Tuesday, January 18, 2005

So now I have to figure out how to change my Blog title since I am no longer in the Middle East counting down the days. I am instead in the rear trying not to stab myself with mechanical pencils as I wait to be paroled. The good news is I got my orders to not be in the military anymore. I was so excited about this I got the runs; even to the end I find there is no dignity. I sat there the entire time chewing my nails waiting for them to find some obscure clause in my contract and tell me oh sorry CPT Blondie but its states right here that you are a blond and it’s clear by those 3 inches of roots that you are not, you missy are in breach of your contract we’re gonna have to keep you in indefinitely for being the lying, devious, 1980s Madonna like a virgin wanna-be that you are. Luckily for me it appears the Army is just as anxious to get my ass out, so I didn’t have to compromise any of my rapidly deteriorating values and put out to get out so to speak. Which is fortunate for me because my parole officer was a 50-year-old Russian American woman with a questionably deep prison b*tch voice. So we had one of those lovely little things called a Hail and Farewell. This is a unit get together of all upper ranking weasels to say hello to people they will soon be backstabbing and saying goodbye to those they have already sucked the life from. Try as I might, I was not able to avoid this second to last violation on my yellow brick road to freedom. What I found extremely interesting is that I was slightly emotional as I stood up and said my goodbye. Everyone always says that when it comes time to leave you have trouble remembering the bad, and as I stared around at all the beady eyes of my comrades I found that to be the biggest load of crap ever. I remembered it all; the Air conditioning/window wars with my roommate, the nano-managing well meaning Mr. Rogers wanna be ex boss who once nagged me into a headache so bad I prayed to be kidnapped and a$$ raped by midget leprechauns. I remember many a homicidal thought as I sat in the meeting after meeting discussing such things as crucial leather chair missions vital to the success of fighting the war on terrorism via decorating certain ranking individuals office space. I was however able to muster enough humility to throw in a quick thank you for the upper command group…probably had nothing to do with the fact they were seated within claws reach of me with beady eyes glistening or the fact that granting me terminal leave was still optional. I would have to say the most annoying thing about being back would have to be the well meaning comments of the every day crackhead. Please all of you out there, I beg of you do not ever ask a soldier returning from Iraq:

So you glad to be back?
A: No I like playing hide and seek with mortars, Mr. Terrorist bombing man, hot water and sanitary toilet facilities.
Well at least you got that good combat pay…
A: Yeah after the 85-hour workweek I’m clearing a good 3 cents more than the Port o Potty Man.
(From a Guy in the Club upon learning I’m Intelligence) So you’re the one sending me (the infantry) out there to die?
A: Ummm no asswipe that was Bush and Rumsfield and in case you missed the whole past year we’re all dying.

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