Carton of Cigarettes

Have you ever been in a situation that you conceived as completely unbearable? A situation where taking your next breath is an actual task; it takes determined thought to inhale and exhale? The world has collapsed upon on you like a rickety roof, and you have no idea what to do. You want to rip the skin from your body like a superhero in a phone booth. 

This is what it feels like being in the Shit. Soldiers handle it in different ways. Some shoot themselves in the foot hoping for a free ticket home, only to find out that they are not going anywhere, you are needed on the line, can’t lose another gun. Some become hysterical and cry uncontrollably only to have their Kevlar (helmet) knocked off by the butt of a rifle. Some just become very distant as if they have checked out and their actions are being controlled by some sort of a puppet master. You recognize these Grunts immediately; they have the 1,000 yard stare: just dead eyes with no emotion, only reaction. We might be sitting and eating chow and they laugh out of nowhere for no reason, like an inside joke who they are the only one privy to. No one questions his laughter because we all know where he is. He doesn’t look around embarrassed as a result of his uncalled for laughter, because he has reached a place where social etiquette is totally foreign. You can only hope that when it’s all over he can come back to us. But for now it is to everyone’s benefit for him to remain in this state. This is what we signed up for after all.

When you get your gear list to invade another country there are a couple of necessities that are not included on that list: cigarettes, chewing tobacco, and coffee. So what you do is, you leave out an extra pair of socks or skivvies from the list and use that extra space to stuff a carton of Newports and/or a log of chewing tobacco (you need chewing tobacco if you are a smoker because you can’t smoke at night as it will give away your position when the enemy sees a cig cherry glowing like a jack o lantern). So I did both. 

I hit that point that I have been describing shortly after my carton of smokes ran out. I wasn’t in a state of hysteria but I was in a state of despair. In my mind no cigarettes meant the death of me; obviously an irrational reaction, but my reaction none the less. At that point rationality did not exist. We reached an area where we were given permission to remove our Kevlar and our flak jackets for a couple of hours. I ripped off my Kevlar and flak jacket as if it were restricting oxygen from my body and took off sprinting. I hid under a Humvee for a good while and tried to catch my breath.

We got our first mail drop since leaving Kuwait that day. I got a package that contained a carton of cigarettes.

A Night in Iraq

I hear the alarm go off, I instantly awake. Shit this is it. Saddam has actually done it, he has gassed us. I pop up from my hole and rip the gas mask from the carrier that I was just previously using as my pillow; don and clear it, like they taught us during our multiple visits to the gas chamber before deploying to Iraq. I try and gather my bearings as I stumble out of my hole, but the ear piercing sound of the siren makes it hard to focus on anything. To make things worse the lenses of my gas mask are fogged and I can hardly see anything. Who is on radio watch and why haven’t they come to get me yet? It has to be Riley who probably fell asleep. He is only two holes down from me and I start to head that way, when I remember my weapon. Marines must always be at least within one arms distance from their weapon. I turn around and retrieve my M16 from my hole. She has been my sleeping companion for weeks now. As I am doing this I hear a scream from my right. I immediately turn in that direction, I can’t tell who it is because it’s too dark, but whoever it is has not donned their gas mask and they are feeling the full effects of the biological agent that has been unleashed upon us. I run to him, reaching for my cargo pocket to retrieve the syringe kit they gave us before we crossed the LOD (Line of Departure) that is supposed to counteract the effects of a biological attack. As I make my way towards him his screams turn into gurgles, he drops to his knees and his eyes roll back into his head. I come to a defeating halt knowing that he is no longer with us and not wanting to get any closer. All of a sudden I hear screams from every direction and as I look around I realize I am the only one wearing a gas mask. I begin to get dizzy as I survey my dying comrades, and then I feel a slap across my face.

My eyes open and I am in a state of confusion. Doc Richardson is on top of me holding me down. The fog begins to clear and I become fully awake. The reality is I’m about four feet from my hole and I am clutching my gas mask like a life line in my right hand which is at the moment pinned down by this Corpsman. He also has his hand over my mouth. As I stare up at him I realize why he has his hand over my mouth. The screams were coming from me as I ‘slept’ that night. A night I won’t soon forget.

A True War Story

Let me start by saying that this is a very personal story and everything you are about to read actually took place from how I viewed it.

In January of 2003 myself and the 3rd Battalion 5th Marines were deployed to Kuwait. After a couple of months of jerking off we got the order to invade Iraq which we did. For this particular post I would like to speak about one day, although obviously there were many other days, which I may talk about later. For some reason this day popped into my mind recently.

So when we invaded Iraq we did so in Tracks, amphibious assault vehicles that more or less resemble tanks but without the armor, and float on water. Now I was a radio operator attached to line company India, so basically the Company Officer dragged me around by my handset. One day three tracks broke down all at the same time, and we were forced to go it on foot. India Company happened to be lead element for the entire Battalion on this day. As we were hoofin it my CO turns and looks at me and says, “Anderson we have reports of snipers in this area so don’t walk so close to me”. Now if you are not familiar with war, snipers know 2 things: shoot the radio operator and knock out their communication, or they know the person next to the radioman is the man in charge and shoot him. Mind you I am walking with a radio that is equipped with an 8 foot antenna waving in the air yelling shoot me.

I don’t get sniped but we do receive fire from our left. As we are trained we all yell out contact left, drop and return fire. To help you picture in your mind what was happening: there was this long ditch to our left (you know what a ditch looks like right?) and the enemy is was on the opposite side of that ditch, say 300 meters. There was this make shift bridge not too far away that connected to the opposite side of the ditch. The CO grabbed me and we dropped about 3 or 4 feet down the side of the ditch. Then the order was given for everyone to cross that bridge which was under heavy fire. This is going to sound strange but as I watched all of our guys cross that bridge without ANY hesitation whatsoever my eyes literally teared up. Can you believe that shit, in the middle of a firefight I’m crying like a little bitch? I don’t know, it’s hard to explain, but when you witness pure courage it is truly breathtaking. Anyway, the CO thought we were safe but we were not, guys started popping out of sewer holes on either side of the ditch. My CO drew his pistol as did I and we started firing, they turned and fired back. One of our SAW (squad automatic weapon) gunners turned and returned fire while they were shooting at the CO and me. I felt a sharp pain in my right shoulder and dropped my pistol, but that SAW gunner for all intents and purpose mowed some motherfuckers down and probably saved my life. Unfortunately he was hit in the stomach. His fire team carried him to the other side of the ditch where myself and the CO were located. I called for a medevac. The corpsman did what he could to stop the bleeding. He died. The corpsman lost it, just screaming and crying and what not. I had to call off the medevac, but you can’t just say over the radio: so and so died don’t need you anymore. It’s bad for morale. Instead you say ‘the injured Marine is stabilized and the situation is not as urgent as before, over’.

,

I have almost lost all respect for baseball

Here is my problem with baseball aside from the fact that they are not real athletes. If you are leaving third base with a throw coming from the outfield to cut you down; you should be thinking only one thing: I am going to murder this catcher if he even looks at the throw coming from the outfield. You know what scratch that, I wouldn't even care. As soon as I leave third base my only goal is to murder the catcher whether there is a throw on it's way or not; FREAKING Pete Rose style! They are wearing protective equipment for god sake. I'm sick of watching these sissies 'slide' into home plate and kind of half run into the catcher and half reach for home plate. Me, the only thing I'm thinking about when I'm running for home, I don't give a damn about home plate, I not only want to dislodge the ball... I want to dislodge some teeth as well. It is the most exciting play in baseball! We sit through all the other boring shit, the least you could give us is a nice collision at the plate.

Football is turning pussy with all the dumb ass hit rules. "Oh here let me accommodate you Mr. wide receiver coming across the middle, hopefully I can cushion your fall by nibbling on your nut-sack". Bullshit, you play in the goddamn NFL. Ask Steve Atwater or Ronnie Lott or Ed Reid, or John Lynch..... you punish a motherfucker who comes across the middle, so they think twice about doing it again. Oh whay whay too many concussions. Fuck you, they signed up to play professional football, and to be paid very generously for it I might add.

Basically what it all boils down to is..... base runners in the MLB should run over catchers as if you were Pete Rose, before they enact the same sissy rules that have been forced upon the NFL.

Peaces and Creases

The Almighty Job Search

So life hasn't turned out how you planned (as if you had one) and reality is staring you in the face. Just got a Master's Degree in something that people politely ask you, 'oh Humanities, that sounds great' when in actuality they have now idea what it means. So the inevitable next question always follows, 'so what do you plan to do with that'? So you scratch your head and reply, "fuck your father in the shower and have a snack". This typically does not go over well so you are further oschtricized for your choice of major.

So your job search entails grasping for straws, and/or just blindly tossing your hook and bait into the water in the hopes that something catches. However, there is another reason why people won't and or are reluctant to hire you..... that's right, you know damn well the reason. You have been in a lot of trouble with the law sir, and the law does not forget, nor do your friends. Your friends won't even hire you because of possible legal implications that would turn off potential investors. Regardless if you even desired to work for that friend, it's a moot point due to the mistakes you made in your past. So you say to yourself, I fucked up a few times in the past but how long do I have to suffer? Well my sorrowful friend according to the law you will carry those mistakes until the man in black comes to get you.

But I'm a war veteran and I have earned my Master's Degree, you plead to the imaginary judge who sits high above his pedestal. He stares down upon you and reviews your rap sheet...... he speaks "i see your plight Devil Dog, however the justice system does not believe in reformation, only institutionalization. You my brother, can never be trusted again. But good luck on your job search, we will be waiting".

FUCK is all you can reply, your only recourse.

The Greedy: Those Who Not Only Missed the Bus, but Those Who Have Never Riden One and Never Will

There was a social psychological experiment conducted not too long ago which utilized a board game that most of us have all played at some point, Monopoly. People were chosen at random to participate in a simple game of Monopoly, two strangers playing one on one. However, one of the players, also chosen at random, was deemed the rich player while the other the poor player. Meaning the rich player was able to roll two dice while the poor player only one. The rich player was able to collect $200 dollars each time they passed go while the poor player was only allowed to collect $100. Now given the rich player was able to roll two dice as oppossed to one, he/she was able to move across the board faster thus allowing them to cross go more often than the poor player who could only roll one dice at a time. So the rich player was not only able to pass go more often, they also collected an extra $100 dollars more than the poor person when they did so. On top of that, the rich player started with a considerably larger bank roll than the opposing poor player. This being said, the results of this experiment revealed some astonishing outcomes. Those who were chosen as the rich player who knowingly knew the board was rigged, became increasingly more entitled and demeaning to the poor player who was only 2 feet away them. It became an exercise in domination at the expense of the poor player, who was chosen to be the poor player at random. Very interesting if you ask me. I don't feel I need to express the implication of such an experiment in comparison to society, however I will do so. Basically the designer of this experiment was expressing the uneven playing field that exist within American society; when you are born you are randomly born into a rich family or a poor one, you don't get to choose one or the other as a newborn. So the 'American Dream' which we constantly default to as if it were religious doctrine, is for all intents and purposes a rigged one. For some it is the 'American Dream' and for other as it is the exact opposite: the American Nightmare.

So, the major issue here revolves around the outcome of the rigged board game. Basically this experiment begs the question: are people innately greedy, or does wealth beget greed? Once wealth is acquired, regardless of how it was accumulated (earned or at random) they become obsessively focused on the bottom line (more wealth which they feel they are entitled to) and want to increase their wealth exponentially at any cost. Not only that, they create financial endeavors to increase profit regardless of the social repercussions. Example: the rich player begins to buy up lots of property and erecting large hotels on them which in turn contributes to the bankruptcy of the poor player who can't pay the exorbitant fees if he happens to land on said property. In the real world we call this gentrification.

So I say to you: do you believe the outcome of the rigged board game? According to that experiment the rich player became increasingly more entitled and less caring of the poor player sitting across from her/him. Can wealth change a person so decidedly? Well based in a society where wealth, literally IS The American Dream, I would say for the majority of us wealth can change a person. It's a part of the indoctrination of a capitalistic society. So does it make that person a bad person? Not necessarily, because what happens is the actions of the wealthy are justified in the eyes of capitalism deeming said actions okay. Believe you me, I get it. If your rich why not want to be richer? Whats better than a million dollars? A BILLION dollars.

But ultimately what gets lost when you are the rich player in the rigged game of Monopoly, you forget the game was tilted in your favor from the start. You forget to have any compassion for the poor player who started with less than you. How much is the loss of human compassion really worth, a million, a billion? That is the bigger question.