"Big and Blue"

-The story of my strange, fearful, and erotic trip to Tallinn, the capital of Estonia.-

(Originally posted July 17th 2011)

--So there I was, waiting for Greg to finish up with his erotic massage. I sat across the massage parlor in an Italian restaurant having a beer. It was about 1230 at night and the sun was finally starting to set in Estonia. (No joke. The sun sets and rises at the same time there in July. It will blow your fucking MIND!) I watched one other guy exit before Greg did. He looked like a tourist too. Alone, and a bit lost. He probably heard about how all erotic massages were 30 euro off after midnight too. That's one hell of a deal. It'd be a crime NOT to have your dick beat up for 30 euro off! I began to think about what was actually going on in there. And if the word, "erotic" was actually Estonian for, "gay man." And when Greg finally walked out, and I saw his face...a face of guilt and shame...and one that was a bit more oily than usual, my assumption may have been correct. But I'll let HIM tell you that part of the story. I have my own...and it's only slightly less homoerotic.---

I've wanted to go to Tallinn, the capital of Estonia, for as long as I can remember. Which is about two years now. (I drink a lot. Memory isn't what it used to be) I've always been interested in Eastern Europe, Russia, and random places most people have never heard of. Most guys probably think Estonia was the school all the kids went to on The Flintstones. But no, it's the most northeastern part of mainland Europe, borders Russia, on the water, cheap, and filled with whores. Everything a man could want. (By the way, the only school on The Flintstones was Bedrock High School. See, you learned something today.)

(London-Stansted to Tallinn) I had to get up at 3am for the flight to Tallinn since I can only afford cheap flights that leave right after airports open. I decided to wear my RocaWear shirt. Yes that's right, I do own a RocaWear shirt. I wore it for a few reasons. One, I honestly just really like the shirt. Two, I doubt most people in Eastern Europe have even heard of RocaWear and wouldn't call me a, "whack cracker ass cracker." And three, I read that Estonian girls really like black guys. So maybe some WOULD know of RocaWear and think I'm just a really light skin brutha. Man, I could only hope.

We get to the airport, park the car, and get on the shuttle bus that takes you straight to the terminal. Right before we get there, someone pressed a button in the bus that makes a ding for the driver to hear. Some dude was just like, "Next stop please!" by hitting that button. We're on an airport shuttle bus. I really don't think pressing that button is necessary on the way to the terminal. Though if I was the bus driver, I would skip the terminal and do a full circle back to the parking lot and yell out, "Last stop!" And everyone would be like, "What?!" "Sorry, no one rang the bell. I ain't playin' games up in here! I'm on a schedule bitches!"

Once inside the terminal, I had to get some money exchanged. As I gave the lady my cash, she asked where I was heading off to and I told her. She gave me back a 50 and some 20s. I hate large bills. Especially since 50 and 100 euro bills are physically larger than any other bills. As if the actual NUMBERS on the bill weren't a good enough giveaway on what the denomination was. But just so happens, a whore in Amsterdam is exactly 50 euro, and I'm guessing they would be about the same in Estonia. So a 50 would actually be pretty convenient. Thank God I know a guy who's been to Amsterdam who once told me that. My friend, Don. He's awesome. A bit weird at first, but once you get to know him, you'll find out that he's...uh...ya he's a fucking weirdo. But ya. Don. Cool dude.

We went through the metal detector and as I passed through it I was wondering, "I bet condoms come up really easily on X-ray machines." The guy watching the machine looks at the screen...then looks at me...and probably says to himself, "Ya, THIS guy is paying for sex this weekend." Hey, fuck you buddy, I just got an oversized 50 euro bill sticking out of my wallet I want to get rid off! And of course they had to go through my bag. When they got done, I started putting my stuff away and realized that I couldn't find my extra bottle of Clear Eyes. I was panicking. I was ready to call off the whole trip. It's like getting to the airport and forgetting your passport. Or getting to work and forgetting your Facebook user name and/or password. What the fuck are you going to do at work all day now?! But luckily I eventually found the extra bottle and put down the razor I was planning to kill myself with.

I love being able to jet off, travel, to see and do new things. It almost angers me that some people don't, or say they can't or don't have the time and that it's really hard once you have kids. I always thought that was bullshit. You're just lazy and don't want to go out. But now when I see families with kids at the airport...I understand. Yes, I FULLY understand. If you're a parent and never want to leave the house...I have no problem with that. Having a wife or girlfriend is hard enough. They're always bitching and complaining, always taking forever to get ready, stressing out over everything, asking stupid questions, making you think, "Ya know, maybe dating just other dudes from now on really wouldn't be such a bad thing after all." The constant whining, and having to pee all the time...just an overall pain in the ass. And I guess for some reason, most guys get older and think, "You know what? I want MORE of that. Preferably an even more severe case of that. How about 3 or 4 more actually. Lets have kids! And lets have those severe problems in the household for at least 18 years each!" I don't envy you parents out there that's for sure. But if that's what you want and you can handle it...hey, more power to you. And if you ever want to smack your kid upside the head for acting up in public, not only will I look away like nothing happened, I will turn back around and shake your hand and give you a very heart-felt, "Thank you."

Toddlers from other countries kinda freak me out. Because really, no matter what language it is, everything a 2 year old says sounds the same. It's just noises and crying. You don't need to take another language in high school for 4 years to figure that one out. But German kids are different. Those little krauts scare the fuck out of me. Everything they say sounds evil. Like a sadistic German doctor who's about to do surgery on you with rusted out tools and a smile on his face. And if they're not giddy from all the torturing delight, it's just a bunch of fist slams while yelling, "Nein! Nein! Nein!" Uh oh, looks like little Adolf wants some ice cream again.

I HATE how families with kids and old people get to board first on a plane. When they announce that, they should just announce what they REALLY mean by saying, "If you are going to be a huge pain in the ass, please board now." "If you plan on annoying every passenger on this aircraft, please board now." "If you need extra time because you're really slow and just want to prolong this long and horrible process for everyone even more than it already is, please board now."

The plane we took was open seating. We got on quick and I got an aisle seat and Greg got a window seat. I told him that we had to do everything we could to make it so that no would sit in between us. We did things like... sat up higher in our seats to make ourselves look bigger... started looking very scared and worried... started scratching ourselves all over really really fast... coughing a lot without covering our mouths... started rubbing oil on each other... ok, maybe not that, but in the end, no one sat in between us. Thank GOD! ...because I didn't have enough baby oil for another dude in the middle.

(Holy fuck this story is long. Ok, on to Estonia...)

We get to Tallinn and it's packed with people. Just tons and tons of tourists speaking a million different languages. I hate how some tourists like to wear shirts and hats from other places they've been to. It's so tacky. Like, "Ya, Estonia is alright, but the Hard Rock in Beijing was the fucking BOMB!" And I can't believe they make it, but I even saw a guy wearing a, "I heart D C" shirt. Ya, I bet you DO love dick you homo! We saw a few old couples wearing matching outfits too. Matching hats, shirts, fanny packs, everything. Ya, that's cute for about 5 seconds, until you start to wonder if that fanny pack is where the wife keeps her husband's balls.

One of my favorite places in Tallinn that we went to...well, I don't want to say, "favorite" because I don't want to seem like a racist, but I'll say, the most INTERESTING place we went into, was a military surplus store that sold nothing but Nazi and old Soviet CCCP military gear. Swastikas EVERYWHERE. I didn't notice them at first, I just saw a bunch of things with Stalin on them and that Soviet hammer and sickle symbol everywhere....and then I turn around and see a swastika on an alarm clock and Hitler's face on a beer mug. And then I start to think, "Should I really be in here?" I look over and see tons of Nazi uniforms and helmets and even old guns from WW1 and 2. Then I see a dude behind the counter with a shaved head wearing a leather jacket. I'm assuming he was the owner. I feel bad for bald men in America who wear leather jackets, because whether you like it or not, when I look at you, the first thing that pops in my mind is you yelling out, "White power!" every 5 minutes. I appreciate history and all, but I just didn't feel too comfortable in that place. I don't think anyone in the store minded us being in there too much though because luckily for me I have blue eyes and Greg's head was already shaved. Just a couple of good ol' boys rummaging through some old Nazi propaganda posters. Typical Tuesday afternoon in Estonia.

Ok, now it's time to talk about the women of Estonia. It's nothing but tall hot blondes in small tight dresses and high heels...ALL day. There are cobblestone streets around the whole town and they still wear 3 inch heels like they're just another part of their body. Like, lets say an Estonian girl wakes up in the morning, realizes she needs some milk, and her biggest concern for the day is deciding what hooker heels would go best with her backless red dress on her walk to the grocery store. And if it's not a skanky dress, they're wearing short skirts. We would follow behind girls for blocks just waiting until the wind blew one up so that we could giggle and give each other high fives. They all look like they're heading out to a night club at all hours of the day. I just feel bad for all the brunettes in Estonia, or as the blondes there like to call them, "gingers." Brunettes are the outcasts of northeastern Europe. Probably treated the same as witches were in Massachusetts a few hundred years ago. But even all the brunettes were skinny and hot. But for the most part, it was like walking around the Playboy mansion.

But then it got me thinking...do these girls even know how hot they are? That's all they see, that's all they know. Same with the guys. How can they tell the difference between a 10 and a 9 and a half? And the guys with these Estonian girls weren't huge studs by any means. And I doubt any are rich, because, come on...what the fuck is going on in Estonia? Unless you own a strip club or selling off your own personal Nazi collection, you're probably making less money than most Americans. They're just dorky, small, skinny, queer looking people. Which brings me to my latest genius idea- They should make a game show in America called, "Gay...or just European?" Contestants stand in front of a bunch of men and have to decide in less that 10 seconds who's who. It'll be tough. Tough, but intense. Rafeal Nadal can get away with wearing neon tank tops and capri pants because he's a millionaire, won a bunch of tennis championships, and fucks supermodels...YOU don't, so take those faggot ass pants off!

The language barrier can be tough sometimes. Not everyone there spoke English. Or if they did, it was just really hard to understand. Whenever I go out to eat in Europe and someone takes my order, a lot of times they'll start asking me stuff and I won't understand what they're saying, and I don't like to say, "What?" more than once, so I nod and say yes just to get it over with. But it sucks if it's not a yes or no type question. Pretty awkward. Because then you sorta feel like a dick for just nodding along, and then the person asking the question feels stupid, and then you start thinking, "If you're gonna live and work in MY country, the least you could do is learn the fucking language!" And then you realize you're not in America anymore and that doesn't really apply here, and then you wonder if it's midnight yet so that you can get that erotic massage for 30 euro off.

A few homeless people came up to me asking for money. Mostly German people oddly enough. I knew what they wanted before they opened their mouth, but they continued to ask me for money in German. Once they realized I was American, they would try some English, but I still didn't want to give them any money. I'm kinda suprised that they didn't START with English. Just went with German right away. There weren't even that many Germans around Estonia anyway. I'm guessing the German homeless all hang out together and saw me walk out of the Nazi store and figured I would help a brother out or something. Sorry amigo, I may be part German, but I got a little Jew in me too and I ain't sharin' with nobody.

Our hotel was nice. I liked my room. It had everything I needed. Simple. Clean. More than 4 channels on the tv, and some that were actually in English, so that's always nice. They even had a bottle opener in the room. That's cool. Now I wouldn't have to slam the top of a bottle against the side of a table spilling it everywhere just to get it open. Greg's room was another story though. Pretty sure he got a converted broom closet. The walls in his room were V shaped and multi-colored. It was like something out of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. But there was no candy on the other side of this door, just the smell of human waste and excrement. Though, that may have been due to the dump Greg took moments before I came to his room. His windows didn't open and were half the size of mine. He didn't even have a picture or painting in his room. What kind of hotel room doesn't have a stupid 5 dollar picture in it?! The only really bad thing about our rooms was the fact that the shower head was hanging above the toilet. There wasn't a tub or even some kind of lip to stop the water from flooding the whole bathroom. It was pretty weird. After every shower I had to use a blow dryer to guide the water to the drain away from the toilet just so I could take a crap without my feet covered in dirty water. But hey, if that's what they do in Estonia, who am I to judge? I haven't used a blow dryer since the good ol' Dan Hair Days back in the late 90s. Felt good to use my old friend again. And, best of all, if you accidently get a little pee on your shorts, a blow dryer will get that right out too!

We decided to check out a torture museum they had in town. There were signs for it but it was still hard to find. You had to go down a dark alley and ring a door bell and then get buzzed in. No one came to the door or responded back through the intercom, the door just opened. Then you make your way up some creepy spiral uneven steps hearing random voices. We were doing all of this so we could see some torture equipment. I think we were just volunteering ourselves to be the next big water cooler story. "Hey did you hear about those two Americans in Estonia who got all their skin peeled off by a German dude and then forced to watch Good Burger over and over until they bled out??" That could have been US!

We get upstairs and see a lady sitting at a small table and a red blanket covering the entrance to the museum. I starting thinking about my family and how much I love them and how much I love my finger nails and hope that they'll still be connected to my fingers when I leave there. We pay and go behind the curtain and see the torture equipment and read all about them. It was pretty interesting. Most devices actually came from France. Ya. France. Who knew? FUCK France. But anywho, one of the most interesting things I saw was this metal thing that got inserted into a girl's ass or pussy if they were found guilty of having sex with the Devil or any of his friends. Ya. Seriously. A big metal piece that got shoved up there and then opened up like an umbrella with spikes on the end of it. Pretty bad stuff. But you know what? I sorta blame the girls for even getting caught in the first place. Because you know how girls are when they get together and tell each other everything, and I bet there was at least one ho trying to impress her friends by saying, "Hey, you know that really tan guy with the pointy ears on the top of his head? Well, last night he came by my place and brought some water over that he magically turned into vodka and I fucked the SHIT out of him. And I was sucking on his horned toes like there was no tomorrow! Oh Lord have mercy!"

------------------INTERMISSION----------------

I'm assuming you just laughed so hard with that last bit there that you needed a little break. No? Well, I do, and it seems like a good spot to stop for a minute. Some quick things about Estonia and my time there that I don't feel like writing a lot about... Greg has no problem continuing to stare at a girls tits even after she has noticed him doing it. I shouldn't have to remind a grown man to look up once in a while... What the fuck would a Russian keyboard look like? So many crazy "letters" or whatever you call them. A Russian keyboard must look like the inside of a space shuttle. And I'm pretty sure the Batman symbol is used for certain adverbs... Everywhere we went to eat, Greg took forEVER to order. Pissed me off. Then he always wound up getting the exact same thing I just ordered. Every TIME!... Turkish kebabs look so good until you see that an actual Turkish guy is making them. "Uh, ya, nevermind, I'm good. I like my meat withOUT extra sweat and hair on top... The only soda they have in Estonia is Coke, Spite, and RC Cola. Ya, so THAT'S what we did with all our RC Cola 20 years ago!... I've now seen Duff beer sold in Switzerland and Estonia, but not the U.S. What the Fuck?! ... Not a lot of Asian tourist in Estonia. That's different. Asians are always everywhere taking pictures of the most stupidest shit and throwing up the peace sign. You can throw up any sign you want, I'm still gonna hate you---

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And finally, now to the climax of the story. Or, anti-climax if you will, as you will soon find out. So one of our goals, or, ADVENTURES Greg and I wanted to embark on, was getting with a whore in Estonia. Though I kept reading about Estonian prostitution on the internet, it wasn't as easy to find as we thought. And I may have even googled, "Price of whore in Estonia" on a government computer. It's...it's for a paper I'm writing for a class on human trafficking. I'll show it to you all later. But moving on...we figured we'd go check out a strip club. One of the first ones we saw was called Club 69. Ok, sounds good. Straight to the point. No grey area there. But soon we found out that Club 69 was actually a GAY strip club. But I didn't understand because there were pictures of girls on the outside. Maybe they just wanted to bring guys in by posting those pictures and entice them with Happy Hour drink specials to get them to stay. "Dude, those balls dangling by my face ARE kinda annoying, but dollar drafts?? You can't BEAT that! Plus, the service here is EXCELLANT! Sure, taking shots out of a glass shaped like a penis isn't totally my thing, but Dante' over there makes a KILLER mojito!"

And then I got to thinking...can gay people even 69? Like, two large dudes going at it like that? Is that even possible? If you think about the whole mechanics of everything and the way things are pointing and just... oh my god you were just visualizing it right now weren't you?? You are soooo gay!!

We saw spinning lights coming out of an alley nearby so we decided to check it out. Spinning lights. Best advertising ever. It was a strip club/smoking lounge...run by Turks. Ya. Not my thing. The only thing this club had going for it were the spinning lights. There were other strip clubs we passed by, but they were run by Russians standing out front trying to get you to come in. I don't trust these places. If they're struggling for people, then I don't want to go in there. They kept saying, "Maybe you take a look inside? Maybe you like? Maybe you stay?" And I'm thinking, "Maybe I DON'T want to get kidnapped tonight?"

There was also a strip club there called Deja Vu. Ok, what city DOESN'T have a strip club in it called Deja Vu? And...I had another joke about this, but I forgot it, so I'm moving on. Whatever. Fuck you.

We settle on going into what LOOKED to be one of the bigger strip clubs on the main strip in Tallinn. We walked down some dark spiral stairs into a red cave and saw that we were the only two people inside and there wasn't even a girl dancing...and there wasn't even a pole! A lady walked up to us...old, chubby, and not hot, explaining everything to us. Basically just saying how it cost 10 Euro to stay and if we leave now our parents would never recognize the body. So we decided to stay and I ordered two beers for us. I gave the bartender, the only hot chick in the club, a 20 Euro bill, which is about 28 American dollars. I stood there waiting for my change...and nothing. Yup. 10 Euro beers. Fuck. Everywhere else was 2.50! Damn it. I just hopes this gets better really soon. So we sit down hoping to see some girls come out and dance. The old host lady comes out and tells us we should change tables and get away from the speakers so we could chat. She sits down with us and another girl comes in. She was cute, a young blonde with glasses. Not really the stripper type, but that was cool because that's what I like. I think it was the great Christopher "Ludacris" Bridges who once said, "I want a lady on the street but a freak in the bed." So true Luda, so true. But then he did a song with Justin Bieber, so I don't know how valuable his judgment really is.

The two girls were from Latvia. Which right away I was really interested in because I'm a fag who would rather learn about Latvia than stare at tits. The blonde next to me asked me where I was from. I wasn't going to say St.Louis because I doubt a girl from Latvia who makes a living taking her top off in Estonia has heard of it. I didn't see any St.Louis Cardinals tattoos on her arm either so I just told her that I'm from Philadelphia since I was born there and figured she'd at least heard of that city before. Ya...but no. After repeatedly saying Philadelphia and seeing her confused look, I just got sick of it and said New York City. Close enough. Ya, never again will I ever claim to be from a city that harbors the Evil Empire that is the New York Yankees. Then the other girl said to me, "You have some big blue eyes." And all I'm thinking was, "You know what else is big and blue? My balls! Now get on this shit!"

The talking was getting really annoying. I just want to go to a strip club, sit down, have a drink, not be bothered, stare at some tits, maybe get a blow job, maybe some anal, who knows...but "talking" is not on my list. I always thought having a whole strip club to yourself would be cool, but no, it's not. You have to listen to girls talk and then buy them drinks just so they can take sips to help them from talking for a few seconds. They kept wanting us to buy a bottle of wine. A beer was 10 Euro. A bottle of wine had to be like 60 at least. So fuck that. I didn't want to stay much longer so I asked the girl how much a private dance was. She told me 70 Euro. So right away I thought, "Dueces!" and get the fuck up out of there. But then I got to thinking, 70 Euro IS a lot, but I'm sure that includes EVERYTHING. So I told myself, "Well, this'll probably be my only time ever in Estonia. And it would be one hell of a story to tell the grandkids I never have." Lets giddy-up!

We go back into a private room and I look at the couch, trying to spot any stains before choosing a place to sit. I sit down and she goes up to the radio which has an Ipod connected to it and starts thumbing through the tracks for like 5 minutes. I'm just thinking, "Seriously? You don't have a Greatest Hit's cd or something? Boner Jams 08'? Nothing?! Whatever. You better put some Rihanna on then. Rihanna's my girl!"

Before she starts, I see what I'm pretty sure is a video camera on the ceiling. A small black glass dome. I was just thinking, "Fuck, there's probably a live feed going into some old German dude's house now who paid 20 Euro for this." I look around for any sharp objects. None that I could see. But I couldn't see up her ass or pussy yet. So, still a little tense.

Right away she takes my belt off. "Ok, here we go. Put that 70 Euro to use!" But then she wraps the belt around my neck like a collar and starts pulling me around like a dog. I'm thinking, "What the fuck am I PAYING for here?!" So she's doing her dance, still fully clothed. I'm sitting there like an idiot with a belt around my neck and I'm actually starting to get a little bored and wondering who just got voted off America's Got Talent.

After being topless, maaaaaybe 60 whole seconds, she stops the music and starts putting her clothes back on and asked for a tip. I'm sitting there wondering, "Wait...What?! That's it?!" 70 Euro. That's just over 100 bucks. For NOTHING! I literally could have flown to Amsterdam and back for that much. So I get up, didn't tip her, I try to tell Greg I'm leaving, but he was deep in conversation with the hostess about chlorophyll or something, and I walk back to the hotel wondering when the next flight to Amsterdam departs because I know 70 euro gets a girl to at least drop her panties there.

Now, you may be wondering what happened to Greg. To sum up, he didn't get much more than me, but did manage to ask how much it was to fuck in there...which I guess wasn't proper whore etiquette, so he got denied. Buuuut, Skank #1 DID ask for his number because she wanted to hang out with us the next day and show us around...and the basturd said no!! Who DOES that?! "Oh hey what are you doing today?" "Oh nothing, just roaming around town with my new best friend Skankalottapuss, she's a local whore in town." " Nice dude!"

Could you imagine all the adventures we could have went on with her and her whore friends?! Sexy bowling. Sexy fishing. Sexy taco night. Sexy Farmville. Sexy game of Uno. The possibilities are ENDLESS! But no. He had to say no. I've always wanted a reason to buy a cane and feathery hat and I could have HAD that! I could have walked around with hot chicks and called them bitches and hos and have them actually respond HAPPILY to that! That's every guy's dream! But, I guess it just wasn't meant to be. It wasn't the right time. They'll be others. Hos come and go. ...and in the mean time you go out and find an erotic massage. Especially after midnight. It's cheaper than a lap dance AND you're more likely to leave with a smile on your face. There's some advice you won't find in a travel book. Suck it Frommer!

"Fudge Wars"

I wrote this story in February of 2009 while working at the 305th APS at McGuire AFB New Jersey. It's so bad and embarrassing that I wasn't planning on sending it out until the day I left McGuire, but then I just figured...fuck it. This is true life, real drama, and written exactly how it happened. It's Rated R, and once you get to Chapter 2, it's down-right disgusting. I apologize now for what you are about to read.


....a long time ago, in an aerial port far, far away...


"Fudge Wars"

There are many instances in a person's life they wish they could forget or
wish never happened. It could be something embarrassing, tragic, or just
hitting rock bottom. Some of the most painful moments you could ever encounter
often involve other people. Either because they were hurt too, or because
they SAW what happened to you and now you feel shitty for multiple reasons.
You just want to get away, you want to be alone, and you hope you have a
friend who can keep a secret. What happened to me recently didn't involve
anyone else but myself, and no one would have ever known what took place
without this story I'm writing now.
What happened to me could have easily been the worst moment of my entire
life...if someone actually saw me. Have you ever heard about a guy who was
caught jerking off in broad day light? Well, that would never happen to me
because I've been deployed multiple times and that makes me a jerk-off ninja
that can't be caught. But now...I could relate.


Chapter 1- "Join me in the Dark Side."

So there I was...it was a cold February night, and for some damn reason, I was
working 12 hour night shift for 3 weeks at the 305th Aerial Port even though I
was moving overseas in just 6 weeks. I was driving a 60K aircraft loader back and forth
loading a 747. While waiting to drop off my 2nd load at the plane, I realized
I had my own load brewing in my pants I had to drop off too. The 5 slices of
cheap ass Domino's I had just a short time ago had caught up with me, and a
bathroom was nowhere in sight. I was parked in the middle of the flight line
with nowhere to go. I couldn't leave the K-Loader, and I couldn't drive it to
a bathroom because I was next to be loaded. I started to panic. What am I
gonna do? My stomach is getting worse and worse and the people working the
plane are only getting slower and slower.

I get out of the 60K and begin pacing back and forth. It was FREEZING outside, and me
thinking more about how cold it was and all the shivering took my mind off the
turtle head that was sticking out of my ass for a few moments, but it wasn't
long enough. So I begin contemplating the idea of shitting on the flight line.
It was dark, I had a big K-Loader to squat behind and no one would see me. I
walked around the loader looking for any type of paper I could use to wipe my
ass. Nothing. I look inside the cab for something. Nothing. It was the ONE
fucking time no one left trash in there. I then stare at the placards and manifests attached
to the pallets for a few seconds. "Hmm...maybe." But I decided against it. I
was getting desperate. I started pacing back and forth faster and faster while
praying to St. Charmin, the patron saint of uncontrollable bowel movements, "Please let me live."


Could you imagine driving on the flight line and seeing a huge pile of shit
just laying there? What would you think? I don't know, but someone was about
to find out. Before resorting to this, I decided to take a piss first and see
if that would relieve some tension from my stomach and hopefully the feeling
of having to shit would go away. I go behind the loader and start pissing on
the flight line and immediately regret my decision. I realize that it is
nearly impossible to free your body of urine with a clenched butt cheek. I had
to release the pressure holding my ass together to piss, and doing this made
the shit want to come out even more. I was pissing in squirts. Shooting out
piss, clenching my ass. Shooting out piss, clenching my ass. Shooting out
piss, clenching my ass. There was a LOT going on here. And every time I let
out a little piss, the mud pie running down my stomach was getting closer and
closer to my ass hole. I had to stop all pissing operations immediately.

I get back in the 60K to load the plane and I feel a LITTLE better, but I
wasn't out of the woods yet. I still had to shit, but I think I'm gonna make
it. When I got done, I floor it back to the docks to park the 60K. I parked
crooked, and well past where I should have stopped, but fuck it. I get out
and power-walk inside to the warehouse. Inside I see about 8 people building
pallets. I slow my walk down because I don't want them to think, "Hey I think
that guy is about to shit his pants!" I try to look calm and cool, but it's
hard to do that when you're sweating and squeezing your ass together so hard
that you could bend a frying pan in half. As I open the door to go down the
hallway to the bathroom, I start ripping off everything I had on and threw it
on the ground. But then it hit me...my body just told me, "T-Minus 10 Seconds"
before shit comes shooting out whether I want it to or not. I grab the
bathroom door and swing it open so fast that I almost took it off it's hinges.
I start pulling my pants down while they're still buttoned and I'm
not even over the toilet yet.  I haven't done that since the first time I was
about to get laid. And just like back then, this too was about to get messy in
all the wrong places.

T-Minus 3 Seconds. My anus begins opening by itself, and a tsunami of ass
garbage is about to be released. I'm in the squatting position, but not yet
fully sitting down as the shit comes shooting out. I sit down on the seat, and
let out a huge sigh of relief. Finally. I made it. I didn't even care that
there wasn't any toilet paper on the seat and that I now probably just got
AIDS, I was just happy. It was over!...or so I thought. I look down to my boxers and pants...
and see chunks of shit...everywhere.

Horror. Absolute horror. I seriously just shit myself. I'm 27 years old, and I
have boxers full of shit in them. I've had a lot of close calls in my time,
but never in my life after moving from Huggies to Fruit of the Loom when I was
3, have I ever shat myself. And you know what the crazy thing is?
This isn't even the worst part of the story. It was just the beginning.



Chapter 2- "Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope."

I really wish, "boxers full of crap" was my only problem that day. But the
lack of toilet paper and the fact that my boxers weren't the only thing with
shit on them, made my situation a lot worse than I thought. I look to the left
and see shit smeared underneath my thigh. My shit didn't just hit the inside
of the toilet, but the OUTSIDE as well, and I SAT on it! I was sitting on a
shitty toilet with shitty thighs. I look at the toilet paper to my right and
see how there MIGHT be enough TP to cover the mess around my asshole, but not
my leg, toilet, and underwear. I panicked. This wasn't just "bad luck", or me
catching karma, or any kind of explainable circumstance of why the hell this
was happening, this was the ELEVENTH Plague of Egypt happening to JUST me here
in New Jersey. 

I started thinking to myself, "Ok, so what am I gonna do now? I got poopy
thighs, poopy boxers, and a really poopy ass with just a limited amount of
toilet paper." I start wiping my ass first, and before I could finish, I ran
out of toilet paper. I stand up and look over at the next stall and see that there's an extra roll of TP. I start reaching for it underneath the side wall, but I couldn't reach 
it. I bend down all the way and try to crawl under and get to it, but I
couldn't do it. As I'm trying this, mind you, I have no boxers or pants on and
the shit in my boxers is moving around getting on more and more places. I'm on
all fours in a bathroom stall reaching for an olive branch that is fabulous
toilet paper in the next stall but I can't grab it. So I had to make one of
the hardest decisions of my life. Like, a hundred times harder than Bret
Michaels when he had to decide which girl had to leave on Rock of Love. I had
to decide whether to run over to the stall next to me with my poopy ass
hanging out and risk being seen, or, NOT doing that.

But the thing was, I HAD to do this. There wasn't a choice.
It was the only option I had.

I started to gather myself together to make the toughest, most embarrassing, 5
second hop of my life. But just as I was about to do the biggest walk of shame
ever, 3 guys come strolling in the bathroom. I was THAT close from being seen
and having my head spontaneously combust from having no idea what to say or
do.
One guy went to piss, and the other two sat down at the stall on either side
of me. Great. I KNOW they could smell the shit in my boxers. It's hard to
explain, but you can tell the difference in smell between shit inside a
toilet, and a shit pile NOT in a toilet. One guy took his dump quick and
left, but the other guy to my right was in it for the long haul. I think he
was the kind that wanted to be alone and was waiting for me to finish up so
that he could finish privately. Well sorry amigo, but today I'm winning that
challenge. I got ALLLLL night.

I waited a good 20 minutes for that guy to finish. He left and I was all alone
in the bathroom again. I HAD to get that other roll of toilet paper. I stopped
moving and breathing just to try and hear if someone was walking down the
hallway. I didn't hear anything so I made my move. I bunny hopped over to the
next stall with my sloppy ass bouncing around and pants around my ankles. I
grabbed the roll, got back to my stall, and slammed the door shut. I made it.
No one saw me. I never sweated so much from just 5 seconds of physical
activity before but thank God it was over. I just avoided being the reason why
someone had to have a lifetime of therapy because of what they saw.

After cleaning the rest of my ass off, my next concern was cleaning the shit
off the toilet seat so I'd have a place to sit and could take my boots
and pants off just to get to my boxers and throw them out. I never thought
that kind of masterplan would ever enter my head at any point during my military career, but here we are. So anyway...Now, what
happened next is the moment in my life when I hit rock bottom. February 26th,
215am... I was standing up and tearing off toilet paper from the
roll...and...I...I...I dropped the roll in the toilet.      (I...I died)     Yup. It happened. I instantly got filled with emotion. My heart
skipped a beat. My stomach sank. I was on the verge of tears. I actually said
outloud in a muttering voice, "I can't believe this is happening." Have you
ever been part of a string incidents so bad that the whole situation starts to
turn funny? Yeah...that didn't happen.

I was staring at the wet toilet paper with watery eyes as if I was looking at
my best friend dying that just got shot while storming the beaches of Normandy.
But I had to regroup and act fast. I reached in that disgusting toilet and
pulled out the toilet paper. About 80 percent of the roll was wet, so SOME was
usable, and I made the most of it. I cleaned off the seat and sat down and
took my boots off. I was praying no one would walk in because from the
bathroom mirror you could see people's feet in the stalls, and what the hell
are they gonna think when they see someone's boots are off? I don't know. I
didn't wanna know. So quickly I got my boots and pants off and finally take
my dirty diapers off. I put my pants back on and it immediately felt really
weird going commando, especially in a military uniform. I felt like a
stripper...a really, really, DIRTY stripper. After putting everything back on,
I exited the stall and made a mad dash for the trash can to throw my underwear
away. It's over. Yes! I did it! All I had to do then was clean my hands and
whole arm thoroughly because ya, there was shit on there...everywhere, I'm not
even gonna lie.

I walked over to the dispatch office and see that EVERYONE is there. Not just
the guys I work with in Ramp, but from ALL the sections at the 305th Aerial Port.
They just all decided to hang out together at that very moment. They're all
starring at me because they were wondering where I was. I immediately get very
nervous because I'm wondering if any of these people knew what was going
on with me since I was gone a good hour in that shit hole...literally.  But
nobody mentioned anything. Everyone started telling bullshit stories about
other co-workers and everything seemed to be back to normal, but I still
wanted to get out of there. There weren't any seats left so I was just standing
there with shitty pants on praying no one could smell me, and for the first time
in my life I WANTED to go outside and do some work. So I walk out in the
warehouse and started sweeping the floor. I've spent my whole career trying to
get OUT of pointless cleaning, but what did it take to finally get that
warehouse floor at McGuire Air Force Base spotless?...the fact that no one wants
to smell you when you're going commando in camouflage.



(3 years later at another base, I sent this story to a co-worker of mine I
didn't know previously was at McGuire AFB too. He came to tears from laughter
while reading this and repeatedly kept saying, "I was there! I was fucking
there!" He worked in the warehouse the night it happened and told me that for
the longest time, people there kept wondering who the hell took a dump in the trash-can
because it stunk for days.)

Chapter 14- "If you've come this far, maybe you're willing to come a little further."

(Please go to the right and click on Dec 18 to see the very beginning of The Adventures of Sergeant Topbunk)


July 4th, 2013 Bagram, Afghanistan. It’s time. Everyone destined to be on the Freedom Bird home that day already changed their Facebook status to, “Leaving on a jetplane” and that makes it totally official. We're going home. So there I was at the passenger terminal starring at the clock and couldn’t believe that I was going to be on the next plane outta there, and the only thing going through my mind was, “What the hell does leaving on a jetplane even mean?“ Like, I know what it MEANS, but jet…AND plane?? It’s redundant and sounds stupid. I can only assume that Elton John wrote that lyric because it flowed well and he didn’t want to think of another syllable or didn’t want to stress the word “plane” like, “…plaaaane” when sung. That would have made more sense. But he took the easy way out by adding a variation of the word “plane” to go in front. That’s just lazy Elton. Take that peniscock out of your mouth and put some effort into it next time.

7 months. I was in Afghanistan for 7 months. 7 months of the same shit. I forgot what “normal” was. I forgot what working less than 75 hours a week was like. I forgot what a holiday was. I forgot what most normal food and beer tasted like. I forgot how to tie shoes that didn’t have laces long enough to wrap around your leg. I forgot how to sleep without jetplane engine noise in the background. I mean planes. Damnit Elton! I forgot how to be proficient at my own job because I was always stuck fixing someone else’s mistakes. I even forgot how to do a load of laundry. But I did do one smart thing. I turned in one last bag of laundry to get cleaned the day before I left Bagram so it will be sitting there waiting for me on a shelf when I go back there again 6 months from now. Wouldn’t that be funny if I actually DID have to go back to Bagram, and so soon? I show up and there’s my clean laundry just sitting there waiting for me on a shelf in the laundry tent. If that actually came true and I WAS back in Bagram 6 months later, seeing those clothes again would probably be the one thing to get me off the brink of suicide. I now know to never overpack for a deployment so I wouldn’t even bother bringing ANY bags next time, and having some clean underwear when I arrived would be heaven. I’d slide them on like new warm fuzzy sleepers on Christmas morning. Mmmm, mmmm, MMMM!

My replacements arrived a week before I left. Seeing them was probably the number 1 thing I was looking forward to since I got to Afghanistan. It was the first time I finally felt like I would be going home soon. My whole mood changed. Instead of being angry and distraught, I was happy and didn’t give a fuck about anything anymore. Before, I was ready to snap every time I heard someone eating chips or open a soda can. Have you ever heard someone open a soda can in a quite empty room? It pierces your ear like a gun shot. It echoes. It reaches a decibel that no other man-made object can reach. And then it’s followed up by a guy constantly reaching into a bag of chips. I don’t know what’s more annoying; the 10 seconds some fuck-wad spends reaching into a bag trying to find the perfect chip, or the crunching of a guy who can’t close his mouth when eating. But you know what? Who cares?! I’m going home! I won’t have to deal with that shit anymore! But sure, I’ll probably still end up flipping out and punching people in the face just for farting, shuffling cards, or having dumb ass conversations on Skype about their dog shitting on a carpet back home, but I’ll do it all with a smile on my face in the style of Patrick Bateman in American Psycho.

I saw my replacements sitting in a big group outside and I anxiously walked over to them. It was weird seeing them because to me they were like a rescue team who weren’t happy to rescue you. I know they probably had a hell of a time getting to Afghanistan and just being there now probably just sunk in on them, but to me, they were all angels I wanted to hug. I walked over to the whole group with a big smile on my face and started talking. I barely talked to anyone my whole 7 months in Afghanistan, but there I was being the Welcome Wagon to a group of guys who just entered the early stages of severe depression. I’m sure I was the only smiling face they’ve seen since arriving at Bagram, but it didn't last long. Throughout most of my time in Bagram, I only had one other roommate in my tiny room. I only had the horror of being in a 4 person room for a short while, and then I got to move to a 5 Star resort where I was able to use the top AND bottom bunk all to myself! Sweet Jesus!! I even had two whole lockers for my things! There was so much space for activities! My head kept spinning from all the activities I could do in there! You wouldn’t find anyone else in the world happier than me to have a 7x4 foot living space all to himself. But every single day I would fear that someone else would move into my room while I was gone, and every day I came home from work I would always have a huge sigh of relief to see that no one did. Me and my roommate purposely kept our sides of the room extra dirty with shit everywhere and on top of our extra bed in hopes that if one person DID eventually move in, that they would choose the other person’s top bunk to sleep in. Well, one week to go, with my replacements finally here…it happened. I just got two more roommates.

Fuck. Here we go again. 4 to a room. The only good thing this time though is that I wasn’t on the top bunk. I was actually told to move out of my room and go into a tent to make room for the new guys. These new guys were only going to be in Afghanistan for 4 months and I was there for 7, so they can suck my left nut. I EARNED that mother fucking room and bottom bunk. I was there long enough to see half the people in my building arrive to Bagram and leave before me. Do you know how depressing that is?? And now they want me to sleep in a fucking TENT my last week?? I was there over a month longer than anyone else. I was in Afghanistan for literally every single season, from Fall to the Summer. The fact that I went that long without ever getting injured or in serious trouble or caught jerking off is nothing short of a miracle, and now they want me to move into a hot ass tent in July?? There aren’t even bathrooms in a tent. You have to get in uniform and walk to a porto potty just to take a piss. I had an actual real toilet near my room where I slept. I didn’t want to change that. It’s bad enough I have to use porto potties for 12 hours a day while at work, but when I get off, I really don’t want to have to deal with any more toilet paper I just lined around the seat in a porto potty being whisked away when a slight breeze enters. It never fails. You try to be all nice and neat by putting toilet paper gently on the seat, and if it’s not the wind from outside, the slight wind your body makes just from sitting down is enough to blow that paper in the toilet bowl and you’re left wondering why your thigh is cold and wet. I’ve been through it a 1000 times. I really need to start bringing in my own personal soft and fluffy toilet seat cover every time I go in a porto potty. Everyone would laugh and make jokes when they see me carrying around a purple flowery toilet seat cover all the time, but deep down they would all be secretly jealous they aren’t man enough to do it themselves.

After seeing my replacements, the next great feeling came the moment after I turned in my gun. You have no idea how much it sucks to carry a large automatic weapon around with you for 7 months straight. It’s not just carrying it, but the responsibility. You can’t lose it. You can’t forget it. Not even for a minute. You can’t accidently shoot a round off. You have to guard it, clean it, and care for it. It’s like carrying around a baby…a baby that can kill you. So handing that gun over was such a relief. I made it through another part of the deployment without fucking up. And now I can give my shoulders a break from not having to lug that thing around anymore. It was so annoying. Carrying a gun around every day in Afghanistan is more annoying than getting behind a family who are about to order at a fast food restaurant and the parents didn’t even ask their kids what they wanted yet even though they’re already standing at the counter. They had 5 minutes in line to figure it out and the kids are going to want the same fucking thing they always get, but no, they will still make you wait. And the worst part is after they order. You get behind that same family at the soda fountain area and all hell is broken loose. There’s straws and lids fucking everywhere and the kids are hitting each soda button while a cascade of Mountain Dew is shooting out everywhere like it’s the god damn Bellagio. From now on, if I ever see a family in line right in front of me, I’m just going to head back home and eat some saltine crackers.

Walking around Afghanistan without a gun is fucking weird. It feels good, but you also feel like you are missing something. And everyone looks at you wondering where the hell your weapon is at. “I don’t have it! I’m going home bitcheeessss!!” After carrying one for 7 months and giving it up, you feel a lot lighter without it too. I felt like going for a run and then go shopping and not having to worry about bumping into someone’s ass with my gun. Because do you know how annoying it is to carry a gun in Afghanistan for 7 months? It’s more annoying than finding Honey Mustard Sauce in your to-go bag for your McNuggets after leaving the drive-thru when you specifically asked for HOT Mustard. McDonald's Hot Mustard sauce is the greatest thing known to man. Why the hell would someone ever choose Honey Mustard over it?! Carrying a gun in Afghanistan every day is more annoying than that douche who would always choose to play as Oddjob in GoldenEye on Nintendo 64. Everyone else in the game is the same height, and then there’s a little Asian fucker shooting you in the leg all the time which takes away just as much damage as everyone else. It’s not fair! Half the time you can’t even see him! Why is he even an option?! Fuck!! You know how annoying carrying a gun in Afghanistan is? It’s more annoying than those people that give you gym and work out updates on Facebook every day. You’re going to the gym. Cool. You just got back from the gym. Cool. I can now relax because the nautilus machine didn’t kill you. You just ran 5 miles. Cool. You use to be super fat, and now you’re just pretty fat. Once you stop making posts about it then I’ll finally know you got yourself in shape. Out of shape people need to make gym posts because they just want everyone to know, “Hey, I’m working on it.” Cross-Fit people need to make posts about their work outs because they just want people to know, “Hey, I’m gay, and proud of it!"

You know who doesn’t make posts about going to the gym…people who have actually been in good shape their whole life…and me. Why the hell would I ever go to the gym? I got better things to do. Like, NOT going to the gym. I don’t even care if there are TV’s at the gym. I watch enough SportsCenter at home and only care about CNN if Robin Meade is on. Which reminds me…Robin still hasn’t answered any of my fan-mail. It kinda worries me. I know she’s had to have seen it. I drew so many hearts on that large manila envelope and used up a butt load of stickers on it. I even sprayed some of my good cologne on the letter. A 1987 Brut. Great year. Even every “i” and lowercase “j” was dotted with a heart. But I don’t know. Maybe the portrait I made of her using only toe and fingernail clippings was a bit much. I didn’t even bother cleaning my hands or finger nails the past year and a half just so I’d have enough clippings to mimic her beautiful cascading chocolaty brown hair with my freshly cut brown follicles. But I guess some women just can’t appreciate good art. Ah well. I’m still proud of it. And now every time I leave the bathroom after taking a dump without washing my hands…I will always think of my sweet Robin.


-The End...bitches.

Love,
Sgt.Topbunk

Chapter 13- "Fuck You, I'm Out!"

       It was the best of times and it was the worst of times...but mostly it was just really shitty. That's ok though, because my time in Afghanistan is finally coming to an end. I have reached the home stretch and I can finally see the finish line. Though the finish line is covered in dirt and I can't tell yet what the exact day of my departure is, it is just good to know that it's somewhere in the near future. I will soon be reunited with the same porto potty in Manas Kyrgyzstan that helped set the stage for this awesomely awful deployment.

But it wasn't ALL bad. I learned a lot. Mainly what NOT to do. I made some money, lost some weight, and I'll get a new ribbon or two to put on my fancy blue uniform. Too bad I only have to wear that uniform when I get in trouble though. But at least when I fuck up and my commander is bitching at me in my fancy blue uniform, he will see that Afghanistan ribbon on my chest and know that whatever bullshit he throws at me...whatever he tries to say to break me...that none of it will work. Try your best. I dare you. I have been deployed to Bagram Afghanistan. There's no shit I can't handle.

          It's really common to talk about what you plan on doing once you return home from a deployment. We all have our fantasies and start to think about them before the deployment even starts. Going over all the ideas and telling others instantly puts smiles on people's faces. Most guys don't want anything too special or crazy either. Just some beer, a burger, time with loved ones, and some more beer. But while others think about what they plan on doing on their first day back, I'm busy thinking about my last day here and the flight home. It's the greatest 3 days of a deployment. It's what I like to call, the 'Fuck You, I'm Out' weekend. And this is how I imagine it....

         So there I am, laying in bed. Like always, my roommate's alarm clock goes off two hours before mine and 30 minutes before he even needs to get up. For 6 months straight I have woken up to his alarm clock and listened to it 6 times each morning since he hits the snooze button 5 times before ever getting up. After I hear it go off once, I immediately get up and walk over to his bed and rip the alarm off from its socket. I go outside and place it underneath the tire of a forklift which I parked beside our building the night before. I get in the forklift and run over the alarm clock back and forth about 30-40 times. I get out of the forklift and pull out a hammer and begin to smash every little piece of that alarm clock which wasn't 100 percent destroyed yet. After I am done, I bury the alarm ashes in the dirt and take a piss on top of it. Rest in pieces you annoying motherfucker.

        I am sure my roommate is still in bed trying to sleep and has no idea I took his alarm, so I walk in, turn the lights on and make as much noise as I can. Every single day I have been sneaking around my own room in the dark trying to be as quite as possible, but not today. I'm knocking shit over, spilling water, singing 'Sweet Home Alabama,' farting, and taking down the black blanket covering our window for the first time since I've been here. But all of this won't matter. My roommate will still be asleep. But luckily I received the air horn I ordered from Amazon two weeks ago and I will finally get to use it. And even better, yesterday my megaphone finally came in too. I turn the megaphone on just 3 feet from my roommate's head and place the air horn right behind it against the speaker. I squeeze down on the air horn...'WAAAAAHHH!!! WAAAAAAHHH!!! WAAAAAHHHH!!! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!' My roommate will jump up scared and start screaming and covering his ears. Which at that point I will say, 'Oh were you trying to sleep? Sorry, I didn't realize that!'

          I grab my bathroom items and head to the showers. I close the door to the shower room and lock it shut so no one else can come in and disturb me. It will be tough trying to take a shower normally again once I get home. I am always paranoid here. Even once I do get home to my own shower, I will still probably just let dropped soap stay where it falls. Some habits are just too hard to break.

         It is always so cold in the shower room here, so I'll turn on every shower  to the hottest setting so it feels like a fucking sauna in there. I get inside a shower and stay there for at least 30 minutes...far exceeding the recommended 3 minute showers we are suppose to take. After I feel good and fully clean for the first time in 6 months, I step out of the shower but I don't walk away just yet. I take a piss in the shower I was just in because I have been wanting to do that since I've been here. Do you know how much it stings having to take a piss once you are already in the shower but have to wait until you are done and fully dressed to do it?? It sucks!! I held my piss in for my other dormmates for far too long! But not today mother fuckers! Sorry the ground is a bit sticky, that was me too!

       I will start brushing my teeth using my toothbrush, toothpaste, and a small cup. When I get done I will have a small chat with the person who just showed up next to me who is brushing his teeth too. 'Why the fuck do you not use a cup?!?! You just keep spitting out toothpaste like you're puking every 10 seconds!! How hard is it to use a tiny little Dixie cup?! You can get like 50 for 2 dollars!! One cup alone will last at least two weeks too! But instead you just won't use water to brush or you will scoop water in your hand and bring it up to your face like a neanderthal or put your head down and suck water straight out of the tap like a fucking dog!! Why am I the only civilized person in the world who uses a cup??'

        I may have been a bit harsh on that guy, but it was something that really needed to be said. But anyway...I will get coffee before my last day at work at the coffee shop. The espresso machine has been broken for the last 4 months, but in this fantasy I will pretend that it actually works. I will be waiting in line with a big smile on my face. Last coffee for my last day at work. I'm feeling pretty excited. There's a long wait for coffee today but I don't mind. I get in back of the line and stand there. Someone orders. The line moves up. Another person orders, and the line moves up again. But for the past two orders, the whole line has moved up except for me and the guy in front of me. There's a big gap. Why hasn't the guy moved up? He's not texting or talking to anyone, he's just standing there looking forward and HAS to see the gap! Why is he not moving?? Look! We're just standing out in the open like a bunch of fucking idiots!

 Another guy walks up behind me and asks if I'm in line. I say, 'Yes I'm in line' very loudly so the guy in front of me hears and moves up...but he doesn't move up! What is wrong with this guy?! I peaked over and his eyes are open. He SEES this! He sees the big gap! Yet he still chooses not to move forward! So finally I just say fuck it and move around and start to get in front of him because he must be in a coma or something. He looks at me and goes, 'Oh hey, I'm in line here.' At which point I just throw my hands up in the air and mumble some angry gibberish while I turn and walk out the door. If only I would have taken a 28 minute shower instead of a 30 minute shower I could have avoided that whole mess! Line Etiquette! Learn it people! Live by it. Die by it. Do it.

          At this point, I'm just in a really bad mood and I want to tell off a whole bunch of people. I will start with the Arab cleaners...'Hey, you're all gay! Every one of you! I know it's like illegal in your religion and all, but you stare at other men and touch them and hold their hands in public. That's not being friendly...you're all just a bunch of queers. Accept it. You're all going to Hell. No 72 virgins for you. But that wouldn't matter because those virgins would be female and a tight pussy disgust all of you.'

After revealing to them their harsh reality, I will then move on to speaking the truth to every female on base. 'Hey, you're not hot. You're not hot. You're not hot. You're not hot. You'd be alright for a lesbian. You're not hot. You're not hot. Men only talk to you because you're nipples are always hard for some reason. You're not hot. You're not hot. Put a bag over your face and we'll talk. You're not hot. You're not hot. Put a bag over your GUT and we'll talk. You're not hot. You're not hot. And you? Are you even female? You can stop going to the gym honey. You've peaked. Those muscular thighs you think are sexy only make you seem like a dwarf wearing football pads.'

And lastly, I will go up to every strong looking dude in the gym and say, 'You're still short. You're still short. You're still short. You bench 350 and squat 450? Really?? You're still short. You're still short. Hey you over there! You're still short. Hey maybe if you add 45 more pounds to that bar it will make you grow 3 more inches. Wait, no, it won't. You'll be short forever. Oh don't mind me, I'll just be over here on an exercise bike for 5 minutes doing a half-ass work out. And I can because I'm tall and don't have to overcompensate for anything. But anyway...you're still short. You're still short. And you? You...you are a pretty big dude actually. And, uh...kind of 'pretty' for a guy. Your clothes seem a bit too tight also. Do you always lift weights in a skin tight uniform? Because if that's you're thing, I know a lot of Arab men who would just LOVE to meet you.'

        After offending everyone on base, I will make my way to work. Luckily some of our work vehicles have cd players in them and I will finally be able to put in the one cd I brought with me from America and listen to the same song over and over all day. 'Oh...my...God. Becky, look at her butt...' And then the bass comes in. And then the first line of the song comes in.  And then you get SPRUNG! I don't know what the fuck that means but I'm gonna be sprungin' out all DAY! My anaconda don't...want...none...unless you got buns hun! Waah peesh!

         You know what? Scratch that. I don't want to listen to music on my last day of work. Instead, I want to watch all the movies sitting on our breakroom shelves that everyone else was too scared to watch. And yes I'm talking about all the chick flicks. Everyone needs a good cry once in awhile. Why not? And maybe men should see things from the female perspective for once. Maybe we could learn a thing or two. Is that such a bad thing? Wait...no...who am I kidding. No one cares what any female ever has to say. I only want to watch a chick flick in case there is a nip slip during a sex scene. 2 seconds of nipple will make watching 2 hours of female movie dumbness totally worth it.

        On my last day of work I will finally take a proper lunch break. I ordered real silverware in preparation for this sacred event. No more plasticware for me that breaks off after the first bite. Oh no. Today I will eat like a king. I'll even bust out a real plate with a gay little flower design on it. And I'll keep dropping my silverware on the plate as much as possible so that everyone can hear me and be jealous. I will spend a good hour eating my meal. That's about 55 minutes longer than I usually get for lunch. And when I get done, I will dunk my only once used fancy plate and silverware straight in the trash like Michael Jordan closing out a game in the 4th quarter. It will be powerful and unnecessary. I'm just there to let everyone else know that I'm awesome and don't give a fuck. I throw out kitchenware after only one use because I'm a straight up BALLA!!

        I will have an important mission to go on before returning to work. For some reason, over half the people on this base are officers. I don't know why, but officers all are you see walking around here. Back home only about 1 in 10 guys are officers, but here you have to wear sunglasses constantly from all the brass walking around. I spend most of my free time here avoiding officers. I have taken the long route almost everywhere I go just because I'm sick of all the saluting. But even worse, I'm sick of not getting saluted back and holding my hand up like a fucking idiot. So today, I'm going to do something about it. It's time to go hunting. I'm going to put on my Boba Fett mask and find myself some officer prey.

         I spent my whole time here avoiding the barrage of officers, but today it's time to take back the sidewalks that belong to us enlisted men. No more hiding in fear. It's time to BE feared. I am going to seek out every damn officer on this base and salute the FUCK out of them. And if they don't see me or salute back, I will turn back around and be sure to make myself known. 'Good afternoon sir!! How are you today, SIR?!' My saluting arm would be so tight and strong that it could cut through glass. It will pop up fast like a Jack in the Box on crack and come back down swift and fierce like an alligator closing it's mouth on a redneck's leg.

 No one will escape me. I will be walking back and forth and hunting down brass like a Gestapo. Captains will see me from a mile away and panic. Majors will tremble with fear as they look into my possessed eyes. Colonel's won't even leave the friendly confines of their office because they know that my salutes are nothing to fuck with. I'll be popping up more salutes than collars on the Jersey shore. Pow! Pow! Pow! Officers won't just SEE my salutes, they will FEEL them! They will feel them in their SOUL! You know that glaucoma test you get at the eye doctor when they shoot a puff of air in your eye and it scares that shit out of you? Imagine that puff over your whole body. That's the feeling they'll get when I pop out my salute. I'm about to hit every officer on this base with a blast of FREEDOM!

         After my arm gets tired and I saluted everyone...including the ones that were sleeping that I woke up...Pow!!...Pa-Pow!!, I will head back to work. I will probably just work one more plane. I don't want to over exert myself or risk getting injured right before I leave. I will spend most of my day writing dirty limericks inside all the porto potties. It will be the craziest, most fucked up and detailed shit anyone has ever read. Like the kind of shit that only someone who wrote 13 long chapters of a blog solely from his phone in Afghanistan could think up. It's going to be very time consuming too because of all the 'I's I will have to draw in the shape of a penis. I don't WANT to do it, and it seems very immature, even for me, but there are rules. 'If you draw inside a bathroom stall, you must add a picture of a fully detailed and fully erect penis.' I may not agree with it, but I'm not here to break rules and cause any trouble. Freedom isn't free....it'll cost you a penis picture in the bathroom.

        The only reason I will work a plane on my last day is just to tell an air crew how much I hate them. I will get to the plane at the time I was told to be there...which for some reason is always 45-60 minute before the crew ever shows up. I will see them all walking up to the plane smiling and with food in their hands and the rant will start. 'Where the fuck WERE you?! You were suppose to be here an hour ago!! I wait for your bitch asses an hour each day and nothing happens, but if you ever have to wait 2 minutes on ME, my commander hears about it and takes our ping pong table away!! What the fuck do you do anyway?! You crew members are just glorified flight attendants while you watch me do all the hard work for you, and you pilots are just glorified bus drivers!! And shave those fucking mustaches!! Do you think that's cool?? Are you a fucking New York City cop in 1977?? Unless you're on your way to a gang bang, shave that filthy shit off!! You look fucking ridiculous!! Oh and another thing...I just took a huge dump in and AROUND the toilet seat. I hope you don't mind that smell all the way to Germany you fuck faces!!' And at that point I immediately drop my microphone on the ground and walk off into the sunset. I have been keeping a microphone in my back pocket for the last 6 months in preparation of this day. It wasn't plugged in or anything, but a good mic-drop always adds a little more emphasis on what was just said. They might have thought I was just playing before, but when they see that mic drop, they know that THIS ninja is serious.

         After walking for nearly 2 miles towards the sun set, I finally turn around and head back to my office. It's time to clean out my locker. This is a glorious moment. Erasing your existence from Afghanistan is a wonderful thing. Though all I really had in my locker was a picture of my girlfriend Jana, some candy, and some muffins with an expiration date from last year. As I turned back around, I thought that this would be the moment that I would begin to start saying my speech of, 'Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you're cool, fuck you, I'm out!' But I don't hate anyone here (besides aircrew), and I will miss a lot of people. I do one of the hardest and most thankless jobs in the military. We work when others are off. We work when others eat. We work outside in the rain, snow, and heat while others check their email. We work for our normal pay check without getting a reenlistment bonus like other jobs in the military. We continue working even though there have been more deaths this year doing our job than any other job in the Air Force. We get yelled at by leadership who have never done our job before yet keep telling us to do it better without giving any solutions on how. We deploy more than anyone, because without else, the military doesn't move or operate. And what is the thanks we get? I don't know. I've been waiting 12 years for it.

          We are a tight knit group of people. We help each other out and want the best for everyone. We all have been through some shit, but all that bullshit has brought us closer together. Farewells in my job are rarely ever negative or mean spirited. They are a joyous occasion. The person leaving is happy as fuck to be leaving, and the people staying behind now have a greater hope that they soon will be next. They saw someone come and go and make it out alive. They can do it too. This is just a well paid prison sentence for the good and innocent, but at least we know we will all leave here eventually. The scars from our work are only temporary, but the friendships we made earning those scars together will last a lifetime.

         After saying my final goodbyes, I will have one more job left to do...to clog up the women's bathroom. There is a normal men and women's toilet at work here, but with roughly 50 men in my building at a time, most just prefer to use a porto potty outside rather than wait to use the one toilet. And I don't have to remind you how disgusting porto potties in Afghanistan are and how horrible it is to take a shit in a frozen one during the dead of winter. But since there are only about 8 females in my building at one time, they all can share that one toilet...or even be allowed to use our leadership's toilets because they're female and females in the military are allowed to get away with anything. So while us men have been shitting in AIDS infested porto potties the past 6 months, women have been using real toilets. It's not fair. I'm sick of it. Women keep bitching about equality but none of them really want it. Being treated like a women is the best part about being a women. But you know what...it's time that they realize what being treated like a man in the military really feels like.

           For breakfast I ate corn beef and hash with 6 eggs and a lot of melted cheese on top. An hour later I ate a whole can of refried beans. For desert I ate 3 Payday candy bars. I don't take gym supplements, but today I decided to have an extra large chocolate protein shake. A couple hours passed by and I decided to do a few jumping jacks followed by about 20 sit ups. My stomach starts to gargle. It's making weird noises I've never heard before. I'm about to give birth to a food baby. "Its... tiiiiiiiiiiimme!!"

        I go to the women's bathroom and sit down on the toilet and hold on tight. I take a deep breath and begin to push. On the inside of the bathroom stall I taped up a picture of Rose Parks as motivation. 'Is this what you want?? You want some equality Rosa?? Do ya?? Well HERE it is!!' After I am done throwing up from my anus, I realize that Rose Parks stood more for African American rights than women rights, but I didn't care. She was still a women damnit, and if women want equality in the work place, then I'm about to give it to them.

        The toilet is completely filled with shit. It looks like a couple of deflated footballs on top of each other. I don't know if it will flush and I'm not going to test it. And I doubt any female is going to take their chances either. Most will run away at the sight of it. They will jump and scream and be mad. Not because their toilet is clogged up since it looks like an elephant just used it, but because they realized that they will now have to use an Afghan porto potty. Welcome to the 21st century ladies. Is equality everything you hoped for?

Chapter 12 1/2- "The End of an Era"

       4301 days. The streak is over at 4301. That's almost 12 years. Nearly 12 years I kept it going with my dedication and reliability. 4301 days of pain and suffering. 4301 days of snow and rain, car problems, and unnecessary road construction. But it was never enough. No matter what the world threw at me, I could not be stopped. It hasn't happened since June 11th 2001, but 4301 days later...I was finally late to work. It took almost 12 years...but I officially became a dirtbag.
      I talked about this before and how important I believe being on time is and how much I despise late people. And for 4301 days I did practice what I preached and I was very proud of that. It's an amazing feat of human dependability. 4301 days without ever being late. How many people can say that? Not many. Not many ever in the history of EVER! Even the most dependable people will have something crazy or unexpected happen on the way to work at least once a year. A family emergency, a flat tire, their team down by 3 in the 4th quarter with under 2 minutes to go...there are a number of legitimate reasons people can be late to work. But none of those things ever effected me. If they did, I always got through it. I may have had to go double the speed limit or drive to work while my engine was smoking and about to blow up, but I always made it. I have always been Mr. Dependable. I'm the only person in the world who can call Cal 'The Iron Man' Ripken Jr, a pussy. 2131 games Cal? Really? Is that all? Millions of dollars a year just to drive to a ballpark and jog from the dugout to the short stop position 9 times a day? 2131? That number seems a bit small to me Cal. And what the fuck is an "oriole" anyway? An orange bird?? Who wants to see an orange bird?! This isn't the fucking Amazon! This is America! All our birds should be red, white, and blue!
         4301 days have passed since I felt this small and irresponsible. Such a long time. I have been through so much since then. The last time I was late...Adam Sandler was actually in funny movies. The last time I was late... the Army and Air Force were wearing a camouflaged uniform that actually camouflaged into the outdoors. Could you imagine wearing a grey/blue uniform in Vietnam? We would have looked like fucking clowns out there and shot within seconds! The last time I was late... I was 3 ranks lower than my current rank....yet still had the same amount of responsibility. The last time I was late... airport security didn't have to do 'random' security checks on every brown person at the airport. The last time I was late...skinny jeans were only worn by openly gay people...not by men who are still in the closet. The last time I was late...Nickleback was considered an "ok" band to listen to. The last time I was late...no one cared about steroids in baseball because home runs are fucking awesome! The last time I was late...people on the show Friends were still playing characters in their late 20s for the 6th season in a row and no one seemed to mind. The last time I was late...the XFL, the Xtreme Football league, started AND ended. The last time I was late...Ray Lewis was considered an above average up and coming linebacker and not a murderer yet. The last time I was late...the world was a better place because the Black Eye Peas weren't around yet. The last time I was late...fleece vests and tucking in just the very front of your shirt was considered cool. Remember that shit?? The last time I was late...people were playing Resident Evil on a PlayStation 1 and were horrified! The last time I was late...George W Bush was considered a good president. Ya. Doesn't seem possible right? But there was a time...and that was the last time I was late.
         At first, I felt really down about the whole thing. I felt like a loser. It was so embarrassing. But then I started thinking about it...when amazing streaks end, people are sad for a few seconds, but then they are cheered for the accomplishment they achieved. Do you think Joe DiMaggio got booed at game 57? No, he took a deep breath after it was all over and thanked the fans and probably went home and fucked Marilyn Monroe. But sadly for me...no really gives a shit how long you've gone without being late. Especially if you can't even prove it. And if I could, the streak wouldn't get me anything anyway. Ending it and finally coming in late just leads to disappointed looks on a lot of co-workers faces and a lot of lame jokes I am sure they have been waiting a long time to use.
       I got to work and just prayed everything would be normal. I didn't want any changes or jokes or even give excuses why I was late...even though I DID have a great one, but whatever, it didn't matter. Late is late. Everything seemed fine and normal. We weren't busy and I sat down quietly to eat with everyone else at our table. Not much was said by anyone. Maybe no one even noticed I was late. I wasn't going to bring it up though. It was just business as usual and I was happy with that because now I could just move on with my life. But then, like a douche bag phoenix rising from some douche bag ashes at the end of the table I hear, 'Hey man, can you pass the 'tardy' sauce?' Yup. Uh huh. There it is. Everyone laughed. They were all waiting for it. And then even more jokes came as if they had a huge comedy meeting on how to burn me once I got to work. But what killed it was when one fuck said, 'Hey dude, what's you're favorite kind of shirt...Ed Tardy?!' To which my reply of course was, 'You know what, the last time I was late, Ed Hardy shirts were actually considered cool!' No one laughed or seemed to get it. There was silence. Only the sound of crickets chirping in the distance could be heard.
         Whatever. Fuck those guys and all their jokes. I don't care. I'll embrace it. Because I know the truth about my accomplishment and how spectacular it is and no one can take that away from me. And maybe I WILL take my next vacation in New Orleans during Tardy Gras! And after work maybe I WILL read a homoerotic mystery story about the Tardy Boys while drinking a Batardy and Coke because I fucking earned it! ...ok looking back now, Ed Tardy WAS pretty funny...assholes.

Chapter 12- "The Grass Isn't Always Browner on the Other Side"

       I have been in Afghanistan a little over 3 months now. Which means that I have officially been here longer than over half the people on this base. Well, not including the Army or Marines who are here for a year. God that's depressing. A full year in Afghanistan. I don't know how Army and Marine recruiters actually get people to sign up. 'Hey kid, join the Army! You'll get to learn a job that will be no way useful in the outside world, be divorced within two years, spend half your career in a dirty country filled with people who are trying to kill you, but at least you'll be one of the only Americans left who will be able to fire an automatic weapon with a magazine that holds more than 5 rounds! Sign up today!'
          Ya...not for me. But to be honest, Bagram isn't so bad...for Afghanistan. Of course it's not as nice as all those other 'deployed locations' like Qatar, Kuwait, and the UAE....which are for pussies. They got beer there, pools, they can wear gym clothes just to walk around in after work, they get to go off base, and best of all, they don't have to wear a 50 pound vest or take a gun with them everywhere they go. Even at the laundry tent here there is a sign that tells you that you must have your weapon with you just to pick up your clothes. It's so unsafe here that I have to keep one hand on my gun just to pick up my underwear. I guess we just have to be prepared for the day those Afghans flip out on us for making them wash our 4-days-used-in-a-row underwear. Maybe if they could wash clothes in less than 5 days I wouldn't have to keep giving them that! They brought this on themselves!!
            But we could be at much worse places. Like Hell, any point in time before the internet was invented, the basement in Buffalo Bill's house. 'It puts the lotion on it's skin!' 'Damn it Bill, enough with the lotion already! I'm slipping around like a greased up penguin down here!' I was forward deployed to another base in Afghanistan for a week. I was so excited. I couldn't wait to go. I knew it had to be a lot better and easier than Bagram. It was suppose to be for 3 weeks...then it turned into 4 months, but it ended up being just a week for me. I got in some trouble at this other base and my punishment was simply having to go back and work at Bagram. For a lot of people, they would rather do 6 months at San Quentin than do hard labor back in Bagram, but as I left that other location and my plane was about to land back at Bagram, it soon became the happiest moment of my deployment. And ya....that's really fucking sad.
           The other base I was at was a REAL deployment. It was a lot like my first deployment 11 years ago...before I even knew what a good or bad deployment was. Most deployed locations have a lot of tents, but this one was about 90 percent tents. Most noticeably, the bathrooms and showers were tents, and of course they weren't connected to the tents you slept in. Oh no. You had to walk to them. And this alone is the deciding factor on the, 'Good or Shitty Deployment' debate. It was while I was at this other deployed location that the words, 'I miss Bagram' actually came out of my mouth. And to this day, I am the only person in the history of the world to ever utter those 3 words together.
         One of the greatest luxuries on the planet that most people have that they take for granted, a luxury that even all those, 'thank you for your service' people don't even realize, is the luxury of waking up and walking to a bathroom just a few steps away that is the same temperature as where you were just laying down at. It sounds so simple and common right? A lot of people reading this probably have a bathroom at home right in their master bedroom. If not, there's probably a bathroom right outside their door about 3 steps away. You wake up, yawn, stretch, scratch your balls, and feel a little bit more chilly after taking the blanket off because you haven't invested in a Snuggie yet even though your friend Dan keeps telling you to, and then you rush to the bathroom hoping that you can hold it for at least 5 more seconds because you REALLY have to go. But that's normal. That's a daily routine for almost everyone. So simple and mundane...but when you're deployed to Afghanistan and NOT at Bagram, you PRAY your morning was just that simple.
          0500, late January, 15 degrees outside (like, negative 0something celsius for all my Euro friends) at a small base in northeastern Afghanistan. Your alarm goes off. You have one hour to get to work, but the worst part of your day is already starting. You went to the gym last night, and like an idiot, you drank a full bottle of water before going to bed. You have to pee. The heated blanket you have over you is the only thing keeping you alive, but you can't stay under there forever, and you can't piss yourself with that blanket over you because you might get electrocuted and then start a fire and kill everyone in the tent. There's no bathroom in the tent. You have to tuck in your shirt, because that's Air Force regulation, put your shoes on, open the tent door just to be smacked in the face with the brightest sun known to man after being in complete darkness for the last 8 hours and left wondering why the fuck the sun in Afghanistan reaches full brightness at 5 in the morning. You then take your first step into slushy snow as you start to shiver and now have to piss more than ever. You have to walk about 100 yards to the bathroom, passing by everyone swiftly like a Kenyan in the New York City Marathon. You walk into the first toilet tent but every toilet is occupied so you contemplate pissing in the sink for a second. Hmm. Maybe. You run outside holding your dick mumbling, 'Fuck, fuck, fuck...' and go to the next toilet tent and rush into a stall as the person leaving it barely has one foot out the door, and you start to piss.... you made it. You just survived another day without pissing yourself.
         Now you have to walk back through the snow again freezing in your tee shirt and shorts just to pick up your towel and other toiletries and head to the shower tent. You finish up there, walk another 100 yards back to your tent, and realize you are now dirtier than when you started. This is how every day starts at a real deployment in Afghanistan. Walking a quarter mile in the cold just to do your morning business. It sucks and there's nothing you can do about it. Especially since the people who work at the main store at deployed locations keep denying my request to start stocking adult diapers.
          It's March now. It's not as cold as it use to be and I can finally stop plugging in my blanket before going to bed. Now I'm just a guy who sleeps with a blanket with a electrical cord connected to it. Whatever. I will still cherish this blanket the rest of my life. But now that it's warmer, people are hanging out outside more. People are eating outside too. They will get to-go plates from the dining hall and have a little picnic with friends. They sit down on benches and have a nice long lunch out in the sun before heading back inside to do whatever useless job they do.
         You know who DOESN'T have picnics outside? People in the military who actually WORK for a living. I have spent almost all of my deployment doing hard labor outside in the cold at night. When I do get to eat, it's very briefly and on a park bench inside a warehouse....with no back to the seats to rest on...while eating food that I didn't get to choose...out of a big green container. If I wake up 2 hours earlier than normal, I can have the chance to eat at the dining hall and actually choose what I want to eat and get to sit at a real table that's actually been cleaned. But best of all, I would get to sit in a real chair with a back to it. So when I get done eating my 5 pounds of slop, I can sit back and relax and not have to get up until I'm good and ready...or...until I have to fart. Whatever comes first.
          When I see people eating at a park bench on base smiling and having a good time, I get insulted. It's like how a homeless person must feel when they see people camping. 'Hey, sleeping out in the cold and eating food from a can is pretty fun huh?? Try doing it for the next 10 years straight you fucking fucks!!' These people eating outside obviously have a nice easy job behind a desk. And then they have to mock all the REAL workers in the military by eating out of a to-go tray on a park bench right in front of us. And I love it when they get done and stretch because now their back hurts a little bit from being in that horrible position for 20 minutes once a week. But it's ok, they'll walk it off. They get an hour and a half lunch break and will spend the last 30 minutes on Skype telling their spouse all about the fun little picnic they just had with Doug from Finance. You know what?? FUCK Doug from Finance and fuck your whole conversation!! Uuurgh!!....God I miss my easy desk job back in America.
           One more thing before I go...why do people wear headphones while on Skype in a public location? I can still hear YOU. Blocking out the sound of who you're talking to just makes you seem like a crazy person talking to a computer. It's even worse when dad's are talking to their young kids or babies in their little kid voice on Skype. I will walk into the computer room here and then all of a sudden, a big high ranking person who I use to have respect for will say in a high pitched voiced, 'You've gotten so biiiiiiig! Look at yoooouu! What are you doing bud? Oh that's very neat, now you look like a monkey! Look at you, my big monkeyyyy! I need to take you to the zoo! You want a banana you big monkey?? Awwww, monkey boooyy!! Yeeeaahh!! Ok son, I have to go. But don't forget to eat all your bananas so that you can become big and strong and king of the jungle! Can you put mommy back on, I need to finish talking to her. Bye byyyee! Hey, ok, you there Sheila? Alright, ya, so....I got the divorce papers, but I still don't see why this can't wait until I get back and we could just sit down and talk about this....'
                       

                         The End


    (I can't end EVERY chapter on a happy note. Sometimes I just gotta keep it real)


                               (Donkey boner!!!)

Chapter 11- "The Great Bambino! Of course! I thought you said the Great Bambi."

        The base got attacked again. This time it was on President's Day. Another holiday. I don't think the local terrorists around here realize that this is a deployment for us and we don't get holidays off. It's not like they are doing a surprise attack that will go on without any repercussions. Thanks for giving away your position by shooting a bottle rocket at us. An A-10 is about to take off now and shred your dirty sandal wearing ass to pieces.
       I'm supposed to leave here...some time this summer. Who knows? But what I do know is that I really don't want to be here on the 4th of July. This base was attacked on Christmas and President's Day. I would bet my left nut that they attack us on America's birthday too. (Though technically the Declaration of Independence wasn't even signed on the 4th. It was signed about a month later. It was created a couple days before the 4th too. There is virtually no real significance on July 4th. Google it. But I digress...) It's not that I'm afraid of any forthcoming attacks, I just don't want to be around when old sergeants and commanders start making lame jokes. 'Well at least we got some real fireworks on the 4th after all! Hahaha!'' Jesus! Shut the fuck UP!! I KNOW someone will say it. More than one person too. And it is going to piss me the fuck off. God I hate puns. This isn't England! We don't want any 'cheeky' jokes! We are American! Fart, penis, and slightly racist jokes ONLY!
They do a lot of, 'controlled detonations' here. It's a supervised explosion. It's when they practice blowing up land mines and other things. It usually happens pretty far away but you can still hear it, so they make an announcement over the loud speaker when it's about to happen so that people don't freak out and start running and shooting off weapons. It doesn't matter to me though. I'm in the Air Force. I don't know how to shoot. I've been here almost 3 months now and I still can't find the R1 button on my gun.
       A couple weeks ago I heard the controlled detonation announcement go off while I was outside. You can usually hear a small explosion in the distance a couple minutes after the announcement. But this time about 10 minutes had passed and I never heard anything. I just figured that the detonation was just so far away this time that I couldn't hear it. But all of a sudden, 'BAM!' It was a huge explosion that sounded less than 100 yards away. I was standing next to 6 other people outside. All of them jumped and yelled and instinctively put their head down and put a hand on their weapons. Most were just scared and didn't know what to do and freaked out a bit. Understandable. Most people would. If you hear a huge 'Bam!' in America, it just means a group of rednecks are playing one of their favorite games. But if you hear a huge 'Bam!' in Afghanistan, it means shit just got real.
When I heard the explosion, all I said was, 'Shit.' I didn't yell it. I just said it out loud in my normal speaking voice. I didn't even move back or flinch while others around me were holding theirs heads yelling, 'Oh fuck!!' It only took a couple seconds for everyone to realize that it was just another controlled detonation, but at that moment, I've never been so proud of myself.
       I get scared a lot. Mainly at spiders, scary movies, Martin Luther King boulevards...all the normal stuff. I freak out every time I watch a horror movie with creepy kids in it. I can't sleep for days. Those kind of movies really get to me. Kids. Walking around the house. Crying and pooping and being so needy. Uurrgh! That's my nightmare! So I always wondered how I would react during a real terrorist attack. You just never know. People say they would act a certain way and be a hero, but until that moment actually happens and you're being shot at, you have no idea how you will react. We practice for situations like this a lot, but practicing a combat situation and being IN combat is two very different things. Although I wasn't in combat and it was just a controlled detonation, for about 2 and a half seconds, a lot of us here thought we were and knew we would have to do something about it. The fact that I stayed calm and my underwear stayed dry really made me proud of myself. And that's a good thing because laundry service here has been extra slow lately and I would have been stuck wearing that same dirty underwear for a few days. I guess I could have thrown them out, but there's no way I would just throw out my favorite pair of Sponge Bob boxers.
       Deployments and war isn't like the movies. And I would know because I've been deployed a lot...and all you do during a deployment is watch movies. And usually just bad movies. Movies that people donated or left behind or ones that a homeless shelter sent us because they were too bad even for them to be entertained with. But it doesn't matter. We're in Afghanistan. We'll watch anything. We'll watch chick flicks too. We don't care. A lot of us will complain about a chick flick being on and call it gay and tell people to change it, but secretly we all hope no one does. Especially if it's a chick flick we haven't seen before. The hardest part though is trying not to laugh or smile during a chick flick. You have to hold it in. You don't want to let people know you actually like it. But it's hard. There's barely any entertainment here, movies are all we got. We all miss our girlfriends and wives and feel pretty emotional out here, so when we hear Ryan Gosling make a cute little flirting joke to his current love interest in a movie, we just wanna giggle and say 'Awww!' and find a pillow so that we can hug it and let the tears flow out.
      One thing I like to do, which I know must be super annoying to everyone around me...is to yell out what other movies I have seen obscure actors in. 'Hey that guy was the bad guy in Good Burger!' 'That guy was Pootie Tang!...from the movie Pootie Tang!' Every once in awhile you will watch a movie with someone who is totally out of touch with reality and only knows World of Warcraft and will watch a movie like Saving Private Ryan and yell out, 'Oh hey, that's the dude from Forrest Gump!' These are usually the same people that watch Family Guy and yell out every movie they are doing a parody of even though everyone else watching already knows because it's so fucking obvious. But I only yell out the obscure findings. The kind of things that only someone with way too much time on their hands would know. And this was my shining moment...
       So there I was, watching Black Hawk Down for about the 48th time. Even though I have seen Black Hawk Down so many times, I've still never seen the ending. I always have something to suddenly do when the last 20 minutes starts. Do they get out alive? Do they finish the mission? What the fuck WAS the original mission anyway?? All I know is that the first 30 minutes are slow, then there's about 2 hours of combat that annoys everyone in your building which prompts them to yell, 'Turn it down!' because of all the non-stop machine gun fire. I love war movies and all, but sometimes these directors need to take a chill pill with all the gun fire and explosions. I watch movies to get entertained, not to have my ear drums bleed. Instead of wasting more money on special effects, they should spend it on real military issued combat boots for the actors to wear. It's all about being authentic. I know Timberlands when I see 'em.
      If you haven't seen Black Hawk Down in awhile, I suggest watching it. There are so many famous actors in that movie. So many of them that you don't even notice some of the lesser known actors in it. It was bugging me a lot while I was watching it last because I saw this guy and I couldn't figure out what he was in. I wasn't even paying attention to the movie. I was fascinated by this guy. I was starring at him like he was John Lennon and I was Mark David Chapman. He was my Catcher in the Rye. Who are you?!? What movie were you in?!? I was getting so angry. I could have simply just got on a computer and checked, but that's like getting online to find an answer to a crossword puzzle. You know the answer but don't want to give in. You can't. It's like the final puzzle on the Wheel of Fortune. That answer is on the tip of your tongue and those 10 seconds are going down faster than a 50 dollar whore in Amsterdam. WHO ARE YOOOOUUU????
        And then it hit me. 'It's Smalls! That's Smalls from The Sandlot! The main kid in the Sandlot! He's in Black Hawk Down!! Holy shit it's Smalls!' Hoooo--lllyyyyy fuck. I can not believe it. The poster child for ABC Family channel who's movie is on every single day in the summer, is in Black Hawk Down! I bet none of you reading this knew that, and now you do. You're welcome America. It's good to see Smalls find work after the Sandlot. That movie was a classic. Perhaps the best family movie ever made in the 90's. So of course after coming to the realization that Smalls was in Black Hawk Down, I was excited. I was shaking. It was like I just found the Holy Grail of useless crap. But...I was only 98 percent sure. Not 100 percent yet. I didn't want to start yelling out that he was Smalls until I was 100 percent sure. I have only spoken about 40 words to people in total during this whole deployment. I didn't want a quarter of those words to be proven as bullshit.
      I ran over to our work computers. Every one of them was in use by somebody. Fuck! Someone get off! You're killing me Smalls! After breathing really heavy over someone's shoulder like a Great Dane after catching a frisbee, someone finally got off and I logged on a computer faster than a teenage boy logging on to look at porn while his mom goes grocery shopping. I googled, 'Black Hawk Down the Sandlot' and I saw a link pop up to an actor's IMDB page. I don't know his real name, no one does, but I saw his most recent picture and the fact that he was in Black Hawk Down AND The Sandlot, and I rejoiced. It was confirmed! Sweet serenity. I KNEW it!
      I walked back into the break room and sat down quietly and continued to watch the movie. I was very calm and didn't say anything. I had to be very nonchalant. I didn't want people to know how ecstatic I was about my new finding. I was waiting until Smalls came on the screen again and then I was going to say it. I couldn't wait. I had butterflies in my stomach. I just wanted to let it out. I felt like a man waiting all night to propose to his girlfriend. I couldn't stop shaking my leg. I wanted to scream. I couldn't keep this secret inside me any longer. 'Did you issue the Code Red??' 'You're Goddamn right I did!!' And then it happened, Smalls came on the screen. And in the most arrogant, matter-of-factly type high pitched voice, I said, 'Oh hey, that guy is Smalls from the Sandlot.' I immediately smiled and sat back in my chair because I knew that I just rocked the world of everyone in that room. I was preaching like Master Yoda up there. I felt like I just told them all the meaning of life and they can now die happy. The phone lines on base will all be tied up for the next few hours because everyone will be busy telling their family and friends the most amazing fact known to man.
       I wanted to sit there and enjoy my excellenceness, but no more than 2 seconds after I said that life-changing fact, the guy next to me turns and says, 'Oh ya, Tom Guiry, from the Sandlot. He's been in a bunch of stuff. You didn't know he was in Black Hawk Down?'
       Uuurgh. I suddenly had the urge to go to the porto pottie. I didn't have to go to the bathroom, I just wanted to be alone for a bit and wait in there until the movie was over. I was then going to go back to my room and grab my pillow and bring it back to work with me. As soon as Black Hawk Down was over I was going to put in a chick flick and cry into my pillow like I just saw my home planet of Alderaan get blown up by the Death Star. I don't even CARE anymore! It's MY turn to pick a movie now! Fuck you and fuck Black Eagle Downer or whatever the fuck it is! You can either watch Bridget Jone's Diary with me now or get the fuck out!