Saturday, October 15, 2005

The Good Gibberish

How would you all like a good drunken rant?

Soldiers are known for their ability to consume alcohol like it was the source of all life itself, and it seems even MY bitch ass is no exception. So after a few more drinks, I'll begin a rant.

In the meantime, my roommate informs me that:

"You are good stuff, no matter what. And no matter what anyone says, my asshole is chapped. And yeah, I'm probably gonna throw up tonight."

Excellent, now its time to play catch up. In the meantime, if it is available, cue Tool's "The Grudge" on your music playing device, even though the mind blowing quality of it will be tainted by my ramblings, but that's something each reader must face alone. Its 1:19 in the morning and I'm still sober, and the less friendly and mellow drunks have turned in, and now I can relax and enjoy my stupor that is to come.

There's nothing quite like stepping into the latrine to use a urinal, and seeing it nearly clogged with cigarette butts. I mean what the fuck? Cigarette butts in my place of pissing? WHY? What about empty beer cans? Is that too creative for you other Joes? What the frickin shit? Put that bitch out somewhere where we don't risk a severe clog and the potential hazard of human waste and effluence pouring over porcelain precipices to splash onto tiled floors and taint the airways of residential soldiers of such a pitiful living environment. I mean hey, I love to breathe piss as much as the next guy, but come the fuck on, this is ridiculous. Atleast EAT your cigarette butts if you are too retarded to put them out and dispose of them like a human being who has graduated Neanderthal School. Goll-ee.

By the way, sandwich bag companies love pot dealers, because they are the leading purchasers of that particular product. Write Glad a thank you note, dealers.

Perhaps this is why I can't escape drinking. I have somehow established myself as a very fun and entertaining drunk, which powerleveled (raised significantly in a short period of time) my tolerance for the most wonderful liver killing substance since Courtney Love. Oh well, no one's perfect, and I still don't understand Phil Donahue.

Another thing that grinds my gears is imbedded reporters. I've yet to truly experience altogether what its like to be imbedded by a reporter, but I'm sure Connie Chung will come around eventually. =P But Geraldo Rivera giving away the top secret location of U.S. troops and then WONDERING WHY HE WAS KICKED OUT OF THEATER, come on. Please, Geraldish, don't attempt to project such pituary retardedness onto us, Dick Clark made you after Satan impregnated you with his black tar bat-blood seed, so take a seat and shut up, for my word is the truth. The moral of the rant was that it seems that most imbedded reporters are in it ONLY to make a name for themselves (unlike most reporters, because I'm sure they are all about self sacrifice and not about personal gain, yep, positive, I am in no way doubtful, oh no, not me, never would question THAT irrefutable logic, uh uh, NO WAY Sam, I ain't gonna have it...). There may be a FEW honest dudes and dudettes whose work I have yet to read, but so far, I have decided that they aren't kosher, and no one cares, and this post will be deleted in the morning as I struggle to hydrate and wonder where I went wrong.

Next: Global warming. For fuck's sake, stop warming the global. God, like its that hard. I took a conscious decision to stop green housing and stuff, so why can't you? Global warming raped my neighbor's friend's cat and stole their furniture. Its bad stuff. Yes, this is allegedly your nation's finest, right here, babbling online with a BAC to rival his high school GPA. Which leads me to the real point.

When I was home on leave after all my initial training (Basic and the combined AIT), the only type of people that ever THANKED me for volunteering for service were the very people that I had assumed to be bottom feeding leeches, though still humans and not to be stereotyped, as a whole were unmotivated, etc etc etc, anyway, every Native American that I came across thanked me and showed a deep respect as I worked OH SO HARD on Hometown Recruiters Assistance. I was blown away. Fuck, wasn't I taught by friends and overall stereotype that these people were just drunks and druggees and lived off of welfare? Well shit, these "bottom feeders" expressed more gratitude than any officious prick in a business suit. Kind of makes you wonder, doesn't it? You can suppress a culture for generations and reduce it to near ruin, and STILL the important aspects will shine through the worst that we have put on them.

And yes, it took a great amount of courage for me to admit this to anyone reading. I have never been one to claim racism towards any culture, creed, or heritage, but my overall opinion regarding MOST Natives had been changed dramatically.

Before I enlisted, when I was still working at Spencer Gifts, with a head full of blue hair, I met two high school buddies of mine who were home for Christmas, shopping for their families. Both of them had become Marines. One of them was a Native that I had always had a lot of respect for. I'd mention his name if I could only track him down to get his permission. I regard him that highly. In high school, he stuck out like a sore thumb, striving academically, where others of his culture fell prey to complete indifference. I still remember our graduation ceremony. We were all wearing our blue dresses, I mean gowns, with our mortar hats (OH MY GOD THE IRONY!), and his mortarboard or whatever the fuck your grandmother called it, was decorated with a feather, to represent his Native pride. I was completely blown away. Six months later, as I was directionless and looking to the army to serve a debt I felt I owed as a young American male to my brothers, I was attempting to suggestive-sell beer bongs when this familiar face in civilian clothes strode in.

Of course I'd approach him. Loudly, "Hello good sir! Welcome tae Spencer's! How may ah help you?!" I shouted in a pitifully offensive Scottish accent, holding a Simpson's beer mug. I then approached him and began a conversation with him, to find that he had become a fucking Marine.

Now normally, in the army, we give the marines shit for being robots, etc etc etc, which really doesnt mean shit. Bottom line is that they are our counterparts, and they are the same mofos that came from the same high schools as us and fight the same battles, and all brotherly rivalry can piss off when it comes down to the wire, but that's a different rant for a different day.

I can't describe my elation to hear that this guy, who I had always really respected but never knew how to acknowledge that and tell him in words that wouldnt creep the both of us out, had pushed himself to become one of our nation's finest. Most of the time, when you hear good news about someone, you say, "Well that's just great, I'm really happy for you," but you don't mean shit. You say that, but you really mean that you can't wait to go home, get some grub, watch some TV, and have some sex so you can wake up to do it all over again. I seriously meant it. It was insane to see this guy really raising the boundaries. I suppose you'd have to be from my hometown to understand exactly where I'm coming from, but damn, this guy had a hell of an impact on me.

I'm sorry, this was intended to be an entertaining drunk rant, and instead I ended up praising someone that never ceased to amaze me. Sorry. I hope that someday he finds this and sees it. At that point he can say, "Wow, what a fucking fruit," which would be TOTALLY cool with me.

I didn't violate OPSEC by mentioning that Spencer's sells beer bongs did I? FUCK! Well, BOHICA.

[BOHICA - Slang - Bend Over Here It Comes Again - A phrase to express the manner in which the army can and will "fuck" you in a sense of the word. Generally not a complaint, but a joke to relieve tension and aggression towards any and all unfortunate situations that are part of the territory of being a soldier. The remedy for such tension and aggression, of course, is to drink water, as that can cure any ailment in the Army.

And for any hopefuls that may stumble upon this absolute dogshit in HTML format that are considering the army, all I have to say is that on a day to day basis, you will bitch, piss and moan, and pass figurative kidney stones the size of the rocks of Gibraltar. But when you look at the big picture, its a good experience, even if it will set you several years behind all your friends at home.

Fuck it, college can wait. Let the army show you how to drink so that you can impress your frat lovers later.

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