fuck power

"Power always thinks it has a great soul and vast views beyond the comprehension of the weak; and that it is doing God's service when it is violating all his laws."

– John Quincy Adams

the obit

I regret I have but one life to give for the sake of decadence and indulgence and the pursuit of meaningless nothingness. I wish all of existence could be a pointless orgy of wasteful delight... alas...

short

That's me.

code of conduct

This was passed down to me by an ancient short-timer way back in the day just after I got to permanent party at my first unit.

For all the short-timers out there:

I am an American short-timer. I serve in the forces into which I so carelessly enlisted...

Learn it. Love it. Live it.

camp casey

First thing that comes to mind when I think of Camp Casey is this blow job I got coming outta the gate at Casey one day. One of the girls I knew from the ville inTDC had wrapped herself around an alley corner, and beckoned me as I walked out the gate. She grabbed me by the hand and led me back to her hooch through a maze of stinking back alleys. In her room, she summarily shoved me onto her bed, threw herself on me and went to work. Even for Korea, this was a rather what-the-fuck-over experience. We didn't exchange a single word the whole time. When she was done, the tissues came out. I pulled my pants up, still a little in the zone. Parting was uncomplicated under the circumstances. I was about out the door and it started.

"Pay."

"WHAT?"

"Pay."

"PAY? For what?"

"Pay." There was insanity in her eyes and a threatening undertone in her voice. Maybe the insanity was in the eyes all along. I just chose not to see it. I didn't pay and there was violence and cursing and shoving and a laundry bucket full of water was thrown at me but I got out okay and I never heard about it again. Every now and then we'd cross paths in the ville and she'd give me one of those glares that you usually get walking around downtown Seoul. Whatever.

When I think of Camp Casey I think of drunken nights and whore mongering and dipshit clubs with heehaw names like Mojos and the Las Vegas and the Rendezvous. I remember TA50 Alley and getting stopped by angry MP's sure they had a bust because the place was notorious and totally off-limits to U.S. forces personnel, and I started screaming at them in German, really slurring it for the effect. Telling them I was a Russian and who-the-FUCK did they think they were demanding some ID and secretly glad these maroons weren't patrolling with KNP's.

When I think of Camp Casey I think of everything that was good and pleasurable and exciting and a release from the drudgery and dullery and routine of the Army. I only remember the total anarchy in the ville. I only remember losing myself completely. That's all that's worth remembering. So when somewhere in the background of soldiers mumbling to each other I overheard 'Camp Casey' I perked up right away and the memories tumbled out all at once. And then some confusion. They were muttering about the president, and fucking soccer moms, and something or other going on in Texas. Political shit. I rolled over and got back to chasing those Z's.

in-country briefing

In the ROK, the Army schedules these briefings on venereal diseases for all the newbs arriving in-country. Seems cooties and crawlies and scabs and sores and drip-dick are a major problem around the Korean camp towns. Especially among the junior enlisted. Young, dumb, and full of it. The reason the Army cares so deeply about the state of our Joneses is cause apparently a drip-dick private cannot effectively defend the Republic of Korea from the northern hordes, lurking a million strong on the other side of the mountains. So young privates running around town sticking their dicks in anything with a wiggle is an accute problem to the Army's combat readiness. So we got these classes.

A medic prattles on about the horrors of the flesh, clicking away on a slide presentation behind him. Cauliflower dicks, oozing purple pustules from fuck-knows-what disease, swollen pockmarked vaginas, rhino nuts. Every horror of physical genital affliction unimaged to us. At first we're all grossed out. Flinching and grimacing like a bunch-a-retards. But as the mutilated genitalia protrude past us, the bravado kicks back in and pretty soon our mumbled commentary outgrosses the nastiest pubic-rot on-screen. The medic reels off numbers like it's the lotto... 30 percent of you will contract gonorrhea, 40 percent nongonoccal urethritis (looked it up). 90 percent will contract an STD before the end of their tour. He's not even finished with his little spiel or I know the rest of the crowd is thinking exactly what I'm thinking... everyone but me homes, everyone but me. If the rate were 99 percent, I'd be the lone holdout. I'd be that one percent guy. If it were even less, it'd be me. Get it? Hey, I'm nineteen. I walk on water. I FLOAT over the stuff. I'm invulnerable. Invincible. Can't touch this. Been there, done it and back again. Not tellin' me nothin' I don't know. Even if I didn't know it, I knew it. Cause you know what? Fuck it. Nineteen homes. Nineteen. Livin's gooood.

Stupid? Naive? Nineteen. Part of the reason the Army loves young minds. High on knowin' nothin' much. And pretty confident about it too.

I was at TMC a week after that briefing. Got the clap. Fucked up thing too... she was a super hottie.

There are no briefings like that before you head up north to the Raq. You know, like a neat little slide show presented by another bored medic. Injuries from improvised explosive device to the lower extremeties, resulting in complete loss of lower limbs. Close proximity concussive wound causing rupture and 4th degree burns of the cranial vault. Decapitation resulting from large caliber ballistic projectile. I'm sure we'd all be laughing it up. Look at those poor fuckers. Not me man, not me...

They don't give briefings of that nature at recruiting offices either. A little gut check. Ya'll came for the good shit, I know, I know. The free college money, the travel, the fantastic training, band-a-brothers type shit. There's just a brief little... thing I gotta show you before we get to the swearing in and other good stuff. Congress made me do it *chuckle chuckle*... 'full disclosure' bullshit.

Little good it would do. Most of 'em sitting there'd be nineteen years old. The vileness on screen would communicate nothing to them. They'd just giggle and squirm their way through the whole sad spectacle. A year later, it'd be their torn-off, burned, shredded, pulverized bodies on a slide-show for the next batch-a-fresh meat. And on it goes.