at least one of us. (Just not the handsome fella on the left!)
Anyways, I am done for now.
I love you mom...
Intimate Acquaintances With The Ground...
Thursday, January 1, 2009 1929 hrs.
So we just got back from our "mission" again. We were supposed to be off today. But apparently, the Taliban called and said that they were sick of us driving around in their back yard and was going to have to do something about it. So we went out to see if they wanted to play, but Mrs. Taliban said that little Osama couldn't play, he was grounded for blowing up his room.
It makes you wonder who is running things up there. I am starting to think that there just might be a monkey sitting in a chair with two buttons in front of him and whichever one he hits determines where we have to go and what we have to do. Oh, and the buttons are labeled, "STUPID" and "NOT STUPID". I'll give you three guesses which one he hits on a regular basis.
Now on to what's happening around here. New Year's doesn't mean shit around here to anyone. Fact of the matter is we haven't even seen a real beer in almost 4 months, and we wouldn't be allowed to drink it even if we saw it so what the hell is the point. But you still had a couple of guys who decided to try and watch the festivities on TV. I was wondering why they would want to torture themselves. Then they went from there and went and tried to call home. Oh that's just brilliant. Now you are going to try and talk to your friends, or wife or girlfriend or whatever when they are blitzed out of their minds and barely coherent. Not to mention they are probably not even home. This is where the trouble begins. You would be amazed at how fast people's minds can race when they cannot get a hold of their loved one. Where is she/he? What are they doing? Who are they with?
Dude, why would you do this to yourself? I just decided that I called home on Christmas, to hell with New Year's and maybe we'll just start calling home once a month or some shit like that. All some people do is sit around and miss home and talk about all the things that they miss about home. About the only thing that I can do to deal with it, is to forget about it the best I can. Which is impossible but I just don't think about it as much as people would believe.
Unfortunately for a lot of them this is the first time they have been away from home and I don't think a lot of people can deal with the fact that the world goes on and on whether you are there or not. Truth be told, none of us are all that important. I was talking to one of these guys here and he said, "I don't know what my wife would ever do without me!" I stared at him, completely dumbfounded, and I said, "Whatever the hell she is doing right now dip shit!" It makes me laugh how self-important people are. (Myself included, I mean I write all about myself) Everything will be different when we get home. We will be completely different. In many good, and many more bad ways. No one has cracked or anything which is good, but I imagine that before this whole thing is over someone will. I am wondering now if my friends and family will even understand me when I come home. I mean they had a hard enough time understanding all the bullshit that came out of me when I was home.
Already I find that calling home and talking to people is getting harder. And all the less appealing. They are living their lives and I am living mine. However, given the current set of circumstances the two are so much different that I don't really have that much to talk about. What the hell am I going to do? Tell them about the latest IED that damn near killed someone, or these missions that we constantly go on, or what pretty hallucinations I have seen the last few days due to sleep deprivation. (I shit you not; I saw a pink elephant running along side my truck yesterday.) While they blather on about who is dating who, my job sucks, and who got fired, or so and so found a job, or the ever classic, "Dude, we went out the other night and got so trashed..."
What got me started on all of this? I'll keep this brief, but we had an extra guy going out with us today. I don't know who the hell he is or what the hell he does, but he rode with me in my truck today. So we got to talking a little bit and I told him about the phone call home and all the shit I got for Christmas (which was great), and he told me that he had no family and no friends back home, all his friends were here. I couldn't help but feel a tinge of envy to go with the pity that I felt for the guy. At least he doesn't ever have to think about "back home". Home is wherever he lays his head. There is part of me that envies that. But enough of that bullshit.
So we got notified that we are on our way again tomorrow. What else is new? It never ceases to amaze me how these guys in charge think about this stuff. "Tomorrow is the day, baby. Tomorrow we get these assholes!" Really? We are driving out into the desert where they can see us coming from miles away and get nice and ready for us, and then strike. Fun for us. When will one of these testosterone jockey's we have running this joint figure out that this isn't a game. People are going to get hurt, and God forbid any of us die. Maybe that is what it is going to take for these pricks to figure out that this enemy we have here is not playing around. All the same, it is truly unfortunate that something as horrible as a death will probably not even register with them as anything more than a necessary sacrifice of war.
At one point or another over the past few weeks my entire platoon has been introduced to Mr. Taliban Man to one degree or another. And let me tell you the truth, the man is a real fuck stick.
War is a funny thing in that it alters your perception of things without you even knowing what is going on. So I am sitting here listening to "Jersey Girl" by Bruce Springsteen and I can't get around how damn depressing this whole situation is. I would much rather be home dealing with some pain in the ass woman than here dealing with the pains in the ass I have to deal with. I mean at least usually, the girl's don't actually try to kill you. At least not with guns (Tony). But some of these guys around here make me nuts. I don't know where they are coming from. I lost my interest in war right about the time that the first rounds came flying in my general direction. I can't help but laugh about it now. But at the time my butt-hole puckered like you wouldn't believe. I was just standing there and I heard the first shots, and I couldn't quite place what that sound was. I have heard plenty of gunshots before but always from behind the gun, never on the business end of the damn thing. So my gunner leisurely turns around and starts looking around, and I ask him, "What the hell is that?" And without so much as an elevation in the tone of his voice he states, ever so flatly, "Some mother fucker is shooting at us” Shortly thereafter I became intimately acquainted with the ground so as to make myself the smallest target possible. Now this has happened a few more times since then, and each time whether literally or figuratively I have become intimately acquainted with the ground. Because I have no interest in leaving here either in a box, or minus any body parts that I came here with.
But some of these guys are chomping at the bit to get out there and kill shit, as they so eloquently put it. Some of them give off their war cries whenever we leave out of here. Some others have developed a rather elaborate ritual that they perform prior to us leaving on mission. And still others have just withdrawn into themselves. Finally there are those amongst us who just don't seem to care one-way or the other. Whereas I have just become that much more jovial about the whole thing. I have to find the humor in it; otherwise I would probably just want to fucking cry all the time. Not so much about the intensity of the conflict, because this conflict over here is anything but intense. It's mostly a whole lot of boredom followed by a few minutes of sheer terror, and a quick return to being bored out of your mind. I would be crying about the incompetence of our leadership. It just blows my mind when I look around this place. We have some of the best and smartest and most humane and courageous guys I have ever met here. Too bad most if not all are either privates or at most a specialist or Sergeant. I mean our leaders run the gamut from complete pussies to those hard charging, ego maniacs who think war makes them more of a man, to just veritable imbeciles. Now why is it that such men have no real trouble gaining rank within the military whereas others, myself excluded, (not a typo) who are good men, men of principle, intelligent men, compassionate men, and generous men who think of their soldiers before themselves are doomed to middle management at best?
So tomorrow we will do it all over again. Day after day, we dig ourselves deeper into this war. Fighting an ever more defensive war on land we don't own. When will someone appear that realizes the futility of how we are doing this? I believe down to my bones in this war. I volunteered to come here. I believe in what we are TRYING to do here, and I believe it is something that should be done. Freeing these people from the (insert "tyranny and oppression" synonym here) of the Taliban was and is a good thing. Disrupting terrorism and the terrorists was a good thing. Staying here to stabilize Afghanistan was a good thing. But is what we are doing now a good thing? Is it good that we have 4 villages just outside the FOB that most if not all soldiers here could not even tell you the name of? Why do soldiers here have to actually break the rules just to give an Afghani kid some candy?
But enough of that serious stuff. At least tomorrow we'll have enough time in the truck together that my team and I can swap some more "drunken idiot" stories. So far the two winners have been my infamous, "I backed my car into the building in front of the police car" story and my ever so classic, "I was so drunk, I fell asleep in the back of the cop car and he forgot I was there until his shift was over." story.
Well at least iTunes loves me tonight. I have been going through just about every Springsteen tune I have, and at least that makes me feel a little bit better about having become such a good friend to the ground. I think I'll go to sleep tonight to a little bit of Meat Loaf. Sure, who doesn't love the Loaf? A little "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" it's good for the soul.
I am done for now.
Later.
I love you mom...
So we just got back from our "mission" again. We were supposed to be off today. But apparently, the Taliban called and said that they were sick of us driving around in their back yard and was going to have to do something about it. So we went out to see if they wanted to play, but Mrs. Taliban said that little Osama couldn't play, he was grounded for blowing up his room.
It makes you wonder who is running things up there. I am starting to think that there just might be a monkey sitting in a chair with two buttons in front of him and whichever one he hits determines where we have to go and what we have to do. Oh, and the buttons are labeled, "STUPID" and "NOT STUPID". I'll give you three guesses which one he hits on a regular basis.
Now on to what's happening around here. New Year's doesn't mean shit around here to anyone. Fact of the matter is we haven't even seen a real beer in almost 4 months, and we wouldn't be allowed to drink it even if we saw it so what the hell is the point. But you still had a couple of guys who decided to try and watch the festivities on TV. I was wondering why they would want to torture themselves. Then they went from there and went and tried to call home. Oh that's just brilliant. Now you are going to try and talk to your friends, or wife or girlfriend or whatever when they are blitzed out of their minds and barely coherent. Not to mention they are probably not even home. This is where the trouble begins. You would be amazed at how fast people's minds can race when they cannot get a hold of their loved one. Where is she/he? What are they doing? Who are they with?
Dude, why would you do this to yourself? I just decided that I called home on Christmas, to hell with New Year's and maybe we'll just start calling home once a month or some shit like that. All some people do is sit around and miss home and talk about all the things that they miss about home. About the only thing that I can do to deal with it, is to forget about it the best I can. Which is impossible but I just don't think about it as much as people would believe.
Unfortunately for a lot of them this is the first time they have been away from home and I don't think a lot of people can deal with the fact that the world goes on and on whether you are there or not. Truth be told, none of us are all that important. I was talking to one of these guys here and he said, "I don't know what my wife would ever do without me!" I stared at him, completely dumbfounded, and I said, "Whatever the hell she is doing right now dip shit!" It makes me laugh how self-important people are. (Myself included, I mean I write all about myself) Everything will be different when we get home. We will be completely different. In many good, and many more bad ways. No one has cracked or anything which is good, but I imagine that before this whole thing is over someone will. I am wondering now if my friends and family will even understand me when I come home. I mean they had a hard enough time understanding all the bullshit that came out of me when I was home.
Already I find that calling home and talking to people is getting harder. And all the less appealing. They are living their lives and I am living mine. However, given the current set of circumstances the two are so much different that I don't really have that much to talk about. What the hell am I going to do? Tell them about the latest IED that damn near killed someone, or these missions that we constantly go on, or what pretty hallucinations I have seen the last few days due to sleep deprivation. (I shit you not; I saw a pink elephant running along side my truck yesterday.) While they blather on about who is dating who, my job sucks, and who got fired, or so and so found a job, or the ever classic, "Dude, we went out the other night and got so trashed..."
What got me started on all of this? I'll keep this brief, but we had an extra guy going out with us today. I don't know who the hell he is or what the hell he does, but he rode with me in my truck today. So we got to talking a little bit and I told him about the phone call home and all the shit I got for Christmas (which was great), and he told me that he had no family and no friends back home, all his friends were here. I couldn't help but feel a tinge of envy to go with the pity that I felt for the guy. At least he doesn't ever have to think about "back home". Home is wherever he lays his head. There is part of me that envies that. But enough of that bullshit.
So we got notified that we are on our way again tomorrow. What else is new? It never ceases to amaze me how these guys in charge think about this stuff. "Tomorrow is the day, baby. Tomorrow we get these assholes!" Really? We are driving out into the desert where they can see us coming from miles away and get nice and ready for us, and then strike. Fun for us. When will one of these testosterone jockey's we have running this joint figure out that this isn't a game. People are going to get hurt, and God forbid any of us die. Maybe that is what it is going to take for these pricks to figure out that this enemy we have here is not playing around. All the same, it is truly unfortunate that something as horrible as a death will probably not even register with them as anything more than a necessary sacrifice of war.
At one point or another over the past few weeks my entire platoon has been introduced to Mr. Taliban Man to one degree or another. And let me tell you the truth, the man is a real fuck stick.
War is a funny thing in that it alters your perception of things without you even knowing what is going on. So I am sitting here listening to "Jersey Girl" by Bruce Springsteen and I can't get around how damn depressing this whole situation is. I would much rather be home dealing with some pain in the ass woman than here dealing with the pains in the ass I have to deal with. I mean at least usually, the girl's don't actually try to kill you. At least not with guns (Tony). But some of these guys around here make me nuts. I don't know where they are coming from. I lost my interest in war right about the time that the first rounds came flying in my general direction. I can't help but laugh about it now. But at the time my butt-hole puckered like you wouldn't believe. I was just standing there and I heard the first shots, and I couldn't quite place what that sound was. I have heard plenty of gunshots before but always from behind the gun, never on the business end of the damn thing. So my gunner leisurely turns around and starts looking around, and I ask him, "What the hell is that?" And without so much as an elevation in the tone of his voice he states, ever so flatly, "Some mother fucker is shooting at us” Shortly thereafter I became intimately acquainted with the ground so as to make myself the smallest target possible. Now this has happened a few more times since then, and each time whether literally or figuratively I have become intimately acquainted with the ground. Because I have no interest in leaving here either in a box, or minus any body parts that I came here with.
But some of these guys are chomping at the bit to get out there and kill shit, as they so eloquently put it. Some of them give off their war cries whenever we leave out of here. Some others have developed a rather elaborate ritual that they perform prior to us leaving on mission. And still others have just withdrawn into themselves. Finally there are those amongst us who just don't seem to care one-way or the other. Whereas I have just become that much more jovial about the whole thing. I have to find the humor in it; otherwise I would probably just want to fucking cry all the time. Not so much about the intensity of the conflict, because this conflict over here is anything but intense. It's mostly a whole lot of boredom followed by a few minutes of sheer terror, and a quick return to being bored out of your mind. I would be crying about the incompetence of our leadership. It just blows my mind when I look around this place. We have some of the best and smartest and most humane and courageous guys I have ever met here. Too bad most if not all are either privates or at most a specialist or Sergeant. I mean our leaders run the gamut from complete pussies to those hard charging, ego maniacs who think war makes them more of a man, to just veritable imbeciles. Now why is it that such men have no real trouble gaining rank within the military whereas others, myself excluded, (not a typo) who are good men, men of principle, intelligent men, compassionate men, and generous men who think of their soldiers before themselves are doomed to middle management at best?
So tomorrow we will do it all over again. Day after day, we dig ourselves deeper into this war. Fighting an ever more defensive war on land we don't own. When will someone appear that realizes the futility of how we are doing this? I believe down to my bones in this war. I volunteered to come here. I believe in what we are TRYING to do here, and I believe it is something that should be done. Freeing these people from the (insert "tyranny and oppression" synonym here) of the Taliban was and is a good thing. Disrupting terrorism and the terrorists was a good thing. Staying here to stabilize Afghanistan was a good thing. But is what we are doing now a good thing? Is it good that we have 4 villages just outside the FOB that most if not all soldiers here could not even tell you the name of? Why do soldiers here have to actually break the rules just to give an Afghani kid some candy?
But enough of that serious stuff. At least tomorrow we'll have enough time in the truck together that my team and I can swap some more "drunken idiot" stories. So far the two winners have been my infamous, "I backed my car into the building in front of the police car" story and my ever so classic, "I was so drunk, I fell asleep in the back of the cop car and he forgot I was there until his shift was over." story.
Well at least iTunes loves me tonight. I have been going through just about every Springsteen tune I have, and at least that makes me feel a little bit better about having become such a good friend to the ground. I think I'll go to sleep tonight to a little bit of Meat Loaf. Sure, who doesn't love the Loaf? A little "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" it's good for the soul.
I am done for now.
Later.
I love you mom...
Jan 1, 2009
27 Hours In A Sardine Can...
Wednesday, December 31, 2008 2139 hrs.
Yep, that's right 27 mother fucking hours. I wish I could come up with a better way of putting it, but in this case I do think that the profanity is warranted.
So why don't I tell you all about my New Year's Eve this year. Now I am departing from the random bitching and moaning and the romantic sentiments expressed in my recent posts and I am getting back to my bread and butter of finding the humor in the most ridiculously fucked up situations that the Army can put together for me. Mostly because if I did not, I would promptly lose my mind. I mean more so than I already have.
So we had a mission today. Obviously, I cannot share the particulars, but I can share the generalities. So suffice it to say that a shit ton of vehicles were moving from one place to another and we had to make sure that they got from point A to point B safely. Now on the surface this is a very understandable thing. Making sure that the military's equipment is well taken care of, making sure that military personnel are well protected, making sure that the military's ability to conduct it's missions is ensured. All these things are great and admirable goals. However, that is what we were supposed to do prior to our, as I have called it in the past, "Colony O' Dickbags" got a hold of it.
So this caravan of stuff was arriving sometime around midday today. Invariably due to the fact that the US military is involved there is no way that something like this is going to go smoothly. First things first, someone ask me when we left to meet this convoy that was supposed to arrive sometime around noon (ish)? We left at 1400-yesterday afternoon. 22 hours prior to the expected arrival time. Even though we were only about 1 to 1 and a half hours from the place where we were supposed to meet them. I mean I know the early bird gets the worm, but the 22 hours early bird runs out of fuel!
So at 1400 we rolled out, knowing full well that I was going to be stuck in this truck that has the leg room of a coach seat on a Mexican airline. (Yes I would know) So I have this truck loaded down with extra ammunition, enough pyrotechnics to burn down Noah's Ark, a few grenades, some smoke (not the good kind), a few days worth of food and water and then a smorgasbord of fatty cakes, cookies, chips, candy, Mountain Dew, Gatorade and what not. I mean not only did I not eat one single piece of real food in the past 27 hours but also I have not consumed one drop of unflavored water. Which led to a few rather humorous "Code Yellow's" while we were on the move. But I'll get to that later.
Moving on, so we roll out. Now for the most part the beginning stages of this little operation went about as close to perfect as any military operation can or will ever go. Which means that only one person got stabbed with their new knife, the radios only broke about half a dozen times, and only one vehicle wouldn't start after we had thoroughly checked it only 3 hours before. Not to mention only one of our weapons would no longer function after the gunner had supposedly fixed all the issues with it. I am not kidding when I say that the aforementioned list of fuck ups is considered a good day around here. And yes, my driver got a new knife from supply and wanted to show it to me so I took it and while goofing around with it, maybe I somehow managed to stab her with it. Jeez, it's not like I was trying to kill her or anything, I mean cut a guy some slack here.
We get out to the route and are moving along at a pretty good clip and make it to our staging area in about an hour. Jesus, Mary & Joseph and all the Saints! Someone call the newspaper, we made it here in the amount of time it should take to get here. We did not get stuck in the mud, we didn't flip any vehicles over, we didn't run into Mr. Taliban Man and get all shot up, the road did not explode and no one ran over any small children. (All except the last one is shit that we do all the time, the last one we have never done, it was added for humorous effect, take a joke people)
So now as we are rolling around we encounter villages. Imagine that, there are actually people who live here! So these people have kids, and these kids are just like American kids. THEY ARE AN ENORMOUS PAIN IN THE ASS! They mob our trucks and want everything they can get out of you. Now when I first got here I would give these kids everything I had. Candy, cakes, pop, cigarettes (yep), and whatever else I had. Lately, I have realized that if I give them all this stuff I won't have any for my guys or myself so we put them on a rationing program. We launch candy and what not from the turrets of our vehicles and watch and laugh hysterically as these kids chase after the items, and proceed to mercilessly beat the shit out of each other for possession of them.
Now I know that sounds like I am a horrible person, which is not entirely untrue. However, it does serve a real and honorable purpose. These kids mob our trucks, which weigh about 20,000 lbs. a piece and carry highly dangerous military equipment and a myriad of other knick, knacks that could cause them serious bodily harm and/or death. So we had to come up with a way to get them away from our trucks. So we play fetch. This accomplishes the goal of getting them away from our trucks so we don't turn any innocent Afghani children into innocent Afghani pancakes, and it can be done with a minimum of exposure to disciplinary action by our commander, who has made it abundantly clear that we are to give nothing at all to the locals. Unfortunately, it normally starts a brawl amongst the kids. However, a few bloody noses and black eyes are better than a dead kid. Don't you agree? Furthermore, it provides the GI's with a bit of entertainment, and yes we do bet on which kid gets the candy. In addition, I do know that I am going to hell for doing this kind of shit.
Moving on now comes the funny officer stuff. We are rolling along and one of our NCO’s, who is driving today because some of his team is on leave, is just like me and a bit of a smart ass. Now since his team is out he got chosen to drive the Lieutenant around. Something he definitely doesn't want to do. So if he has to he is going to have some fun with it. So lucky for him and us, our LT fell asleep about 20 minutes into the ride, and we made it to our destination within about 60 minutes, but no one woke the LT up. And we just kept on going. For about 20 more kilometers. (12.5 miles)
Needless to say we were a bit off the mark of where we were supposed to be. So when he wakes up, he had us patrol around a little more and then he chose two points that were about 4 kilometers apart and set those up as our checkpoints. Now I have yet to figure out whether or not he knew we were that far off of where we were supposed to be, or he was just trying to cover the fact that he slept all that way, or if he changed the mission. I don't know for sure, but I wouldn't mind putting a few bucks on the middle one.
Now here is the really funny part. Because by this time it's dark and we are driving in the dark, with no lights on, because we don't want anyone to see us. I would tell you how we can do this but I think that would violate OPSEC and if you have half a brain you can figure it out. So anyways, we drive to the first checkpoint, and we stop for an hour. Then we drive to the second checkpoint, and we stop for an hour. And we repeated this process, in the dark for the next 12 hours! Stopping periodically to have a "Code Yellow" all over some cactus or sometimes when the wind kicked up all over my damn boots! Yep, that's it. We left 22 hours early, to go out in the dark and drive back and forth, back and forth, and back and forth. For 12 hours. And I haven't even gotten to the fact that my driver is a female and today just happened to be the beginning of those delightful few days she will have every month until I shoot myself in the head. Try that for 12 hours folks. Staring out into the darkness, which is boring enough, but then you have to stare at the same scenery through the darkness and it begins to become maddening. Then add to the mix a ragging female and you have a recipe for one of the more hilarious situations I have ever found myself in.
So now it’s about 3 o'clock in the morning and she smokes, and so do I, so we have been switching off throughout the night. I'll have one, then she will, then we'll wait till we want another and we repeat the process. So I am sitting there lighting a cigarette and over the radio comes the Lieutenant's voice, "Hey, everyone knows that this is a non-smoking flight, correct?" To which I promptly respond, "Maybe in your plane, sir but in my truck I have yet to see a no smoking sign” And I can still remember thinking to myself. For Chrissakes man, you are thirty years old and you still smart off like you are a cocky little 16-year-old punk. Well if the shoe fits right? Now our LT is actually a pretty cool guy. Other than the fact that he is the biggest mooch I have ever met, he is a good man. Let me explain. Everybody who has ever been in the military knows at least one of these guys. He is the guy who never has cigarettes, never has anything really, and just waits till someone else rips theirs out and asks for one of theirs. Cigarette Vultures is what I call these pricks. They prey on the communal nature of the military and that no one wants to see anyone go without. Now I have fun with them just because I am a bit of a prick. But all I do is when they ask for a cigarette, I tell them flat out, NO! Or FUCK OFF! Or something to that effect. And the look on their face is priceless. Sorry, it's just my personality. Now the only thing that redeems the LT is he always gets you back. He bums about 100 cigarettes, and then he brings you a carton or something. So he makes it even, which makes him OK with me.
But back to what I was actually talking about. The PMS'ing female I have driving my instrument of destruction. So I say that to the Lieutenant and she flips. I mean flips, just starts cussing me out up and down and yelling and screaming that he is not going to let us smoke anymore and she is going nuts. I am pretty sure she started speaking in tongues, all I needed was for her head to spin around and vomit up a little pea-green soup and we would've had an Afghanistanimation version of the Exorcist, starring my driver, my gunner and myself. So after she is done damning me to hell, and saying some very nasty things about the condition and/or existence of my penis I, in my abject terror offered her a piece of chocolate. I mean, that's just what guys do, chick flips out, and we try to give her candy. Usually works. This time it did calmed her down and brought her back to the land of the unpossessed.
We go through the rest of the night with her pissing and moaning about this or that. I wish I could remember but I have that oh so typical male trait of tuning a bitching woman out and not listening. I just sank into a symphony of "uh huh's, Yep's, and Really's” Then the sun comes back up, and the fun begins.
Now the sun comes up here about 0530, so we have been rolling around in this truck through the Afghani countryside for in excess of 15 hours now. And the convoy we were sent to meet hasn't even left its point of origin yet. We are supposed to find the high ground along this route and secure it.
OK, no problem. So we start driving up to this hilltop and my driver who is still about one merit badge away from her Demon Girl's sash, is fading the truck to the left. Which is right down the side of this hill. Which is not where I want to go, not only due to the fact that we are supposed to secure the high ground, but it also would cause said truck to roll over, and over, and over, and over. Which would make me very unhappy.
So I tell her to cut it out and turn the vehicle to the right. She says, "I am going right!" At which point, just to make sure I am not nuts, I hold up my hands in the form of an L. Remember that trick they taught you in grade school where the one that makes an L is your left hand. I kept on saying, "To the right, to the right, to the right, TO THE RIGHT!" And she kept fading this truck over to the left and into oblivion. Finally, I had to stop and yell at her, "TURN TOWARDS ME, DIPSHIT!" Which she did, but then instead of going into a tirade of biblical proportions again, she instead this time went with the silent treatment. Ha, I don't think she knows whom she is dealing with. The silent treatment is like heaven on earth for me.
So we make it up to the top of this hill and a bunch of us are up there all goofing around. We have been cooped up in these trucks for almost 16 hours by now and we are absolutely giddy to be out of them. So we almost immediately start to fuck around. We set Mountain Dew cans on the rocks and fling other rocks at them. We mark our territory by relieving ourselves on the ground. We take pictures of each other as we do our best Napoleon impressions on top of the trucks. We play basketball with bite size cookies and each other’s mouths. We even managed to take a couple of good pictures, one of which I think is going to be a recruiting poster someday. (It's the one on top) Then we start to throw rocks at the trucks of those in our convoy that didn't come to the top of the hill, and laugh as they scurry into the cabs of their trucks. Then my buddy, 'American GI' and I got into an argument because I didn't offer him a star crunch when he offered me a Mountain Dew. Maybe that was breach of etiquette, but I still think a star crunch is worth about 3 of these little baby Mountain Dew's that they have here.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is your military. Professional soldiers, who are thoroughly trained, and schooled in the conduct of war and military operations. Not to mention disciplined in the harshest of conditions to endure the most unforgiving terrain and weather the world has to offer. Armed with the most advanced and sophisticated weaponry the world has ever seen and we ride in the most expensive vehicles in any military arsenal, along with the most sophisticated and expensive communication equipment in the world. And what do we do when placed on an important military mission?
We throw cookies at each other!
And we sat there (in the trucks, per order of the LT) for about 3 hours waiting for the convoy to come by. Now this is going to be hard to believe but you are just going to have to trust me, because I know this is going to sound a little absurd...THEY GOT THERE ON TIME! I mean these guys actually were, where they were supposed to be at the appointed time! First thing that came to mind was that they sure as hell weren't American soldiers, but sure enough we saw Old Glory flying high and there was no doubt it was them.
Now we have to play leap frog with this big ass convoy, and the other squad from our platoon that has the exact same mission as us, but for some reason didn't have to leave until 0700 this morning. I swear, that someone up there either hates me or is having a lot of fun at my expense. Anyways, so we are jumping from hilltop to hilltop looking around and making sure that Mr. Taliban Man is not around and thinking he might add some fuel to our fire, if you catch my meaning. Luckily, for us for the most part it went off without a hitch. You know only one or two trucks blew up, we only found like 3 bombs, and we only had to stop for one flat tire. Once again, this is considered a very easy day in military terms.
However, since this huge convoy moves at about the speed of smell it took forever and a day to get back home with all this stuff. When all was said and done I spent 27 hours sitting my big ole' ass in that truck, and between the hillbilly I have in the gun, and the She-Devil that drives the damn thing I am truly starting to believe that my truck is cursed.
Anyways, I am done for now. Maybe I'll think of some more later. But right now I need a cigarette and off to bed with me. New Year's doesn't mean shit here, but to all of you back home, Happy New Year and have a drink for me.
Later,
I love you mom...
Yep, that's right 27 mother fucking hours. I wish I could come up with a better way of putting it, but in this case I do think that the profanity is warranted.
So why don't I tell you all about my New Year's Eve this year. Now I am departing from the random bitching and moaning and the romantic sentiments expressed in my recent posts and I am getting back to my bread and butter of finding the humor in the most ridiculously fucked up situations that the Army can put together for me. Mostly because if I did not, I would promptly lose my mind. I mean more so than I already have.
So we had a mission today. Obviously, I cannot share the particulars, but I can share the generalities. So suffice it to say that a shit ton of vehicles were moving from one place to another and we had to make sure that they got from point A to point B safely. Now on the surface this is a very understandable thing. Making sure that the military's equipment is well taken care of, making sure that military personnel are well protected, making sure that the military's ability to conduct it's missions is ensured. All these things are great and admirable goals. However, that is what we were supposed to do prior to our, as I have called it in the past, "Colony O' Dickbags" got a hold of it.
So this caravan of stuff was arriving sometime around midday today. Invariably due to the fact that the US military is involved there is no way that something like this is going to go smoothly. First things first, someone ask me when we left to meet this convoy that was supposed to arrive sometime around noon (ish)? We left at 1400-yesterday afternoon. 22 hours prior to the expected arrival time. Even though we were only about 1 to 1 and a half hours from the place where we were supposed to meet them. I mean I know the early bird gets the worm, but the 22 hours early bird runs out of fuel!
So at 1400 we rolled out, knowing full well that I was going to be stuck in this truck that has the leg room of a coach seat on a Mexican airline. (Yes I would know) So I have this truck loaded down with extra ammunition, enough pyrotechnics to burn down Noah's Ark, a few grenades, some smoke (not the good kind), a few days worth of food and water and then a smorgasbord of fatty cakes, cookies, chips, candy, Mountain Dew, Gatorade and what not. I mean not only did I not eat one single piece of real food in the past 27 hours but also I have not consumed one drop of unflavored water. Which led to a few rather humorous "Code Yellow's" while we were on the move. But I'll get to that later.
Moving on, so we roll out. Now for the most part the beginning stages of this little operation went about as close to perfect as any military operation can or will ever go. Which means that only one person got stabbed with their new knife, the radios only broke about half a dozen times, and only one vehicle wouldn't start after we had thoroughly checked it only 3 hours before. Not to mention only one of our weapons would no longer function after the gunner had supposedly fixed all the issues with it. I am not kidding when I say that the aforementioned list of fuck ups is considered a good day around here. And yes, my driver got a new knife from supply and wanted to show it to me so I took it and while goofing around with it, maybe I somehow managed to stab her with it. Jeez, it's not like I was trying to kill her or anything, I mean cut a guy some slack here.
We get out to the route and are moving along at a pretty good clip and make it to our staging area in about an hour. Jesus, Mary & Joseph and all the Saints! Someone call the newspaper, we made it here in the amount of time it should take to get here. We did not get stuck in the mud, we didn't flip any vehicles over, we didn't run into Mr. Taliban Man and get all shot up, the road did not explode and no one ran over any small children. (All except the last one is shit that we do all the time, the last one we have never done, it was added for humorous effect, take a joke people)
So now as we are rolling around we encounter villages. Imagine that, there are actually people who live here! So these people have kids, and these kids are just like American kids. THEY ARE AN ENORMOUS PAIN IN THE ASS! They mob our trucks and want everything they can get out of you. Now when I first got here I would give these kids everything I had. Candy, cakes, pop, cigarettes (yep), and whatever else I had. Lately, I have realized that if I give them all this stuff I won't have any for my guys or myself so we put them on a rationing program. We launch candy and what not from the turrets of our vehicles and watch and laugh hysterically as these kids chase after the items, and proceed to mercilessly beat the shit out of each other for possession of them.
Now I know that sounds like I am a horrible person, which is not entirely untrue. However, it does serve a real and honorable purpose. These kids mob our trucks, which weigh about 20,000 lbs. a piece and carry highly dangerous military equipment and a myriad of other knick, knacks that could cause them serious bodily harm and/or death. So we had to come up with a way to get them away from our trucks. So we play fetch. This accomplishes the goal of getting them away from our trucks so we don't turn any innocent Afghani children into innocent Afghani pancakes, and it can be done with a minimum of exposure to disciplinary action by our commander, who has made it abundantly clear that we are to give nothing at all to the locals. Unfortunately, it normally starts a brawl amongst the kids. However, a few bloody noses and black eyes are better than a dead kid. Don't you agree? Furthermore, it provides the GI's with a bit of entertainment, and yes we do bet on which kid gets the candy. In addition, I do know that I am going to hell for doing this kind of shit.
Moving on now comes the funny officer stuff. We are rolling along and one of our NCO’s, who is driving today because some of his team is on leave, is just like me and a bit of a smart ass. Now since his team is out he got chosen to drive the Lieutenant around. Something he definitely doesn't want to do. So if he has to he is going to have some fun with it. So lucky for him and us, our LT fell asleep about 20 minutes into the ride, and we made it to our destination within about 60 minutes, but no one woke the LT up. And we just kept on going. For about 20 more kilometers. (12.5 miles)
Needless to say we were a bit off the mark of where we were supposed to be. So when he wakes up, he had us patrol around a little more and then he chose two points that were about 4 kilometers apart and set those up as our checkpoints. Now I have yet to figure out whether or not he knew we were that far off of where we were supposed to be, or he was just trying to cover the fact that he slept all that way, or if he changed the mission. I don't know for sure, but I wouldn't mind putting a few bucks on the middle one.
Now here is the really funny part. Because by this time it's dark and we are driving in the dark, with no lights on, because we don't want anyone to see us. I would tell you how we can do this but I think that would violate OPSEC and if you have half a brain you can figure it out. So anyways, we drive to the first checkpoint, and we stop for an hour. Then we drive to the second checkpoint, and we stop for an hour. And we repeated this process, in the dark for the next 12 hours! Stopping periodically to have a "Code Yellow" all over some cactus or sometimes when the wind kicked up all over my damn boots! Yep, that's it. We left 22 hours early, to go out in the dark and drive back and forth, back and forth, and back and forth. For 12 hours. And I haven't even gotten to the fact that my driver is a female and today just happened to be the beginning of those delightful few days she will have every month until I shoot myself in the head. Try that for 12 hours folks. Staring out into the darkness, which is boring enough, but then you have to stare at the same scenery through the darkness and it begins to become maddening. Then add to the mix a ragging female and you have a recipe for one of the more hilarious situations I have ever found myself in.
So now it’s about 3 o'clock in the morning and she smokes, and so do I, so we have been switching off throughout the night. I'll have one, then she will, then we'll wait till we want another and we repeat the process. So I am sitting there lighting a cigarette and over the radio comes the Lieutenant's voice, "Hey, everyone knows that this is a non-smoking flight, correct?" To which I promptly respond, "Maybe in your plane, sir but in my truck I have yet to see a no smoking sign” And I can still remember thinking to myself. For Chrissakes man, you are thirty years old and you still smart off like you are a cocky little 16-year-old punk. Well if the shoe fits right? Now our LT is actually a pretty cool guy. Other than the fact that he is the biggest mooch I have ever met, he is a good man. Let me explain. Everybody who has ever been in the military knows at least one of these guys. He is the guy who never has cigarettes, never has anything really, and just waits till someone else rips theirs out and asks for one of theirs. Cigarette Vultures is what I call these pricks. They prey on the communal nature of the military and that no one wants to see anyone go without. Now I have fun with them just because I am a bit of a prick. But all I do is when they ask for a cigarette, I tell them flat out, NO! Or FUCK OFF! Or something to that effect. And the look on their face is priceless. Sorry, it's just my personality. Now the only thing that redeems the LT is he always gets you back. He bums about 100 cigarettes, and then he brings you a carton or something. So he makes it even, which makes him OK with me.
But back to what I was actually talking about. The PMS'ing female I have driving my instrument of destruction. So I say that to the Lieutenant and she flips. I mean flips, just starts cussing me out up and down and yelling and screaming that he is not going to let us smoke anymore and she is going nuts. I am pretty sure she started speaking in tongues, all I needed was for her head to spin around and vomit up a little pea-green soup and we would've had an Afghanistanimation version of the Exorcist, starring my driver, my gunner and myself. So after she is done damning me to hell, and saying some very nasty things about the condition and/or existence of my penis I, in my abject terror offered her a piece of chocolate. I mean, that's just what guys do, chick flips out, and we try to give her candy. Usually works. This time it did calmed her down and brought her back to the land of the unpossessed.
We go through the rest of the night with her pissing and moaning about this or that. I wish I could remember but I have that oh so typical male trait of tuning a bitching woman out and not listening. I just sank into a symphony of "uh huh's, Yep's, and Really's” Then the sun comes back up, and the fun begins.
Now the sun comes up here about 0530, so we have been rolling around in this truck through the Afghani countryside for in excess of 15 hours now. And the convoy we were sent to meet hasn't even left its point of origin yet. We are supposed to find the high ground along this route and secure it.
OK, no problem. So we start driving up to this hilltop and my driver who is still about one merit badge away from her Demon Girl's sash, is fading the truck to the left. Which is right down the side of this hill. Which is not where I want to go, not only due to the fact that we are supposed to secure the high ground, but it also would cause said truck to roll over, and over, and over, and over. Which would make me very unhappy.
So I tell her to cut it out and turn the vehicle to the right. She says, "I am going right!" At which point, just to make sure I am not nuts, I hold up my hands in the form of an L. Remember that trick they taught you in grade school where the one that makes an L is your left hand. I kept on saying, "To the right, to the right, to the right, TO THE RIGHT!" And she kept fading this truck over to the left and into oblivion. Finally, I had to stop and yell at her, "TURN TOWARDS ME, DIPSHIT!" Which she did, but then instead of going into a tirade of biblical proportions again, she instead this time went with the silent treatment. Ha, I don't think she knows whom she is dealing with. The silent treatment is like heaven on earth for me.
So we make it up to the top of this hill and a bunch of us are up there all goofing around. We have been cooped up in these trucks for almost 16 hours by now and we are absolutely giddy to be out of them. So we almost immediately start to fuck around. We set Mountain Dew cans on the rocks and fling other rocks at them. We mark our territory by relieving ourselves on the ground. We take pictures of each other as we do our best Napoleon impressions on top of the trucks. We play basketball with bite size cookies and each other’s mouths. We even managed to take a couple of good pictures, one of which I think is going to be a recruiting poster someday. (It's the one on top) Then we start to throw rocks at the trucks of those in our convoy that didn't come to the top of the hill, and laugh as they scurry into the cabs of their trucks. Then my buddy, 'American GI' and I got into an argument because I didn't offer him a star crunch when he offered me a Mountain Dew. Maybe that was breach of etiquette, but I still think a star crunch is worth about 3 of these little baby Mountain Dew's that they have here.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is your military. Professional soldiers, who are thoroughly trained, and schooled in the conduct of war and military operations. Not to mention disciplined in the harshest of conditions to endure the most unforgiving terrain and weather the world has to offer. Armed with the most advanced and sophisticated weaponry the world has ever seen and we ride in the most expensive vehicles in any military arsenal, along with the most sophisticated and expensive communication equipment in the world. And what do we do when placed on an important military mission?
We throw cookies at each other!
And we sat there (in the trucks, per order of the LT) for about 3 hours waiting for the convoy to come by. Now this is going to be hard to believe but you are just going to have to trust me, because I know this is going to sound a little absurd...THEY GOT THERE ON TIME! I mean these guys actually were, where they were supposed to be at the appointed time! First thing that came to mind was that they sure as hell weren't American soldiers, but sure enough we saw Old Glory flying high and there was no doubt it was them.
Now we have to play leap frog with this big ass convoy, and the other squad from our platoon that has the exact same mission as us, but for some reason didn't have to leave until 0700 this morning. I swear, that someone up there either hates me or is having a lot of fun at my expense. Anyways, so we are jumping from hilltop to hilltop looking around and making sure that Mr. Taliban Man is not around and thinking he might add some fuel to our fire, if you catch my meaning. Luckily, for us for the most part it went off without a hitch. You know only one or two trucks blew up, we only found like 3 bombs, and we only had to stop for one flat tire. Once again, this is considered a very easy day in military terms.
However, since this huge convoy moves at about the speed of smell it took forever and a day to get back home with all this stuff. When all was said and done I spent 27 hours sitting my big ole' ass in that truck, and between the hillbilly I have in the gun, and the She-Devil that drives the damn thing I am truly starting to believe that my truck is cursed.
Anyways, I am done for now. Maybe I'll think of some more later. But right now I need a cigarette and off to bed with me. New Year's doesn't mean shit here, but to all of you back home, Happy New Year and have a drink for me.
Later,
I love you mom...
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