I Doubt Even The Germans Understand Each Other

Right. King Solomon never lived around here and Elton John never wrote a song about this place. The clouds in your eyes was really just milk in your coffee.
Because the things I do not share on with the blogosphere are many and the things I do share are pansy, I will placate cocaine.
So I walk into some bar on some street in some town and not one of those names are pronounceable by even the most eloquent. I am in my uniform because I am supposed to be looking for soldiers too drunk to drive and give them a ride home and keep American soldiers from bashing German kids to death. All in all I am real happy my Friday night gets fucked because Joe is does stupid shit.
Oh yeah, it's Friday and that means I am wearing my Stetson and spurs. See, in the Cav, we wear this goofy shit on Friday to demonstrate we are dumb. I thought the mere fact grown ass men with educations and morals are still in the Army illustrates that we are in fact dumb, but we need funny hats and spurs to further drive it home to the peeps. Fucking Cav. I call it the funny farm because it is so stupid.
Anywho, I got my gear all on and I walk into this bar and I am repulsed by the smoke. The repulsion makes me sad, because I remember how I used to love to smoke so very much.
So I am walking through this joint and I tip my Stetson to this cute girl sitting at the bar and say, "ma'am." I think it's funny because it's all so cowboy and it has no meaning to these German gits. She laughed and asked me to explain the whole hat/spur/funny talking thing, and I did, 14 times until her daft ass understood it.
We are shucking and jiving and all and bright boy Yossarian that I am I ask for her name at the end of the conversation. "Pascha," she says. I ask her to spell it and she does. She spelled it out on a piece of napkin and she wrote 7 different phone numbers I could reach her at on the same bit of napkin and then she shoved that napkin into my pants pocket.
That's when I thought I could hate fuck this Pascha and have her be the subject of my ire and aggression and maybe I might feel better about everything later. But then I thought, I don't know this broad. Why should I punish her with a hurtin' for no reason? Maybe she is a sodding princess for all I know.
Then I realized that I have nothing to hate fuck this woman over. Who cares if the last Pascha I knew tried to stab me? Who cares if she ran meth across the country and never made any money off it? Who cares how many dates she missed, events she forgot or places she never showed up to? Who cares if she was fucked three ways towards the weekend? All in all she is a blip in my life.
She is probably still living with her parents and the only redeeming quality about her is that her sister is the hottest woman ever. And sister lust isn't something a relationship can be built upon and nor is it something hate fucking this broad would end.
I left the bar and went to another one and then went home and drank myself to sleep. I haven't called her and I won't because I don't call anyone. Because I have a anti-social disorder or a fear of abandonment or something. But really, it's just I think I can do better. This Pascha didn't have a job either. I'd like to start violating women who have incomes and ambitions.
Also I am pretty upset that Notre Dame can't beat a ranked team to save their Catholic souls.