Archive for September, 2008

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.

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Well, well, well.

Skippy and his wife are in the process of moving, and as of now, are no longer online for about a week or so.

In his infinite wisdom, Skippy has given me control of the website in his absence.

It is difficult to find the words to express how I feel about accepting this weighty responsibility of providing humorous material, for thousands of people to enjoy, while they screw around on the internet at work. But, I think Alexander Haig said it best, after the assassination attempt on Ronald Reagan, when he said, “I’m in charge.”

Or maybe it was Star Scream from the Transformers during one of the many times he thought Megatron was dead. I’m not really sure.

The point is, that I now wield the cursor of doom, and all submissions must come through me for approval and editing.

For the next week I am your new god. Contributors will sing my praises, as I lift them up and publish their works for the whole world to see. Or… they will tremble in fear as I crush their dreams of blogging for a humorous military/gaming/geeky stuff website.

With me in charge, we shall experience what is best in life. To crush our enemies. To see them driven before us. And to hear the lamentations of their women.

All will kneel before Zod Michiel.

Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!

And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming with a short piece from our own Sgt. Brick.

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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.

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It’s Monday.   Here’s more things that you should not do.

(Submitted by SPC Andrew Sheffield)

1. Not allowed to recite the Specialist creed during the promotion board as a substitute for not knowing the NCO creed.
2. Not allowed to recite the Specialist creed during any formation/ceremony.
3. A rubber band and paperclip is not an authorized military weapon and will not take the place of my M249.
4. Not allowed to prove said weapon by firing at the first officer that walks by my office.
5. “You’ll be alright,” is not a term to be used when a soldier needs medical assistance.
6. The DFAC does not put mind control drugs in the food or drinks.
7. Not allowed to brake check civilians while driving a HUMVEE.
8. Not allowed to drive over curbs to wake up my TC.
9. Not allowed to Jump anything while in a HUMVEE.
10. Edible underwear is not authorized during field exercise’s.
11. (later that day) Edible underwear is not to be eaten during field exercise’s.
12. I do not have a god hand and I am not aloud to administer divine punishment.
13. The term “smoke ’em if you got ’em,” is not a command to open fire.
14. It is not funny to change the CPT’s decaf with espresso. Especially a half hour before formation.

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I’ve spent all day packing my house. I have no funny for you today.

Here is a bunch of fun stuff other people have created.

More Cowbell

Hadron Collider Web-cam

Parking Garage

Gaming Geek Site (Courtesy of ShadowCat)

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Seven years after the shit hit the fan, I’m still sifting through the “Never Forget” bulletins. It’s occurred to me that I may never truly wrap my mind around what happened to the victims of 9/11 and their families. My heart goes out to them, and to another group deeply affected by that darkest day in our nation’s history, those who have perhaps been most forgotten, who’s sacrifice may seem trivial, but who have lost something nonetheless.

I’m talking about people whose birthdays are on September 11. That just has to suck.

Imagine it’s September 11, 2001. You’re a young man, just turning 21. About 11 a.m. the phone rings.

“Oh, hi Mom… Yeah, I see it on TV right now. I’ve been watching it all morning… They canceled classes today so, I mean, at least there’s something. For the first time ever I haven’t been stuck in school on my…. What’s that? Yeah, I agree. Terrible, absolutely horrific. Buzz Kill City. I think I might have to turn this off, maybe take a nap, get my mind off things, you know, before tonight… Yeah, it does make me think our time here is short. That’s why, you know, carpe diem — gotta live it up while you can, especially when you turn… What? Yes, mom, I love you, too…. Is there anything else you want to say?…. Oh, dad wants to talk to me. OK….

“Hi Dad… Yeah, I saw that. Terrible, absolutely horrif– Yes. Yes… I couldn’t agree with you more. This truly is a day to remember. What could possibly be more memorable than these grisly events unfolding before our eyes on television, these ghastly occurrences involving people we’ve never met in a city we’ve never been to?… Yes, if memory serves, Cousin Doris, whom I’ve met once, does live in New York, but I think she’s just outside Ithaca, more upstate, not so much downtown Manhattan where this horrendous catastrophe is occurring on this very day of September 11… Oh? Well, yeah, if you want to call and check on Cousin Doris, you should go ahead and do that. Thanks for calling.”

You put the phone down and begin to process, perhaps for the first time in your life, that your birthday is now and forever just another day. In light of the day’s news, even your parents can forge– Wait, the phone’s ringing!

“Hello? Oh, hi Dad!.. Why are you sorry?… What did you forget to say?… Oh. Yeah, I love you, too. No, it’s not weird, it’s just… No, don’t worry that you don’t say it enough. You don’t have to tell me. I know… OK, bye.”

Man, fuck Mom and Dad! It’s not like you’re a little kid anymore. You don’t need cakes and clowns and shit. You’re a man. You’re going out for copious amounts of alcohol tonight with your buddies. As a Virgo, you were always the youngest kid in your class and you’re the last of your social circle to enjoy this rite of passage into adulthood. Your friends know what day it is. They won’t let you down. The phone rings again.

“Hello?”

“Happy birthday, dude.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Are you seeing this shit on TV?”

“Yeah, it’s terrible. Absolutely horrific.”

“Yeah, so uh… You still wanna go out tonight?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, ’cause me and Dave were thinking, there probably won’t be that many girls out, so maybe we should, like, reschedule and stuff.”

“Reschedule? No way! I requested tomorrow off from work, and I had to do that two months ago. We’re going out!”

And several hours later, you’re at a bar with your friends. You’ve got the whole place to yourself except for that old guy in the corner who’s working a crossword puzzle. You knew you’d be drinking heavily, but just to get everyone to loosen up and smile, you had to plow through three or four Jager-bombs first. And you felt a little awkward saying “bomb” to the bartender. Dude was right, not a girl in the place, but who cares? You’re with your buddies and you’re finally having a good time. You guys are laughing and carrying on and getting a little loud. The old guy looks up from his crossword puzzle.

“Why don’t you show some respect? Assholes!”

Flash forward to two days ago. You’re sick of the dark spectre of terrorism overshadowing your day. And you’re sick of feeling guilty about being sick of it. You tell your buddy this. He’s not sympathetic.

“Dude, not everything is about you!”

“No, not everything is about me, but I used to have one day! One fucking day a year that was mine and those fucking assholes had to go and hijack some planes and turn this country upside down on my fucking day! And I’m never going to get my fucking day back, because every year when my day rolls around everyone’s all bummed out and shit! My day is everyone else’s day!”

“I know what you’re going through, man. I mean, my birthday is on Veteran’s Day.”

“No! No! Fuck you! No! That is not even the same fucking thing! No one gives a shit about your day! No one even knows what it means! Veteran’s Day — What the fuck is that?”

“It commemorates Germany’s surrender from World War II.”

“World War I, asshole!”

“Oh right, because they signed the armistice on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of the eleventh year.”

“No, not the eleventh year, dipshit. World War I didn’t end until 1918 or something like that. See, you don’t even know what it means and it’s your day! And every year you got the day off school for it!”

“But I don’t get my birthday cards until the 12th, because the post office is closed. Maybe you should consider celebrating on a different day.”

“No, fuck you. And fuck Osama Bin Laden! It’s my day!… And who put these goddamn skyscraper-shaped candles on my cake!”

This blog is in memory of my friend Kent’s birthday, which is actually on September 9th, and I forgot.

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Well, anesthetist I needed to make a post since I have been gone for a while and I keep seeing the lists people submit that are similar to the Skippy List, medicine but specific to their job/industry. I could do a nice long phone rep list, but I figure that has probably been done, and I am sure that if it has not, someone can write it.

So, I figured that my ten plus years working in haunted houses might work. So here is a list of things that I have been told not to do, heard about someone else being told, or I have had to tell another actor not to do in the haunted house.

1. Do not touch the customers.

2. Do not touch the customers inappropriately.

3. Do not touch the customers inappropriately, even if you are using a fake severed hand.

4. When, surrounded by severed body parts, covered in blood, wearing a diaper and slinging a table saw at people, it is not ok to have butt crack showing as some people will find it offensive.

5. Do not lick the customers.

6. Do not tell female customers you can smell their cunt.

7. Do not tell male customers you can smell their cunt.

8. Do not tell customers you can smell their “dunt,” because you are not fooling anyone.

9. Shocking customers with a stun gun will get you fired.

10. No humping the props in front of customers.

11. Rookies can not have an actual machete in their scene.

12. No one can have an actual machete in a scene with a strobe light.

13. If someone is so scared that they urinate on the floor, it is not ok to scare the next group into the puddle to “mop it up.”

14. It is not ok to laugh at a customer that ran straight into a wall.

15. It is not ok to laugh at a customer that ran straight into a wall, regardless of how funny it was.

16. Even if they bounced back several feet.

17. It is not ok to wear only a nuns habit and a garter belt before 11:00 PM.

18. It is not ok to spit directly into a customers ear.

19. Even if it was an unintentional result of giving a customer “the bronx cheer” while foaming at the mouth with Alka-Seltzer.

20. The Freddy glove is not to be used for sexual gratification.

21. If a co-worker has coulrophobia, it is not ok to walk them into the clown scene and yell, “get her.”

22. If a customer asks to leave early and requests to be escorted to the nearest exit, it is not ok to walk them through the rest of the house and claim it is a short cut.

23. Actually, 22 is OK.

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What is worse than a drunk soldier with too much skill and too much time on his hands? How about three very drunk soldiers with too much imagination and time on their hands.

So there we were. In paradise. No literally, paradise. Honolulu, Hawaii for an 18 day training exercise. It was three days before we flew back home and EndEx was at noon. So I and some buddies decided to celebrate a successful exercise with enough beer to drown an elephant. And some rum. And some vodka. And some whiskey. And some more rum… well you get the idea. At sometime between 1700 hours and two days later we were getting bored with just drinking.

So we started betting each other to do funny, and stupid, things. You know, bets like, “I’ll bet you $5 you can’t jump that ten foot long picnic table without touching it”. Well I and a friend, we’ll call him “James”, are both climbers. He for his job, and me for fun. We bet James he couldn’t climb to the second story balcony of our hotel in less than a minute. Boy was that a mistake, after placing stakes and putting our money where our mouths were, the climbed to the second story balcony, in 35 seconds.

Not to be beaten I bet them I could climb to the top of the building, some thirteen stories tall, and I could do it in no more than ten minutes. We’ll I played them up, and there was a sizable sum of money sitting there. As there was also a sizable sum of alcohol in my system (I drank all the rum) I was just drunk, and stupid, enough to attempt the climb.

Now when I say attempt, I mean I set a dangerous pace and did some very stupid things to climb the building. Had I been sober I would have probably killed myself. But as I was drunk I succeeded in climbing the building, inside the time allotted, and as soon as I got to the roof loud cheering erupted below. It seems everyone heard us making the bets and had come out to watch me either succeed or kill myself trying.

When I said hotel, it was really a military building, with the first ten floors run as billeting and the top three floors were set aside as dorms. Which also meant there was a belligerent E-9 in charge of it all. Well, as I accepted my approbations I heard the unmistakable bellow of a pissed off E-9, directly behind me. You know the one, it has a Southern drawl and starts with “What in the sam heeeeeeeeeeell did ya think yer was doin’!” And it goes down hill from there. This particular E-9 had spent time in all five branches of the military and had picked up some truly amazing curses and insults along the way. I got called things that would have a marine drill sergeant taking notes. Fortunately, it was about this time my exertion, and that last bottle of rum, caught up with me and I blissfully passed out.

Two days later…

I woke up to find myself standing in the airport with all my belongings, including a small revel drum I had somehow bought along the way, to my first sergeant yelling at me for being a complete moron, and that self same E-9 standing between me and the exit. He was smiling, not a happy smile, but the evil smile that makes raw recruits wet themselves and have nightmares for a week.

Just before getting on the plane the E-9 walks up to me with that evil smile and takes me aside. In a soft voice he says, “Son, I know what it is to get drunk and do stupid stuff, but that took stupid to a new level. I don’t ever want to see you back in my building again. By the way, here’s your winnings.” And he hands me a wad of cash about three times bigger than I remembered.

For my escapade I was counseled, sent to an alcohol education course, and banned from billeting on that base. But I also made $498 in bets and earned the respect of those buddies of mine. Now whenever I say “I can climb that…” they just smile and say, “I know you can, but lets not bet on it.”

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So I was just about to finish packing up my basement when I realized that I hadn’t put a post together last night.

And so here is the purchasing department list.

(Submitted by Nadia)

1. You are not allowed to bring in a cape for a buyer.

2. Even if your boss was the one to call him Captain Stupid.

3. You are not allowed to sing with headphones in.

4. You are not allowed to sing with only one headphone in.

5. You are not allowed to sing off key.

6. you are not allowed to sing.

7. You are not allowed to take home samples of 190 proof alcohol.

8. No chatting online.

9. No emailing.

10. No bypassing filters.

11. No Internet use at all.

12. No laughing.

13. No listening in on when your boss insults people.

14. No Laughing when the buyer calls the VP of IT saying it’s a computer error when he just forgot his password.

15. Not allowed to tease the VP for not answering the buyer’s phone calls anymore.

16. Not allowed to eat quinoa for breakfast at 7am.

17. Not allowed to bring in last nights dinner for breakfast.

18. Not allowed to eat weird food for breakfast.

19. Don’t annoy the boss… he will take your scheduled vacation days away.

20. Don’t laugh at him in front of his superiors when he threatens this.

21. Don’t mock him when he asks if you got your vacation in writing about him not having it in writing to take it away.

22. Don’t mock the boss in general.

23. Don’t ever have rubber bands on your desk.

24. Don’t give shoot them at the boss even though he started it.

25. Don’t throw staplers at your boss… he’s not that coordinated.

26. Don’t mock the buyer when he can’t staple a stack of papers so you have to do it for him.

27. Don’t tell the buyer his daughter is a tard for dating the guy she is and that you happen to know from high school.

28. Don’t say “I told you so” when it ends poorly.

29. Don’t tell your boss he happens to have the same last name as your biological father.

30. Don’t tell the factory crew who already call him your daddy/uncle.

31. Don’t take the toys they get as gifts to hit them with.

32. Don’t flip the buyers screen upside down.. he can’t fix it.

33. Don’t try to skip meetings the buyer will be in with you… you will just have to train him later. Even though he sat in the meeting with you and asked more questions.

34. Refusing to teach the buyer how to change the ring tone on his cell is not an option.

35. Same goes for reading text messages.

36. And again for checking the voice mail.

37. You are not allowed to laugh hysterically when your coworkers devour last nights screw-up, horrid tasting dinner.

38. You are not allowed to talk to the buyer… he can’t work and talk at the same time.

39. You are not to make complex spreadsheets your boss can’t figure out.

40. Even if what he asked for was that complex.

41. No laughing when you boss goes on a rampage about your coworkers that can’t do their job right.

42. No asking to take the buyer’s job since you did it a lot better when he was out, even though you are not trained.

43. No streaming music.

44. No lying about the music being temporarily downloaded from a channel and not actually streaming.

45. No going to the ultra exclusive RnD parties without bring back food to feed your boss.

46. No making fun of the QC Director the 5th time you caught him sleeping at his desk.

47. No hoarding tissue boxes in your desk.

48. No stealing pure powdered caffeine.

49. You are not allowed to go by your birth name if your boss changed it and it caught on.

50. You are not allowed to change your boss’ name or any coworker’s name in retaliation.

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The Vampire Rants, Part I

One of the biggest pains in the ass about being immortal is moving.

Every time you move, it seems like you have more crap that you never use than ever before. Every year you just accumulate more junk. You think you’d stop buying stuff. You think you’d learn not to pop the trunk every time you see a piece of furniture out by the dumpster that “could be fixed up.” And perish the thought of telling a birthday well-wisher bearing a gag gift to fuck themselves. You just plaster on a fake smile and give them insincere thanks, and pile the shit in your closet.

Lucky for you, one day you’ll die and all that worthless junk will turn into someone else’s problem. But what if you don’t die?

Over the many lifetimes I’ve lived, I’ve had many aliases. For right now, my name is Wayne. I’m a vampire. And I have too much shit.

Imagine having crap you just can’t bear to part with because, even though it’s crap, it’s 500-year-old crap, so there’s a good chance it’s valuable. For example, I have a musket I picked up off one of my prey at an English settlement in Virginia — a blunderbuss, I think it’s called.

I don’t even remember why I kept it. I don’t use guns to hunt. I guess I thought it was neat or something. Anyhow, I know it’s worth a lot of money now. I’ve spent a few centuries poor. I don’t intend to repeat that experience. I like having assets I can turn over into cash when I need it. Oh sure, my needs don’t really cost anything, but I find undeath to go much easier when you’ve got a little cash on hand.

So here I am, talking to the guy at Pak-It-In Storage, setting up shelter for said musket and countless other antiquities I can’t just throw away.

He fills out the date on the lease.

“Wow, can you believe it’s almost December already? Where does the time go, huh?”

Putz.

Part II

So I sign the form and the putz points out I missed a spot shaving. I guess he thinks he’s being helpful. I know I always look like shit. I just never know exactly to what degree, because I have no reflection. I’m fine with how I look, but I always hate seeing how vampires are portrayed in movies. They always hire some clean-shaven pretty boy actor with good hair to play the undead. It’s ridiculous. Vampires have awful hygiene and grooming.

Think of it this way: if you couldn’t see your reflection in the mirror, how do you think you would look?

Hollywood acts like we’re a bunch of slicked-back, sexy seducers, but that’s only sometimes. The requisite shape-shifting to be one of those is a pain in the ass. Sure, sometimes it’s funny, changing into a guy whose socks match and who didn’t miss a button when he was putting his shirt on and going out into the public to hunt; finding some drunk girl and asking her if she wants to ride on my motorcycle. After a few minutes of riding, I might say, “You want to take the handlebars?”

“Sure,” she giggles. Then I get on behind her and urge her, “Open it up. See what this baby can do.”

Before she knows it, we’re tearing down the freeway at 110 miles per hour, the police on our tail. She wants to pull over, but I remind her she’s drunk and she doesn’t want that kind of trouble. I have control of her mind.

She revs the throttle and I wrap my arms tighter around her. She purrs at my touch. There’s a hairpin curve ahead. I sink in my fangs and drain her, change into a bat and fly off before the bike smashes into a tree, leaving little behind but a twisted mass of metal and flesh, not to mention a very confusing dashcam video for the authorities.

That’s fun a couple of times, but it loses its charm as quickly as you run out of places that will rent you a motorcycle.

No, nowadays I like to spend my Saturday nights at home reading. Besides, where I’m from, it’s considered ill-mannered to play with your food.

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