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C
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(Originally posted on: 02-25-09 07:56:56 AM)
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I figured this would be a fun little thing for some of us who are/were in the military.

First up for me will be hurricane relief duty, which I'll break up into sections because I'm a lazy fuck and can't write it all at once. I don't know if it'll be particularly humorous, but it'll probably be interesting to some of you.

Feel free to chime in with stories about deployment, training, time at the shop, or just questions (even you non-military folks.)

Hurricane Gustav
Back in August my unit got called to deploy to Louisiana to help deal with the aftermath of Hurricane Gustav. I was just waking up to a rather large, drunk coworker coming into my room around 1500 so we could get a nice buzz on before we went in for another night of cooking and cleaning and all that stupid shit they expect you to do when you work in the back of a restaurant. I was a bit disoriented by how lit up my room was, and I didn't really remember agreeing to getting drunk with this guy before work because, you know, that's bad.

Once the alcoholic fog of just waking up cleared I had the forethought to check my phone for the time and to see if I was actually supposed to be at work earlier than normal this day.

That's odd, the whole front screen is covered in missed calls and voicemails. Those bill collectors must really be trying to hit quota. Why is the armory calling me at 6am? And how did I manage to sleep through this many attempts?

So I check my voicemail and the clock and realize that I have three hours to pack my gear, get a haircut, buy a carton of smokes and drive two hours down to the armory. In my haste I spilled a pot of coffee, tripped getting out of the shower and walked out the door in uniform with a goatee.

After getting to the armory we loaded our gear and got our trucks ready for the drive to Louisiana.

The next morning we start heading south, getting direction from our scout vehicle as to where we could fit the whole convoy to refuel. About an hour into this drive I am jonesing for a cigarette so bad that I'm almost completely unable to concentrate on the winding road. My squad leader is a pretty stand-up guy, but I hadn't been under him very long and I didn't know how he'd react to me smoking in the HMMWV. After about 15 minutes of internal conflict I attempt to light up my smoke.

I don't know if you've ever been in a cloth top HMMWV, but let's just say that if the top is 20 years old, it's not really airtight. After 3 minutes or so of trying to get the damn thing lit my squad leader looks over and asks what the hell I'm doing. I explain that I need a cigarette or I'm going to run into the vehicle in front of us in hopes of causing a fire that I can light it on. He reaches over and yanks my smoke and lighter from me in what I thought was going to be the beginning of a lecture, then bends down, strikes the lighter and hands me back a lit cigarette while laughing at me.

Our first stop was at PEC in AR, which was pretty sub-par. The barracks we stayed in were affectionately dubbed "prison" and the conversation for the evening was revolving around wondering if prisoners actually had better living conditions than this. The mattresses were obviously piss-soaked on both sides, the pillows were a shade of yellow that could have only existed if they were used to scrub the piss from the inside of the toilets and we found more than a few used bandages in the shower.

Awesome!

The next day we drove into Louisiana and into a hurricane. Man, thank God we had time to get the top on this HMMWV. After about 15 minutes of gale force winds and cats and dogs slamming into my windshield my leg feels awfully wet. What the fuck. The motherfucking windshield leaks. And it's pouring water all over me and my squad leader. Well, that'll be something to tell the maintenence guys when we bed down for the night.

We got to an old airfield on some post in Alexandria and immediately notice the lack of housing around where we are parking. Whatever, fuel up, line up the trucks, and sleep in them. I don't care, I'm just tired of driving and want to put a pair of dry boots on. At least it's stopped raining for a little bit. We get out, grab our rucks and head to the front of the convoy where we wait for a bus to come take us to our barracks. Since I'm a good little soldier, I opt to wait for the last trip since I'm in no hurry. This would have been a great idea if the first trip had come withing 45 minutes. Or, you know, before the fucking rain started again. In about 2 minutes we're all soaked head-to-toe, through our goretex, through our overboots, and I imagine through a HAZMAT suit if any of us had them. This rain was hard, and it was coming sideways. My buddy and I are standing there, just waiting for our bus, which finally comes and climb aboard. If I thought we were wet, that was nothing. This bus must have been a converted reefer trailer since it was all of 45 Fahrenheit in there with the A/C still blasting.

That was pretty unbearable, but we coped with it since apparently our housing was about half a mile away. The reason we didn't see it? It was a fucking chicken coop. Not like the ones you used to see on the last half of the Garfield cartoon out in the barnyard with Orson when you were a kid. Like in an industrial chicken/turkey operation. Basically a giant shack with walls that went about four feet up, followed by 5 feet of chicken wire and a tin roof. The floor was dirt covered by landscaping mat. Well, sort of covered. Apparently it wasn't covered enough that the fireants couldn't find my fucking cot.

While waiting for chow I went out for another smoke and found myself standing in the ditch in front of the barracks because of the "POSTED: No smoking within 25 feet" sign. 25 feet away was in the ditch. Fuck it, my boots are already soaked at this point and water on the ground is warming than letting the wind and the rain continually pound at them. "SPC, get the fuck out of the ditch!"

Awesome, the dry guys are telling me I shouldn't get wet. THANKS GUYS.

So I finish my smoke and walk over to the chow hall, which is where they must've housed the tractors or turkey killers or whatever they'd need a concrete floor with. The electricity is out here and there are no windows. After getting my one chicken strip and a dallop of mashed potatoes served by some contractor, I walked to what I assumed was a table. What I didn't see was the standing water inside, which was apparently a safety hazard that we discovered which forced us back outside to eat. In the rain. I'm already imagining junglerot and trench foot and swamp ass smells that will be emanating from our coop tonight.

After that culinary abortion we go back to the tent and begin our nightly ritual of changing into dry clothes and getting our bedding on our cots. But as soon as my pants are off I notice something. There are females in our coop too. Apparently we're not seperating on this adventure. So I'm standing there with my twig and berries exposed to the world while females are just chatting away. I probably could've gotten dressed without them noticing if I had immediately stumbled into my cot and fell over bare-assed. So I grabbed the closest pants to me and quickly put them on. They weren't mine. Nor did they fit. Whoops.

We have our meeting about what we can expect tomorrow and it looks to be more of the same. Only not driving. Just sitting in the coops being wet and eating shitty meals.

That lasted two more days. We ate what amounted to 250 calories per meal and smoked our appetites away. Finally a SGM watches the chow line and announces that we are welcome to seconds and thirds if we'd like since they're "FUCKING OVER SOLDIERS SENT TO HELP THEIR SHITTY STATE." Oh, but that contractor got the last laugh. The next morning we got green eggs that were runny and a piece of toast, but we could have all the seconds we wanted. Then he got fired. So I guess we got the last laugh...

Our last night there were get our ROE cards and find out where we're heading. We'll be running the SSA out of an abandoned Fruit of the Loom warehouse in Point Barre. Alright, at least we finally got our mission. And I bet this place has four walls and a good ceiling!

The next morning we pack our shit and head off. I notice my leg is really hurting and I've kind of developed a limp. Whatever, probably from non-use. We drive to our warehouse and set up a nightcrew to begin operations that night while the rest of us figure out what we're doing. I left has swollen to the point I can't really tie my boot at this point and I'm in pure, unadulterated agony. Turns out some fireants got a hold of me. I say some, but I think we counted about 30 bites before we gave up and realized that I was a Goddamn feast for them.

Turns out the warehouse did have four walls and a ceiling. In one section. The other section had four walls and half a ceiling, along with extensive flooding. We'd find out later that this was probably our saving grace from the mold, asbestos and forklift fumes before we got the power back on. We bid the night crew adieu and head out.

We get down to a town about 45 minutes away from our warehouse and find a place to bed down. One of the few places with power.
Wal-mart. Fortunately it was abandoned, so we really only had to deal with overweight prostitutes propositioning us on the way to the portashitters instead of the normal Wal-mart populace. I limp my stuff in and find that my section sergeant thinks I should go to the hospital. Fuck that, I saw, and pop my boots off. I bed down and throw a couple ibuprofen down my throat for the night and pass out since we've got to be up and out the door at 0300 to relieve the night shift since their day started early.

Next up, settling into the warehouse, my day in the TOC and why 14 hour workdays really, really suck.
I don't have a drinking problem.
I drink, I get drunk, I fall down.
No problem.
antpocas
"Sex is not dating."
"If it were, Santana and I would be dating.


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Reply 1 of 39 (Originally posted on: 02-25-09 10:33:45 AM)
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was your first time killing a baby difficult?
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Reply 2 of 39 (Originally posted on: 02-25-09 10:36:49 AM)
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I'm sure it gets easier when you realize that minority babies aren't even people! AM I RITE, ANTPOCAS?
A witty saying proves nothing - Voltaire
antpocas
"Sex is not dating."
"If it were, Santana and I would be dating.


GLEEK

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Reply 3 of 39 (Originally posted on: 02-25-09 10:40:21 AM)
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Seriously though I appreciate these stories
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Reply 4 of 39 (Originally posted on: 02-25-09 10:49:15 AM)
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Quoted from vislet:
I'm sure it gets easier when you realize that minority babies aren't even people! AM I RITE, ANTPOCAS?

I'll get to the confusion on what to do with minorities later.
I don't have a drinking problem.
I drink, I get drunk, I fall down.
No problem.
Acheron
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is this guy acheron???????? hahaha acheron you big fag

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Reply 5 of 39 (Originally posted on: 02-25-09 10:51:43 AM)
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Confusion? Vissario knows that for every problem there's a final solution.
"All governments lie, but disaster lies in wait for countries whose officials smoke the same hashish they give out." -IF Stone
C
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Reply 6 of 39 (Originally posted on: 02-27-09 11:45:55 AM)
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Okay, work's slowed some and it's Friday, so why not get a little farther into my journey to the bayou.

I ended up waking up around 0330 the next morning, since the night crew had to start early on their first day, so did we. It's only fair, right? We get to the warehouse as temperatures are reaching the mid 80s, where they'd pretty much stay the entire time we were down there. That's the thing, all day and night, there was never a noticable temperature difference. I've heard stories from guys who went to Iraq about how they got used to the daytime temperatures and at night would need a sweatshirt and sweatpants for 90 degree weather. I'd call bullshit on that, but when they came home on leave in the middle of July, it was fucking hot. Like, I was wearing my trashiest shirts and hole-ridden shorts, and I was sweating 10 minutes after coming indoors. These fuckers saw that and decided they needed jeans and long-sleeves to be even close to comfortable.

At any rate, it was uncomfortable, but not unbearable. What we didn't really investigate the preceding day was the condition of the warehouse. See, it was divided into two sections for storage and one area that obviously used to be the front office. The front office became our TOC, which means it's where there's a shitload of brass doing a shitload of nothing and about 4 lower enlisted furiously making calls and collecting as much data as they could.

Past the front office area there was the smaller area of the warehouse. Low ceilings, where they existed, and a hut in the middle that would have been air-conditioned if they had power. There was actually more floor space in this area of the warehouse than the other, but not enough headspace to be able to use forklifts real well. Oh, and there wasn't a whole lot of outside light coming in, except for the area where the wind had town the roof off. I guess we could've used that space for waterbottles and plastic-wrapped meals, but the standing water was a health hazard or some such nonsense. So we used one side of this area to keep the things we never issued out: cots, blankets, pillows, and later we found out, body bags. (I guess they make really bitching duffels, but the only one of us who thought of it in time was some WO from another company.) This was also where they tried to convince us we'd be sleeping until our CO pulled a drug deal to get us into Wal-mart.

And past the smaller area was the area we'd be working in. This had obviously been the business-end of the warehouse. 4 docks for trucks, and a huge ceiling with enough area to store a LOT of food. At one point we had upwards of a couple million water bottles and family meals in there. It might not sound like much, but let me assure you, when you're moving half of that much everyday, it starts to wear on you. This was where the bulk of the platoon ended up.

There were a couple other areas that needed to be manned, like the gates, but that wasn't going to be a concern for a lot of us. I assumed since I had my forklift license, unlike most people in our platoon at that time(we had no lifts in Missouri, it was a pain in the ass to get licensed with nothing to test on, thank God for admin access to the SAMS box.) Unfortunately, my platoon sergeant had different ideas. Remember my leg swelling up and throbbing? Well I didn't really sleep the night prior and spent a lot of time hobbling outside to smoke and sit on the truck with my leg propped up at a weird angle which seemed to help the pain. I probably could've gotten away with doing that and still rode out my entire time in the warehouse if my cot hadn't been right beside my PSGT and section sergeant.

So when I'm limping my way to the back, assuming that I'll be on a lift, I get rerouted to the TOC to do a shitload of information gathering and meander around with no real direction after I got that. I didn't know it, but the information I gathered that first day was going to be going to Governor Jindal in some semi-organized fashion about 10 minutes after my relief was supposed to show up.

My buddy Rod ends up in the warehouse, but after about 10 minutes of no power, no ventilation and a shitload of fumes, asbestos and mold, he has to move outside since he can't breathe. If this was anyone else I probably would've called bullshit and called them a pussy. But Rod can and will work, he's been that way since I've known him, way before we were in the army. He had a mold allergy and ended up working the front gate in the hot LA sun with a bunch of coon-asses (native rednecks, in our language.) So after I gathered what information I could, which wasn't easy since I didn't actually have a lot of good contact information for the PODs (Points of Distribution, where soldiers handed out food to the tired, hungry and meek) I'd meander out to the front gate and bullshit with him while we slowly dwindled our cigarette supply down.

Since he's moved, there's really not many qualified folks back in the warehouse side, but they seem to drive on. I decided I'd plead with my PSGT that night to get moved back there since my leg is doing better and I can probably fake the rest of it. But today I have a mission to finish. Which really meant I was going to be bored as fuck calling soldiers who wouldn't answer and local people running for office who thought a good way to campaign would be to sit outside our PODs and offer to be points of contact. You know, face time.

This was an incredibly long, boring day. I can't even think of anything else I did of consequence until around 1945 when the officer night shift came on and decided to fuck with me and the guy who was going to be my relief. There was this black, female lieutenant who was apparently above all regulations. She sported her nose ring quite proudly and wouldn't let me get a word in edge-wise while she yelled questions about the data we'd compiled.

"Yes ma'am, the positive number means they need that many pallets shipped to them, the negative means we overshipped yesterday and they have extra."

"No ma'am, I couldn't get a hold of them because my contact information was wrong."

"No ma'am, I couldn't just borrow a HMMWV and drive 45 miles to find out the correct contact information. What's that, your sister lives there and we should just have her drive out? THAT SEEMS LIKE A GREAT IDEA."

God, I realized how blessed I was to have the officers I've had since I've been in the army on this little foray. At any rate, she decides that the data we have isn't good enough to go to the governor because it's, you know, actually representative of what we've been doing. Whether she was trying to cover her own ass or just was a moron was beyond me. So she had us change the data.

My relief, a little hispanic guy whose name escapes me might have sounded a little slow, but he was a pretty smart fucker. As soon as she left to go babble at some private counting busses he grabs a backup of the correct information on the thumb drive and we debated taking it to one of our COs. We ended up taking it to a CW3 (Chief Warrant Officer 3) and letting him know what was up. I say we, he did this after I was gone and just told my section sergeant. Turns out he got an ass-eating because she got an ass-eating which culminated in him walking out of the TOC in disgust. I think he ended up doing some of the shittier jobs after that.

As we finally loaded up and got ready to head back to Wal-mart to smoke by our pool (the truck dock beside the door we slept near was flooded with some disgusting fucking water with a couple shopping carts in it) I realized how long the day had been and how much I couldn't stand to be in the TOC for another minute, even if they were the only ones with power and ventilation. So while I was thinking myself into a depression Rod runs up and shouts something that sounded like "come see gotta pee crud dawg." I got out of the HMMWV and walked around the building to see a Mississippi Mud Dog. In retrospect, it's a stupid little creature that barks like a dog and looks like a snake with tiny, tiny little legs. At the time, it was the coolest thing I'd seen in days.

I guess next up I'll hit on my time in the warehouse, stealing cots and seeing who can knock over the most crates of water.
I don't have a drinking problem.
I drink, I get drunk, I fall down.
No problem.

This reply was last edited on 02-27-09 11:52:09 AM by C.
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Reply 7 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-16-09 02:10:38 PM)
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Please post more of these.
You are the reason I post here, and that annoys me.
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Reply 8 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-16-09 02:53:38 PM)
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Agreed.
Hello my name is Kristoffer Jørgensen and I am from Norweigen I come to see hot USA girls and history landmarks!!
C
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Reply 9 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-17-09 09:30:15 AM)
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The next day I got to head into the warehouse. My leg still hurt some, but it was getting better and I was all too happy to get away from the TOC and actually do some MOS work. Granted, it was inventory and forklift driving, but it was a good time.

We cycled between unloading and loading commercial trucks that FEMA contracted, to moving inventory around in the warehouse, to pulling stuff off the loading docks with the 10k forklifts and putting it on military trucks. And there was downtime. You could expect a couple good hours of just bullshitting and smoking cigarettes a day.

Have you seen the U.S. version of The Office? You know how they dick around in the warehouse there? It was kind of like that when we could get some downtime. We'd start out slow all morning, then boom, like 15 trucks to unload with 3 forklifts inside, then it was time to load up Sergi the Ukranian who'd been in country for 8 days and couldn't back him semi up to the dock. (That actually happened.) If the load was water or the heater meals in the white boxes, you could bet that at least one pallet would get dumped per truck. Nothing like dumping a pallet of water that's thinly wrapped in front of your entire chain of command and trying to figure out which cases are damaged and which you can still send out. I mean, these people are drinking brown fucking water, you'd think they wouldn't be that upset if the seal was broken.

Day 2 of me being in the warehouse, the Louisiana Guard is moving out, heading to the coast and it's going to be all my battalion running this show. So I'm unloading a contracted truck with the two other guys on forklifts when a couple E-6s come out and start just walking behind our forklifts. Finally they just won't move when I'm trying to back out of a trailer and I'm stuck on the ramp. At this point I'm pissed. Military courtesy be damned, I'm in your shithole state, you aren't even trying to help yourself, get the fuck out of my way while I do it for you then.

"Do you NEED SOMETHING or do you just like standing in my way?"

This conversation is apparently going on in three places at once because I see my other two guys are talking with Louisiana boys as well.

"I just need to borrow that forklift for a second."

"Fine, but hurry, I've got 5 or 6 more trucks to get to before lunch."

Then the asshole pushes my pallet back into the back of the trailer, drops it, picks up the ramp that you put between the truck and the warehouse so you can drive in and shoots off at top speed out of the warehouse. Another guy comes back for the other ramp. Uh, what the fuck? I smoke and realize that they aren't coming back. See, the forklifts and ramps were borrowed from the guy across the street who owned "Dixie Storage". He told the Louisiana guys to keep them as long as they needed them to get food to the people in the area. Well, I guess Louisiana figured you couldn't just leave them with another unit and give us the guys contact information, we had to figure it out ourselves. So for the rest of that day we got to drive diesel powered forklifts around in a warehouse with no ventilation. Seriously, fuck those guys.

They came back to take the warehouse back over when were about to leave, after we found the forklifts they took from us without so much as a clue. So we shorted out the ventilation by turning on the bad fans, drained the forklifts of all fuel, and locked all the doors in and out of the warehouse but one. Oh, and the portashitters by the warehouse entrance? We blocked those with a deadlined forklift for a couple days so the guys dumping it couldn't get to them. And we just kept shitting. I couldn't go in there by the time we left and moved the forklift.

I seriously hated the warehouse guys that pulled that shit. But back to the beginning of my time there.

Sometimes during the downtime, I'd manage to steal a HMMWV and head to the grocery store up the road. See, there was this bread there. "Sausage Jalapeno Cheese bread." That shit was fucking thick, and it tasted like heaven compared to half the fried catfish ballsac they were serving us every other night. It's so fucking good I'm going to track down the website right now so you can order some...

http://www.bourquespecialties.com/

One of a kind.

One day, maybe a week in, we were sitting at our table, right by the loading doors, because nothing beats the smell of the stagnant water that was still on the ramp there with all sorts of wildlife living in it. So we're eating our bread, looking into our "luxury swimming pool" and just wondering how long we're going to be stuck there, when we hear something hit the steps and splash into the water a couple feet from where we are and think nothing of it. So we go stand on the steps and the raised ledge beside them to smoke and get ready to take a shit or whatever we wanted to do until some more trucks got sent our way when someone speaks up.

"Uh, that's an MRE bomb," said the Sergeant.

"We ate all the brown bag specials already, where would someone get the heater?" or something like that I said.

Then we heard an E-6 laughing the most ridiculous laugh while snorting down more bread. Let me pause here. An MRE bomb is made a couple different ways. The method this E-6 was taking was to take the heater pack out of the plastic bag you usually warm your meals in and throw it in a half-full water bottle, then seal it tight. Wait a bit and it makes a loud noise and splashes you. It splashes you more if it's in our cholera-pond. So we high tail it off the steps with a couple seconds before it explodes and watch the fireworks as our Platoon Sergeant rips this E-6 a new asshole. Oh, and where'd he get the MRE heater? We had heater meals for the refugees. But not like individual meals, these are meals for the whole family, so this heater was 4 or 5 times as large. There was some force behind that pop.

He ended up strapping overboots on and wading into that mire of filth and germs to get the trash while we all laughed at him and went to buy another pan of bread.
I don't have a drinking problem.
I drink, I get drunk, I fall down.
No problem.
Minus, The Nightmare
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Reply 10 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-18-09 06:01:36 PM)
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You've just proven to me that my decision to never join the military is a good one.
[ABA]
C
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Reply 11 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-18-09 07:01:32 PM)
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I should elaborate. I love the National Guard, and I think it did a lot for me. Sure, I get some ridiculous stories, but I do love every stupid minute of it. I've got great friends out of the deal and also a lot of good life experience.

As long as you're making lifelong decisions, maybe you should make the decision not to put holes the size of quarters in your ears so you can be employable one day.
I don't have a drinking problem.
I drink, I get drunk, I fall down.
No problem.
greenidentity
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It is time for some fine fine wine.....or box wine it's all good man

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Reply 12 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-18-09 11:02:05 PM)
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Quoted from Chimp:
I figured this would be a fun little thing for some of us who are/were in the military.

First up for me will be hurricane relief duty, which I'll break up into sections because I'm a lazy fuck and can't write it all at once.



Errrrr...really?
You make me sick
Because I adore you so.
C
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Reply 13 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-19-09 05:49:38 AM)
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Which part? Too long?
I don't have a drinking problem.
I drink, I get drunk, I fall down.
No problem.
Minus, The Nightmare
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Reply 14 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-22-09 09:44:22 AM)
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Quoted from Chimp:
I should elaborate. I love the National Guard, and I think it did a lot for me. Sure, I get some ridiculous stories, but I do love every stupid minute of it. I've got great friends out of the deal and also a lot of good life experience.

As long as you're making lifelong decisions, maybe you should make the decision not to put holes the size of quarters in your ears so you can be employable one day.


They aren't the size of quarters yet.

Only about nickels.

I'm not going into a field of business where it much matters what my ears look like either, considering that I'm going to college to be record producer.
[ABA]
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Reply 15 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-22-09 07:28:47 PM)
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Correction; you would like to be a record producer and can expect to have to work a lot of jobs before (if ever) becoming a record producer. Taking that line of thought, it would be smart not to make yourself unemployable for an office job for the transient thrill of "being cool".
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This reply was last edited on 03-22-09 07:34:02 PM by atlas sighed (at me).
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Reply 16 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-22-09 07:41:07 PM)
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LOL!!!!!
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Reply 17 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-22-09 07:57:42 PM)
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It's as though you think you can follow me around and make RS-esque posts simply because you have the usergroup "administrator" underneath your name. Out of curiosity, what part of my post bothered you, Dimi?

Was it the frank reality that our hopes and goals are rarely our actuality? Was it the fact that I didn't sugar-coat the stupidity of such liberal and foolish assumptions about the value of piercings and body art in the adult world? Or was it the fact that I am right?
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Reply 18 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-23-09 08:16:49 AM)
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I don't think that was his intention.
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Reply 19 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-24-09 05:37:38 AM)
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Quoted from vissario:
It's as though you think you can follow me around and make RS-esque posts simply because you have the usergroup "administrator" underneath your name. Out of curiosity, what part of my post bothered you, Dimi?

Was it the frank reality that our hopes and goals are rarely our actuality? Was it the fact that I didn't sugar-coat the stupidity of such liberal and foolish assumptions about the value of piercings and body art in the adult world? Or was it the fact that I am right?

It's the fact that you seem to think you know people's lives better then the people living them, coupled with the fact that you seem to fancy yourself hilarious.

You know what, i'm sure NickLivesUnderYourBed knows the difficulty of becoming a Record Producer (being that it is his goal), and the path he'll have to take to eventually get there. All he said was "I'm going to college to be record producer," and this, for some ridiculous reason prompted you to give a speech about hopes and dreams and the difficulty of achieving them. Do you realize how incredibly bizare that is? How incredibly out of place that was? These days I can't tell if you're just being a dick or if your own weaknesses and struggles are being spit out as attacks on others. Though to be fair, it's not always attacks on others, sometimes they are just bizare targetless attacks, "FEAR TEH BROWN PEOPLE!!!" and such.

And also you're doing it everywhere, whether it be on the forums or on the chat. You may think of yourself as INTL's very own Socrates, but you fall far short. The 'harsh realities' you present to us about our own lives are usually either inventions of your imagination or things that we've realized long ago.

As I read the thread, though, I notice your post was more on topic then I originally realized, so I do grant you that.

In any case, if it is my 'Administrator' usergroup that makes me feel as if I have the right to troll, which usergroup are you in that is giving you the right to troll?
This reply was last edited on 03-24-09 06:18:13 AM by D.
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Reply 20 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-24-09 06:30:41 AM)
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Quoted from Dimi:
It's the fact that you seem to think you know people's lives better then the people living them, coupled with the fact that you seem to fancy yourself hilarious.

You know what, i'm sure NickLivesUnderYourBed knows the difficulty of becoming a Record Producer (being that it is his goal), and the path he'll have to take to eventually get there. All he said was "I'm going to college to be record producer," and this, for some ridiculous reason prompted you to give a speech about hopes and dreams and the difficulty of achieving them. Do you realize how incredibly bizare that is? How incredibly out of place that was? These days I can't tell if you're just being a dick or if your own weaknesses and struggles are being spit out as attacks on others. Though to be fair, it's not always attacks on others, sometimes they are just bizare targetless attacks, "FEAR TEH BROWN PEOPLE!!!" and such.

And also you're doing it everywhere, whether it be on the forums or on the chat. You may think of yourself as INTL's very own Socrates, but you fall far short. The 'harsh realities' you present to us about our own lives are usually either inventions of your imagination or things that we've realized long ago.

As I read the thread, though, I notice your post was more on topic then I originally realized, so I do grant you that.


It is good to see you are always humble in defeat, Dimi.
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Reply 21 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-24-09 08:23:31 AM)
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God you're predictable. I put that last part in almost entirely to see if you would use it to ignore everything else.
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Reply 22 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-25-09 05:35:27 PM)
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There's nothing unique or interesting in your post to reply to. In fact, the various ideas and opinions stated in it are hardly anything I haven't seen in the past 3 years of posting at this forum.

If you want my attention, you are going to have to make better trolls, Dimi!
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Reply 23 of 39 (Originally posted on: 03-25-09 07:57:17 PM)
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Quote:
the various ideas and opinions stated are hardly anything I haven't seen in the past 3 years of posting at this forum.


Lol awesome quote
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Reply 24 of 39 (Originally posted on: 05-05-11 09:20:51 AM)
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I was just reading the FAQ and got linked back to this thread. Thanks for ruining my thread guys.

I guess I could write some new stuff out of the past few years. I've probably got some material laying around.
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