"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.)