Archive for July, 2008

No shit there I was, Ramadi, Iraq. We got the call for additional support from one of our OPs (observation posts). My outfit was on the hook to lead EOD to outpost in case of need.

Just south of our outpost was a section of palm trees and reeds (along the banks of the Euphrates river). We had taken small arms, mortar, and RPG fire from that area in the past. We had taken to posting signs in that area that stated locals were not allowed there and could be shot on sight.

On this particular afternoon there was an Iraqi Military Aged Male (MAM) walking through the reeds of “no-mans land”. The OP tried to get the MAM to come to the OP through their loudspeaker, but the MAM wouldn’t come closer and he wouldn’t leave. So the SFC on site raised his M4 and shot the MAM in the side. The MAM then laid down just on the outskirts of reeds.

With EOD now on site, and our outfit also having robots, we sent our robots out to inspect the MAM, to insure that he was not strapped with explosives. When the robots got to the MAM he got up and started kicking them. We brought our robots back to keep them from getting damaged.

The next thing that we did was take EOD’s IED clearing/blast-proof vehicle: The Buffalo (they had one in the film Transformers) and we proceeded to put a large stick in the Buffalo’s retractable arm, so as to lift up the MAM’s man-skirt and see if he was packing explosives. When the Buffalo got to the man and started to lift his skirt the MAM got up, took the stick off of the Buffalo and started beating the Buffalo with the stick.

My First sergeant, who you may or may not remember from the Backscratcher story, suggested that we set up a Pop and Drop (A block of C-4 primed with a remote detonated electronic blasting cap) and have the robot lay it down by the MAM. As the SFC on site started to set up the Pop and Drop, our gunner Young Specialist Janelle started yelling, “I don’t think that’s legal, I don’t think that’s legal”, and therefore Top dropped that idea.

That is when the young E-5 EOD tech said, “this guy ain’t packing, I’m gonna drag his ass back here before he bleeds out.” Before any one could stop him he ran at the MAM, the MAM got up and started to run, The EOD tech tackled him, and subdued him.

Upon closer inspection it turned out that the MAM was Corky from Life Goes On retarded.

The SIGACT the following day read “The ___ Engineers shot a MAM around OP ___. The ___ EN and ___ EOD sent robots to check on the MAM’s status, the MAM fought off the robots. The ___ EOD sent their buffalo to check the MAM’s status, the MAM beat the Buffalo with a stick. The ___ EOD tackled and subdued the MAM. The MAM was questioned, treated, and released.”

This poor retarded bastard was just walking through the reeds and gets yelled at, shot, attacked with robots, poked with a stick from a Buffalo, almost blown to bits, and then tackled.

You just can’t make this shit up.

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Everything sucks.

Don’t believe me? Read this.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080621/ap_on_re_us/out_of_control

A third of the country is underwater and tomatoes will make you vomit your own poop. Man, it’s high-time to get the hell out of here.

(Voice of Satan): “You can’t afford to fill your gas tank, and you will sit for days at the airport with not so much as a bottle of water, because security will take it away from you. But go ahead and try to leave. Kill time by shopping at that shitty overpriced bookstore that only sells People magazines and Tony Robbins motivational cassettes. Hungry? Have a six-dollar muffin! There is no escape! Bwahahahahahaha!”

I put a gallon of gas in the car last week. Payday was still 10 days away so I only had five bucks. As I went to put the gas cap back on, I accidentally made eye contact with another guy who was fueling up.

“This used to be a good place to buy gas,” he sighed. We exchanged a look that’s usually reserved for the funeral of a distant relative — dejected resignation. “It’s really sad, but what are you going to do?”

You know that bumper sticker, “Grass, Gas, or Ass. No One Rides For Free”? You know things have gotten bad when you’re sitting behind that guy in traffic and instead of thinking, “douchebag,” you’re thinking, “Well, that makes sense. What do his friends expect? That he’s going to just drive them all over town willy nilly? Buncha freeloaders.”

Eight years ago, when that guy went to pick up his date, the girl would receive a long lecture from her father on the order of, “I don’t want you seeing that boy. He’s no good. He has no respect for anybody, and he obviously doesn’t respect you.”

Now the girl’s dad’s saying, “That kid has a good head on his shoulders. Excellent business sense. I think he’s a keeper. See if you can talk him down to a handy. He’s going places.”

One of those ginormous monster SUVs cut me off in traffic the other day, setting off one of the most artistic, eloquent, and deeply-rooted-in-high-school-economics barrages of obscenity I’ve ever mustered. The gist was something like, “You selfish fucker! It’s bad enough you can’t use your turn signal, but you’re driving one of those unnecessary, wasteful machines that’s increasing the demand and lowering the supply, thus driving up the price! Cocksucker!”

Then I saw the “Iraq veteran” sticker on his bumper and shrugged. “Well, at least he fought for it.”

I think Iraqi war veterans should get free gas for life and it should be paid for out of the personal bank accounts of key Bush administration members.

I suppose the upcoming election should make me hopeful, but none of the candidates are using the words “George W. Bush” and “guillotine” in the same sentence yet.

(Note to Secret Service: I’M ONLY KIDDING! I have deep philosophical convictions against killing people, whether the killing is legally sanctioned by the fall of a gavel or otherwise. It’s just that “guillotine” was less ambiguous than “the stocks” because stocks can refer to those things sold on Wall Street, which a presidential candidate might actually mention, but what I really would have meant are those two boards where you put the prisoner’s head and hands through and lock him in, so the general public has the opportunity to walk by and shout curses at him, throw rotten eggs and salmonella tomatoes, or give him a good swift kick in the ass. That would be more fun anyway, come to think of it. Right there on the National Mall, in the shadow of the Washington Monument, or maybe over by the reflecting pool near the Vietnam War Memorial. Poetic, indeed, but see how many more words that took? Suffice it to say, if that happened I’d sit on the tarmac for up to a full week to take my vacation to D.C. Besides, they have pandas at the National Zoo, and my daughter would just love that. The point is, I do NOT actually wish the president death or even permanent disablement. I just want to give him a titty twister.)

Even when Bush leaves office it won’t be the last we’ve heard of him. Traditionally, every president gets his memoir published. It’s just too bad the title, “If I Did It, Here’s What Happened,” is already taken.

Sorry if all that sounds bitter. I’m trying to look at the bright side of it all, and here’s what I’ve come up with:

Four dollars a gallon is just a free-market solution to global warming. Recent reports my father-in-law claimed to have heard on the news show that Americans have collectively reduced their travel by some 40 billion miles.

Come back, polar bears! Everything’s going to work out!

Why hasn’t the White House and Fox News started sharing this wonderful new perspective on things? Why isn’t there a sign on every gas pump explaining this, like the signs at IKEA that explain that they only hire a handful of unhelpful assholes so they can keep prices low?

My guess is for the neo-cons and oil companies to take on that perspective, they’d have to acknowledge that global warming exists.

Here’s another ray of optimism for you: I wouldn’t be surprised to find out people are starting to find their proverbial last straw broken. For a lot of people, it’s starting to feel like they’re just going to work to buy gas so they can go back to work. Once that feeling catches on and spreads like a virus, people will quit going, and when their boss calls to see where they are, the reasons are going to sound absurd.

Like, out of the almost 300 million people living in America today, at least one guy really liked tomatoes. Like, that was his way of treating himself for working so hard — every Sunday, he would sit down with a ripe, red, round, succulent, juicy tomato and he would savor it. It wasn’t much, but it was the thing that kept him going.

And a couple weeks ago he went to the store and, “What the fuck do you mean there’s no tomatoes today!? Why do I even bother! Fuck it! I’m staying home! You got any tomato seeds?”

And after three days of no one at the office hearing from him, his boss called.

“Oh, no. I’m fine. I just decided to stay home and work in my garden. Yeah, forever. Should be a pretty good crop. All organic. Hey listen, do you have any butter you can trade me? I’ve fallen way behind in my churning.”

And that’s how we’ll all become Amish again, but we’ll be the most technologically advanced Amish people the world has ever seen. You’ll spend four hours churning butter to take to the guy who shod your mule, but before you ride your bicycle all the way over there, you’ll text him to make sure he’s home.

That actually excites me — like we’ll renew our vows with ole Mother Earth.

(This is why you don’t mix metaphors, kids. See that last sentence, I have us married to our mother. Yuck.)

I’m taking up a couple new hobbies in preparation for this new technoprimitive society. Today, I started my garden. For now, it is but a lonely, potted jalapeño pepper plant, but I have dreams of expanding so it takes up my whole back yard and has a miniature golf course through the middle of it, so I can pick and play.

If only I hadn’t started so late in the season.

Also, I intend to start practicing with a boomerang so I can hunt small game. Why not a rifle? Because in a pinch, I don’t know how to make bullets. But I have a pretty good idea how to make sandpaper. Plus, I’m pretty sure the game warden’s not checking for boomerang hunting licenses. I’ll have to check, but I’m pretty sure the guy at Cabela’s is going to answer me with a weird look when I ask to buy one. So there’s, like, $20 I just saved, which will keep me going back to work for half a week.

Todd Merriman is a standup comedian. He lives just outside Austin, TX, with his daughter Ava and his babymama Erin. Todd will be opening for Brian Posehn (Just Shoot Me, Mr. Show, Comedians of Comedy) at Cap City Comedy Club in Austin, TX, on Aug. 7, 8 and 9. Call (512) 467-2333 for details.

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This is to clarify my thoughts on a variety of subjects.

First the guest writers thing.

Guest writers, even regular ones, like Michiel and Lt. Roland, do not always represent my opinions. I pretty much let anyone who writes funny material post stuff up. So just because I let someone make a post that covers the subject of, say, global warming, doesn’t mean that I believe global warming is a fact. Heck I don’t even think most readers thought that. But in the interests of equal time, if someone has a funny bit against global warming, I’ll run it.

Heck maybe we can convince this other writer to hold a comedic debate of the subject. Almost like a trial by funny.

Some people might think this sounds an awful lot like that TV show “The Root of All Evil”. To those people I eloquently respond, “Nuh uh! Shut up! I hate you!”

Now I know with the amount of people I get reading this site, and people being what they are, folks are going to assume that everything expressed on here is my opinion. And being that I am both shallow and tremendously insecure, I care very deeply about what strangers on the Internet think about me.

And so I am going to clarify several of my beliefs real fast to avoid any such problems in the future.

My opinions on-

1) Global warming: The jury is out, as far as I’m concerned. There is peer reviewed data supporting both sides of the argument. The Earth is warmer. Some scientists think the evidence supports green-house issues. Others think its part of the suns natural fluctuations. In order for me to believe that someone knows for sure exactly how much different the earth’s current temperature is from around a two hundred years ago, I’d have to believe that someone had accurate global data from that time.

I suspect its worse than the heads of industry would have you believe, but better than the companies that stand to benefit from it claim. That’s because I think that people will lie to you if they can get something out of it.

2) The War: I’m sure everyone knows which one. I think that our country shouldn’t have started it, and that people in charge deliberately mishandled information as a justification for it. That said, it doesn’t matter why we went into Iraq. We’re there now, and we’ve leveled a big chunk of their country. Its our responsibility to stabilize it. Our government did it, and we elected our government. So its our fault. Even if you voted for the other guy. Because you clearly didn’t try hard enough to defeat the guy in office now.

3) War protesters: Its okay to dislike the war. Heck you can hate it. You can even actively campaign to end it. All of those things are just fine with me. Furthermore, doing these things has no intrinsic effect on the status of your loyalty to this country, or the level of support you have for our troops. You can simultaneously respect our soldiers and protest how the government uses them.
That said, many anti-war protesters don’t bother trying to be respectful. That’s their right I guess. But I think less of them for it.

4) Politics In General: Politicians are bad people. Just in case anyone reading this is slow:

POLITICIANS…….ARE…..BAD….PEOPLE.

The way our system works is that a company, or a special interest group, bribe the politician to change, or enforce a law, and then everyone pretends that isn’t what just happened. All pretense of morality, justice, fair play, or decency is just the most superficial of veneers. A cunning disguise to better help them prey upon you. They don’t care about you, they don’t like you, and they would probably be willing to murder you in your sleep for less money than you make in a month.

The only difference between Republicans and Democrats is which half of the Bill of Rights they want to ignore. Republicans seems to hate the odd numbered ones, while Democrats don’t appear to be too fond of the even ones. That said, I dislike the current crop of folks in power because they can’t even be bothered to lie convincingly.

And to all people that act as if their particular candidate is above all this: you’re being stupid. They’re just pretending because they think it will fool you into supporting them. And evidently they were right.

5) Small Yappy Dogs That Wear Sweaters: I know that these are not particularly controversial. But I just fucking hate those things. Unless they are being used as “feeder dogs” by someone that has a pet Python. That would be awsome. “Yo quiero ser comido por una serpiente!”

Did I forget anything?

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Oops, I forgot to assign the correct author on this. This is Casey’s story, not mine. Corrected now.

You know it’s a good party when everyone shows up to work the next day and nobody except the base commander really knows what happened.

This was one of those times.

The Air Force had determined my Dad had spent enough time at Misawa AFB, Japan, and gave orders for him and our family to return stateside. As usual, there was the attached, unspoken order that my father would throw a party for everyone he served with on base.

Turns out that this was quite a few people.

So the night of the party comes around, and people start showing up.

And then more people.

And then even MORE people.

At 11pm, the party began running low on beer, so people started raiding the liquor cabinets. By midnight, that was all gone as well.

But the party wasn’t over, as nobody wanted to go home. So someone suggested they find more alcohol. But who would accept a bunch of drunks at 1am into their home?

Luckily, as the drunks were piling into their cars, my older brother, who was fifteen at the time, was able to kick them out of the driver’s seat and take over. So a bunch of drunks, doing 25mph make it from one side of the base to the other side where the officers lived. Then everyone unloads, and staggers up to the lawn of one house, sitting off by itself.

They begin to sing the little white mouse song. Those that still had beers in their hands rattled and tapped them accordingly.

After they were done, the front porch light comes on, and out steps a man. An older man. A man whom I remember my father once introducing as THE Base Colonel.

He stares everyone down, sweeping from left to right and back at the faces being presented to him.

He then smiles, and invites them all in for shots.

After another hour of doing shots with the highest ranking officer on base, it was determined that the XO should join in on the fun.

So they stagger through the woods behind the base colonel’s home, by this point us kids are holding the majority of the party goers up simply so they can walk, and arrive at the front porch of the XO. They begin singing the little white mouse. The XO steps out side, and is about to berate everyone, when he sees the Colonel.

He then invites everyone in, reluctantly.

After almost knocking over their fish tank, and several book shelves, it was determined that it was time to call it a night, and everyone loaded up back into their cars and went home.

The next day, my Dad asked us what happened. He didn’t believe us when we told him.
In fact, he didn’t believe us until the XO asked him to never, ever bring drunk people to serenade his house at 3am again.

Ever.

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Its the start of the week, medic which as you know by now, ed means that I have a new set of things that someone somewhere learned that they should not do.

(Submitted by YN Torralva)

• I must never call your petty officer first class a dipstick no matter how much he is one.

• If I must, pill then I should try to insure that he is not within earshot at the time.

• I must never say that my chief is wrong. my chief is always right Always

• I must never say my ships Master Chief that he is a dumb ass and you will throw him overboard for being one ( that will get you hack time and that ain’t fun)

• I must never tell the rookie sailors that the shellback ceremony is just a cover for all the gay sex that we have at sea. (That got me more time in hack and i was not very popular with the new sailors on the ship)

• Man Love Thursdays do not apply on a submarine.

• Launching a football from the catapult of an aircraft carrier is not allowed. Especially when the CO and the XO are watching from vultures row.

• Its even worse when you cant catch the ball after it blows back then they just start laughing at you.

• I will never mistake a chief for an ensign. That will equal KP and KP sucks.

• I will not piss of a yeoman. The last time I did that I ended up not being able to leave on liberty when we hit Okinawa.

• When I am in port in Japan it is not my mission to liberate all the schoolgirls from their clothes.
• I will not dare seals to jump off the side of a destroyer.

• I will not dare the Gunners Mate to a shooting challenge while out at sea. It is a waste of ammo and the GM will always kick your ass.

• Our core values are not to rape, scrape, and pillage.

• Even if your Chief taught it to you.

• It is not wise to mention said core values in front of your CO.

• Especially when said Chief is standing next to the CO.

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I know I should have put this up over a week ago, but I got sick, then busy at work, and so here we are.

So I got to go to Wizard World Chicago two weeks ago, and spent way too much, and proved that I am an irredeemable and colossal nerd once again.

While I was there, I got to meat Jennie Breeden, who was nice, but looks almost nothing like she draws herself in her comic.

And I got to meet Ryan Sohmer and Lar Desouza. They were also nice, and look remarkably like they portray themselves in comic form. I actually was able to recognize Lar on sight because he looked so much like his drawing of himself. It was almost creepy.

I also got to meet Gary Reed, who wrote the first zombie themed product that I ever got my hands on. So that was like getting to meet Santa Claus. Except with more flesh eating monsters.

I also got to see a few new things that turned out to be pretty good.

The first is a comic called Jobnik. This is a brutally honest autobiography of an American girl who enlisted in the Israeli Army. I thought it was a good read, and its worth checking out. I’ve been writing online for a little over a year, and I have never, and probably will never, put as much of myself into anything that I write as Miriam Libicki has.

The next interesting thing I picked up was this bizarre independent comic called Peep Its more or less a documentary about how cute baby chickens are malevolence personified, and then portrays them running amok over an unsuspecting humanity. There’s lots of drawings of adorable cartoon chicks covered in gore. Good stuff.

But the best thing that I picked up was a series called Deep Fried. The creator describes it as Mad Magazine with South Park humor. I just know its one of the few things I’ve ever read that where I was simultaneously laughing out loud and cringing. One of the regular features is a post-apocalyptic version of Charlie Brown which is one of the most inspired bits of comedy that I have seen in a long time.

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This story was related to me by one of my NCO’s, and as such I felt obliged to share it with you all. As told to me by SGT S.

No shit there I was, Fort Benning, Georgia 1990-something. My buddies and I were reading through our various sources of adult entertainment when we came along the topic of Penis Pumps. As it turned out, none of us had ever tried one, and after reading about how well they worked to increase the size of our man-parts, my squad made a pact to buy one for each of us.

Later that month 12 pumps arrived, and the only sounds one could hear late at night was akin to 12 bicycle tires being pumped manually.

Only one week later our brand new First Sergeant joined our outfit, and of course he was set to inspect the barracks. I was first to be inspected, and upon finding my manhood enhancer he got hot. “I know what this is, we had these in Nam! You are in some serious trouble! Though this one is kinda strange? Where do you inhale out of?”

That is when my LT stepped in, “Um, Top. That’s not a bong? That’s SGT S’s Penis pump?” Top got a disgusted look on his face and threw my pump across the room. Upon inspecting the rest of my squad mates and finding another, and yet another, Top put his hands on his hips and announced that “I must have the most well hung squad on this post, you buncha sick bastards.”

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I’m not sure how many people caught this story last week, but there is a 50/50 chance the North Pole will melt away and be ice free by September.

Oh, sure, the ice will come back in the winter, but still, if this does not tell you global warming is happening, I am not sure what will.

But, this is not an eco-rant, so if you are a right wing ass hat that does not believe in global warming, I’m not going to bust your balls about polar bears or rising ocean levels or any of that. No, I am going to find a new way to convince you that this is a serious issue that needs to be addressed, and it has to do with your children.

And before you think you know where I am going, I want to tell you that this is not one of those, “what kind of world do you want to leave your children” things, either.

The reason you need to acknowledge global warming and help the rest of us take action to reverse it is… what are you going to tell your children when they ask where Santa Claus lives?

You won’t be able to tell them he lives at the North Pole anymore, because the ice that Santa’s workshop is built on won’t be there, thus his whole workshop will sink into the ocean.

Are you going to tell them about the great evacuation of the elves when the ocean overtook the workshop?

Are you going to tell them about the elves that couldn’t get out and ended up drowning because not enough boats were available for all of them?

Where are you going to tell them that Santa and the elves relocated to? Will you tell them about how many of them are living with relatives in various cities and countries around the world, and how some of the elves are now homeless?

Will you tell your kids about how the governments of the world failed to stop the North Pole from melting by ignoring global warming, and how they responded to slowly to evacuate and/or rescue the elves when the North Pole ice cap disappeared?

And how will you explain that not all of the elves were able to get their old jobs back, because Santa is now outsourcing, and all the toys are now made in Santa’s new workshop by a magickal people called the Chinese?

But then again, if you are willing to lie about a fat man that delivers toys to all the children in the world, in one night, by means of flying reindeer, then I guess you will have no problems lying to your kids about the North Pole still being there too.

The only problem is, one day your kids will learn that there is no Santa, and there is no Easter Bunny or Tooth Fairy either. They will learn that there is no longer a North Pole. Then they will wonder what else you lied about, and may even begin to question other things you taught them, like whether there is a god, or that sex is best saved for marriage, or that homosexuality is wrong.

But it is a slippery slope, eventually they won’t even believe you about things like looking both ways before crossing the street, and then your kids end up getting run over by a bus or something.

So, if you don’t want your kids to get hit by buses and be godless homosexuals having sex outside of marriage, perhaps you should recognize that global warming is a problem and try to help us reverse it.

Save an elf. Stop driving S.U.V.s.

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One day, back when I was still enlisted, I returned from leave to discover a new NCO in our office. For purposes of this site, I will call him SSG Figurine.

The first thing I noticed is about him is that he sat apart from all of the other soldiers in the room, and just kind of watched us. Is was kind of disconcerting. Occasionally, he would jot something down in a notebook. But even when he was writing, his attention would remain on us as we went about our work.

It was like he was the Jane Goodall of PSYOP troopers. Which, when you consider,the mentality of the average soldier, is a surprisingly good analogy.

So after a few days of this, I started asking questions. What’s the deal with the new guy? Does he actually do anything? Why is he taking notes on us?

Nobody had any real idea. Officially, he was a new senior illustrator for the Product Development Detachment that I worked in. But no-one ever saw him go near a computer, or draw anything. Rumors where beginning to circulate that he was a CID plant. (For non-Army that’s Criminal Investigation. Internal affairs for the Army. Speculation began to spread about who he was investigating, and for what.

If anyone attempted to speak directly with SSG Figurine he would be polite, but would pretty evade or ignore any questions about his previous units, or anything related to our job. And no one was allowed anywhere near his notebook.

After about a week of this he took to wandering around the office. He’d look over your shoulder while you were working, and ask odd questions. Sometimes he’d take notes off of what you told him.

“What are you working on today Specialist?”

“I’m making a poster for the anti-mine campaign in Mozambique.”

“I see.” scribble “And why are you using that photograph?”

“Ummm…because it’s a picture of the kind of landmine that is being used over there.”

“I see” scribble scribble “So what do you think about SGT German?”

“What? The guy in Headquarters?”

“Yeah him.” scribble

“Ummm he’s okay I guess. Why are you writing this down?”

“No reason. Just mind your own business Specialist.” scribble scribble

So as you can imagine after about a month everybody was really skitish about him. Some people were downright terrified of him.

And right when everybody was at their most paranoid, there was some kind of meeting with all of the E-5’s on up, at company headquarters. And SSG Figurines strange conduct was brought up, along the idea that he was a CID plant.

“Oh, I’m not CID” he revealed. “I was just bored, and had a notebook.”

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This is SGT Brick. Not only is he an soldier currently on deployment, but he is also a stand-up comedian who has a pretty good act that I managed to catch a few years ago.

Of all the dangers that exist for those of us Soldiers who are currently deployed to Iraq, defending your freedoms which you cherish, yet take for granted, there will always be dangers that I could never even fathom to think existed.

I had such an encounter recently.

My unit is stationed in this super-secret ninja location in the outskirts of Baghdad, where we have no running water and what little electricity we have, we get from a generator that we keep out back. In order to take showers we basically just lather up with a bar of soap and then pour bottles of water over our head.

There are these tubes sticking out of the ground, and those are what we pee into. And there are these steel buckets that we shit into, and then we burn all the excrement at night when the sun goes down. So yeah, living conditions would be classified as “sub-par”.

Recently, I was walking over to the pee-tubes because I had to “do my thing”. I step up, whip out my junk, hold it up to the tube, and before I begin urinating, a BEE comes out of the tube and stings me right on the tip of my “man-business”.

As I’m sure you can all imagine, this really freaked me out, but it gets worse, believe me. For some reason, the good Lord in his infinite wisdom decided that this would be the time and place to inform me that I am allergic to bees, because it swells up to over twice it’s normal size, for all the wrong reasons.

So here I am, in agonizing pain, but still wishing that wasn’t in this combat, all-male environment which was preventing me from showing off my new 15-inch penis to any lady that may cross my path. Although, it was pretty cool to be the “big man on campus” as it were, even if it was only for a day. The medics had to give me a shot and some pills, but in spite of the pain and suffering that it caused, I think I’m gonna carry some honey with when ever I go out on dates from here on out.

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