Pipster's Blanket Party, Cummins's Shower Party, Dook the Sheep Fucker, and Probably the Worst Thing I Have Ever Done

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Problematic Roommates

Ever since I was nine years old, it seemed I had a roommate. At first it was my little sister and despite her having her own room, she always wanted to sleep in the top bunk in my room because like any other normal little kid, the dark terrified her. By the time she started sleeping in her own room, my little brother was too old for the crib and thus began sleeping in my room. Actually it then became OUR room, but I did not mind. That is until he started talking in his sleep. Random laughter or clear, coherent talking in the middle of the night absolutely freaked the shit out of me. Then after a few years my little brother started randomly sleeping in the living room, almost alternating the days he slept in our room. Hearing laughter in the middle of the night from the living room was even freakier! It seemed from then on I would have a problem with whomever roomed with me.

In basic training my room was so large that it fit twelve bunks, twelve wall lockers and still had plenty of space. There was no way that we twelve of us would live in peace for nine weeks. My buddy Ghetto always had the fan point at him only, Caraballo would make sure we felt more homesick by reminding us what was on the Taco Bell menu, Cummins always just plain bitched like the fucking spoiled little white boy he was, Denis complained about everything, my bunk mate Vaeva violently twitched in his sleep, Yandew sang Backstreet Boys for an hour thus we all lost an hour sleep at least, Cook was just a fat, nasty Gomer Pyle piece of shit, Raptor also just bitched, Kwak was nearly as nasty as Cook, Dale was annoying in every manner possible, and Ball, well everyone just hated Ball. Somehow we managed; this occured though through a few of us picking on everone else in the room, because everyone else just plain sucked. It was Ghetto, Caraballo, Vaeva, Yandew and I making everyone else in the room feel like crap. In advanced individual training it was no better. I shared a tiny room with my good friend Shallenstein and with this guy DeLaSuerte. DeLaSuerte was an alcoholic and loved to fucking fart all damn night, in a room we could not open the windows. Shallenstein was hilarious though, constantly keeping everyone up for at least ninety minutes screaming like a college girl faking an orgasm, "OH MY WET PUSSY!!!!" Then to piss everyone down our hall even more-our rooms had no doors-he would single out specific people. "OH EVANS! YOU LIKE MY WET PUSSY! RUB MY TITTIES! ALBRIGHT! YOU LIKE MY PUSSY??? WELL YOU CAN'T HAVE ANY BECAUSE YOU SUCK DICK! TEEHEE!" Needless to say Albright hated us and Evans since then has informed me that he still has problems having sex. He just keeps hearing Shallenstein in his head scream those obscenities. Shallenstein had cock blocked Evans for life.

When I arrived to my unit, 51st Chemical Company, the unit supply specialist tried to assign me my own room, but there was no luck. Little did I know, I was to be roomed with one of the unit's biggest shitbags whom I will call Weird. When I told everyone in my platoon whom I was assigned to room with, I always got the same response, "Oh shit. That sucks for you man, sorry." I was pissed off. Who was this shitbag? At first, everything worked out well. He let me use his TV and DVD player, though his movie selection sucked and he was too poor to get cable, and he let me eat some of his food. Of course, I did not abuse the welcome generosity. The following weekend is when I knew my roommate would be trouble. He left with one of his hillbilly girlfriends friday night and did not return the whole weekend. Then Monday and Tuesday passed and he was still not back. His team leader, squad leader, and platoon sergeant were all asking me if I knew where he might be. I did not even know the fucking guy! I barely lived there! He finally showed up though with the dumbest excuse ever; I am still surprised he was not reprimanded and demoted. Over the months I would see him slowly drift into what I thought would be complete filth. Not only that, he was a complete bastard as well. He always ate my food, drank my beverages, used my toilet paper, and RARELY ever pitched in, that motherfucker. Also, people randomly came to my room looking for him and his prescription drugs. Not only was Weird a filthy fuckhead and a cheap asshole, he was also a drug peddler. His platoon leadership tried to crack his ass about his nasty lifestyle, so I figured it was time to get MY platoon leadership involved. This was probably the only thing my first platoon sergeant did for me, but it was a big thing; he stood up and bugged our First Sergeant about assigning everyone rooms according to platoon, thus I would not have to deal with Weird anymore. However, miracle struck. A few days beforehand, I am told that my roommate is arrested by Criminal Investigation Department for statuatory rape. Soon after he goes AWOL(Absent Without Leave; he just left without permission) and when it comes time for everyone to change rooms, I do not have to move because I have to help inventory all of Weird's nasty, filthy belongings-a common procedure when soldiers go AWOL. He comes back a few days later pissed that all his stuff was locked up by supply; well fuck you for leaving, that is what happens when you are a piece of shit. I went a few good weeks with no roommate; I was finally able to airdry after taking a shower. Then tragedy hit.

My platoon sergeant, the very one who had done me a favor, was about to screw me over. I was called into his office to discuss an "important matter." My buddy Ski and my buddy Stretch were roommates, but they were not buddies. In fact they hated each other with a passion. This was obviously visible in how they said "good morning" to each other.

Ski: Hey beatnik, how about you do some fucking work for once you no good piece of shit hippie!
Stretch: Hey fuck you! You fucking guinea wop pollack!

Yeah, they were not the best of friends. Well their daily fighting only worsened when one day, days after moving into a new room, they fought over the placement of a damn hammock, a fucking hammock. Ski had been complaining to our platoon leadership that Stretch was nasty, but I did not believe him. At this point, my platoon sergeant thought it would be a great idea to move him into my room, hoping that I would influence him to be a better soldier. It worked for no more than one week at which that point, the idea was much like communism, great in theory but fails when the human factor is applied. For that first week I made Stretch do his laundry, help clean the room, and made him work out with me after work. Then he let his life go to shit again(prior to my arrival at Fort Polk, Stretch was demoted for getting a DUI). He avoided me so I could not make him work out or keep his side of the room clean and made sure he made it back to the room in time to change and leave before I could catch him. I wanted to beat some sense into him, but my friendship with him got in the way. I was slowly watching him waste his life away to a severe case of alcoholism. He would sometimes not eat or buy food, so he would have more money to drink. I tried to confront him in concerned manner, but he merely shrugged it off as if there was no problem. Well fuck him! And fucked he was. His squad leader tried to help him out, but nothing worked. Around this time our platoon was assigned a new platoon sergeant, and I was just about tired of Stretch's filth; he had not done any laundry for two weeks and my room was smelling horrible. I was about to go to Utah on a Temporary Duty Assignment(TDY) so I decided not to start trouble until I returned. As I return from Utah, it seems Stretch did indeed fuck himself over. While I was gone, Stretch pissed hot(failed a urinalysis), was drunk on duty, caught driving his car while his license was suspended, was under investigation by CID for drug trafficking, and ultimately went AWOL. I arrived form Utah on a Friday and did not see him all weekend. No one seemed to know where he was. I began to worry and sympathize for him, until that Tuesday I had to once again help inventory an AWOL soldier's possessions; Stretch was even filthier than Weird. I fucking hated him at this point. I have decided that from now on, any future roommates must do their laundry on a daily basis, so I will not have a problem with the inventory if they choose to go AWOL.
Stretch is still AWOL.
Ever since he was officially AWOL, I have had the pleasure of being able to airdry after each shower. Also, I have been dancing to the tunes of KC & The Sunshine Band. Naked. Every night.



Have an airborne day.

Cliche High School Eurotrip

Note*

Upon proofing this post I realize it is random. That is a result of not being able to remember much of what happened. Thanks be to alcohol, right?

April 2007

There are plenty of stories about American teens being drunk in Europe. Hell, there is even a raunchy movie about graduating seniors going wild in Europe. The problem with most stories, is that they are only entertaining to their friends or family, but when a random person is told, that person does not get the same entertainment out of it. Why do my drunk tales entertain just about anyone? It is because of my erratic behavior. You do not even need to know the other people involved; it is purely what happened that entertained you. A friend of mine who reads my blog, suggested I write about my adventures in Europe. I have been to Europe many times, and thus have been really hammered just about each time I went. I decided that nothing would beat my stories of when, instead of going on vacation with my family as our annual tradition, I went on a high school trip to Italy and France my senior year.

By the time we went, which was during our spring break in late March, early April, I was a full blown alcoholic. Now, I did not drink every night. I was more of a party alcoholic. The weekends to me were all about drinking. My friends would take me to parties and they would all go get a beer, maybe take a shot or two and start dancing or go and talk to people; I arrive and my some telepathic properties instantly find the alcohol cache and I start my night with a good four shot train, all by myself. Soon after, I chug a beer. Then, I take one more shot, and take a beer and start talking to people. Unlike other people, I did not really go to parties looking to hook up, seeing as how I was foolish enough to try to remain faithful to a girl who was too ashamed of me to kiss me in front of her parents and family, but I do not give a shit, that story is not worth the blog. I went to parties and tried to start drinking competitions. I was beaten plenty of times, but there was a point where it seemed I was invincible, even at the risk of blacking out and not being able to remember trying to kick in every door in the house.

By the time it came to depart for Europe I was well prepared and very anxious. Probably not as bad as this one guy who was puking vodka in one of the plane's lavatories before we even finished boarding, fucking amateur. Our first destination was Rome, but we had to stop in Paris's Charles de Gaulle Airport to transfer flights. Before we even find our terminal, I find the bar. I knew it was going to be expensive considering we were inside the airport, so I only had four shots. I was feeling warm and cozy for the next flight and slept quite well. I wake up midflight and see my friends have beers, free by the way of flirting with a male flight attendant, so I go and pound both their beers, go back to my seat, and continue sleeping. The first night in Rome was liquor free, but this gave us the chance to buy some booze while sightseeing the next day. Now I have heard stories about the infamous Absinthe and its hallucinogenic properties. Now the only reason it ever made people hallucinate was because their absinthe had cocaine in it; mine was drug-free but it rocked my world nonetheless. The only liquor that comes close to the strength of absinthe is Everclear. They usually come in different degrees depending on the brand, so of course I had to buy the strongest one I could find. I do no remember the proof, but I do remember it being 96% alcohol. I bought two bottles.

We buy some beer and some other liquors prior to heading back to our hotel. Once we get back, we chow down our dinner and head up to my room. For some reason it was designated the "place to be." I guess I had a party guy image since people were spreading rumors that my room was the most likely place to get cigarrettes or booze. I get a knock on my door and it is two girls looking for some cigarettes and were told to go to my room. This is how I first met my friend Grace, standing in my doorway half naked and somewhat inebriated. I had not even taken my first shot of absinthe yet. Now what was completely oblivious to me was the "proper way to drink absinthe" which is putting ice cubes in a cup, pouring sugar over the ice, pouring half a cup of absinthe, and then diluting it with water. My friends were on the right track, they went a quarter of absinthe, and the rest was Sprite. I was not so smart. I did not really like mixing drinks, so like an idiot, I wanted straight shots of it. That first shot almost made me jump out my window, it burned so damn much. My friend Matt also took a straight shot with me and was feeling the same. Two beers later, I was ready for another shot. This was even worse and the result was me cursing out my window down at the courtyard for two straight minutes without taking a breath of air. Some shots of scotch whiskey and three beers made me prep for a third shot. Same result as shot number two. By the fourth shot I was so drunk and the straight absinthe was so horrible that I was drinking beer to cool the fire in my throat. Two more shots within an hour and I was gone. By then the absinthe was gone, there was no beer, not even the gay fruity beer someone bought, and I was so drunk I wanted to drink more. So I proceed to walk around the hotel looking for booze and pretty much clearing out the bar in the hotel. I do not really remember much of what had happened when I left my room but supposedly I went to two other rooms and had shots, I yelled at a bunch of french students in the patio, I mooned my brown ass to a handful of people, and flashed my penis to an unlucky handful. Also this conversation occured.

Me: I think I scared subuncha stupid ferrnch kids in the hall.
Matt: What happened?
Me: I was just walking down the fucking hall to go to the bar and some littlerr rat bastards started talking shit and called me an asshole. So i flipped them off, told them to fuck off or suck my dick and glared at them.
Jesus: I just saw it happen; all they said was "bonjour."
Me: HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!!!!
(Everyone in the room just laughs, except me)

I do know what "bonjour" translates to.

The following morning I woke up naked lying on top my bedsheets. The alarm starts blaring and my roommates are pissed when they realize the first thing they see that hungover morning is my naked still drunk body. Instead of trying to cover up my nudity I merely stand up, walk to the bathroom, and take a piss with the door open. My friends were pissed, but I do not blame them. I think what makes me so proud of that night is that I did not puke. Unlike the following night in which I drank 13 Irish Car Bombs, nine beers, and eight other cocktails over the course of two and a half hours. I do not even remember the vomit, but the next morning my new friend Grace tells me that I'm a horrible bastard. I guess I puked on a doorway she happened to put her hand on when stumbling back to her room. I still feel a bit bad about that, but I always burst out laughing when I think about it.

Have an airborne day.

DJizzle, the Dugway Proving Gangstas, and JT aka Ms. Tiny Blond Bitch

Sometime in April of 2008, Sgt Trenches was commissioned to put together a small team to do some testing at Dugway Proving Ground in Utah in early May. I was picked to go because of the hard work and long days I have put in when others just quit or ditched work like the rat bastard sons of bitches they are. Yes, I do work hard. The team turned out to be a staff sergeant, Sergeant Trenches, one of my buddies, and myself. The work we did there is not all that interesting for story, but rather what we did with our free time.

After months of working for 51st Chemical Company, working at Utah was almost paid vacation to us. The staff sergeant and my buddy pretty much did their own thing. Sgt. Trenches and I just about hung out all the time especially since our rooms were adjoined through a small living room we shared. One day Sgt. Trenches buys the movie "Juno" from the shoppette so of course I watch it too as it is one of my favorite movies. Anyone who has seen the movie knows that the movie is filled with little quips and sayings characteristic unto itself. Things like "fo shizz" and "home skillet" make the movie distinguishable. Of course this provokes me to change my vernacular to this sort of vocabulary, and when I open a Sobe drink and under the bottle cap it says "gangster talk right?" I am inclined to keep it going. It is much harder than you think.
I figured the best place to practice my new diction was at the Community Club which is where we ate our meals when we were not on testing grounds at Dugway. Instead of ordering potatoes, I ordered "p-o-tatoes" or French fries would be "p-o-tatoes all frizzied up." The word yes would instantly be replaced with "fo shizz."

It was one day that we met this kid working there named Garrett. He reminded us instantly of Specialist Dunham, someone whom we work with. From then on we referred to him as Dunham Jr, or DJ. Since that day all we could order for dinner was pizza and fried food, pizza and fried food is what we got. When Sgt. Trenches orders his pizza, DJ asks what his name is, and me being the prankster I tell DJ his name is Trenches, not even giving him time to tell him his real name, despite the fact that DJ could probably read the nametape on his uniform. Naturally, DJ gets curious as to why he is nicknamed "Trenches." That is another story that I will save for a rainy day. Since we had to wait for our fried food anyway, I tell DJ and some of his coworkers the story of the nickname and they find this dirty story funny. All except this tiny blond girl, whom I had hoped would not hear the story anyway as it is definitely a story usually shared between close friends or males only. When we finally get our fried food, the tiny blond girl hands it over with such an attitude and a look that screamed "I hate you" that it made me want to sleep with her just because she was such a bitch. We took our food and gave a "peace out home skillet" to our newfound friends DJ and his coworkers, whom at that point, in conformity with my recent change in vocabulary, I call DJizzle and the Dugway Proving Gangstas.

Dugway Proving Ground works on a four day work week, which means the Community Club is closed Friday thru Sunday and we are left to our own accord to get food. We relied on eating various sandwiches or frozen foods from the shoppette/gas station. That Sunday happened to be my birthday and with nothing else to do, I take a walk to the shoppette to purchase frozen food and various junk foods for me to gorge on the whole day. As I walk in towards the back, who do I see there but none other than Ms. Tiny Blond Bitch. Anyone who knows me will know how much effort it took me not to start trouble at that moment, seeing as how I was cursed with a fiery tongue of talking smack and raising hell. She unknowingly started trouble.

Blond Bitch: Buying food are you?
Me: Yeah, I’m buying food not served with a damn attitude!
(Blond Bitch has a shocked look on her face)
Me: Let me ask you a question, is your attitude towards us a result of being intimidated by our military uniforms, or is it our good looks, not that you could handle a paratrooper anyways? You ought to head back with your little boyfriend now don’t you think?
(Blond Bitch’s jaw drops and she is speachless as I leave to pay my items feeling victorious but also scared that she may the Post Sergeant Major’s daughter)

Ok, so maybe she did not want to start trouble and I just went overboard. She got me back though the next day. Sgt. Trenches and I go to the Community Club for dinner only to find that our friends DJizzle and the DPG are not working that night. I order the dinner special and Sgt. Trenches orders fried food. The lasagna dinner is not ready so we both have to wait and just sit down and watch tv. After some time Ms. Tiny Blond Bitch comes over to bring Sgt. Trenches his food and not only does she smile and politely say "Here is your food Sergeant," but she even curtsied! Who the fuck curtsies?!?! I had already told Sgt. Trenches what happened at the shoppette so he just laughed when she returned to the kitchen. Some more time passes and I still do not have my food. Some British soldiers come in and get their food, lasagna! I was wondering, "What the fuck! Where is my damn food, I got the same fucking thing those guys did!" I go up to the counter to ask for my damn food. The cook who took my order asks, "No one brought your food?" I replied, "Nope, definitely not." The cook apologizes and even gives me extra food, but as I turned I made eye contact with Ms. Tiny Blond Bitch who just nods her head assuring me that it was because of her I did not get my food. That little bitch made me want to sleep with her more; her attitude towards me was arousing. As we are eating, Sgt. Trenches states that it is not that she hates me, "she just wants a piece of the Trenches." Any other person would have realized it was just a joke, but I was stuck on "get-Sgt. Trenches-laid" mode, so I took this to be a rational reason for her attitude. The only way I would know is to confirm this with DJizzle or the DPG.

Unfortunately, DJizzle nor any member of DPG was working the next day. I still ordered p-o-tatoes nonetheless. Not even Ms. Tiny Blond Bitch was working, but she was still there and still giving me attitude. She walks by us as we are talking to a civilian whom we were working with and flashes Sgt. Trenches a flirty smile then passes me and gives me the "I-fucking-hate-your-soul-and-existence" look. Fuck her anyways.

The next day we are in luck and at dinner time, DJizzle and the DPG are working and Ms. Tiny Blond Bitch is nowhere to be seen; it is the perfect moment to confirm she wants a piece of Sgt. Trenches. DJizzle instantly recognizes us as we walked in.

Me: DJizzle! What up gangsta!!!
DJ: Oh no! Not Sgt. Trenches and Mr. Airborne! What’s up guys?
Me: Yo DJizzle, we got an important question for you.
DJ: Oh no. Is this a serious question?
Me: Yeah homeskie! But we’ll talk about it when you aren’t busy.

By the time Sgt. Trenches and I finish dinner the Community Club is pretty much empty, but its nowhere near closing time, which means DJizzle and the DPG are not doing anything important. It was finally time to set things straight. The conversation was pretty much between DJizzle and I, but I have to omit part of the conversation when Sgt. Trenches joins in. That part stays between the parties involved.

DJ: So Mr. Airborne, what is your question?
Me: Alright I’m only asking this to clear the air and it is not because he wants to date her or anything, but you know that little blond chick that works with y’all?
DJ: Yeah, JT. Wait do you wanna bang JT?
Me: No! Well yeah I would, but that’s not important! Does JT want a piece of the Trenches?
DJ: Trenches wants to have sex with JT? That would make him like number five for her just this year.
Me: No, well he might I don’t know for sure. What?! Already? Damn I guess she gets around doesn’t she.
DJ: Yeah she does. Me and him(points to DPG buddy next to him) are trying to see who gets at her first.
Me: That’s awesome! Don’t forget to wrap your scrumpdiddlyumptious so you don’t get any diseases or shit.
DJ: You wanna us to hook you guys up with some of our classmates; you could just bang them on one of the big lawns or up against a tree!
Me: Hahaha! On the lawn??? Our hotel rooms are just right there! And it would probably be better if a 19 year old and a 25 year old did NOT sleep with a bunch of underage girls.

After talking about some other unimportant things, I told DJizzle and the DPG some hilarious stories from airborne school(I’ll post them in the future). They were laughing at the asshole thing I did when I made some douchebag kid think he was going to die because I told him his parachute would not open. Sgt. Trenches and I left after some story time, it was geting late anyways. It was at this point that we wished we could bring DJizzle and the DPG back to Louisiana with us. I felt so much more pride in my story about the asshole thing I did in airborne school at dinner the next day.

DPG Kid 1: Dude! That’s him! He’s the guy that told us the airborne story about making that kid think he was gonna die!
DPG Kid 2: Yeah! Your story is spreading around our school like wildfire! I was telling my friend while he was eating at Subway, and when I got to the best part, it made him start choking on his food and then he totally puked!!!! You’re awesome!
Me: Hahaha! I rule. I’m gonna miss you DP Gangstas, haha. Well we gotta go. Peace out home skillets!

DJizzle, the Dugway Proving Gangstas, and JT made what was supposed to be just another job, a memorable experience. We met some cool teens, Sgt. Trenches felt a little more confident in himself knowing a little whore wanted him, and my story made some kid vomit. I really loved my life at that point.


Have an airborne day.

Airborne School Tales Part 1: Destroyer of Souls

December 2007

I was ebullient with joy when I was informed in late November of last year, I would be attending the US Army Airborne school. I was to be fulfilling my own prophecy that I would be a paratrooper (I had worn my Airborne tshirt once a week during my senior year in high school; as if I was not already a huge nerd and dork). There were two reasons at that point that made my recent orders to Fort Benning even better. For one, I would be attending jump school at the same time as my buddy Wheelman(not his real name). I was already disappointed that my friend from training Michael Williams would not be going with me because he had to stay and get his inoculations as Standard Operating Procedure prior to being stationed in Korea. Wheelman and I both went to basic training together and have plenty of stories mainly the shower parties, beating the shit out of a piece of shit, and the guy who admitted to fucking a sheep(foreshadowing future blog posts). I was stoked, it had been nine weeks and we had plenty to catch up on. The second reason I was outlandishly happy for someone who is only a private in the Army was that it meant I would have earned my airborne wings prior to going home on leave. If I did not have that seat, my Advanced Individual Training drill sergeants would have forced me to go home for Christmas and return and wait even longer for a seat. That was not the case for me, I was to go home on Hometown Recruiting orders, with my wings. I was to flaunt my new airborne status too, what kind of cocky asshole would I be if I did not? Not an airborne asshole that is for sure. I went home and made sure everyone saw the wings. Not only did I enlist in a time of war and mass deployments for extended periods of time, I completed all initial entry training and became a paratrooper; this was my way of saying a big "FUCK YOU! I am the biggest badass you will ever know!" to all the cocky assholes I went to school with. The taste was so sweet.

I left Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri with a handful of others, not just the guys I graduated AIT with. Our bus had newly trained specialists in chemical operations, engineers, and military police. I am a chemical guy and Wheelman is an engineer. The other chemical guys that left with me were Stratton(have not heard from him since jump school), Staple(an expert marksman who deployed with probably the shittiest marksmen I have ever heard of, to do convoy security; God please protect him), Davis(a straight up fucking ignorant redneck douchebag from Kansas), Smith(a quiet guy who laughed at everything I said), Boyd(one of the biggest lying pieces of shit I have ever met), and Thomas(a big pussy who never fucked with me because he knew that despite being bigger than me, I would not hesitate to snap his neck; I had the bigger cock). I was going to enjoy jump school; I had some good buddies with me, and I had some people whose very existence was to be those that I would talk to, and about, as if they were much inferior in comparison to me. Well, they actually were inferior.

While inprocessing, I got lucky. Wheelman and I were in the same platoon and the same stick(squad as it is called at jump school). Smith and Stratton were in the same stick together, but still in our platoon. I was still unlucky though too; fate would not let anything be perfect for me. Davis, Boyd, and Thomas were also in my platoon in different sticks and Staple was nowhere to be seen; Staple did not pay attention and landed himself in the platoon in which none of his buddies were in. He was an outgoing guy and did not have trouble making friends so I did not really care. Throughout training I reveled in telling Smith and Stratton my multitude of stories of all the girls I hooked up with or slept with and how each one usually ended in some humorous way such as waking up and not even knowing what city I was in, or how all my friends thought I was a virgin. In fact I bet plenty of my friends still think I am a virgin. I was never really that proud of being a slut, despite many of my friends would have high-fived me. I guess maybe it is because I was teaching catechism at my church and I would probably be the biggest hypocrite ever, preaching what I could not practice myself. I bet many of my friends are probably reading this and thinking, "He's not a virgin?!?! That son of a bitch always made me feel guilty about having sex telling me I 'should resist even the greatest temptations.'" Are not I just wonderful?
I did my best to avoid Davis and Boyd, but when I saw them, in acts of complete asshole behavior, I talked to them as if they were nothing. "Davis, you aren't funny or cool. You are an inbred redneck whose ignorance and stupidity is beyond what is displayed in the movies when actors satirize the lifestyle you came from. Oh wait, I'm sorry. That was far beyond your vocabulary, let me simplify. I AM MAKIN' FUNNA YEEEEW!"

It was just as much fun talking to Boyd, or rather attempting to destroy his soul. Boyd was convinced after airborne school he would go and become a ranger, and then eventually make it to being a special forces operative, a badass commando for those nonmilitary readers who do not know much about the military. This was a perfect opportunity for me to rip on him because I knew he would not even make it as being a ranger since he has a real hard time cooperating with others and I am still certain to this day he will never earn the green beret as a special forces soldier, because it takes some intelligence to even be accepted in to the Special Forces Assessment and Selection. That is not even training, that is just the assessment of whether or not one is smart and strong enough to go through training, and I knew he would not even be accepted. How do I know? Boyd is plain and simple, fucking stupid. He is not mentally retarded, he is just stupid and illiterate. His commander would look at his DA 4187 Personnel Action paperwork requesting to go to SFAS, initial the denied box, sign it, put a big red stamp that says "FUCK YOU DUMMY" on it, and return it to him. I made sure to let him know that he was too dumb to be special forces. He would also brag about the many times he has cheated on his fiancee. I retaliated that the only reason she is with him, is because she has not met me, but that I could easily steal her from him with my suave charm. He would also brag about how he outsmarted our AIT drill sergeants and had sex with some dumb bimbo. I also shot this down every times he brought it up at jump school. "Boyd you did not outsmart anyone. The CQ desk is 1200 fucking meters away. We all know the times that Drill Sergeant Dukes does his rounds at night. You weren't sneaky either. All the fireguards saw you, they just didn't give a shit and figured you weren't worth making DS Dukes run to the barracks. Plus they knew there was no way he could run 1200 meters in under the two minutes it took you to get her out of her room, take her over to an empty room, put your diseased penis in her, bust a nut, and get back to your room. And that bimbo you're talking about was fucking ugly. I was drunk as fuck when I went back to my room one day and when I saw her, she was still fucking ugly. Congratulations you knowingly fucked an ugly chick while you were under 100% sobriety." I loved destroying his image in front of other future paratroopers.

When it came to Thomas, it did not take much effort to bring his happiness down. He is physically and mentally weak, probably as a result of having a mother who could never let him have his own space and let him grow as a man, and all I ever needed to do was remind him of his weakness to kill any inner peace he attained. You're probably thinking why did I have to be such an asshole to a poor kid who never had a father? It is called natural selection. The fit will survive and reproduce, and the weak will die childless. It is taught in schools. I have no sympathy for kids who grew weak due to not having a father figure. I can name multitudes of people who grew up not having fathers yet became strong people. My cousin Ivan is one example. He grew up without a father figure, yet he is one of the greatest young men I have ever met. So sorry, but I will not pity Private Thomas. In fact, I am disappointed with myself that I could not destroy every shred of hope in him. That is the only thing that ever gets him going, and when I see on his face he is dealing with inner conflict, I do my best to take away his hope. To him, I am like the last piece of darkness that never made it out of Pandora's box. I just plain do not give a shit what happens to him. I think what made me want to be his Dr. Kevorkian was something he told us. He has this absurd belief that he is meant to go die in Iraq and return his body to the earth. Normally that hippie shit about returning bodies to the earth does not bother me, because I do marvel at nature at times. This is what gets me. He wants to go to Iraq as a soldier and just die. Fuck that! He did not think of the consequences of such a stupid idea. It is a shitty idea. How do I know? Any smart soldier will tell you that it is a shitty idea. If his unit was to come under fire, it would be chaotic. Everyone else would taking cover, trying to determine where to shoot, as well as looking out for each other and checking to see who may need medical attention. He would walk out and get his stupid ass popped by some insurgent. Then his unit members are going to try and save him and probably get killed. The unit medic would probably get shot trying to stop the bleeding. Combat medics tend to be hot chicks many times, that I do not know why, and I will forever hate Thomas if I found out that a hot girl died because of him. Besides, if he died in Iraq and his unit was unable to recover his body, it would not just lie there and decompose. The insurgents would parade his stupid dead body on video giving them yet another victory raising terrorist morale everywhere. After that they would probably just burn his body or leave it in some random Baghdad alley to rot, Congratulations Thomas, your body was returned to the earth as nothing but methane and carbon dioxide, in the fucking desert I may add. So to save the lives of his unit members and possibly a hot medic, I attempt to make him so depressed that the Army has no choice but to discharge him medically. I am only looking out for others. In fact, I think I should get an Army Achievement Medal at the very least, if not the Soldier's Medal, for risking my career to get rid of another useless Army asset that is just wasting away tax dollars. Thomas and I are in the same battalion right now, but he is stationed else where. However, if I ever hear his platoon is deploying for anything other than bitch detail, I will most lickety split destroy him, making him "combat ineffective" so that no one dies because of him.



That is it for airborne school tales today. Stay tuned for more.





Have an airborne day.