House That Used To Be

Right. Yes, I leave tomorrow for SERE. No blogging for 3 weeks. Go somewhere else. Find something else to do. Do it. Have fun. God speed. I will not hold it against you. You deserve fun. I cannot provide it.

I Will Be Leaving Tuesday

Right. I was going to make this an audio-blog thing, but I forgot my pass code thing, so now you have to read instead of listening to the soothing sounds of Yossarian talk about shit. Also I was lazy and didn't feel like interrupting my video games with typing, but now, here we are.
Today while I was running I saw, for the first time in my life, a Bald Eagle. He, I assume he was a he because of his manliness, was perched on this branch that overhangs above the lake I run around everyday. It was nice. Made me happy.
You know why I like this blog so much? I'll tell you why, because it's like a run down gin tank. Dank. Sort of gross. And there are always the same 5 or 6 people here. Seriously, I was checking out stat counter, it's embarrassing. Some of you, I won't name any names (all of ya'll) don’t do nearly enough to spread the word. I feel like Jesus if his Apostles were lazy and opted not to proliferate the message, and if he only had 5 or 6 Apostles, and if his message was about MILF's. Maybe I don't really feel like Jesus at all then.
There are days, inside my head, I say fuck it and I am 14 again. Fuck you I am 14. I scream "Betting on the BUUUUULLLLLLL in the Heather," because I listen to Sonic Youth. Fuck you I'm 14. I have replaced sports with moshing and I make fun of testosterone enriched aggressive males. Fuck you I'm 14 over here. The music I like has yet to explode. The women I like hate me. My hair is curly, but that's okay because I'm fucking 14. Betting on the BUUUUUULLLLLLL in the Heather. My pants are tattered. My shirt is from Goodwill. Why? I'm 14 and betting on the BUUUUULLLLLLLL in the Heather. I hate math. I like science. I like English but I skip that class a lot. I dread gym class. I sleep in history class and still manage a 96% average. I'm 14 what do you want from me? I smoke cigarettes in the bathroom while I bet on the BUUUUULLLLL in the Heather.
This would have made a much better audio post.
I made this woman the other day out of spare parts I have around the house. Not woman parts, but just random shit, I guess. For instance, her skin is just some star fragments that I had on my kitchen table, no real element would do for my bitch. Her lips are flower pedals I found between the pages of an old book. I gave her these emerald and topaz hybrid stones I created for her eyes. I had the majestic mineral sitting around on my nightstand just incase. I filled her brain with all the books of poetry I have. Her innards consist of an old garden hose, a vacuum tube and small lamp because she has this inner glow I find calming. I fashioned her fingernails out of some diamonds I had in a small bag hidden behind my toilet. Her heart is just a small balloon. It's red at least. I prayed to God. I asked him to make her real. He did. Thing is, I made her too much like you. She took off and slashed my tires so I couldn't follow her.

Xanthine Warship

Right. I am thinking, nay demanding, that after the Army and after baseball-o-rama, that I will adopt a child. It will be great. No wife, just a kid to teach and raise to not be a douche bag. I think I'd make a good dad. I think I'd be a shitty husband. I think a good thing to do the night before you are married is to get a tattoo. I think a good tattoo to get would be a knife on your stomach. Then you can have it say, "I'll love you with my heart, I'll love you with my life, I'll love you with my soul, I'll love you with this knife. Leave me and I'll fucking kill you bitch."
What you don't realize is that I am writing this in the future. I have traveled into the future to write this to bring it back to the past to enlighten you. But at the present, you are reading shit I wrote in the future, traveled there from the past and posted it in the present. It's a simple equation: the past plus the future divided by the present times the square root of genius equals the best blog ever.
The best part of my day is taking my boots off.
You know what I need in my life? MILF's. A fuck-ton of them. I need one to live across from me. I need one in my car. I need one in my bed. I need on in the bathroom. I don't think I have made this clear: I love MILF's.
There was a time when the shit I knew wasn't so important. There was a time when the biggest worry in my life was my laundry. There was a time when I looked forward to the weekend. I love it how it sucks here.
I still can't hear or say the word, "homeowner" without laughing.
I think a kick ass name for a kid is, "Agent." That’s badass. I wish my name were Agent. If my name was Agent there is no way I’d ever be affected adversely by the Y2K bug, because that fucker is coming back.
I imagine that when it is all said and done, my life will be as small as your mind. My actions will be as violent as your sex life. My thoughts will be as pure as you raise your daughter to be. My hands will be as battered as your wife. My skin will be as rough as your opinions. My heart will be as open as your politics. My bones will be as brittle as your record collection. My love will be as fierce as your concealment of your homosexuality. My soul will be as worn as your talking points. I will die with a smile and you will die with anger. I will die with a can of Murphy's in my hand. You will die grasping to straws. I will die with tobacco in my lip. You will die spewing shit. I will live to bow and scrape and serve. You will live to disdain my life. We will both die having changed nothing. I will come back to watch her and wish I could have been better. You will laugh because of my desire to protect her. I will have one moment in eternity when I can protect her. You will be too busy scoffing at my patience.

Zoo Of Ages

Right. What if I take this whole bottle of aspirin? I've got issues man. I'm like a newsstand. I'm like the guy at the airport with more luggage than is allowed. I have a lot of baggage.
What if I told you SERE started next week and thus I would be gone for three weeks? I'll get beat up man. I'll be starved and I will live in a coffin. That coffin will be filled with my own shit and piss and the piss of others. Because they stack the coffins you see. The coffins aren't made real well, so they leak.
What if I told you I was a jerk? I got no time for your shit man. I am in it only for me. I am a hard and ruthless bastard. I don't care for you or your views.
What if I told you that one day, the rapists of the innocent with unveil? I got the scoop man. People who believe in the illuminati, conspiracies, secrets of the ages and suppression of "facts," I have little to talk about with. Likewise, if you don't believe that Elf's are trying to find the hidden crystal in the tunnels beneath a certain mountain in order to power their time machines so that they can travel back and steal the gold and Spanish dubloons you have hidden in your sock drawer to buy the White House so that the mongoose can be legalized in the United States, well, I have little to talk to you about also.
I want a girl with eyes as green as the ocean and hair as red as the fires of hell. I want a girl with an ass that bounces off me and legs that squeeze me. I want a girl with teeth as white as the whites of her eyes and fingernails that scratch only me. I want a girl who knows how to throw a punch and balance our finances. I want a girl who drinks Guinness with me and will run with me while we are hung over. I want a girl to make me bleed and then take my mom out for tea. I want a girl who will paint the walls with me and make me learn ballroom dancing. I want a girl with a job and it would be a bonus if she didn't fuck her coworkers and/or clients. I want a girl who only desires me but masturbates to Detective Sippowitz. I want a girl who buys me a dog and trains it herself so I can enjoy some "me" time. I would settle for an Aquafina though.

California Sun

Right. Genius just struck. Genius slapped me with its cock and sprayed its intelligence all over my face and I lapped it up like a crack victim. This is seriously the best idea ever. I am making you privy to it because you need to partake.
I am done with the army in spring of 2008. May. What will follow is genius. It is a 3-6-man/woman operation. So I need some help here people. I only know 2 people and I know one won't want to do it.
One man needs to buy a van. I don’t care what kind of van. The uglier the better. One person needs to bring entertainment. That person will need to stock up on the jokes, stories, hooker money and ice. One person will need to bring the suave talking. We may need him to get us in/out of trouble. I will bring a map I started working on 12 minutes ago. We all need to bring cash money or an ATM card. More people are welcome but their jobs will mainly be to find me dumb women to serve their country on a war hardened man.
I digress, so here is what we do. We get into the van. We commence the shucking and we get to the jiving. We travel. "Where to Yoss," you will ask. "Shut the fuck up and drive," I will reply. Anywho, after I have my anger out my system, we hit every major league ball park and watch a game. That’s fucking right.
I want to see PETCO Park. I want to hang out by the pool where the Diamondbacks play. I want to get drunk as hell with no throwing up at an Oakland game. I will do all of them, in two action-packed filled months. You will accompany me. We will have fun.
Here is what I need you to do. I need you to get in touch with unkind, because upon reading this, his job is to draft up a legally binding contract, which you will sign. All this contract says is that you are down to ride. You don't need to read it. Just sign the fucker. Then after unkind has collected your lawfully binding agreements, you need to get in contact with cocaine. He will administer physicals to determine how fit you are to travel across the greatest nation on the planet. If you are female, the video camera is simply to verify no ill shit went down. It is NOT there for me to use as masturbatory inspiration.
Who is down? Speak now. Slots are filling up fast, and if you are female and attractive, slots will fill up fast if you catch my drift.

Use Less

Right. People come up to me all the time and ask, "What's up." My response is usually, "I'm just trying to keep the chains moving." That pretty much sums it up. Life is a grind and not in the uber-sex, MTV, attractive Brazilian rubbing on your shit sense of the word. No just the regular grind. Not like the sandwich either, unless you work in a deli.
I have it all broken down into a simple mathematical formula for you to ponder. Cannibalism times Apocalypse Squared minus Guilt divided by People equals Hot Dog Junction. When you understand that you will understand that time is meaningless. The only measurable aspect of time is this current moment. In this current moment we will continue to try until we get it right. When that is realized, you will know that it is all electric.
That is a lot to grasp, but I am sure you aren't having any problems.
I was going to describe my weekend, as it was a four-day and I had all of these plans on how to spend it. I am off tomorrow, so I still have one more night, Phil Collins style. But I just can't express it, because it's lost on you and in the translation and everywhere from here to Couldabeenville. I didn't take the damn class. Allow me to enlighten. There are very proud moments in life. For instance, if you were to go to a club and you were to go about your business and some fine young woman walks over and introduces herself to you. This and that and yadda and the blah. Next thing you know you are brushing her pubic hair out of your teeth and your cell phone is ringing and you say, "That's how I roll." See pride.
Then there are other times. When your big plan for the long weekend is to hang out in your feety pajamas, eating soup and cereal and playing Shadow Hearts 3. People ask why and you say, "That's how I roll." Not so much pride. It's the same sentence with the same meaning but completely different volume and pride levels. One would read, "That's how I roll." The other would read, "That's how i roll." See the difference? Guess which one was my weekend.
I would like to push the limits of negative space until you realize that squirrels are responsible for 70% of all deaths. I don't know what any of this means.
It looks like my advice column is dead. That was the last of the emails I received. Thus, Yossarian gives advice no more.

Force Hydration

YO YOss

I knEeD TO now hoW tOo Git wiT dIs NoicE LoOKIng grrrrl from claSS ShE iz tHe sHizznit anD I wANt Her badD sHe SO fINe n I jusS WonNA Beet it UP How Can I LET hER no How I FEel aND leTtiN heR nO I ain’t a HateR oR a PLayA i aM SeriUs aBoUT this GrrRL WaT a GUd wAy tWo LEt da WoMAn no

TyMe

Dear Slappy McPherson,

I once fell in love in English class too.
My calendar is far superior to yours. My methods of calculating time are far superior to yours in every way. So if you think about it, I am on time in ways you will never comprehend. What does this have to do with your question? Nothing. I simply thought you ought to know.
Well then, about your query. It's a simple equation. Hookers times loneliness divided by organ grinders equals monkey hearts. New monkey heart plus hookers equals hooker monkeys. What the fuck am I talking about? I'm just making sense.
It must be embarrassing if you were to have to take your tapeworm to court because it was delinquent on paying you rent. I wonder what would be more embarrassing than that. Using the Internet to date maybe, or maybe carving a statue of a man out of soap and sleeping with it. That would be terribly traumatic. I am the man and the sooner you get that through your head the better.
I think if I were to come up with a movie idea it would involve really hot women desiring me in ways I would desire their respective mothers.
I can't believe this is the last letter I have asking for advice.

Yossarian

Don't Make Me Act The Mother Fucking Fool

Right. The jerkoff in my office is all, "Hey LT. You want in on this NCAA tournament sir? Do you gamble sir?" "Do I gamble?" Have you met me? I'm throwing twenties on the cockroach races in the barracks. I put odds on which coffee maker will brew the fastest. Do I gamble? Putz. I throw down on the NFL draft people. There isn't anything I won't bet on.
Suffice it to say, I now have 12 brackets in the pool. Hooah.
There are many things you can do with your time, yet you come here. I will list a few things you ought to do instead of reading this garbage.
10 – Sending me cash money
9 – Watching videos at www.youtube.com
8 – Fucking
7 – The wanton slaughter of millions of innocents
6 – Learning Arabic
5 – Planning on eating cereal
4 – Running
3 – Stealing shit delivered to your neighbor
2 – Growing some type of vegetation, preferably flowers
1 – Getting over yourself if needed

I realized I am fucked up in the head. I love my job. It sucks. I work crazy hours. I bust my ass. I run. I shoot. I blow shit up. I listen to shit blow up all day. I volunteered during a time of war. I demanded to be sent to a unit going to war. I bleed. I sweat. I am going to live in a box for 3 weeks. I love this shit.
Today at my job I found out that I was going to get screwed out of a day off. I did what I do, I screamed, "Cocksucker." Can you do that at your job?
Today at my job some private was being disrespectful toward me. This guy got drunk last weekend, got his ass beat and now has a broken nose and about 37 1/2 black eyes. So here is what I did, I locked him up and I made him push for about an hour while I did the necessary paperwork to demote him in rank and take half his paycheck from him for three months. Can you do that at your job?
I was trying to get out of this event we have Thursday night. I explained I couldn't go because I have a date. My commander said for me to bring her and I said negative because she doesn’t know I am in the Army and she is anti-army. He started to give me some honesty speech when I said that I wasn't trying to marry the girl. He said, "True. Fuck her commie brains out." I said, "Roger." Can you do that at your job?
I am headed to places they call sacred. I am heading to cradles of civilizations. I love this shit. I have a laser-guided .50 caliber mounted machine gun. I have a Stryker. I roll at 80 miles an hour and search to destroy. I love this shit. I am fucked up in the head. I think, and this is just an idea I am kicking around in my head, but I think I might do this until it is no longer fun.

I Don't Listen To Either Of You

Right. What do you call a mailman who lost his job? Just some dude.
I wish you would fucking take me serious before I have to fucking cut you.
The guy who invented the apple fritter is the Michael Jordan of Thomas Edisons.
I wish I knew where the hookers did their laundry. I would totally frequent that establishment. Hoes need to wash their clothes. I can lend a hand. I am crafty when it comes to separating colors and the like.
I hope that one day, all of my works will be regarded as the highest works of genius ever accomplished by man. I mean all of my works. Sooner or later they will like the way I worked it.
I want to fuck. I want to take everything I learned at Sea World and apply it to fucking the ever-loving piss out of some unsuspecting woman. That'd be great.
I would like to share a story from my past. This is a funny story with no real moral, but it is entertaining. The names in this story have not been changed to protect those who are stupid.
I used to hang out with this guy Nate. Nate was, and I assume still is, a moron. I went to his house one evening to pick him up for the night. I picked him up because that was the standard operating procedure, as he never drove. Anyway, he was running late as usual and our friend Klump showed up. Klump came in looking terribly vexed. Klump informed us that his friends' dad had lost his job. He was a mailman and landed another job with a parcel service out of Virginia.
This sucked because it meant that Ben would be moving to Nor Folk Virginia. Klump said that the parcel service delivered anywhere in the U.S. overnight by train. The name of the service is, "Nor Folk-N-Way."
Fucking funny right?
Not to Nate. No, Nate decided it was cause for debate as he had just watched a show on trains and it was impossible for even the world's fastest train to accomplish this task. Duh. At first I thought it was all funny. However, Nate had a way of turning the funny into annoying as fuck. He argued with us for an hour in his kitchen. Every point he tries to make was responded with, "Yeah man. Nor Folk-N-Way." Then he would proceed to his next talking point of idiocy.
He argued with us for a half hour in my car, to which we responded with the above reply. Next we arrived at Denny's and Klump told the story to about 15 people. All of whom laughed and we all had a good time, sans Nate. For the most depressing three-hour block of my life, I watched a man argue vehemently about the impossibility of a train moving cross-country in one night. He broke it down on average stops, time of stops and everything under the sun. He even mentioned likely routes and sub-delivery to smaller areas.
His last point was that this man would soon be out of a job when the company was sure to be sued for false advertising. It was about this time when 15 people, in unison, dropped coffee spoons on the table withdrew inhaling cigarettes and said, "No shit. Nor Folk-N-Way. It's a fucking joke dumbass. Get it? 'No fucking way.' Get it?"
That was when Nate got the joke, realized he was wrong and responded with, "Yeah, but you have to admit I'm right about it being impossible."
Daft prat.

Visit Me At WWW.WEIRDNUMBER70.BLOGSPOT.COM

Right. Ahhh the World Baseball Classic. I recall my youth: I must have been 7, when my dad and I watched Cuba lose to Venezuela. That was when he explained Communism to me. And who can forget the 1987 classic between Japan and Canada? The memories are the fondest of my life.
To save Tracy the trouble...the World Baseball Classic is new and is in its first year of operation. This is the worst spring training ever and I hope it never happens again. This is as wrong as two boys fucking.
Tomorrow I will awake and I will run and I will brief the USR to the SCO. This will be the last time ever. I got some NCO to do it and I never have to do it again. This is the best thing to happen to me in the history of my life. All drinks are on me. This is cause for celebration. This is cause to slaughter five thousand bulls in its honor.
There is this woman, I believe her name is Amy, and she has my cholesterol high as fuck. She works at this steakhouse and she is a bombshell. I eat steak two times a week just so she can say, "Baseball steak rare?" I say, "Yes. Thank you ma'am." Then I eat it and I watch her bring food to other people and I desire to eat the steak off her flesh. I drink my beer and I think to myself that soon I will go to war and I will never be the same. She wouldn't like me now and I doubt she will like me upon mission completion. I will be different and I will never have the story of drinking the sweat from the small of her back.
I will kill. I will destroy. I will have the blood of a wanton slaughter of children on my hands. I will never know what it is like to watch her orgasm and roll her head to the side as her back thrusts upward and her feet tremble.
She will never see the man I long to be and she will never she the woman she is through my eyes. Nothing realized. Nothing shared. Nothing lost. I wouldn't have it any other way,
There is so much inside wanting to escape. It desires to be let loose on the world. To make its mark on eternity and crash its way into the future. There is so much stifled by parameters established by rules of the ancestors. The ancestors were unable to change and incapable of coming up with this shit on their own. What was once collaborative is now solitary. What was once magic is now science. What was once science is now voodoo. What was once voodoo is now hoped for. What was once hoped for is now mine to bring to fruition. And I will leave when I want.
You have stopped reading and are now skimming. You have decided what you will think and you are scrolling to the end as if I am watching and it is a sin not to read it all. You want to make it look like you are reading it all. You will never. You have determined there is nothing special about this. There is nothing to make you gasp. There is nothing to offer ballast. There is just what I construct. What I construct are shitty apartments in the ghetto. I have fooled you into thinking I construct high rises in the desirable area. You are slumming without knowing it.
I want to look at your face. I want the look of confusion on your face as I smile awkwardly and look at the ground and say something simplistically profound. I want to bring you to tears while I smile and wish I hadn't done it. I want to stop the uncomfortable silence with a kiss and wish I hadn't done it. I want to hold you the way I know how and the way you wish he had. I want to hear you say something about perfect and angels and wish I hadn't. I will never live up to the first moment of the night, and you will never live up to the idea of you in my head. I wish you had and I wish I hadn't.

Little Baby Ducks

Dear Yossarian,

I am trying to organize a protest against aspects of the current Wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I want to protest against the wanton killing of innocent and civilian men, women, and children. I also want to incorporate the treatment of detainees and hostages. I would like any information you can give me to help my protest.

Tom

Dear Lady,

If I were to take a multiple choice test and one of the questions was: Who has more Academy Awards than Martin Scorsese? A. Burt Reynolds B. 3-6 Mafia C. The Person Who Sent This Question D. None of the above. I would be torn. Sadly, the answer is B. However, if I had my druthers the answer would be A. I would get this question wrong because I would answer with C, because you are amazing at acting like a little bitch.
Do I sit down in your office and tell you how to fill my cavity? Have I waltzed into your CPA meeting and explained how to do my taxes? The answer to both of those questions is no. Maybe you work in a place where the customer tells you how he/she wants it. I am thinking Burger King.
But it's right there on the sign at Burger King. "Have it your way." Nowhere have I ever read, "The Army will fight and win the Nations wars in accordance with the views of some bitch." Except for just now, but that is only because I wrote it.
But let's get down to the issue. Specifically, the "wanton killing of innocents...and treatment of hostages." We could get into the whole, "who is really innocent" thing, but I don't want to. I am a scout. This means that before anyone knows where the enemy is, I do. I find them and if I am capable, I kill them. I search for the enemy. I go through an offensive amount of training on how not to wax the innocent. I know my job. I will do my job very soon. I look forward to doing my job.
You seem to have issues with the war. I dig it the most. You have every right to hate it. You have every right to protest it. You have every right to do whatever you want. I don't give a shit. I have friends, unkind friends, against my job. I respect it. I know he can separate the "sin" from the "sinner." I know that he knows that at the end of the day, I'm still Yoss and if needed, I'd be home in a few hours. Right now I do what I do. And what I do is like everything else, temporary.
You seem to think that I am inherently evil. I am okay with that. You think what you want. You want to protest aspects of the war. Moron. Protest the war. That's what you ought to have the issue with, and I would not agree with you, but I would not stand in your way. Would you have protested the treatment of slaves or the actual law allowing slavery?
You will think what you want and I can't change that. I am happy you have an opinion. But I disagree with you and nothing out there says I must agree with you. I only ask that you know that all units serving in theater undergo extensive training to discern the enemy from civilian. We, even I, undergo extensive training on how to treat detainees. We do not take hostages. Some people fail. We are human. Think about how many people at your job spit on my burger.

Thank you for your email lady,

Yossarian

March Is Full Of Madness

Right. I found it the other day. It was hiding in the dryer. It would come out when I slept and sprinkle suck-dust over my body. I would inhale the suck-dust and it got inside me. It entered my blood stream. That little fucker is the sole reason for the suck of my life. I fed it its own heart while I kept its blood pumping using an advanced dialysis machine. It liked the taste of its raw heart. But then again, it liked to ruin my life too.
I have been fucking busy. Slag off.
We need to have lunch sometime. Hopefully this lunch involves more boning strippers than actual food. You make the arrangements. I'll bring the Oxy-Clean.
You know what rules about being in the Army? Rampant swear words. Sweet merciful crap I curse a lot. I like to think it makes me a better person.
Someone out there hear my request. I want a stuffed Moose head. Taxidermy rules. Especially when it involves giant Moose heads. Moose.
One day, when kingdoms have fallen and people have risen and the victory is celebrated as we forget the lessons. Larry will be hiding around the corner, and Larry will raise the kingdom again.
You will invent the device to set me free. However, once free I will enslave you, because, well, I never liked you very much. I don't feel bad about it and I'm not sorry.
Hear me know and videotape me later. If I ever fuck Beyonce - I will donkey punch her. She'll need someone to check up on that.
If my muscles were as big as my brains, I'd have to fuck them up too.

Say Intro

Right. Training. Good Army training. I’ll be gone soon for a period of about 3 weeks. Where will Yossarian go? What will Yossarian do? Why must Yossarian live in a shit-filled box for an extended period of time? Who does Yossarian think he is? When will Yossarian learn? Is Yossarian going on Fear Factor?
I am going to SERE. It is 3 weeks long. I do not know when I leave but it will be soon.
I went out on the town last night with some fellas from work. We went to beautiful downtown Tacoma. I will not be going out in Tacoma any more. Why? I don't wait in lines to drink. I don't wait in lines to get into an establishment. I don't pay cover charges. I don't shake rumps with retards. Lasers bother me and smoke machines smell funny. I watched this woman strip all of her clothes off. It was the first time in my life I wish I hadn't seen a naked woman. She was big in the community, if you know what I'm saying.
I am at a stage in my life where I no longer want to associate myself with a train wreck. I am of the belief that while it may very well be fashionable to be a train wreck, it sucks and I want nothing to do with one. I met this girl last night and she seemed decent enough. Then...well...then she decided it would be a good idea to inform me that her father used to rape her. It's cool though because she is cool with it. She doesn't let it affect her anymore. Clearly. That's why you’re grabbing at my cock and I just met you. That's why when you found out I had a job, car and an education you asked me if I'd like to have a threesome. You're clearly over it.
My friends all think I'm damn near stupid for not RSVPing to the offer. But I ain't even trying to get involved with y'all. You want to be a train wreck, go be one away from me. I've worked too hard to live amongst trash.
God. Send me to war. Send me to the Middle East and let me get shot at. Send me to where the roadsides have bombs and the cigarettes have CS. Send me to 20-hour days and the cacophony of war. Send me to what makes sense. Send me to protect the right to date rape. Send me to protect the freedom to whore our daughters out. Send me to preserve to way of the sadist. I'll go. Because it'll all be okay. Paths can be changed. You can learn to swim when you begin to drown.
War. Where will you send me? How is it different than where I am? Should I live in trenches or the fist of the beast? Should I fear poisoned atmosphere disease or have a gas mask to keep me from breathing my death? In both places, it's American soil I want to stand on. My duty will never compare to the battles, wars and triumphs my ancestors had over the years. Here, loneliness strikes like an enemy shell. I want to return to a coast so very far away.

A Murderer Is Less To Fear

Yossarian,

My wife is pregnant. I want to know how to be a supporting husband and help her through this process.

Johnny

Johnny,

What are you blathering about? Your work is pretty much done. There is little more you can do. You must have missed 6th grade family class when everything was explained. Allow me to enlighten.
You knock up a girl and cells divide. The baby grows and when the lungs are fully formed, it goes for a slide down the little chute and comes out. It's just that easy.
The baby will come out when the baby wants to. You can't force it out. No one backs baby into a corner. Baby does what baby wants.
Now then, your wife will go crazy. She will cry, eat a lot, have issues and get huge. All of this provides laughter for everyone involved, because hey, life is funny. She might not say she likes you laughing at her when she eats pickles and drinks lime soda and drinks milk and eats tomato sauce for a meal. But trust me, she secretly appreciates you keeping the mood light. She might get mad and threaten divorce. Well hell, that's ideal. That way you no longer have to lie to her and tell her she is still pretty when she is fat and nasty.
Let's be honnest. The "glowing beauty" of a pregnant woman...doesn't exist. No it's more like "growing not so beauty." Because she will grow and it will be gross for all involved.
The only thing you can make this easier for her is to be decent. Be a dad and teach the kid not to be a douche bag. Be a husband and laugh at your wife. Devote yourself to her, but laugh at her. Because trust me, before this pregnancy and after, when she is with her friends, she is laughing at you.
That's my opinion. It's one man's opinion, if you don't like it, then you're crazy.

Just Wait Until Tomorrow

Right. I hate, I say again, I hate it when I hear people bitch about their lives. Everyone does it. I am guilty of it. But I love me. I also know my love for being miserable. Before you start to bitch about your life the next time you have a bad day, reread this. This was my 2006MAR01.
0300 – Phone rings. It turns out there is an alert and I have 45 minutes to be on post with all my gear.
0302 – I wonder if I can go and perform while hung over worse than I have ever been.
0303 – My shaking hand reaches for the bottle and I finish last night’s Macallen's Scotch.
0306 – As I finish the bottle, I decide to give it the old college try. This is funny because I didn’t try very hard in college. But I was hung over. Give me a break.
0316 – Dressed, shaved and groomed I hop in my car and hit the highway. I think to myself, "I never planned on keeping the name Yossarian on my blog, but I enjoy being called 'Yoss,' so I will never reveal my real name."
0338 – Arrive at Squadron and wonder where the fuck everyone is.
0340 – Find out it's another PL/PSG Challenge. Great. If it’s like the last one - I will die.
0345 – Weapons draw. Sweet we are going to shoot, nothing easier than that. The weapon does the majority of the work.
0400 – Enter Squadron classroom for briefing of the plan of operations and a class on leadership.
0530 – Hit the bus for a trip to the pool.
0600 – Swim two miles with my uniform, gear and weapon. This means I have my assault pack, flack jacket, helmet, boots and LBV on. I also had to keep the weapon above water at all times. Then we jumped off a 10 meter platform with all our shit and then we learned how to turn our pants into a flotation device. This would have been helpful during the actual swim.
0800 – Changed into a dry uniform and back on the bus we head to a LRC.
0830 – LRC. This is an obstacle course type deal. Only the obstacles are about one click away from one another. Also the obstacles require building shit and making it across the obstacle without touching imaginary mines. Also you have to carry logs and 55-gallon drums and your equipment across the obstacle.
1100 – Bus ride to a bayonet assault course.
1130 - The bayonet assault course is a quarter-mile sprint, in full gear, overcoming obstacles and stabbing random targets with your bayonet. We ran this five times. I ask you this: What is the spirit of the bayonet? To kill, kill, kill with cold blue steel. I gave you the answer.
1400 – We wave goodbye to the bus and begin to run. We ran 3 1/2 miles in boots, with gear, weapons and through mud, in the rain. It was also mostly uphill. Granted we ran SLOW. But We started out and ran the first quarter-mile in about 1 1/2 minutes. That's fast. Then things slowed down considerably.
1500 – Squadron formation. Then we pissed and headed up into the classroom.
1525 – We received a mission assessment and had to develop a course of action. This was the WORST mission assessment ever. But hey you have to go it; you have 45 minutes. Go.
1610 – Brief the Squadron Commander our plan. Discuss. Pontificate.
1725 – Promotion and awards formation.
1725 – Review of the day and sit-down with the CSM and SCO. (Command Sergeant Major and Squadron Commander.)
1800 – Release.
1810 – Hit my troop and turn in weapons and sensitive items.
1820 – Drive home and get stuck behind every moron unaware that when needed to slow down slightly, your car will do perform this function on its own, simply take your foot off the gas. A car will gradually stop if you fail to give it gas. It's called inertia. Maybe not. Don't quote me on that. Actually do. Say it with confidence and people will believe you, unless you say it to someone in the know. I can't help you out then. Goat head and feel free to tell them you know it's true because this guy with a Master's Degree, who joined the Army and who writes a blog about women he desires said so. You will look dumber by the second.
1840 – Arrive home and shower.
1900 – Begin to write this and look for a picture, and realize that this has been my favorite day I have had in the Army.