ARMY Kicks Ass!

On Memorial Day I like to remember my four Kick Ass years in the Army. 

In chronological order:1987-91

Basic Training and AIT in Ft. Bliss Texas (El Paso) It snowed for the first time in 20 years.

That was Kick Ass! 

Poo and Frankenfinger Kicked some Ass!

Spanky and Poo Kick Ass!

Spanky, Poo, Frankenfinger and Pepper

The Four Bandaho's Kick Ass!

Some how I got promoted straight out of basic, (over achiever) and when I was home on leave my mommy sewed my first stripe on for me. Mommies kick ass that way. 

I was lucky enough to get to ride around in this bad ass mother many a time. Blackhawk Air Cav kicks ass!

PS: Thanks for the ride! 

HAWK (Homing All the Way Killer) Mid Range Air Defense Missile System.

(Don’t remember, Don’t remember, Frankenfinger, Don’t Remember, Don’t Remember, Don’t Remember, Spec. Allen. 

Not remebering people Kicks Ass!

Yellowstone Forest Fire 1988: Buck, Merna, Don’t Remember, Frankenfinger, Rose. Bottom and behind the bush, Rusty. Rusty kicks ass! 

HAWK missiles go fast! 

HAWK missiles kick ass!

Ten foot tall, Snowman First Sargent... Kicks ASS! 

Getting drunk in the barracks with Spec. Lane and Spec. Strahan... Kicks Ass! 

Oh, and $5 a case Rheinlander beer Kicks Ass! 

Okay, thats all the Kick Ass Army you need for this Memorial Day. 

This dog is going to die!

Unless you do something about it! 

I was thinking I could look into some kind of rescue/animal shelter and zzzzzzzzz.

 

Then I woke up and thought, “I can just shoot him in the fucken head”. But I have this friend who knows I’m probably going to kill him, so she keeps telling me, “someone would really love this (piece of shit) dog”. And I argue that yes, they will love him, right up until they leave him alone.

He has a severe anxiety issue, and if you leave him alone he freaks out chews the fuck out of everything while drooling like an Alien. If you put him outside, he stares in the window at you like a pedophile at a daycare. He chewed through a plastic dog crate, so we got a metal one. Then he chewed through that and was walking around the house with the whole thing around his neck. 

So now we have a livestock pen. But we still have this Exxon Valdez drool spill on the floor.

 

So my plan is this: If you’re an animal lover that don’t want this fucktard dog to eat hot lead, you can bid on his life.

 

It's just that easy.

 

Highest bidder takes possession and will pay all expenses for shipment. With a small gratuity of $100 for me, since I have to make the effort not to kill him while I kick him into a box for shipping.

 

Let's break it down:

 

$100.00 for me not to kill it while packaging 

+

Cost of crate and shipping 

+ 

Winning bid

=  

Your problem now, hippie! 

Hot Ass Beeotch (and a myspace question thingy).

What is your occupation? 

I am a welfare RAT! 

Have you ever dyed your hair?

 My hair died, like a decade ago.

 

Do you wear contacts or glasses? 

I wear shot glasses on my nipples. You know you get a suction going and they hang there while you paint a mural of scat man Carruthers. Well, that might just be me. 

Pets? 

Chichi, my gimp in a box that lives in my basement. Shit, I forgot to feed her this month! 

 

Favorite day of the year? 

Saint Spank me day! That's today! Wahoo!

Hugs or kisses? 

I love hugs! I could just hug you to death. Really, I could.

Do you wish your hair was a different color?

Once again, no hair! What the fuck is your problem? You think it's funny I don’t have hair? 

I hate you, too you little bastard! No, I don’t... I love your mother.  

Who is the friend you have had the longest? 

A toad named Herbi that I have had in my front pocket for like 34 years. He looks like a rock now but he talks to me when I'm feeling melancholy.

 

What did you do last night? 

Touched myself inappropriately in my swimsuit area.

Favorite vehicle? 

Millennium Falcon

 

Favorite dog breed? 

I enjoy any kind of dog breeding.

How many states have you lived in?

State of confusion, state of grace, state of ambiguity, state of shock and a few more.

 

Do you have scars? 

Only on my liver.

 

Do you cry at Disney movies? 

I get a little stabby at Disney movies.

 

Aids, Government conspiracy or African genocide?

I think that it's just a diet plan for the planet. You know, a way to loose a few pounds. 

Ever been to Planned Parenthood? 

I can't conceive more than maybe 2% of the population's ever planned parenthood.

 

Last time you were on a plane? 

I humped a teacher last weekend. Teachers are pretty plain. Ahhh haha ha.

Do you have any strange piercings? 

No, well maybe my rectum. Rectum, damn near killed 'em! Ha ha he he...I'm on a roll. 

 

Have you committed a crime? 

Assisted suicide is not a crime, damn you!

 

Are you a virgin? 

No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t cry like it’s the first time.

 

Was your last kiss drunk or sober?

I have never been sober.

Who did you last talk to on the phone for over 15 minutes?

Hostage negotiator. 

What do you think of sex?

It’s a way to express and purge your innermost frustrations and hate. 

Are you scared of spiders?

If it has a gun.

Is there anyone you would die for?

No, but I would kill for someone. 

I'm running a discount this month, so get your orders in now!

Are you currently frustrated with a boy or girl?

Only the ones inside of me.

What is the closest thing to you that is blue?

The paint from this freaken money I got from the back of this van today. 

It's everywhere!

Would you go out in public without getting dressed up or put together?

I wear the appropriate track suit, black Nike running shoes and purple shroud with five dollars in my pocket. 

Have you kissed or hugged someone today?

I beat the crap out of a pan handler but then felt bad and gave her a hug. 

Are you a dumb blonde?

I am a flying squirrel. 

Do people underestimate your intelligence?

People underestimate my pungency. 

Would you rather have love or money?

I can buy love at the truck stop.

Have you ever sat on a roof top?

Yes, while talking to a hostage negotiator. 

What's your relationship with the person you last texted?

Implied sardonic love partner.

Have you ever played hard to get?

I'm a carrier.

Do you have any weird inside jokes?

The jokes in my hand! Ha ha hahahah...

wait...

er...

it has to be your bull...

I fucked it up. 

Have you ever worn the opposite sex's underwear?

Can you see me?

Do you ever wonder what your ex is up to?

I wonder if any wild animals have dug her up.

If you had 5 min to live, what would you do?

Beat my pecker like it owed me money!

Tippy tossed my salad and I don’t care...

When I was a youngin, calling kids youngins was proper. 

(Wow... distracted with the first sentence. New record.)

Any whittle, I grew up on a farm in the dangly part of Iowa. The dangle... the county that hangs down past the rest of the state. 

http://county-map.digital-topo-maps.com/iowa-county-map.gif

You didn’t even go look at the link, did you? Fuckers.

Don’t matter...point is, growing up on a farm in the middle of nowhere has some amazing advantages, despite the inbreeding. 

One of those great things is almost complete nudity. When the Iowa humidity and the July heat reach 90/90, it’s shit-ass hot. Running around in just our skivvies is expected.

 

Also, growing up in bum-fuck-Egypt allows for outdoor waste purging. 

I am six, my brother is three, and we’re out behind the barn throwing horseshit at the chickens. 

(Dry horseshit has the shape and consistency of a biscuit...just so you don’t think we were flinging handfuls of loose stool around.)

We see an ant hill. Of course we have to piss on it. 

There’s no looking over your shoulder or debating if you should. It’s the country. Pissing on things is taught to us by our cousins and/or random redneck strangers. If you got to go, you just turn away from the womenfolk and go. 

Taking a crap outdoors is reserved for the youngins. As long as you’re past the barns, or out away from the house, it’s just fine. Why? Because farms have dogs and dogs are nature’s septic tank.

 A good farm dog will wait patiently for child droppings, like it was prime rib trimmings. 

What my brother and I found out one hot summer day was this:

If you hold your evacuation position until Tippy, the family German Shepard, finished his dessert...he would lick your balloon knot clean.

It only takes one time at the Tippy bidet and you’re hooked. 

 

BrewMaster Jedi

A long time ago in a place far, far away...

It’s not that far, maybe about thirty-five hundred parsecs... as the crow flies. 

There was a really nice bunch of monks known as The Jedi Order. I was one of these monks.

BrewMaster Jedi Brian!

Yeah, it’s not a cool name and I’m not allowed to have light saber. That’s fine, I would probably just cut my head off with it. I just make the beer at the Jedi Temple. My only force power is the ability to control small living things like yeast and bacteria, so I was a shoo in for the job. 

But this isn’t about me, it’s about my long lost Jedi BrewPadawan learner, Jesus. 

About a million or so years ago I sent him out for hops and he didn’t come back.  

(Don’t get bogged down with the time thing, it’s relative.)

I was going to go look for him, but I got busy doing... stuff. You know how it is. After a few years we all kind of just forgot about him. 

Something you may not know about the dude is he was a disappointment as a Jedi. He had some really amazing force powers, but he was a huge hippy. Yeah, all “peace to all things” and wouldn’t carry a light saber. He was also way into upscale wines, aged cheeses and was just fucken pretentious as hell about it. Don’t get me wrong, he was cool and all but just...annoying! And preachy as all get out. He’d get a couple glasses of wine in him and just rattle on for hours. 

So one day I’m out looking for fresh ingredients for the Jedi Brau and stumble across this planet. 

And what do I find but my long lost Padawan, dead, buried and resurrected. 

No big surprise he was tortured to death. I always told him when he gets on a rant only a Jedi has the self control not to throttle his dumb ass. 

Anyway, on this day I like to tip a beer in his honor, 

“To Jesus, a mediocre brewer, annoying drunk, marginal Jedi, but a really nice guy.”

May the force be with you, always. 

Prost! 

 

Nothing says I don’t care like a prayer.

So the misses and I are talking to my mom and an unnamed sibling about our struggles with our child's neurological based behavioral problems and chemical balances. We were talking about our recent successes when said sibling chimed in with, “That’s when I was praying for your child!” 

Well fuck me sideways!

 

Here we were using our brains like suckers. And the whole time it was my sibling praying for 3.3 seconds that helped a profoundly autistic, bipolar, OCD, Manic, Schizophrenic, psychotic teenage girl out of her self-abusive spiral.

Then I realized that a great many people tell us they are praying for the kids and us? 

So is it the prayer or our diligent, well educated and creative work that’s helping? 

Or is it the combined effort? 

Unfortunately, we have experienced the results of modern medicine's absence. For those that have never been privileged with the autism experience try this. Peel all of your cuticles off and scalp yourself one handful of hair at a time, while laughing manically.

 

Anyway, I think I have made my point. Prayers are bullshit. But.......

Since everyone seems to want to keep patting themselves on the back for their milliseconds of prayer effort, I’ve decided that all of their Holiday and Birthday gifts from now on, will be prayer. In fact, I think that’s going to become my primary means of communicating with some of them.

 

“Whaaaat? You didn’t get my prayer message? 

Yeah, I prayed to your deity to let you know I wasn’t going to be there. He didn’t let you know? 

Wow, that’s shocking. I mean, you prayed for him to fix my stepdaughter's medically confounding abusive behavior and.......well, he does. 

But he can't get a simple post-it note message to you? 

Weird....?”