X-mas Blues

Another lonely ape started hanging out at the dog-park.

The holidays are tough on everyone.

Death Face

We painted our death faces and sharpened our knives. I may have looked like an evil clown with a Kabar, but I was ready to face my doom.

Radar weren't born up here, but he took to our ways. Whatever they did to him Underground was just as bad to the things I seen up Dirtside. His eyes were painted red and black teardrops on his cheeks marked every man he killed. He was awful upset about Jackie and he wasn't planning to come back without her.

The cloud-girl looked at us like we was insane. Ain't no way we could explain that this might be our final battle, and we was ready.

Campfire Chat

I approached the fire to reheat my rations. I came up to one of the squad, cleaning his rifle near the fire. I dropped my tin on the coals at the edge of he fire. He had been alternately refered to as goat-lover and crap-face, so I wasn't sure how to address him. I vaguely remember him being Libyan. He spoke first, in French.

"Lieutenant, may I tell you something?"

"Of course."

"I love my rifle. She is a Lee-Enfield Type 4 Mark 1. I found her near El Alemain after the English retreated. She was the most beautiful rifle I had ever seen."

I looked at the rifle. The woodstock had been stripped and refinished. The barrel was evenly blued and unblemished.

"My uncle taught me to shoot with his Turkish Mauser. After the Germans came I stole a German Mauser. There were good guns. You could shoot straight with them and reload quickly. But they were not my Enfield."

He turned to me and smiled. His teeth gleamed brightly, reflecting the fire.

"Her name is Veronique. We have killed many Germans together. When the fighting stopped in the dessert, I took her back to my village. I took her apart and stripped the lacquer from her wood. I restained her with Khalesh oil... it is a vegetable we grow. The blacksmith resurfaced the steel. She is the most beautiful rifle of her kind."

I shifted a bit, nodded, pulled my tin out of the coals, and started to eat.

"The Sergeant calls her Avril to try to annoy me. He is a pig-lover, and stupid besides. He is jealous of the great love we share."

At this point I resigned myself to riding out this conversation. Veronique's man was either insane, or pulling my leg. I was determined to show my patience and/or sense of humor.

He smiled again.

"You are a good man, Lieutenant. I hope you find a gun you can love someday."

He put down the barrel brush and oily rags on a cloth and inserted the bolt back into the rifle. He rolled up the cloth and gently stepped through the camp back to his tent.

Catholic Sacraments vs. Age

Baptism: 6 months

First Communion: 6 Years

Penance: 12 years

Confirmation: 13 years

Marriage/Holy Orders (either/or): 18 to 35

Last Rites: As close to death as possible

Kind of a gap between the first six and the last one. If you're not making babies or running the Church, there's not a lot to do in the middle decades.

Back to the theme...

Back in July of 1995 I was working at a pizza supplies warehouse in Staten Island. I'd work a 7am to 11am shift, loading trucks and restocking the warehouse.

The refrigerated room was always a good place to work, given the 90+ degree heat and high humidity. The high value items in the warehouse (sausage, Jamaican beef patties, spices) were kept on the top palette shelf. There was no ladder in the room. To get to the top, you had to climb several palettes stacked in steps. Think Mario Brothers combined with Tetris.

One day, after a quick load of the 8 outbound trucks, they sent me in to FIFO the top shelf (restock the items from back to front). I climbed on top of a palette of 40 cases of Mozarella cheese, and was deposited on top of two other palettes of the same. After about 15 minutes up there, I had a revelation:
40 cases per palette times 50 pounds per pallete times 3 cases = 600 lbs

I was standing on 3 tons of cheese.

Unfortunately I began to shout this realization out loud. Several times. Loudly.

This prompted a visit from Pablo:
"Blanquito, que gritas?!!"

"Nada. Hay mucha quesa aqui..."

"Aye conyo diablo!!! Que stupido..."

In an unfortunate twist of fate, I became lactose intolerant three years later.

TOTALLY MENTAL!

All I need....

Let's try this.....

the jerk song....

departure from the theme

And the first movie quote:

"If she wants to play lumberjack, she's gonna have to learn to handle her end of the log..."

- Harry Callahan, The Enforcer

Per wikipedia: Government cheese, or "Pasteurized Process American Cheese for Use in Domestic Programs", is processed cheese that was provided to welfare and food stamp recipients in the United States during the 1980s. (The style of cheese predated the era, having been used in military kitchens since the Second World War.)

FYI - this is what it really looks like - I used to work at a food bank in the 90's.

variations on a theme

I don't mind the $700 Billion Wall Street bailout. Really, I don't.

But to properly terminate the Reagonimic legacy, I would demand that each executive of the assisted banks that be required to eat a brick of government cheese.

Granted, that shit is 25 years old, but it was built to last.

A Hard Rain...

I watched the concession and acceptance speeches at the local sushi bar.

The owner, Mitz, was soc excited that he cracked open a new keg of sake and provided free drinks all night.

I may always associate the feeling of overdue political change with a sake hangover.

The Storm

The storm knocked down a big branch in front of my apartment.

They cleared the branch out, but left the "CAUTION" tape blocking my door and window.

I'm trying not to take it personally.

De Insaniam

A though on The Rapture:

It's OK to leave me behind. Really, I'm good.

I'm not much of a joiner, and I don't like group activities. The end-all battle between Good and Evil doesn't work for me.

Besides, the Catholic position is that pets don't go to heaven. I'd rather stay here with my dog.

Vito from the Road or "I'm just following orders"

There's something very comforting about flying down I-95 doing 75 in heavy traffic through a construction zone in a U-Haul van with no shocks drinking Dunkin Donuts coffee...

Coming, Spring 2009

The Nevada PGA tour:
- Pugs
- Guns
- Absynthe

Details pending.

Reserve Your Spot Now!!!

Tides of the Empire

Apocolypse cults always rise long before the empire finally falls.

We used to play paintball with these things...

This is essentially the acid-washed jean of paintball.

team meeting

(Names have been changed to protect the innocent)

Bob,
While most of us know that the last statement in your email is true, it raises a few question. Ignoring the qualitative associations one might make between the location and reading material, there are the policy questions. Are you recommending we should generally check into the Men's Room before a team meeting?

Kind Regards,
-Dave

-----Original Message-----
From: "Bob Guy" <bguy@company.com>
To: "Everyone" <Everyone@company.com>
Sent: 9/19/2008 9:06 AM
Subject: How to Win Friends and Influence People
All,
We’ll be covering Part Two, Chapter One of HTWF&IP at our team meeting this afternoon. If you haven’t had a chance, you might want to take 15 minutes or so to give it a read. I have a copy I can loan you. Also, I know there’s a copy in the men’s restroom.

Thanks!
Bob Guy Operations Manager
COMPANY - I.T. AS IT SHOULD BE
(866) 555-1212 x 412
bguy@company.com
www.company.com
We're hiring, Referrals are always appreciated

"work"

I made the mistake of showing up to work the other day without a hangover. I ended up on a thesaurus website:

ennui
One entry found.

Entry Word: ennui
Function: noun
Text: the state of being bored - the kind of ennui that comes from having too much time on oneʼs hands and too little will to find something productive to do — see boredom

Santa Clara, CA

What a God-damned souless wasteland.

That shit would make T.S. Elliot weep.

Why I Don't Write Restaurant Reviews

Service:
Like a blind clown juggling drunken monkeys.

Decor:
Furious visual assault. Oedipus would approve.

Food:
Flatulent ass-fuel.

The Forbidden Zone

I heard the squelch in the trailer behind me. I was drivin’ the Rhino through a hairy alluvial fan, and had to keep my eyes forward to keep from spillin’ us.

“Comm’s up!” I yelled.

I knew Radar had it before he yelled back “Cover!”

“What’s the cryp?”

“No cryp. It’s plain text.”

I aimed for the closest thing to flat ground I could find, and dropped gears until we could stop. The winds flipped as soon as we ground to a halt. As I stepped out of the booth I got a face-full of aluminum and silica dust blown upside my head.

The Comm was the first car behind the Rhino. As greasy, oily, and bloodstained as the Rhino was, the mess ended at the Comm. I hit the pressure booth, pulled off my boots and coveralls, and walked into Ops in my skivvies and a black t-shirt.

“Quit bullshitin’ Jack, what’s the news.”

Radar actually looked up from the tube and made eye contact.

“No kiddin'. It’s a plain text transmission between the Trogs and Eloi. We got a party to crash.”

Holy Dirt! We’ve been runnin’on fumes and MRE’s for 6 months now. After our last raid, I was positive that the air boys and diggers would never meet in our back yard. The poor bastards were feelin’ lucky, or they were desperate. Either way, we needed to hit ‘em hard.

“What’s the 20?”

“Back Door India… near The Angels”

“Rev up the jammers. We gotta head through Manson territory to get there on time”

In Defense of Our Lady

The Belle C'ie was born of steel and fire, but died in dirt and blood. I don't care what they say about her crew. To hell with them. They weren't there with us. They didn't see what I saw. We held the line.

I don't usually talk about it. None of us do. But if you're asking about the Colonel's last battle, I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything. After that shit, after all is said and done, we did it for the Colonel.


The sent me up to that hillside with 48 hours of c-rats and 100 rounds. I didn't come down for five days. Five days of midnight raids. Five days of Striker bomb runs and trench fighting. I was chewing grass and licking dew by the time it was over, but I didn't give one damned foot to those scum.


We held the God-damned line.

Quick Phrases to Offend Foreign Cultures, rev. 1

- Salaam Allehcum, faggot
- Namaste, bitches
- Sahwahatdee, sonnovabeech
- Weih gehts, cocksucker
- Adios, motherfucker (not be used in a bar due to confusion about drink with the same name)

In deference to the Governer of California, we must list: Hasta La Vista, Bay-Bee

Slapping Jack Behind the Ear

At the beginning of junior year, the guys I hung out with (Gary, Matt, and Brad) and I were overcome with political fever. The race for school president was on.
Rather than help elect another student, we had the half-baked idea of trying to get the concept of masturbation elected school president. One of our favorite metaphors for Beating the Bishop was "Voting for Buchanan".

It was a grass-roots kind of campaign. The Buchanan brand was based on a picture of a right hand. Some of the better slogans were:

"Put five fingers into politics, Vote for Buchanan"
"A nation of millions can't keep us down"
"Vote for Buchanan, everyone's doing it..."
"Rub out the other candidates, Vote for Buchanan"


When confronted by the Dean of Discipline as to the identity of Buchanan, Matt described him as the new kid from Jersey, and quickly ran away.

In later years, I would summarize my junior year as the year of simian discipline:
"The monkey has misbehaved MOST EGREGIOUSLY. Punishment will be swift and severe."

Mad as hell

Quivering with impotent rage...

PS 16

My first elementary school was PS 16. I've heard it was the 5th worst public school in New York City. I can neither confirm or deny that.

They used to seat us in order of height. For several years I was seated between my good buddy, Puffy Haired Paul, and some crazy girl named Jennifer who would frequently declare her love for me.
I also had a buddy on the tall kid size of the room, but I can't remember his name. He was thick-necked blond kid who decided I would be the brains of the operation, and he would be the braun.

Other than ocasional field trips to sweat-shops in the area, the only clear memories I have of my public school days were the BlackJackets. They were a Puerto Rican gang who terrorized the playground. They were 5rth graders who had been held back so many years that they were in their early teens. They were reputed to carry switchblades and run drugs for the intermediate school gangs.

Thank God I had some muscle on my side.

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, Princess Ruby, exiled heir to the throne of the lost magical kingdom of Neshaminy, was walking down Market Street.

"What the hell?" she though to herself. "I see the street, but there's no market here."

As if sumoned by her thoughts, Jimmy Too Late turned the corner onto Market, pushing his cart of goodies.

"For once, sir, you are right on time," Princess Ruby announced.

"Sugarpine, sugarpine, Yes indeed I'm feelin, fine..." sang the pedler. "What is her highness in the mood for?"

Princess Ruby raised the royal fist of fury, and carefully pointed it away from the peddler.

"When I lost my scepter, I realized that there is no glimmer in the royal fist of fury."

She shook it once to show Jimmy.

"Hmmm. You're right, Princess, there ain't no shine in your shakin'. I have just the thing."

The Peddler's quick hands pulled a silver spoon from the pile of trinkets in his cart. He waved it back and forth in front of the princess twice, then reached up to her furious fist. In a flash, the spoon became a bracelet around the princess' wrist.

The Princess yelled "Spoon!!!" then shook her furious fist. Her new bracelet lit up the sky like fireworks.

The peddler picked up his cart and started his way down Market Street again.

"Sugarpine, sugarpine, the marmots dance while the chipmunks whine..." his song continued. "Mind now, your highness, that if the royal fist is ready to shake, the royal boots may need to be ready to kick. I reckon Bobby Boot-Black might help you out."

The peddler nodded across the street to the shoe-shine booth, then continued on his way.

BFF Haiku

Vito and Angus
Sit on the couch and watch shows
Best Friends Forever!

Football Haiku

Football has begun
A new jersey for the dog?
Doubt he cares that much

The last night's absynthe binge left me absent minded and quiet on the ride up to the range. We made good time on the highways and I enjoyed staring out the window into the grassy valleys as the road wound through the hills.

Rifles barked at random down the firing line. The shotgun in right most lane sounded more like a dry cough. It was loud enough to punch through my earplugs and hit me in the side of the head. Absynthe is a cruel mistress.

I settled in for a few hours of shooting. The Enfield was clean and ready. It felt heavy and good and we wanted to shoot well. It took me a while to relax and get into the pace of firing. The bolt slid smoothly out of the barrel and tossed each round a foot to the right and slammed back down with a satisfying snap. I tried not to rush and do things badly but they were done badly anyway.

I threw out the first three targets and kept the last one. I finally put twenty shots in the rings at 50 yards and felt good. My arm was tired and shoulder was sore.

I stopped for a burger on the way out of the hills on the way to the freeway. It was a good burger joint and I felt content after eating.

Political Haiku

Imbecile man-child
Why did God make you sober?
Piss-poor president

Dropping In

They were a bright and charming couple and invited us in. They seemed like the happy people you see in British sit-coms.

I ocasionally feel bright. I feel charming far less frequently. Today looked bad on both accounts.

I decided to make myself useful instead. I wandered into the kitchen and started making an omelet. Most refrigerators, no matter how bare, have the basics for an omelet.

Thursday Commute

The return of vertigo was a little awkward. I didn't want to be the guy holding up all the trains after taking a header onto the tracks.
I'm not sure whether it was a symptom of the bronchitis, like the headaches from coughing too much. It was probably withdrawal from the cherry NyQuil. Kicking the Red Fairy is a bitch.