Archive for Army

Convo with the Devil

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on January 16, 2013 by deviant11b

My body is moving downwards as I regain consciousness. My eyes flutter open, my lips smack together, and I slowly work my way up to my feet. I shouldn’t be regaining consciousness at all. Before this when I pulled the trigger I had figured that was it, no more waking up and hating every minute of every day of life. The light above me flickers on and off in a very unsettling manner. I look around and realize I’m in an elevator. My ears are still ringing from the sound of the gunshot. I reach my hand up to my temple. I can stick my finger into the hole made by the bullet I sent flying through my brain. The ringing subsides and gives way to the elevator music I recognize the song but can’t quite place the name of it, I hate when that happens. Thankfully it ends, but is replaced by yet another song, the name escapes me again. I realize I’ve been traveling downwards for at least five minutes, I look down at my watch but the hands have stopped moving. This must be what happens when your life slowly drains from your body. I’m hoping no one heard the shot and called 911. They better not revive me.

            “Long ride huh?” I hear a woman’s voice behind me. I turn around in surprise and see a beautiful, no not beautiful that’s a word you would use to describe a wife; this woman is not wife material. She’s the kind of woman you meet in a bar who you take home and have your way with, not make love to, but raw, passionate, animalistic sex. Sexy, she’s sexy. Tall, thin but not too thin, and the outfit she’s wearing accentuates her large breasts and toned body.

            “Who are you?” I ask trying to mask my immediate arousal. “Where am I?”

            “Who I am is not as important as what I am, or what my importance is as to where you are. You are in Hell, and I am its gate keeper.”

            “So I’m”-

            “Yes you’re dead, that bullet made pretty fucking sure of it. Now there are a few things we have to go over before we arrive. First there is no getting out of Hell, and no mistakes are made as to who deserves a spot and who doesn’t. Second try to enjoy yourself. Unlike what your bible may have told you we don’t eternally torture people here. Sure our whips and chains may come out every now and again but as long as you don’t cause us a problem we won’t cause one for you. Lastly you’re here forever so try and get comfortable. Find a place to live, make some friends, find a woman who can make your toes curl cuz forever is a long time to go without having some fun. Or for that matter don’t, I really don’t care. Now are we set?”

            “Uh ya I guess”

            “Good now get off my elevator a Tsunami just hit China and all Buddhists go to Hell.”

            With that the sexy woman in front of me disappears and I’m now standing in the middle of a bustling, dirty street. I look around and take in my surroundings. It looks like a very gothic style of New York, although the buildings aren’t nearly as tall. There is a rich smell of sulfur in the air, and it is just slightly unbearably hot. The image I see in front of me is in direct conflict with everything I had been told about Hell when I was young. There are no pits of fire, or demonic torture demons stringing people up. It’s just…normal. I walk along the street and before long I come across a bar. I walk in and find my way to a stool at the bar top.

            “Whadya want there?” A big man behind the bar asks me. His throat is slashed from ear to ear, but no blood leaks out almost looking like a second mouth.

            “Shot of whiskey” I pull out my wallet and hand him some bills hoping they take cash down here.

            “You’re new here huh?” He asks clearly proud to have made such an easy observance. He rummages around behind the bar and comes up with a credit card with the name Kyle Brownstone on the front. “Credit card companies work for us, every time some asshole gets a new Visa or MasterCard we get a duplicate. You ever had a strange charge from Manila or someplace?” I nod my head. “Well you ever wonder how a country with a reading skill comparable to a fucking pig could ever swindle you like that? They didn’t. That was some guy down here getting a drink, or a hooker, or some blow on your dime.” With that he just laughs and walks away. I lift up my glass and thank Mr. Brownstone for my drink and down it.

            Before I know it I’ve had several drinks on this poor guy’s dime and am feeling pretty good. I look around the bar for the first time. To my left a group of about ten or fifteen men are sitting at a table in white gowns with dark red crosses emblazoned on their chests. Their white hats sit on the table and I can hear them telling stories to each other about their exploits in Mobile, Alabama. To my right sits a group of pastors raising the bible above their head. Fag this fag that, dead soldiers this, hurricanes that. I shake my head and look to the person sitting next to me, and can’t believe my eyes.

            “Hitler?” I can’t even fathom the amount of surprise that must be registered on my face right now.

            “Ja ja ischt me. You vant un autograph?” He scratches the hole in the side of his head as he asks this.

            “No, not really. Just surprised to see you I guess.”

            “But my boy theees ischt mine baaar.” I now realize the name of the bar is Mein Kampf. A book shelf off to the side offers a signed copy of the book.

            “So I managed to get my first drink in Hell from a place that serves degenerates and racists like you?” He laughs at this comment.

            “My boy, you’re in Hell. We are all degenerates. The people in this bar are just honest about who they are.” I look around and see the men in robes and the pastors and the bikers I hadn’t seen sitting in the corner closing around me. I’ve been in Hell less than an hour and so far it’s not going great.

            I land on my face, literally. The bikers took their time in working me over but wasted no time in throwing me out. I find out quickly that in Hell you can still feel pain. Their beatings leave no marks though, and no blood flows from my nose, although it feels like I just had it broken with a sledge hammer. I’m quickly surrounded by a pack of lawyers who ask if I’d like to sue the bar. I really am in Hell.

I make a mental note to be more careful about what bar I stumble into next. Luckily enough there are plenty to choose from. In fact that’s all there is to choose from. Gay bars, Muslim bars, Christian bars, soldier bars, cop bars, rapists bars, and murderers bars. It seems like there is a bar for just about everyone. There are strip clubs everywhere too, so far my opinion of Hell is that it’s not so bad.

            I walk by a kiosk with pamphlets strewn about the desk. I pick one up called So you’re in Hell and another called God rejected you, now what? I walk into a nearby strip club and sit down at the bar. After fifteen minutes of reading it’s clear that almost everyone who has ever lived and died ends up here. In fact the only people who make it to heaven are the Amish. Evidently in the roulette game of picking the right religion they picked right. Hell houses everyone ranging from Jack the Ripper to Mother Theresa. Evidently the good Mother’s good socialist outlook on life enraged the right winged St. Paul and he sent her straight down to Hell. So it’s only fitting that a drinking, philandering, liberal guy like me made it down here.

            A woman comes up to me and puts her hand on my arm.

            “Care for a dance sweetie?” I can’t believe my eyes when I come across the face of Lindsay Lohan. She turns away and sends a bump of cocaine flying up her nose. She turns around and looks at my eyes. I decline quickly. Looking around I realize the name of the strip club is called starlets. Mary Kate and Ashley Olson are both on stage at the moment. To the left of them sits Marilyn Monroe. And that would mean that well-dressed man with a hole in the top of his head must be… Yes, it is. He turns his head and I’m looking straight at JFK himself. He flashes a grin and turns his attention to Miss. Monroe. I can’t help but wonder where Jackie is. I leave the bar and continue my journey of this increasingly interesting place called Hell.

            It’s funny how Hell could double as a historical re-enactment society, but when you think about it doesn’t it make sense how when generations die they would still keep their dress and traditions alive in the afterlife? The puritans have stood on the sidewalks for over 300 years now yelling at drunken passersby. Telling them their souls are doomed, not quite realizing the irony of their own situation. MLK still preaches equality, not quite realizing there has been a black president. The politicians of the 50s are yelling at the top of their lungs about communism.

Just then I see the largest building I’ve seen yet, VFW post #666. I walk in and step up to the ledger. My name is emblazoned on the page as I sign. The tours I’ve had show up next to my name. Iraq 05-06 Afghanistan 07-08, SGT Ross, 2nd Ranger Batt. Before I can take in what just happened on this otherwise blank sheet of paper I’m grabbed by the shoulder and spun around. My oldest brother stands there on one leg and a pair of crutches. Behind him are my two best friends. One with a hole in his throat and the other with the side of his face melted away. They greet me with a beer, a smile, and a long embrace.

“Welcome home brother,” they all say to me. We go and sit down at the bar which is the biggest I’ve seen in my whole life, living or during my short time in hell. Across from me I can see Audie Murphy and John Basilone, two of the most well-known soldiers to live, arguing over something but not truly upset at each other. Soldiers from all wars sit at the bar wearing the clothes they had on the day they died. It’s not just the Americans either. Soldiers from all sides, who had spent their short life trying to kill each other, drink, arm to arm. There is no animosity, and why should there be? We’re all dead now. Enemies in life quickly become friends when faced with the prospect of eternity. I realize now that in Hell everyone can understand each other. It seems to be a sick joke made at God’s anger at the people of Babel.

“We figured you’d be down here sooner or later” my brother says to me. I finish off my beer and signal for another while getting out the poor sap’s credit card. The bartender gives me a death look as he gives me the beer and denies the card.

“Drinks here are always on the house. Soldiers are Satan’s favorites. He has always held a soft spot for those who kill willingly, and do so for noble reasons. He’s not actually a bad guy. In fact I’m surprised you haven’t met him yet.” My brother goes on to explain that Satan meets personally with each war vet soon after they arrive in hell. He motions behind me. “In fact there’s your ride now.” I look behind me and see a man in a black suit, with a black shirt, and a dark red tie. He approaches me and extends his hand.

“I’m Lucifer. I’m here to take you to see my father.” I look back at my brother and my friends and tell them I’ll see them later. As I walk out several different men pat me on the back or shake my hand telling me I’m always welcome here. I nod in appreciation and leave the bar.

Lucifer leads me to the only car I’ve seen so far. I sit down in the back of the black stretch limo and pour myself a shot of Jack Daniels from the most impressive selection of liquors I’ve ever seen in a limo. The liquor settles in my stomach and warms me. I feel drowsy and decide to take a nap. It’s not every day the prince of darkness drives you to meet Satan, and I want to be well rested for this encounter.

I’m awoken by Lucifer telling me that we’ve arrived. I step out of the backseat and look at where we are. A very gothic looking castle sits in front of me made of old stone. Surrounding it is a moat of what seems to be very hot lava. His house is a stark contrast to the normal seeming city. I wonder why with all the time in the world Satan went so stereotypical with his landscaping. I’m led from room to room, admiring the different decorations from each time period. Lucifer doesn’t say a word as he reaches for the handle to a door that must have stood 15 feet tall. He opens it, lets me in and closes it behind me. A man sits at a chair in front of a large TV. Across the screen are the familiar images of baseball. The Yanks and Red sox are playing right now. I walk up and see it’s a tie game bottom of the ninth. The Sox closer winds up and throws to Jeter who steps up and drives the ball clear of the right field fence.

“God dammit” the man yells at no one in particular. “Damn Yankees always a pain in my ass.” He turns around and sees me. His face is almost too pale of a white, but is accented by a dark black goatee. His eyes are black with no color at all, but his teeth are the whitest and straightest I’ve ever seen. “You you’re a Sox fan aren’t you?”

I nod my head wondering how he knew that.

“I’m the Devil, God isn’t the only one that’s all knowing” He says. Now I wonder if he can read minds too. “Yes I can” he says, and motions for me to sit down in a chair next to him.

“I’m sure your brother and your friends told you why you came here. I always make it a point to sit down and talk with my VIPs. See I know what you’ve done and been through and how let down you are by the society up above.” He motioned to the living world with his hand. “Here you are, just come back from a year of death and mayhem and you turn on the news only to see the leading story is about some Hollywood actress who can’t keep her legs shut, or keep powder out of her nose. Now they say war is the Devils work, and I suppose to a point that may be true. But I ask you this, who gave man free will? God. If he had just done what I had told him and ruled over mankind there would be no wars. But no he cast me out and forced me to live in this asshole of a world. I’ve made the best of it as you can see. It’s not what your Sunday school teacher made it out to be. Yes I have ass holes like Hitler running around, as you already know, but Gandhi is here, Mother Theresa, MLK, Lincoln, et-cetera. How God decided to only let those backwards, living-in-the dark pricks walk the streets of heaven is beyond me. Now here is what I need from you.” I sit waiting for a deal for my soul or to become part of his dark army. He leans close to me as if about to part with all the knowledge of the universe.

“Have a good time, you’re a dead man, kick back and relax. I’m sure Medusa has already told you how long you’re here for.”

“Medusa?” I ask.

“Ah yes she doesn’t give her name out. She thinks she’ll attract too many stalkers. She’s the woman you met on the elevator. Anyway your soul has been damned for all eternity and etcetera so please enjoy yourself. Spend time with your family like your brother, and parents. While you’re living you spend all your time working for money to buy useless shit with. Down here everything is free, so spend time with the ones you love, and find you a good girl; there are plenty of them down here. Enjoy this time like you couldn’t enjoy your days living.” Satan shifts in his seat and falls silent.

“I must ask you to leave, another of your fellow soldiers has found his way home and I have to meet with him soon.” His eyes fall and for the first time I sense a sadness that I’ve never sensed or felt before in my life. “When a man volunteers his life for others it is the noblest thing one can do, and when God elects to turn his back on those who have given so much it hurts me much more than you can ever know.” With that our meeting is done as he gets up and walks out a side door. I get up to leave and notice next to the TV remote and a bottle of scotch sits a very worn bible. I shake my head thinking that if I were to stay in hell for one thousand years I may not be able to figure out everything about this place.

I stand, walk outside to the limo waiting for me, and pass another man walking past me we make eye contact and nod, no words are needed. I climb into the back of the car and head back to where my brothers are, and will always be.

Hug Lady, Accidents, And My Return To Blogging.

Posted in Comedy, Humor, Life, Military, Writing with tags , , , , , on September 5, 2011 by deviant11b

           If your one of my five die-hard, hard-core subscribers, who wait in line until midnight until the release of my newest rantings, than you may have noticed that I havent written anything in a while. I promise there is a perfectly good excuse, I’ve been enjoying my time back from Iraq. I’ve been back for a little over a week, and so far I’ve been enjoying my time back. So far my time back has been defined by a few things; the hug lady, my first car accident, and my return to writing. I will explain all in due time.

          The first thing I will have to explain to all but a handful of people is the hug lady. I don’t know her name, and I doubt many soldiers in Fort Hood do, but any one who has deployed know her. I’ve hugged her a total of four times, but some people havent been lucky enough to hug her an even number of times(that’s a one way trip to a war zone if you’re wondering). The hug lady is about 80-90 years old, and ever since the beginning of the two wars she has been there to hug every soldier to deploy out of Fort Hood before they get on the plane. Keep in mind almost every plane leaves past midnight and arrives at the same time. For a woman that old, that is a hell of a commitment. I suppose I need to supply some background information on her though. Her son was in the Army during Vietnam, he wasnt stationed in Fort Hood though, so when he deployed she wasnt there to hug and kiss him good-bye like most of the younger soldiers families. Her son died in Vietnam and she was never able to hug him again. So now she stands there at one in the morning hugging a thousand soldiers as they get on the plane to go to war. When they return, she is there again at one in the morning waiting to give them a welcome home hug. Usually there are fewer soldiers to hug, but that’s why she does it. She does it for the guys that wont ever get to hug their own mother again, and she does it for the guys who might need a hug after a year away from home. The thing that stuck to me the most though is when I stooped down to hug her, I moved my weapon away from my chest. She thanked me for that. Maybe she just doesn’t like the cold steel of a weapon pushing up against her, or maybe not wanting to feel the tool of war against her is just a motherly thing. Shortly after I hugged her I was standing behind a bus with 800 other guys, waiting on a bus to move so we could walk across a field to meet our families. I gave my dad a hug that night, and the next time I hug my mom I’ll be back for good, and she’ll never have to worry about sending me off to a piece of shit country again. Now this was probably the sappiest paragraph I have ever written, and will ever write, but oh well. If you don’t like it, fuck you.

             Two days after hugging the hug lady I was standing on the side of the highway smoking a cigarette surveying the damage of a small fender bender caused by me not seeing an SUV as I was pulling out of a parking lot. This was my first accident, and I thought I handled it rather well. The lady I hit did not handle it so well. Not 15 seconds after hitting me at 15 miles an hour(rear collision not head on) she was calling 911. The ambulance came, and she climbed in the back only to be pushed out after they realized that even a premature baby would have survived the bump. Four days after that she was calling my unit telling them that I had no insurance. For those of you not in the military, this can really fuck you. Fortunatley I had insurance, and my unit knew this. They called her and rather sarcastically told her that I did indeed have insurance, and to talk to her company to figure out what was up.

            I suppose I should touch on my return to writing. I would have written early, but I just couldn’t figure out what to write about. When I was deployed I was constantly pissed off. Now that I’m back, I couldn’t be happier. I don’t know the exact quote but there is something that says that the only time anyone ever has an opinion is when everything is going wrong.  That’s pretty much how it was for me. When everything was going horribly I had no problem figuring out what to write about. So far the only thing going on back here that I have to bitch about is that they drilled out a filling of mine just to figure out it was fine, then put the filling back in…only in the Army. Now if you think my blogs will become more docile and PC than you are wrong. You can still expect the same style from me in the future, just about other things.

            I guess what I really need to say here is that I’m happy to be back, and even happier to be out in less than two months. Also now that I have access to beer again, expect an even more tumultuous blog.

Books For Bullets, A 23 Year Old Freshman

Posted in Comedy, Humor, Life, Military, School with tags , , , , , , on August 17, 2011 by deviant11b

        I graduated highschool in 2007, I graduated with a fairly low GPA and without taking the SATs. Why did I do this? Because the Army didn’t care what grades I made, or if I took the SATs. All they cared about was the fact that I graduated, and had a clean criminal record. Almost five years later this is coming back to bite me in the ass. As of today I’m three months away from getting out of the Army and beginning my new life.

      This may sound odd, but I’m more nervous about getting out of the Army than I ever was about joining, or even deploying. I’ll be on my own for real now, with bills I’ll need to pay, and jobs that can actually fire me for whatever reason they want. I’ll have to start watching my mouth lest I bring a harassment suit against me. I’ll have to mature even more, and stop farting whenever I feel like it. Right now short of drinking and driving my decisions don’t really have any real consequences. Yes, the real world is a daunting place to live in, and I can’t help but feel like I’m stuck in the starting block watching the other runners get a couple of laps head start.

     When I begin school this Spring I will be a 23-year-old freshman, now since I’ll be going to a community school for the first semester I wont feel so out-of-place, but when I go to the university I’m planning on going to I’ll feel like an old man. I cant help but feel like I wont be too far off from Luke Wilson in Old School living by a college partaking in its pleasures as an old man. Now if I happen to fall into bed with Elisha Cuthbert I wont ever complain again, but since that’s about as likely to happen as Israel and Pakistan giving each other a slap and tickle, I shall continue to gripe.

      Its been four years since I last used my brain for anything other than figuring out if I had enough in my bank account for a case of beer. Sine and cosine are something used for signatures and joint business ventures to me. Obtuse simply describes a leadership style, while acute is the type of anxiety I get when thinking of school, rather than describing triangles. I consider alge-bra to be just another of Victorias Secrets(how lame was that?) All the young whiper snappers I’ll be going to school with are fresh off 12 years of continuous schooling. There is an upside though, I’ll have a leg up on them on everything other than academics. I can buy beer. I have many more life experiences. My maturity level is higher than most people my age, although my sense of humor would beg otherwise. I can talk to women rather than stare at their chest, knowing that eye contact leads to skin contact later. unfortunately no schools in America have classes that grade on any of my advantages. I’ll have to relearn most of the things I never learned in the first place. Tests now will be more complicated than running for two miles or shooting off 40 rounds of 5.56. Now I’m sure I’ll succeed, if for nothing else then to never have to join the Army again, but I’m still incredibly apprehensive.

        Most of the people I graduated with are now finished with college and are off to careers not jobs. Some are doing advanced schooling to become doctors, and lawyers, and such. When it comes time to finally look for a career I’ll be 27 maybe 28 meaning I might be able to retire at 70. That’s assuming I find a job out of the gate, really though I have no idea what Id like to do. Id like to write for a living, but magazines, and newspapers are going the way of Sarah Palin’s career. Id like to have a cool job like a US marshal, or FBI but my experience in the Army has told me nothing is ever as exciting as Hollywood makes it out to be. I might like to teach, but If I come across a student that acts like I did I would be fired for beating up a kid. Id like to play a sport as a job, but I have a whole shit load of work to do for that one. Basically I’m drifting down a creek of feces with no out board motor… or something like that.

       Ahh college kids, while I don’t have a lot of experience with them, I’ve had some. Now most are alright and I’ve gotten along with them well, but others are horrible, nasty creatures that think they know everything. I once sat in on a class where a kid said all infantrymen were stoopid folk, I took offense to that one but behaved myself because I didn’t want to embarrass the girl I was with. When I’m off on my own though I’ll have no second thoughts about embarrassing myself with retaliation. I cant stand some of the kids that go to college. I’m sure you know some of them. They think they need to force their opinions on everyone. They think they are right, and everyone else is wrong. They think the government is out to conquer the world, and therefore all soldiers are evil little minions. I will not do anything to sway their beliefs, instead I will probably just act like an evil minion and give them a wedgie or hang them by their shoes and laugh. In all seriousness though, Im a grown man who has done two deployments, and should someone feel the need to insult me I wont take kindly to it.

     Dating should be fun, I know that it might be OK for Seniors to go out with Freshman, but I might be one of the older people in some classes. Everytime I would look at another Freshman girl Id feel like a guy on to catch a predator, slowly eating his cookies before being tackled and tazed by the local PD.

     When you do one thing for four straight years, you get very comfortable in the pattern you set. In a few short months I’ll have no pattern, and no safety net. I’ll be tossed to the wolves with fresh meat dangling from my appendages. While I am most certainly nervous about getting out and going to college, I am also very excited. I’ll finally get to experience college. The parties, the football games, the endless hitting on women, oh and the whole learning thing will be fun too. I know I’ll do alright though, because I know what its like on the other side. I know what its like to spend years away from family and friends. I know what its like to be 22 and have someone come into your room and tell you it’s not clean enough. I know what its like to sweat my ass off for six hours, only to have to sweat for six more. Most importantly I know that after December, I never want to do those things again. So I know I’ll do alright when it comes time for school.

A Year Ago

Posted in Military, Politics with tags , , , , , on August 3, 2011 by deviant11b

      As of today I have less than 3 weeks in the great county of Iraq. Today I packed up all my gear, took off all the gadgets on my weapon, and stripped my vest of all the mag pouches. I put everything into boxes and duffel bags, and now my room looks as empty as it did almost a year ago when I got here. A year ago, when for the second time myself and some of my closest friends got on a plane and endured a 18 hour stretch in planes, followed by an even longer 11 1/2 month stint in the hottest, most boring place in Iraq. A year ago when the new guys thought that maybe they just might get into a big firefight and have a Black Hawk Down moment. A year ago when I remembered that another two years prior I was having the same thoughts as I went on my first “rodeo”. Well if these last two deployments were to be called a rodeo, than it would be a rodeo of the mechanical bull sort, set on easy. Of the seven people I deployed with last time, all of us had girlfriends or wives a year ago, now there’s only one of us standing. A year ago when we had our last beer, and a year ago that we were already looking ahead a year to when we would come back home.

      A year ago we got our mission to man checkpoints for a year straight, basically meaning pulling guard from a tower and occasionally searching vehicles. Now for some of you this may seem un-mundane, but to a platoon of infantry men, who joined the Army when the bullets were still flying this was a miserable task that ended up being no more exciting than sitting in on one of Nana’s quilting sessions. A year ago I knew this year was going to suck. But the year passed and no ones dead so we did good, by the Army’s definition of doing good. Is Iraq going to be any better off than when we came? No. When we leave will Iraq be able to defend itself? I don’t know but I’ll be watching it on the news from a Laz-y-boy, with a beer in my hand.

      A lot can change in a year, and it seems like even more changes when you’re not immersed in the “real world” every day. Places you used to go at night shut down or move, leaving you sitting in a dark parking lot feeling like an ass hat. A year ago people I graduated High School were still in college, now they have jobs… or will soon be called DR. People change, or maybe your idea of the person changes, but regardless of which it is a rift is caused. Relatives fall ill, children are born, and life keeps going. The world’s number one most wanted man is killed within a span of a year, the most followed court case since OJ is resolved, and not how people thought either. And favorite hometown teams go from the top to the bottom in a rather inglorious season, leaving me oozing blue from the artery. A year ago I wasnt accepted into college, now I am. A year ago I had a year and a half till I was out of the Army, now I’ve got less than four months. A year ago it was hot here, and that still hasn’t changed, but a year ago there was an American presence everywhere, now…not so much. Even the Army itself changed, no more beret on our heads, capturing the heat and frying our brain. No more ancient PT test, we now have two different physical fitness tests. New MRE, same shitty taste, different shitty color. A general gave an interview, and SUPRISE!!! bashed him and took Obama’s side. Oh and DADT is gone, or at least very soon to be gone.

      As much as things change, some don’t change at all. There are still bills to be paid, making the transition from Army to civilian a bit tricky. The economy hasn’t changed much. We still have the same president, and the same nut jobs with lame excuses calling him a fraud. And as  much as the Army progressed in a year, it still can’t seem to do simple things like lose paper work, get supplies the soldiers need, provide them with clothing. Winter PTs don’t do a whole hell of a lot of good when its 90 degrees out but thanks anyway. The Army is still very good at wasting tax dollars, no matter who is in charge.

     Yep a year ago we left civilization, and soon enough we will be returning to the land of beer, strip clubs, and $3.50 gas. A year ago we stepped on a plane, a year later we step off a plane, and never get on again.

       

All the original 2nd platoon guys while still at Ft. Hood.

My Auto-Biography Written By Myself

Posted in Humor with tags , , , , , on August 2, 2011 by deviant11b

        Recently I’ve received a bit of fan mail by way of delusional, ego-boosted dreaming, and all  my fans want to know more about me. What drives me? What was my genesis? How am I so awesome at everything I do while others wither away like unwatered roses left sent from a philandering golfer? Was that even relevant anymore? Well I’ve decided to answer these questions and more in this minor biography. Now there are probably some people who know everything about me, my parents will no doubt read this and not learn anything new about my life. However since there’s been over 260 people who have read this, and I only have two parents that means there will be at least six or seven people who will find out something new about me here. In times like this, its fitting to begin at the beginning.

       I was born in 1988 the next thing I remember I was being shaken down for my lunch money in the second grade by the foreign exchange student that couldn’t speak any english. I’m joking but I guess I’ll just start at the point I think most relevent. In sixth grade I had a bitch for a teacher, that probably poisoned my attitude towards people of authority until I was at least halfway into the seventh grade. She was a royal C U Next Tuesday… remember its a family blog I can’t say cunt. Also in sixth grade I was diagnosed with ADD looking back on it I want to go back and slap the doctor in the face and tell him/her to fuck off. I was a sixth grade kid who was more excited with the prospect of learning about his own dick than what the capital of Spain was. Not a whole lot else happened in my junior high years that’s really worth mentioning, other than 9/11. But that wouldn’t really change my life directly until later on.

     As we move onto high school, it really gets interesting… hmm where do I start. As a freshman it became evident I would not be able to get by on looks and brute strength along. Why you ask, because over that summer I had put on about 30 lbs, I was a little bit chubby. Because of this I had to adapt. I did my research and found out that in the wild, animals use bright colors and venom against their predators to protect themselves. Since I had restricted access to poisons, and couldn’t quite get that sick tribal tattoo that would make me look badder than Vin Diesel, I had to find another way to make it through high school. That’s when I discovered that if you poop in your pants not even the bullies want to mess with you, just kidding. Talking is what I really discovered. I got to the point  where I could talk myself out of anything, I also discovered bluffing long before poker got popular. I would just bluff my way through altercations knowing full well how badly I would lose any fight I found myself in. Luckily I never had to show my hand and made it through alright, and wouldn’t ya know I even developed a sense of humor that would border on insanity. Anyway it was also in high school that I decided school was not for me, or rather I was not for school. Since I decided this early on, that meant I had a pretty easy tenure at high school. If I didn’t feel like doing it, I didn’t. I told my computer lab teacher that I had senioritis and she told me the class she was teaching was for sophomores, to which I simply replied “yes”. I decided to just be a mixture between the class clown, and the class ass hole. In debate I especially enjoyed taking the unpopular approach to everything, and winning. In creative writing classes I wrote short stories about spies with body counts so high, it once got me a ticket to the counselor to see if I was a part of the trench coat mafia. Looking back on it I realize that I loved high school for the same reason every kid loves it. You discover alcohol, sex, and most importantly they are some of your most formative years. My junior year of high school I thought I was black (read https://deviant11b.wordpress.com/2011/06/25/letter-to-my-formally-retarded-and-younger-self/ for more information on that delusion) yes like ghetto black. My pants showed off my boxers, my jerseys hung below my unfortunately too white penis, and my dialect was that of a rapper, or a mother on Maury finding out she’s going to have to bring in another guy to try to find her kids father. Looking back on it, its surprising I had any friends at that point in life. My senior year found me a much whiter me though, and I finally came into myself. When you stop caring what people think, you enjoy yourself much more. It’s incredibly cliché, but clichés are around for a reason…they work.

      As my senior year wrapped up, I was starting to look forward to my life as a soldier, I had enlisted early on in the year, and was set to go to basic in August 2007. I finished basic in February of ’08 a full 40 lbs skinnier than when I started. While in the Army I did cool things like fly in a helicopter, shoot all kinds of guns, be a gunner in a Bradley, which for all intents and purposes is a tank, and work with some awesome people. I’ll be getting out soon, and while I was writing this I got a letter saying I was accepted into a community college, which leaves me feeling like a kid on the worst little league base-ball team that still gets a trophy just because he showed up. But itll be a start, and I need to do it anyway my highschool transcript looks more sketchy than a hookers STD chart, and the classes I take will help me get into a college whose name I wont have to mumble through in conversation.

     Most biographies end with a death, thus bringing the book to an already known ending. However this one doesn’t end with a death, it ends in a tirade. It will also never be a book since no one wants to read about an average joe, who’s done nothing but serve in the Army with two deployments and four honorable years in. They would rather hear about Lindsay Lohan snorting coke, or who’s fucking who on camera. If you don’t believe me turn on the TV and see whats passing for news these days.

The End

The 10 things I wont miss at all about the Army

Posted in Comedy, Military with tags , , , , , , on July 17, 2011 by deviant11b

With my separation from the Army a mere four months away, I decided to sit down and come up with the top ten things I will definitely not miss about the Army. For anyone thinking about joining the Army this can serve as ten reasons to not join the Army, and for anyone stuck in the Army for more than a few months this can serve as the top ten reasons to hate your life and wish you were me.

10. Waking up at 5:15 every morning. Now since the first formation is at 6:30 this may seem a bit odd, but I assure you there is a perfectly good explanation for this, I cant think of one but there has to be right? Any way if sitting around outside for more than an hour waiting to run three miles doesn’t do it for you how about this, you don’t get off work until 5 pm at the earliest. Some times you’ll stay until 7. Take into account how little money we make and your earning less than 100 dollars for 13 hours of work.

9. Never knowing what is going on. You would think that an organization such as the Army would usually know what they are supposed to do. I mean if we can launch rockets that find their targets 100 miles away, than how can we not know what time we’re supposed to be some where. Its simply really, we just don’t. Oh and when you don’t show up to the formation you didn’t know about expect to get yelled at for it, and remember it is always your fault.

8. Three hots and a cot? Ha maybe. When they say cot they literally mean cot. When they say three hot meals they don’t mean three hot meals. What they mean is you will eat an MRE that can heat up if your lucky and your heater works, which is about 50% of the time. Or you’ll be out on mission while another platoon is eating dinner and you wont be replaced until after they’ve eaten. By the time you get back the chow hall will be closed and you’ll have to buy your own hot meal.

7. Forced fun days. These are priceless there really is nothing like being told you have to show up to something that is supposed to be fun. A day at the lake can turn pretty horrible when the Army gets involved. Luckily you can drink, and I recommend you do. Nothing keeps your mind off the fact that your leadership is dressed like Tupac (before the shooting) like a cold beer… or ten.

6. Army pep talks. A pep talk in the Army is not like a pep talk from a coach. A pep talk from a coach will raise the hair on your neck and leave you feeling inspired. A pep talk in the Army will leave you wanting to buy the speaker a box set of hooked on phonics out of your own pocket, keep in mind your making less than 100 bux a day. Also the Army is the only place where a pep talk will contain the following statement. “Yall are doin good but if you fuck up Imma do you… HA yeah Imma do you.”…. Ladies and gentlemen, WHAT THE FUCK?

5. Ass kissery. Granted kissery is not a real word but this blog is family friendly so I couldn’t say cock sucking. This and back stabbing go hand in hand. For some people getting promoted is worth selling their soul to the devil. I’m not talking about everyone who gets promoted, I’m just talking about 80% of them. They are easy to spot, their mouths are always open wide so as to easily take whatever is thrown their way. Their kneepads are always on, and they are always the loudest. You have to be loud so when you yell at people everyone can know what a fine job your doing.

4. Army defenders. I don’t have a problem with people who want to stay in the Army the full 20 years, they’re better men than I am to be able to put up with it for that long. What I do have a problem with are the people that will defend the Army no matter what. It doesn’t take a genius to see that the Army has many problems with it. The health care sucks, the pay sucks, the way people are treated is ridiculous, not to mention it is without a doubt the least efficient organization in the world. However, there are always people who swear up and down that the Army is the best thing since the discover of internet porn.

3. How much my brain is always hurting. You know those old Army movies where the drill sergeant is yelling at the soldiers saying how the Army doesn’t pay you to think? Well its true. In basic training after they shave your head the barber should just take out his straight razor and give you a standard issue lobotomy. If you are a semi-educated person the Army is not the place for you. One minute you’ll be getting chewed out for thinking too much, the next you’ll be getting reamed for not thinking enough.

2. The lack of personal freedom. It seems ironic that the people who fight for America’s freedoms get to enjoy very few freedoms themselves. I’m not even talking about the freedom of speech, because it does make sense that we cant say whatever we want to. I’m talking about the freedom to enjoy ourselves when we have a little bit of downtime. There are certain places we cant go, if you want to fly home to see your family over a long weekend you have to ask permission and have a reason, as if I haven’t seen them in six months isn’t a good enough reason already. And filling out a piece of paper telling your leadership everything you plan on doing over a weekend? Come on…

1. Deployments. This one should be easy enough to understand but Ill hash it out anyway. Imagine going to a country that can get up to 120 degrees. Now imagine you have to wear 45 lbs of gear. Now think for a minute that you may be driving along one day and within a second you could lose an arm or a leg or your life. Sounds pretty fun don’t it? Now imagine your married or have a girlfriend, and after six months of dealing with all the things I listed up above she wants a divorce, or is breaking up with you because she cant keep her legs shut. Imagine you have kids and she is going to take them with her. Imagine there is nothing you can do about it because your over here in the land of the sand and she’s over there getting nailed by the electrician while she signs the papers to make it all final. Imagine missing birthdays, thanksgivings, Christmases, children being born, death of loved ones, anything else you can think of. Even if your lucky enough to not have this happen to you it’s always there in the back of your head. In the last two deployments I’ve done the issues above have got to three people enough to make them put a hole in their head for a faster way out. Official cause of death… non combat related injury.

0. I’m going to cheat here and add an 11th reason. What kind of a person the Army makes you. I cant speak to people who have an easy job or are in a better unit, but when your in a unit that makes you watch your back for four years rather than look out for you, you become pretty surely. When you have to act like everything is fine just so you don’t get bitched at you become pretty closed off. When your taught the only way to get through to people is by putting them down and yelling, you tend to become an asshole. And when you fail to follow one of those guidelines your labeled as a shit bag and your career might as well be over. The Army has made some pretty good changes in how I think and behave I cant argue that I’ve become more mature, and see things for more than face value, but is that really worth being colder, meaner, and pretty much one of the biggest narcissists ever?

IRAQ: Chick Flicks, False Alarms, and Stupid Shit.

Posted in Comedy, Military with tags , , , , , on June 29, 2011 by deviant11b

People often ask what Iraq is like, and I usually respond like a dick head and say hot. I don’t know what they expect to hear though. Maybe that its like that shitty hollywood movie The Hurt Locker, but that couldn’t be further from the truth, everything in that movie is trash. EOD doesn’t do have the shit they do in that movie, all they do is defuse bombs with robots or explosives. They don’t roll out the gate by themselves, or step in front of traffic with only a pistol, and they definitely dont meet up with a bunch of mercenaries and become snipers within a few minutes. It’s not like Black Hawk Down, although that movie is much more realistic, it’s just that there is not that much going on here. No it’s not like the movies at all.

I sat down and thought about what Iraq was really like, and I came up with this, Iraq is full of chick flicks, false alarms, and lots of stupid shit.

The chick flicks aspect is probably the most interesting aspect. We of course watch all the movies that come out, but sometimes the movies being watched the most are the chick flicks. Devil Wears Prada, Easy A, Four Christmases, Ghosts of Girl Friends Past, He’s Just Not That Into You, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Life As We Know It, Love Actually, Nick and Norah Infinite Play List, The Ugly Truth, What Happens In Vegas, 500 Days of Summer, and 27 Dresses are a few of what we’ve seen over here. I have to say my favorite is He’s Just Not That Into You because it really is true all the things that guy says in there. Although 500 Days of Summer is great to because it shows how evil some women can be. I don’t know why we watch so many chick flicks over here when back in the states we make fun of the person being dragged to the notebook by his wife, but I have some theories. My first theory is that since most action movies are military related we can so easily poke holes in them, saying how they got something wrong, or how that’s not actually how they would do that. And since most guys in the Army’s definition of a functual relationship is a $20 lap dance at the cheapest club in town we can’t poke holes at people trying to fix relationships. Although it does bother a couple of us how right before the movies end, right before they reconcile, one of them is always planning on moving far away. As if their life in New York is ruined because they got involved in a tricky love triangle which isn’t as bad as it looked, so they decide to move to Oregon. My second theory is that we are so devoid of estrogen, and so over dosed with testosterone that we don’t want to watch cock diesle men running around flipping cars and shooting people. We’d rather watch a pretty woman dump an asshole and find a nice guy only to go back to the asshole, and realize just before the movie ends that the asshole isn’t for her. My third theory is that Dont Ask Dont Tell turned the whole Army gay and now we just want to watch Matthew Mcconoughey walk around without a shirt. I’m leaning towards the first two theories, but the third one is still taggin along at 1:6,000,000 odds.

False alarms in the states are when a smoke detector goes off because you’ve been smoking in a non ventilated room. In Iraq a false alarm is when you hear a gunshot and ten guys run outside ready to shoot some one, scare an Iraqi, and finally learn the “gunshot” was just a 16 wheeler’s tire popping. With each false alarm that passes we just get even more wound up. I guess false alarms are actually bad for the bad guys. When something finally does happen we’re going to be so wound tight and ready to finally do something that the bad guy wouldn’t last longer than an ice-cube on the face of the sun. They are taxing though, the flow of adrenaline and the quick drop makes you feel like you came close to sealing the deal with Megan Fox only to be kicked off the Empire State Building… very frustrating.

Ah stupid shit, without it the Army would run so much smoother and the government would save billions of dollars, but then again it wouldn’t be the Army. Stupid shit covers all kinds of things such as bringing million dollar vehicles to Iraq, costing millions of dollars in shipping, only to sit in one place for a year. We don’t even have the ammo we’d need for them. Stupid shit is putting up million dollar camera equipment only to take them down four months later. Stupid shit is doing push ups for 9 straight hours, because some one lost a pair of binoculars. But really I love the stupid shit, it gives me something to look forward to. The days when I’m free to think and question authority, or just throw a stapler at my boss as I quit my job in a blaze of glory… and poor references. It’s not really that bad just sometimes someone does or says something that leaves you scratching a hole through your cranium.

Now if I’ve made it seem that Iraq is about a bunch of homoerotic men with guns and hair triggers with nothing to do but do push ups in the dirt all day long, that’s because it is. I think now you’ll understand why I just tell people it’s hot.