Hope you all have a very enjoyable New Year's! Stay safe and stay out of trouble, weirdos.
Mine's going to be pretty wild...
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Thoughts on Tebow and Tebowing
Since I brought up Tebowing in my last post, I'd thought I'd take a moment to post my thoughts on such shenanigans. They are as follows:
Tebow is at best a decent quarterback. Worse, every major sports network has been religiously fellating him since his days as a Florida Gator, and it hasn't stopped despite proving to be a marginal professional quarterback with the Broncos. Equally absurd is the unspeakably retarded act known as Tebowing, in which one gets down on one knee, bows one's head, and prays regardless of what everyone else around them is doing (in Tebow's case, that's usually going over their upcoming plays). I think this is fucking ridiculous. Tebowing should be the act of, I don't know, maybe NOT THROWING THE GODDAMN BALL TO THE OPPOSING DEFENSE. No, I want MY team's quarterback to be known for something completely unrelated to football, because that makes sense. Fuck.
That said, Tebowing can be done properly and/or in ways that bring me joy (which should be the standard method of measurement for literally everything). For example, the one mentioned in my last post, where my friend busted one out right in the middle of a goddamn mosh pit. Not only was it funny for its shock value and creative blasphemy, but who actually has the balls to take a knee in the middle of the pit? (Answer: Wade does.) Not bad, I give it a 7/10.
This next one, though, completely overshadows nearly anything that has ever been accomplished by man throughout history, to include the wheel, electricity, nuclear warfare, and commercial whaling (but NOT including bacon or hallucinogenic drugs). If you've seen it, you know what I'm talking about. If you don't, SPOILER ALERT: it's a really, really, ridiculously hot blonde girl Tebowing in nothing but some sexy-ass heels. Mmmm. Check it out here. That's how it's done, folks.
Oh, and I'm still a huge Broncos fan, by the way.
Tebow is at best a decent quarterback. Worse, every major sports network has been religiously fellating him since his days as a Florida Gator, and it hasn't stopped despite proving to be a marginal professional quarterback with the Broncos. Equally absurd is the unspeakably retarded act known as Tebowing, in which one gets down on one knee, bows one's head, and prays regardless of what everyone else around them is doing (in Tebow's case, that's usually going over their upcoming plays). I think this is fucking ridiculous. Tebowing should be the act of, I don't know, maybe NOT THROWING THE GODDAMN BALL TO THE OPPOSING DEFENSE. No, I want MY team's quarterback to be known for something completely unrelated to football, because that makes sense. Fuck.
That said, Tebowing can be done properly and/or in ways that bring me joy (which should be the standard method of measurement for literally everything). For example, the one mentioned in my last post, where my friend busted one out right in the middle of a goddamn mosh pit. Not only was it funny for its shock value and creative blasphemy, but who actually has the balls to take a knee in the middle of the pit? (Answer: Wade does.) Not bad, I give it a 7/10.
This next one, though, completely overshadows nearly anything that has ever been accomplished by man throughout history, to include the wheel, electricity, nuclear warfare, and commercial whaling (but NOT including bacon or hallucinogenic drugs). If you've seen it, you know what I'm talking about. If you don't, SPOILER ALERT: it's a really, really, ridiculously hot blonde girl Tebowing in nothing but some sexy-ass heels. Mmmm. Check it out here. That's how it's done, folks.
Oh, and I'm still a huge Broncos fan, by the way.
The Block Leave Shit Show
Good evening.
Well I'm back on post after ten short days of leave in beautiful Colorado. I should be in bed, but I'm doing laundry and drinking beer instead. Thus, rather than sit here and contemplate the fact that I have work in seven hours, I figure I'll distract myself by shifting back into writing mode. Here's a few interesting tidbits from my much-needed vacation, organized in some sort of loose chronological fashion:
Friday: Land in Denver. Immediately note that my testicles are hiding somewhere inside my stomach. Should have dressed warmer. Dad picks me up, we roll to Fort Collins, I drop off my shit and go to my homeboy's apartment, proceeding to drink aggressively until like 0600. Winner.
Saturday: Wake up super hung over and/or somewhat inebriated on couch, roll to dad's. We go down to my brother's house in Boulder where we drink aggressively and cook a fairly epic smoked brisket. I show my family the Action Figure Therapy channel on Youtube, which is hilarious. Bart and I stay up until like like 0300 watching Youtube and drinking a particularly delicious and seemingly endless train of drinks, including some amazing Bulleit Rye Manhattans and a metric fuckton of Absinthe. I vomit outside behind the garage, wasting precious brisket... shame on me.
Sunday: Dad and I go back up to Foco, I clean myself up and go pick up The Rooke. Then it's time for a quick B-double-E-double-R-U-N and an aggressive trip in my old Legacy GT up to Walden, stopping at my dad's house there to pick up a few things (guns) and have a few beers. Onward to Steamboat!
Steamboat warrants its own paragraph for the amount of crazy shit that occurred. As a little background, my friends have a death metal band they call Unreasonable Human , which is pretty kick ass. They're an unusually talented group of individuals. Then again, they are some of my closest friends, so perhaps I'm slightly biased here, but whatever. The Rooke is their manager, in charge of regulating shit with an iron fist and generally making sure they and our other friends don't cause problems or get thrown out, which is a difficult task sometimes. Anyway. We got up to the Unreasonable Household in mid-afternoon and after I say my greetings to the guys, we get to crackin' beers. (There may have also been a bottle of The Balvenie 12 year in there somewhere... Dank. Thanks Esteban).
(some time later)
Showtime at (redacted) Pub downtown. We grab some drinks, we eat some food, the band sets their shit up while the rest of us chill. Wade almost gets kicked out of the place before UH even comes on, since he thinks its funny to stand in front of the DJ and make grotesque masturbating motions into a dance. The DJ was, shall we say, less than amused, humorless bastard that he was. Granted, I'm not sure how I'd feel if some asshole in a cowboy hat walked up in front of me and started thrusting suggestively while pretending to jerk off a whale dick. If you don't have the pleasure of knowing Wade, let's just say that he was the inspiration for the band name. Motherfucker's pretty un-goddamn-reasonable. Extremely entertaining.
So after that whole debacle, the band starts playing, everyone gets even more drunk, and we start moshing like normal, well-adjusted people would do in that situation. Wade again almost gets into a fight. He also actually decided to drop a Tebow in the middle of the pit, which was shocking not only in the fact that it's a really bad idea, but because everyone in the pit moved away in awe and respect. Ah, Broncos country.
The show went well, and we escaped Steamboat the next day with hide and pride mostly intact. I met a lot of new people, saw many I hadn't seen in a very long time, and generally got to rage my face off. Definitely winning.
The next few days are somewhat of a blur, consisting mostly of my friends, my brother and I consuming obscene amounts of alcohol and partying like animals at various bars, breweries, and houses around Foco. It was pretty kick ass, in general.
On Friday, a group of us went up to a casino resort in Blackhawk, which is basically Colorado's miniature version of Vegas, except in the mountains and not as cool. I'm not really much of a gambler, so it was a somewhat new and interesting experience for me. I brought with me a set sum of cash to spend so I wouldn't completely piss away my bank account. Hot little blonde girls kept bringing me Gin and Tonics and Maker's Mark Manhattans (straight up, martini glass, with a cherry, please. Personal favorite mixed drink) on the house, which was only fair considering I was basically giving them my hard-earned dollars in somewhat substantial amounts. Fortunately, I went up there with no expectations of winning any money, so no harm done and lesson learned. C'est la vie.
Saturday night (Christmas Eve) I stayed pretty low-key and hung out with a few of my favorite people. We exchanged a few gifts and had a few drinks, and were generally merry.
Sunday night, same deal, same group of people, except we ended up going to one of the only bars open that night in Foco, which was nice since I got to see a lot of people I wouldn't have gotten to see otherwise. It was extremely nice, if slightly melancholy for me.
Monday morning hit me square in the face with the realization that I had to return to Braggdad... and return I did, completely in contradiction to every feeling in my body. That day was it's own particular brand of hell, but the blame for that rests nearly completely on my own shoulders. I'll spare you the bitching, in any event.
Well I'm back on post after ten short days of leave in beautiful Colorado. I should be in bed, but I'm doing laundry and drinking beer instead. Thus, rather than sit here and contemplate the fact that I have work in seven hours, I figure I'll distract myself by shifting back into writing mode. Here's a few interesting tidbits from my much-needed vacation, organized in some sort of loose chronological fashion:
Friday: Land in Denver. Immediately note that my testicles are hiding somewhere inside my stomach. Should have dressed warmer. Dad picks me up, we roll to Fort Collins, I drop off my shit and go to my homeboy's apartment, proceeding to drink aggressively until like 0600. Winner.
Saturday: Wake up super hung over and/or somewhat inebriated on couch, roll to dad's. We go down to my brother's house in Boulder where we drink aggressively and cook a fairly epic smoked brisket. I show my family the Action Figure Therapy channel on Youtube, which is hilarious. Bart and I stay up until like like 0300 watching Youtube and drinking a particularly delicious and seemingly endless train of drinks, including some amazing Bulleit Rye Manhattans and a metric fuckton of Absinthe. I vomit outside behind the garage, wasting precious brisket... shame on me.
Sunday: Dad and I go back up to Foco, I clean myself up and go pick up The Rooke. Then it's time for a quick B-double-E-double-R-U-N and an aggressive trip in my old Legacy GT up to Walden, stopping at my dad's house there to pick up a few things (guns) and have a few beers. Onward to Steamboat!
Steamboat warrants its own paragraph for the amount of crazy shit that occurred. As a little background, my friends have a death metal band they call Unreasonable Human , which is pretty kick ass. They're an unusually talented group of individuals. Then again, they are some of my closest friends, so perhaps I'm slightly biased here, but whatever. The Rooke is their manager, in charge of regulating shit with an iron fist and generally making sure they and our other friends don't cause problems or get thrown out, which is a difficult task sometimes. Anyway. We got up to the Unreasonable Household in mid-afternoon and after I say my greetings to the guys, we get to crackin' beers. (There may have also been a bottle of The Balvenie 12 year in there somewhere... Dank. Thanks Esteban).
(some time later)
Showtime at (redacted) Pub downtown. We grab some drinks, we eat some food, the band sets their shit up while the rest of us chill. Wade almost gets kicked out of the place before UH even comes on, since he thinks its funny to stand in front of the DJ and make grotesque masturbating motions into a dance. The DJ was, shall we say, less than amused, humorless bastard that he was. Granted, I'm not sure how I'd feel if some asshole in a cowboy hat walked up in front of me and started thrusting suggestively while pretending to jerk off a whale dick. If you don't have the pleasure of knowing Wade, let's just say that he was the inspiration for the band name. Motherfucker's pretty un-goddamn-reasonable. Extremely entertaining.
So after that whole debacle, the band starts playing, everyone gets even more drunk, and we start moshing like normal, well-adjusted people would do in that situation. Wade again almost gets into a fight. He also actually decided to drop a Tebow in the middle of the pit, which was shocking not only in the fact that it's a really bad idea, but because everyone in the pit moved away in awe and respect. Ah, Broncos country.
The show went well, and we escaped Steamboat the next day with hide and pride mostly intact. I met a lot of new people, saw many I hadn't seen in a very long time, and generally got to rage my face off. Definitely winning.
The next few days are somewhat of a blur, consisting mostly of my friends, my brother and I consuming obscene amounts of alcohol and partying like animals at various bars, breweries, and houses around Foco. It was pretty kick ass, in general.
On Friday, a group of us went up to a casino resort in Blackhawk, which is basically Colorado's miniature version of Vegas, except in the mountains and not as cool. I'm not really much of a gambler, so it was a somewhat new and interesting experience for me. I brought with me a set sum of cash to spend so I wouldn't completely piss away my bank account. Hot little blonde girls kept bringing me Gin and Tonics and Maker's Mark Manhattans (straight up, martini glass, with a cherry, please. Personal favorite mixed drink) on the house, which was only fair considering I was basically giving them my hard-earned dollars in somewhat substantial amounts. Fortunately, I went up there with no expectations of winning any money, so no harm done and lesson learned. C'est la vie.
Saturday night (Christmas Eve) I stayed pretty low-key and hung out with a few of my favorite people. We exchanged a few gifts and had a few drinks, and were generally merry.
Sunday night, same deal, same group of people, except we ended up going to one of the only bars open that night in Foco, which was nice since I got to see a lot of people I wouldn't have gotten to see otherwise. It was extremely nice, if slightly melancholy for me.
Monday morning hit me square in the face with the realization that I had to return to Braggdad... and return I did, completely in contradiction to every feeling in my body. That day was it's own particular brand of hell, but the blame for that rests nearly completely on my own shoulders. I'll spare you the bitching, in any event.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Happy Holidays!
Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals!
I'm still on leave, haven't really had time to post anything. I'll post about my exploits when I get a chance.
Anyway, hope you all spend lots of quality time with the ones you love. My family's gone, so I'm just going to get completely hammered drunk and try to forget that I have to go back to work in a couple of days.
Deuces
I'm still on leave, haven't really had time to post anything. I'll post about my exploits when I get a chance.
Anyway, hope you all spend lots of quality time with the ones you love. My family's gone, so I'm just going to get completely hammered drunk and try to forget that I have to go back to work in a couple of days.
Deuces
Friday, December 16, 2011
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Anyone Watch El Presidente's Speech Today?
Because I was like 15' from the podium... not by choice, mind you. Back story:
Had jump last night. Got released from work around 2300, after turning in weapons and NODs. Was personally promised a 0900 work call today by my company's 1SG, so I stayed up until like 0200 drinking whiskey, talking to friends, and generally de-stressing after the jump - it's kind of a ritual that I like to do after each successful jump, just a little "Hey! I'm still alive!" celebration. Anyway.
Fast forward to 0530 this morning, when my phone starts ringing off the hook. IGNORE. IGNORE. IGNORE. Finally I get completely fucking fed up and answer, knowing full well what awaits me: "Dude. Get in ACUs and get down to the company as fast as you can."
FUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCKK.
I throw on the uniform I jumped in last night (which is dirtier than my mind), slap a beret on my head, and half-assedly brush my teeth. No time to shave, hell with it. I'm still quite hammered, barely conscious, and every bit as pissed off as you can imagine. A great way to start the day.
...Several hours later, we go through security after marching a fucking mile across the runway (side note; I forgot my Leatherman was still attached to my belt, but I left it next to a dumpster outside and came back for it later... ain't no security guy gettin' MY goddamn multitool for free). We file in, dressed right, looking pretty for all of about 10 minutes before our rank-and-file disintegrates into my favorite formation, the Gagglefuck. I was about three rows back by the time it was all sorted out.
We stood there for another three hours, waiting to be blessed with his awesome presence. THREE HOURS. That's as much sleep as I got last night, for those of you who aren't mathematicians. No bathroom breaks, no tobacco, no food, no water, no chairs... this less than twelve hours after a combat jump? Are these people high? My back still feels like I got trampled by a herd of abnormally angry buffalo. Not stoked. It doesn't help that I was standing there sweating pure bourbon the entire time - I heard people three rows away wondering "What the hell, who smells like a distillery right now? What a douche." My NCOIC could not be reached for comment regarding this situation.
Eventually the CIC decided us lowly paratroopers were worthy of his Jesus-like teleprompter reading skills (we actually had a false start, by which he embarrassed the hell out of a Two Star) and came out and campaigned for an hour. I really don't see what the big fucking deal is. Seriously, the guy reads off his two teleprompters the whole time - I'd wager that the longest he ever looked away from the screens was eight seconds, at most. Whatever happened to the days of giving a heartfelt speech from memory? Shit, stage actors do it, you'd think the leader of the free world could at least get that part right.
The best (read: absolute fucking worst, which is saying a lot) part of this whole dog and pony show was his highly dedicated group of absolutely insane fans. It was absolutely sickening to watch these people and their behavior. That is as far as I want to discuss that, mostly so I don't have a goddamn aneurism two days before block leave.
As you can tell, I'm still not in the greatest of moods. I needed to vent. Rant off.
Had jump last night. Got released from work around 2300, after turning in weapons and NODs. Was personally promised a 0900 work call today by my company's 1SG, so I stayed up until like 0200 drinking whiskey, talking to friends, and generally de-stressing after the jump - it's kind of a ritual that I like to do after each successful jump, just a little "Hey! I'm still alive!" celebration. Anyway.
Fast forward to 0530 this morning, when my phone starts ringing off the hook. IGNORE. IGNORE. IGNORE. Finally I get completely fucking fed up and answer, knowing full well what awaits me: "Dude. Get in ACUs and get down to the company as fast as you can."
FUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCKK.
I throw on the uniform I jumped in last night (which is dirtier than my mind), slap a beret on my head, and half-assedly brush my teeth. No time to shave, hell with it. I'm still quite hammered, barely conscious, and every bit as pissed off as you can imagine. A great way to start the day.
...Several hours later, we go through security after marching a fucking mile across the runway (side note; I forgot my Leatherman was still attached to my belt, but I left it next to a dumpster outside and came back for it later... ain't no security guy gettin' MY goddamn multitool for free). We file in, dressed right, looking pretty for all of about 10 minutes before our rank-and-file disintegrates into my favorite formation, the Gagglefuck. I was about three rows back by the time it was all sorted out.
We stood there for another three hours, waiting to be blessed with his awesome presence. THREE HOURS. That's as much sleep as I got last night, for those of you who aren't mathematicians. No bathroom breaks, no tobacco, no food, no water, no chairs... this less than twelve hours after a combat jump? Are these people high? My back still feels like I got trampled by a herd of abnormally angry buffalo. Not stoked. It doesn't help that I was standing there sweating pure bourbon the entire time - I heard people three rows away wondering "What the hell, who smells like a distillery right now? What a douche." My NCOIC could not be reached for comment regarding this situation.
Eventually the CIC decided us lowly paratroopers were worthy of his Jesus-like teleprompter reading skills (we actually had a false start, by which he embarrassed the hell out of a Two Star) and came out and campaigned for an hour. I really don't see what the big fucking deal is. Seriously, the guy reads off his two teleprompters the whole time - I'd wager that the longest he ever looked away from the screens was eight seconds, at most. Whatever happened to the days of giving a heartfelt speech from memory? Shit, stage actors do it, you'd think the leader of the free world could at least get that part right.
The best (read: absolute fucking worst, which is saying a lot) part of this whole dog and pony show was his highly dedicated group of absolutely insane fans. It was absolutely sickening to watch these people and their behavior. That is as far as I want to discuss that, mostly so I don't have a goddamn aneurism two days before block leave.
As you can tell, I'm still not in the greatest of moods. I needed to vent. Rant off.
Jumpin' Jack
Well, the gods must be with me, because I got in another good jump tonight without injury. Combat equipped out of a C-130... quite possibly the least comfortable way to jump - packed "nut to butt" with some other dude's heavy damn ruck sack all up on your shit, back screaming out in pain, and unable to fully inflate your lungs. For those of you who've never done so, let's just say that after experiencing this particular brand of hell for an hour or two, you're thrilled to get out of that aircraft by any means available. The jump door just happens to be the most convenient and expedient route to comfort.
I still do love the jump though. Call me crazy, but it's a hell of a good time. Unfortunately, it's about two minutes (at most) of pure greatness bracketed on either side by several hours of suck. C'est la vie airborne.
After we'd all had a chance to gather up, turn in our shit, stop sweating and start to get legitimately cold, we had to go all Hands Across Sicily DZ in 35 degree weather, courtesy of whichever mouth-breathing piece of wolf shit decided to completely jettison his ruck sack and weapon from the sky. DON'T PULL THE YELLOW HANDLE, ASSHOLE. That's not the quick release you're looking for...
Moving on.
_________________
(hours later)
Nate and Mat came over, between them bringing roughly 750 ml of bourbon. It is gone now. I'm pretty sure I had something else I was going to talk about here, but it clearly wasn't important enough for me to remember. So I'm going to go sleep.
Will be in Steamboat, CO in four (4!) days. FOUR DAYS. That is so fucking sweet it doesn't even seem possible.
Carry on.
I still do love the jump though. Call me crazy, but it's a hell of a good time. Unfortunately, it's about two minutes (at most) of pure greatness bracketed on either side by several hours of suck. C'est la vie airborne.
After we'd all had a chance to gather up, turn in our shit, stop sweating and start to get legitimately cold, we had to go all Hands Across Sicily DZ in 35 degree weather, courtesy of whichever mouth-breathing piece of wolf shit decided to completely jettison his ruck sack and weapon from the sky. DON'T PULL THE YELLOW HANDLE, ASSHOLE. That's not the quick release you're looking for...
Moving on.
_________________
(hours later)
Nate and Mat came over, between them bringing roughly 750 ml of bourbon. It is gone now. I'm pretty sure I had something else I was going to talk about here, but it clearly wasn't important enough for me to remember. So I'm going to go sleep.
Will be in Steamboat, CO in four (4!) days. FOUR DAYS. That is so fucking sweet it doesn't even seem possible.
Carry on.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Finally got off my ass...
... And hand washed and waxed the 'vette. I wash it probably once a week, but I bet it hasn't been properly waxed since last year sometime. Anyway, observe the glory:
Another Uneventful Weekend
Nothing to report, really. Played some beer pong last night at a buddy's house and fell asleep on the couch.
Before that, I went out looking for some Mustangs to fight with, but there was a serious dearth of fast cars out last night so I ended up kinda half-assedly racing some dude in a newer TL Type S. Nice ride, but he didn't stand a chance.
I'm going to wash/wax/lightly detail Vanessa today... she's a dirty girl after sitting out all week in the rain. Poor thing needs a home.
Before that, I went out looking for some Mustangs to fight with, but there was a serious dearth of fast cars out last night so I ended up kinda half-assedly racing some dude in a newer TL Type S. Nice ride, but he didn't stand a chance.
I'm going to wash/wax/lightly detail Vanessa today... she's a dirty girl after sitting out all week in the rain. Poor thing needs a home.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Paratrooping With Friends
Damn. Those six days in the field really kicked my ass. My platoon rocked shit, though, which is the important part - we continue to show that we are the most competent platoon in the best company in our battalion. We blew shit up, we shot enemy down, we kicked doors in. Targets were killed with everything from M4s to AT4s to 105mm HE rounds. Me grunt, me like explodey things.
Depressingly, I fired not a single round the entire week. I did, however, improve my commo skills substantially, and got to enjoy a bit of a bird's-eye view of direct action. It's really quite different to actually understand and be a big player in an operation, rather than simply being told "go here, stack up, shoot this." I'm warming up to the job a bit... but I must admit I do miss being in a line squad. Trigger time is the best.
I'm more than a little deaf and a bit scrambled right now from the sheer volume of 7.62 and 5.56 rounds I was subjected to (not to mention being in close proximity and slightly behind multiple AT4s being fired, several times this week; not comfortable). In fact, my left ear is still ringing rather loudly and I'm not very happy about it. Yeah, I know, ear plugs were created for a reason - but you try wearing ear pro when you have 25 different people on two different radios screaming at you in both ears, and you have to keep track of all of it in addition to the information your LT is relaying to you at the top of his lungs while sprinting from house to house.
Anyway, I feel like I'm a bit drunk and it's a little past 0300. My body hurts from head to toe. In seven days, I'll be living the good life I left in Colorado... I think I'll just savor that anticipation a little while, knowing how good it will be.
Deuces
Depressingly, I fired not a single round the entire week. I did, however, improve my commo skills substantially, and got to enjoy a bit of a bird's-eye view of direct action. It's really quite different to actually understand and be a big player in an operation, rather than simply being told "go here, stack up, shoot this." I'm warming up to the job a bit... but I must admit I do miss being in a line squad. Trigger time is the best.
I'm more than a little deaf and a bit scrambled right now from the sheer volume of 7.62 and 5.56 rounds I was subjected to (not to mention being in close proximity and slightly behind multiple AT4s being fired, several times this week; not comfortable). In fact, my left ear is still ringing rather loudly and I'm not very happy about it. Yeah, I know, ear plugs were created for a reason - but you try wearing ear pro when you have 25 different people on two different radios screaming at you in both ears, and you have to keep track of all of it in addition to the information your LT is relaying to you at the top of his lungs while sprinting from house to house.
Anyway, I feel like I'm a bit drunk and it's a little past 0300. My body hurts from head to toe. In seven days, I'll be living the good life I left in Colorado... I think I'll just savor that anticipation a little while, knowing how good it will be.
Deuces
Saturday, December 3, 2011
This Weekend Sucks
I have to work tomorrow. In fact, I have to go into the field tomorrow, and likely won't be back until Friday. My platoon always gets the big ol' shaft. Yay.
In light of this fact, a few of the guys and I are going out to indulge in a little self-pity dinner and drinking... one guy has been drinking JD heavily since around noon and is kind of a mess, so this should be fairly amusing. I guess if we all get arrested we can't go to work tomorrow, right? Right?
Let's see where this night takes us...
In light of this fact, a few of the guys and I are going out to indulge in a little self-pity dinner and drinking... one guy has been drinking JD heavily since around noon and is kind of a mess, so this should be fairly amusing. I guess if we all get arrested we can't go to work tomorrow, right? Right?
Let's see where this night takes us...
Fayettenam 101: Introduction to Classiness
Hi.
My name is Jack, and I live in Fayetteville, NC - the worst city in the contiguous United States. So bad, in fact, that we (my fellow paratroopers and I) no longer refer to it by its proper name, but by two distinct nicknames - Fayettenam and Braggdad. The latter is, of course, a reference to the Army base that borders the city.
Through a series of unfortunate events (all started by yours truly), I now live next to this massive apocalyptic jumblefuck. You see, I thought it would be a phenomenal idea to become an Army paratrooper. This is where that decision landed me. Don't get me wrong - I love my job, and I'm proud to be able to serve my country in a meaningful way. Do not confuse my hatred of where I am for hatred of what I am; though the two are inextricably correlated, as my math teachers always taught me, correlation does not equal causation. Whatever the hell that means.
I enjoy writing, and many people have told me that they enjoy reading what I write, so it seemed like a good idea to start again. I'd also like to think I lead a fairly interesting life - interesting enough to write about, but probably not interesting enough to make it into a movie. Really, I do some pretty cool shit, and I hang out with lots of really entertaining (if functionally retarded) people. So read about it, or bad things will happen to you.
A little about myself: I'm in my early 20s. I'm 5'11" of sex and manliness. I hail from Fort Collins, CO, land of wonderful beer and self-righteous dipshit college students. Excluding drinking, my two biggest hobbies involve guns and cars, and I have very nice examples of both. I drive a newer Corvette; her name is Vanessa and we are inseparable. Seriously, I fucking love that car.
I drink so much I can't really think of the appropriate words to describe it. Let's just say it's noon and I'm sitting here aided by my good friend Crown Royal, recovering from a pretty good hangover (more about the cause of that hangover later). I am a pretty upfront person and I swear a lot, so if that offends you, you may want to leave with your delicate sensibilities still intact. I can be pretty goddamn offensive sometimes, but that's just who I am. Love it or leave it.
My goal here is to document all the dumb, crazy, entertaining, and just plain retarded shit my friends and I do. I will leave out names when appropriate, and rest assured you're not always going to get the full story because there is just some stuff I can't put on the internet due to the nature of my job (Big Brother is watching...) I want to keep the posts at an unhealthy mix of work-related and personal, just to keep things interesting. But most of all, I want to entertain you, because I'm such a nice guy.
My name is Jack, and I live in Fayetteville, NC - the worst city in the contiguous United States. So bad, in fact, that we (my fellow paratroopers and I) no longer refer to it by its proper name, but by two distinct nicknames - Fayettenam and Braggdad. The latter is, of course, a reference to the Army base that borders the city.
Through a series of unfortunate events (all started by yours truly), I now live next to this massive apocalyptic jumblefuck. You see, I thought it would be a phenomenal idea to become an Army paratrooper. This is where that decision landed me. Don't get me wrong - I love my job, and I'm proud to be able to serve my country in a meaningful way. Do not confuse my hatred of where I am for hatred of what I am; though the two are inextricably correlated, as my math teachers always taught me, correlation does not equal causation. Whatever the hell that means.
I enjoy writing, and many people have told me that they enjoy reading what I write, so it seemed like a good idea to start again. I'd also like to think I lead a fairly interesting life - interesting enough to write about, but probably not interesting enough to make it into a movie. Really, I do some pretty cool shit, and I hang out with lots of really entertaining (if functionally retarded) people. So read about it, or bad things will happen to you.
A little about myself: I'm in my early 20s. I'm 5'11" of sex and manliness. I hail from Fort Collins, CO, land of wonderful beer and self-righteous dipshit college students. Excluding drinking, my two biggest hobbies involve guns and cars, and I have very nice examples of both. I drive a newer Corvette; her name is Vanessa and we are inseparable. Seriously, I fucking love that car.
I drink so much I can't really think of the appropriate words to describe it. Let's just say it's noon and I'm sitting here aided by my good friend Crown Royal, recovering from a pretty good hangover (more about the cause of that hangover later). I am a pretty upfront person and I swear a lot, so if that offends you, you may want to leave with your delicate sensibilities still intact. I can be pretty goddamn offensive sometimes, but that's just who I am. Love it or leave it.
My goal here is to document all the dumb, crazy, entertaining, and just plain retarded shit my friends and I do. I will leave out names when appropriate, and rest assured you're not always going to get the full story because there is just some stuff I can't put on the internet due to the nature of my job (Big Brother is watching...) I want to keep the posts at an unhealthy mix of work-related and personal, just to keep things interesting. But most of all, I want to entertain you, because I'm such a nice guy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)