When reading this try to think late 70’s early 80’s educational video.

“So, you want to learn how to drill through steel huh?” (Mute video actor smiles and nods head vigorously.) “Do you have a drill?” (Nods again holding up acme super-drill.) “And do you have some steel?” (Nods and points to a M-1 Abrams parked a short distance away.) “Good! You are now ready to learn how to drill through steel!” (Actor smiles and pumps arm as if screaming Woo Hoo!) “But before you learn how to drill through steel, remember…. Safety first! Always wear eye protection.” (Actor puts on over-sized safety goggles.)

“Now then, first we will show you how not to drill through steel.” (Now picture me standing there with a 19.4V battery operated drill in hand) “When drilling, it is NOT a good idea to use a dull bit. It is also not a good idea to get frustrated with the dull bit and drill at maximum speed.” (Now picture me trying to drill through said steel with the drill at its highest speed setting slowly drilling through the steel.) “When you start punching through the steel always slow down your bit, otherwise it will probably catch at the last possible second.” (Watch in slow motion as the drill bit catches and the drill twists 360 degrees while I’m still holding it. My forearm twists as far as it will go, and my wrist completes the full revolution.) “This can cause injury to the wrist, forearm and shoulder if you are not careful.”

That is basically what happened, in my mind at least, and the narrators voice was probably added by the pain killers the doctor gave me. I was working with a co-worker at the time and he heard a distinct pop from my wrist. He quickly cleaned up the work site and took me to the hospital where the x-rays showed several hairline and minor fractures to every bone in my wrist. There were also hairline fractures on my forearm and stress fractures in my shoulder.

Needless to say my boss wasn’t happy. The next day at work he brought in an expert to show us how to properly drill through steel and during the lecture even managed not to look directly at me. I spent 6 weeks in a cast and immobilizing sling, and 4 weeks in La La Land due to the pain killers. The boss was able to laugh about it after about a week and dubbed me “Oliver” (as in Oliver “Twist”).

Being deployed for over six months is way too long.  Being deployed for over six months in 130 degree, dry heat with no running water, is fucking criminal and should only happen to murderers and rapists.  And when I say that, I’m talking about people who have committed BOTH murder and rape, not just one or the other.

Having been in these horrendous conditions for so long, you can imagine how excited I was to see rain for the first time.  I look outside, and see that it is raining pretty hard, so I think to myself, “I haven’t had a good shower in a long time”.  So I grab my soap, and I run outside bare-assed and jump up on top of one of my tanks.  The rain is pouring down on me, and I’m soaping up and just loving every minute of this “natural” cleansing process.

I so wish the story ended there.  So I get my entire body all lathered up, and I’m ready to just let the rain hit me and wash it all away.  Instead, right at the moment, the rain stops abruptly.  So here I am, standing on top of my tank, butt-naked with soap all over my body.  I had to jump down off of the tank, walk back into the building, and up to my room in those exact conditions.  I guess this has brought a brand new meaning to the phrase, “Walk of Shame”.

Some stories get their humor from a punch line, and some of them are funny just because of the situation.  This is one of those situational ones.

My friend, who I’ll call Josephine, is a really great person.  She’s generous, kind, intelligent, adventurous, interesting, and isn’t afraid to act silly once in a while.

Oh, and she’s extremely liberal.  Keep this in mind as we proceed.

A few years ago, I made the mistake of dragging Josephine into one of the local adult toyshops for shits and giggles.  After wandering around and joking about the displays, I finally realized that while I was just being an immature idiot, Josephine was truly embarrassed.  I was confused; this is a woman who’s been living in the gay district of an extremely liberal city for over ten years.  What’s the problem?  And that’s when it dawned on me that even ultra-tolerant, ultra-liberal people have comfort zones, and I’d shoved Josephine out of hers.  I immediately felt bad for putting her in such an uncomfortable situation, so we left and never spoke of it again.

About a month later, Josephine came over and made an announcement.  Namely, she had decided that it was time to get her first vibrator.  And she wants me to come.  This normally wouldn’t have bothered me, except it was less “I want to get a vibrator, and won’t it be fun for you to tag along,” and more “I am a fifty-two year old woman on her way to buying her very first vibrator, and there must be an experienced woman to witness this modern Rite of Passage.”

I guess in her mind, having the same BOB for a decade makes me the expert on all things that whir and jiggle, thus qualifying me for the position of “experienced woman.”

Now, the adult toyshop we went into before was one of those little boutiques designed to make people feel comfortable about getting off, turning their kink into a Lifestyle Choice.  In other words, the perfect place to take someone who’s not been all that sexually adventurous.

Apparently Josephine’s desire to liberate herself from the prison of sexual conservatism didn’t overcome her need to price-shop, because she wanted to go to the other adult toyshop.  The one with not just a wall of dildos, but a wall and three aisles.  And massive bins of porn with titles like “Virgin Brides IV” just thrown all together.  And an entire selection of lingerie that was in style back when beach balls were considered erotic.

You know, the skeevy one.

I, the “experienced woman,” am desperately trying to ignore the pasty-faced clerks quivering in fear and excitement at the prospect of not one, but two real women being within ten feet of them.  Meanwhile, Josephine, the inferred “inexperienced woman,” is bouncing around the store, loudly asking me things like why the DVDs are so expensive (”Um, they don’t exactly make their production costs back in ticket sales.”  “Oh, yeah.  I can see that.”)

And then I’m staring at the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen: The Rabbit Vibrator.

And it’s speaking to me.

“Look at me! ” it says.  “I’m so much better than that tired old thing you’ve been using for ten years.  I’ve got more buttons than a universal remote.  Push one, and watch me dance and sing! My shaft is double-jointed, with pretty shiny beads that run all through it.  I have a clitoris stimulator in the shape of an adorable little bunny.  And, I come in a wide array of colors perfect for matching your bedspread.

You want me.  I know you do.  Buy me.  Buy me, and you’ll never have to cruise bars looking for Mr. Right again, because I have been so skillfully engineered for your pleasure that I will RUIN YOU FOR MEN FOREVER. And then, World Domination!”

And Josephine is waving this thing under my nose, asking me if I think she should buy it.
“I dunno,” I reply, visions of Sinfest’s “The Matriarchy”

“Hm.  The floor model’s not working.  I think the batteries are dead.”

“It’s a vibrator, Josephine.  I’m sure it’s fine.”

“But I want to see if the action’s smooth.”

Josephine heads over to the service desk, where, like the competent professionals they look nothing like, the staff have batteries lying around for just such an occasion.  After playing with the Devil’s Prosthesis for a few minutes, Josephine decides it’s perfect and buys it.

Five seconds later, we’re out the door and on our way home.  She holds her head high, proud to have completely joined the ranks of the Modern Woman.  I, on the other hand, am dragging my feet in shame, my head hanging.  Apparently, I am not as ultra-tolerant, ultra-liberal as I thought.  I have shamed my fellow women.  The terrorists have won.

For five minutes.

I shrugged off my embarrassment and went back to work.  Now, every time I think about my reaction to vibrator-shopping with Josephine, I giggle like an idiot at my own hypocrisy.

Except when I think about The Rabbit.  Then I flinch.

Bitch cheated on me while I was deployed. It sucks, but oh well, life goes on. It’s been two years now. I have a beautiful girlfriend, who, if she signs the pre-nup will become my beautiful fiance. (Screw me once shame on you, screw me twice shame on me).

If there is two things that my cheating succubus gave me, aside from less than savory credit and an ample distrust of the opposite sex, is two wonderful precocious children. About 8 months after the split I was enjoying some quality time with my children at a waterpark. While on the lazy river with my 6 year old daughter, two beautiful young women engaged me in conversation.

My daughter, who wasn’t completely cool with dad talking to pretty young women, decided to have her say and made a sassy comment to one of the women. I just shook my head and said “she’s just like her mother.” My daughter quickly corrected me with: “DAD, I am not just like mom, I’m not tired of putting up with your crap yet.”

Has anyone seen this show? It’s on MTV, and its basic premise is a bunch of spoiled rich teen aged girls who are about to turn sixteen, and the demands that these brats put on their rich fathers.

The episode that I watched had a little bitch that wanted her father to rent out a mansion, not because they didn’t have a mansion of their own, but people had already been to their mansion, she wanted her party at a new mansion, when told that the mansion would cost 60,000$ for the night the father started to balk at the price. Seeing this, the daughter started throwing a temper tantrum to which the father looked mortified and quickly signed the lease.

That wasn’t as bad as her being pissed that R. Kelly was the entertainment for the night versus Julio Iglasias whom she wanted. Too bad R. Kelly didn’t do to her what he does to other teenagers.

Daddy made it up to her though by getting her a new Lexus convertible. She made it clear to everyone at home by telling them “Daddy Loves me.”

All I could think as I watched this was “Dooooooeeeeeesssssss heeeeeeeeeeee? Well then maybe he’d pay a nice ransom.”

I could see it now, sending him her toes wrapped in wax paper, maybe some pictures of her being sodomized by a hobo off the street (after all tears make the best lubricant).

I don’t know what is more wrong;

A. That there are people out there who are actually like that.

B. That MTV shows us these people.

C. That watching that shit makes me think of committing felonies.

D. That Paris Hilton and Nichole Ritchie haven’t had those felonies committed against them.

So over here in Iraq, there are a lot of similarities to a fraternity house.  Our days are pretty much filled with getting buff, getting some work done, and making constant homo-erotic comments.

Well one thing that you learn fast is that you should never look forward to your birthday.  It is filled with nothing but practical jokes, and if you ever fall asleep during your birthday, you can pretty much count on waking up with another man’s penis in your face.

Now, with that said, I had a very unfortunate encounter on my Squadron Commander’s birthday.  Everyone was trying to figure out the best way to truly “get the boss” as it were.  Being the king of mischief as I am, I decided to moon him.  Unoriginal, I know, but a tried and true prank that is always good for a laugh.  So I go up to my Commander’s door, a little nervous, being that he can court martial me, and I knock three times, turn around and wait for him answer.

As soon as I hear the door open, I pull my shorts down, scream out “THAAAAAAAAAAT’S MY BUTT!!!!!!!” and I start to run away.  The problem is, I didn’t pull my shorts up all the way before I start running, and my feet got caught up, causing me to fall flat on my face with my pants down.

As a result, my Commander is laughing his ass off at my follies, clearly not even bothered by the fact that he just got mooned, and I had to go see the medic for a cracked nose and bruised cheek.  I still feel as if I won that round though.

Does that make me stubborn, stupid, or just a Soldier?  You be the judge.

My father told me this story when I was 15 in an effort to dispel the notion that Green Berets have no sense of humor.  I pass it on now because he is no longer here to do it himself, and it’s a story that should definitely be passed around.

When Dad was in Vietnam, there was a rash of light bulb thefts on base.  Every time the light bulbs would be replaced, they would be stolen just as fast.  Eventually, the CO caught on to what was happening, and decided that the joke was over.  He assembled everyone together and told them that if even ONE more light bulb disappeared, the off-base passes of everyone on base would be revoked, and nobody would be allowed into the base beyond assigned personnel.  Word had begun to circle the base that some of the lieutenants had taken the light bulbs in an effort to frame some of the sergeants (my father included) that they didn’t like, and soon the words were backed up by evidence.  The next day, a few more light bulbs went missing, and true to his word, the CO revoked the passes and pissed off everyone not involved with the theft.

Dad and his barracks-mates were naturally upset about these events, but decided that instead of going to the CO immediately and telling him what they knew about the lieutenants, they would wait patiently for an opportunity to reward them in their own special way.

About a week later, when everyone had been couped up and pissed off long enough, my father’s friend Lee discovered that some of the lieutenants involved with the thefts had been sneaking some of the local women of ill-repute into their barracks for the past few nights.  And that was when they saw their opportunity to get back their passes and the lieutenants.

Dad went to the CO, hat in hand, and told him that while he didn’t want to stir up trouble, but he felt that he should know that there were some non-assigned personnel on base, and he might want to look for them in the barracks, and proceeded to give his CO the barrack numbers of the lieutenants.  The CO’s eyes bugged and he stormed out of the office. Dad met Lee outside the CO’s office, and together they walked over to the comm office and were informed by their buddy working the switchboards that a call had just come in from one of the lieutenants that had been sold out.  Apparently, this Lieutenant wasn’t too happy about being caught, and was trying to warn his buddies in the next barracks over that the CO was on the warpath.  Dad grinned.  Lee grinned.  The switchboard guy hung up on the lieutenant and didn’t connect any calls to or from the barracks under inspection.

The passes were returned the next day, and that group of lieutenants never hassled my dad and his friends again.