Monday, December 15, 2008

Cyrus makes his triumphant return....?

G.I Joe Logo Pictures, Images and Photos

Sometimes I forget about the suck of active duty, and then inevitably I'm reminded again of why I became a Reservist. This new chief (who just got here) came over to me today to fix the mistakes made on my LT's information paper. I didn't have the soft copy of the file because my LT forgot to send it to me. The chief gives me a speech on how important it is to maintain continuity by using shared drives. 1SG heard him and said, "LT emailed it to me, I'll just email it to SGT Simmons so he can make corrections." This was not sufficient, and he thought it necessary to pursue the issue further. "This will require the SMG's involvement" he undoubtedly thought to himself. "SMG, if this is a CACE-wide issue, then it needs to be addressed immediately. We can't have people just emailing each other all the
time! As he continued to rant I couldn't help but think that the unnatural progression of such a non-issue is such an Army cliche. The chief's rant faded to background noise as the SMG's expression turned to one of serious consideration. "Shoot me" I thought, "right in the fucking face so I see it coming. What the hell is wrong with these people?" I wondered. On many different occasions in the past and while on active duty, I have asked myself the very same question and to date the answer still eludes me. I'ts getting to the point I am beginning to wonder what the hell I'm doing here. At home is my motorcycle, my woman, steak, beer, and fishing. These are the things that matter to me, not some irrational chief and a SMG whose duty it is to address the pettiest issues en force. To top it all off there's a civilian sitting beside me doing the same job who is more or less immune to ridiculous military issues and makes $200,000 a year. Shit.

Yes, the military has it's shittly little idiosyncrasies as illustrated in the above rant. But...uh....well, no but. Here's a slice!

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Forced to take Anthrax Vaccine

Today I finally went to the Doc to see about my neck. I hurt it doing mixed martial arts about a week ago, and I've had headaches and muscle spasms and stiffness ever since. Doc put me on muscle relaxers and then told me I had to get your third anthrax shot. I said, "Sure, but what kind of weird concoction do I get to inject you with?" He just kinda looked at me funny. I said, "Na- I think I'm good on the anthrax, Doc." "What do you mean?" "I'd rather not take it." That's all it took, and he blew up. "You don't have a choice in the matter! Army policy says that blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah. Blah blah." Any time people start a sentence with "Army policy..." I quit listening immediately. Not only that, but his tone was all wrong. There's a certain way to talk to me, and he was nowhere close. I don't give a shit if he's a doc or a fucking brain surgeon or a goddamn astronaut that does medical experimentation in his spare time, with that "you're gonna do what I say" attitude, combined with the proposition that he gets to stick me with a needle full of some kinda experimental and unnecessary vaccine just doesn't fly with me. I'm not having it. He continued his rant, so I decided I should really piss him off. "Well the last doc I spoke to told me two shots is all you get and you're done. I trust his medical opinion." "Oh no! You get more than two. Not two- six! That's how it's always been!" "Well, the other doc is a lot older, so I'm kinda leaning towards his opinion. Plus, I've got a good immune system, and there's never been an Anthrax attack in Iraq. So you can save the shot for someone that wants it." "You don't have a choice! It will be an Article 15 if you don't take it!" "If it comes to that, I'll deal with the repercussions. What's the worst they can do- send me to war?" "You're not leaving this office without the shot." "Bye sir." He was furious. Within a matter of minutes he had contacted my commander. My first sergeant got the email and came over to ask me about it. After much deliberation and the threat of a dishonorable discharge, I capitulated. But not without informing him that I couldn't let myself take the shot willingly. This was not my finest hour, by any means. Back in the day I would have told all of them to fuck off and stuck to my guns. When I went back upstairs to the medical clinic I asked the doc for his first name. He asked me why and I told him so I know who to blame when five years from now I've got retarded, disfigured children. I said when I left, "Glad to be part of your science experiment." Asshole. Just a side note...I tried to look up the name of the manufacturer of the vaccine and couldn't find the company name associated with anthrax on any of 10 searches I did.


Monday, September 22, 2008

Lamenting Goodbye

Yet again appears blood on the horizon

And bullets still rain in Hell's storm.

Lamenting goodbye's loom in still air,

Yet unspoken, as are the words, "I've got to go"

So many sad words remain unsaid,

Floating through my minds' misty haze

And once again I face the grim prospect

Of facing death in the arid sands of Arabia

Sunday, September 21, 2008

For Reasons Obscure


On the horizon appear the tides of war
Bullets rain down like hell
Soon the lament of goodbye's will begin to play
On loved one's heart chords chime bittersweet notes
These private things, hereto left unsaid,
For once will rush from the tips of tongues
Off to fight in the arid desert sands
For reasons, obscure, my life is risked

Bronze Star for a Hero

There was a promotion and awards ceremony today held at the palace. The ceremony was held on the rear balcony overlooking the largest stretch of Victory Lake. Clear skies and cool winds prevailed. The thirty or so of us on the balcony chatted and joked as we waited for the ceremony to begin. As I sipped my black coffee and spoke to one of the more down to earth and sociable lieutenants, a warrant officer of ours climbed up onto a large carpet-covered box overlooking the balcony. Chief Myler grabbed a club and a golf ball and settled into his stance. A practice swing or two for warm up, then he smacked it with his four wood. One of the younger officers yelled "Good swing" as the ball sliced over the road below and landed in the drink. As he aligned his club to another ball, I continued sipping my coffee and chatting about how lucky we were to have gotten such a good assignment. A palace, a driving range, quick satellite internet access, and to top it off it's Friday, which means it's steak and shrimp and scallops with a side of crab legs for dinner. We've got it way too good here.

Quite a few of my associates think I'm nuts for making arrangements to get outside of the wire and amongst the fighting. I'm convinced though, we should pay our dues to earn the privileges we have. Some soldiers outside the wire are sweating their asses off and getting shot at every day while others are whacking golf balls, among other things, and enjoying an elevated view of Baghdad. Let me be clear, I enjoy the luxuries as much as the next guy; one day it will be cool to tell my kids about working in Saddam's palace, but I would also like to be able to tell them about surviving an ambush or shooting an insurgent , or even just being shot at. Maybe I'm a fool for thinking these things, but at least if I am successful in getting outside the wire no one will be able to say I didn't pay my dues. There is an uncle of mine who is a Four-Star Armchair General who I would like to make sure knows that even though "The fighting's almost over now," I'm still willing to take a shot at mane e mano combat. By the way, it's not as far over as Fox and Friends might report, and you and your sons weren't too old to sign up in 2003.
The remaining coffee in my cup was getting cold, and lord knows the only reason it's even slightly palatable is if it's hot enough to burn the tastebuds senseless. As the commander called everyone over I slugged down the last of my Valvoline 10W 40 coffee, subsequently making an involuntary whiskey face. The commander informed us we were there to promote a Specialist to Sergeant and to give an award to a soldier who saved another soldier's life by saving that soldier from a fire. Impressive. I work with the guy and never realized he had saved another soldiers' life, much less the life of a soldier while in a combat zone. Just yesterday a Lieutenant Colonel was awarded a bronze star for her work here at the palace. I wondered what type of award Specialist Boef would receive for his notable actions. The other specialist got his stripes pinned on, and I thought about how I had once gotten mine. Then it was time for the award to be given. Specialist Boef stood tall and everyone was called to attention. As the commander read the order I imagined the soldier he saved asleep in his bunk as flames were burning around him. I thought about how that soldier could have died if Spc Boef hadn't banged on the door until he woke up. A tinge of pride filled my chest when I remembered that I, too, had once beat on a door to wake up a family in a burning house. I remembered my uncle, who was a fireman, showing up at the scene; it was the same uncle who couldn't resist the dig about the fighting being over in Iraq. The only part I heard of what the commander said is when he said Spc Boef was awarded an Army Achievement Medal. For those who don't know, that is the lowest medal you can get.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Ever wonder how we come up with blog ideas?

Cyrus: Did i tell you there are serial butt-rapists running around here?
True story
People get butt raped constantly here

Chuck B: why the FUCK are you not blogging this?

Cyrus: people are carrying alarms...they passed them out today

Chuck B: they rape the men-folk?

Cyrus: yep
i laughed when i first heard it....

Chuck B: me too
still laughing
who rapes them?
other soldiers?

Cyrus: they looked at me all army-like and said "I'm dead serious."

Chuck B
: Iraqis?

Cyrus: no- joes

Chuck B: write a blurb about that
c'mon man
you're missing out on GOLD!

Cyrus: i tell my soldiers in a serious tone...we couldn't find you...we didn't know where you were so we thought you might have gotten serial butt-raped. You didn’t get butt-raped, did you? You would tell me though, right?

Cyrus: In all seriousness...THIS is the type of story that you'll ONLY here from a guy on the ground

Chuck: haha

Cyrus: let me get it together here, and I'll send it to you to post.

Chuck B: we just had a breakthrough, I think
this type of thing is GREAT
and it'd take a lot of pressure
off of you having to come up with your flowery shit

Cyrus: what the hell do you mean, "flowery shit"?????

Chuck B: Hm?

Cyrus: we joke about butt-rape every day

Chuck B: it's a great subject
nothing butt humor

From the WTF files!

A few days ago, we captured a high-level member of the insurgency. When we searched his place we found some of his personal effects, including some hand written papers. One of the papers was a list of things he needed to do and needed to buy.....

-fix the satellite,

-change the generator oil,


-buy "cowboy pants"

Cowboy pants? I'm about as American as it comes and I have NO IDEA what "cowboy pants" are. And why is it so important that this wild-eyed jihadist has "cowboy pants" in the first place?