At the very beginning of my deployment in Iraq, we didn't know how good we had it. Yeah, we were in the BFE section of the airbase, but being as it was an AF base, (and they do set up some kick-ass bases), we had access to regular showers, actual toilets, mail, electricity, a gym, and loads of other amenities. Course, when it comes to drunken bar-room story time with 350lb SEALs and Rangers that somehow can't handle their alcohol (a sure sign of... slight exaggeration), it'll be one of those, 'So there we were, nothing but sand dunes & enemy fighters for a hunnerd miles all around...I set my broken femur, tossed the Major on my back, grabbed my K-Bar and charged the RPG position...'
And I still won't have the best story, I bet.
It was also the time before the tempo of operations started to pick up. Our patrols were around 8 to 10 hours, and if you weren't on the schedule you were free, to an extent.
One night, coming back from the gym, I noticed Ssgt. 'Bump' sitting in front of his can (small rooms that served as our quarters). Mail call had already happened, and he was quite pleased with his haul. Bump was on of those guys who always had the hook-up, and it sometimes seemed that just about everything went his way. Earlier in the day, he had made the trip to the px, and managed to score a couple of boxes of the always rare and ever popular Dr Pepper (Say it with me, everybody; War is Hell). In addition to his lucky day, he had somehow managed to acquire a box of nice cigars, and the DVD of Paris Hilton's 'greatest hits'.
Not one to hoard his treasures, he was sharing freely. So I moseyed on over, cracked a warm one, and lit up a stogy. The moon was just starting to rise over the horizon, a soft breeze was blowing in, and Paris was doing her thing.
A couple of other Marines had sniffed the winds, smelled something free, and came over to investigate. One of them, Ssgt. 'Mohn' was a non-smoker, but decided to partake in the celebratory mood anyways.
After the show, Bump and I were talking about cigars in general, and advising Mohn in the proper method of trimming the tip of the cigar, how to light it evenly, and general methods of enjoying the smoke. We very strongly suggested that he not inhale too deeply, as a cigar is a bit stronger than your average cigarette, especially for a non-smoker.
We then started to talk about whiskeys and cognacs, and how some will dip the tip of the cigar in the liquid to add a certain something to the experience. Never done it myself, but stranger stuff has been done with cigars, or so I hear...
I caution Mohn about deep inhalations again, and a few moments later notice that he was attempting to dip the cigar into his can of Dr Pepper. Having failed at that (the cigar was too wide), he was carefully pouring a small stream of the Dr P. onto his cigar.
What the Hell?
Me thinks Mohn is puffing away a little toooo hard. He had actually worked up quite the buzz at this time.
A lull in the conversation followed, as most of us were enjoying the (relatively) cool night, and keeping an eye out for the (relatively) hot chicks that were in the area. I dunno who noticed it first, but the moon was now shining brightly in the glistening, shaven dome of Mohn. His face had turned kind of pasty green-grey, and he looked quite queasy. He quickly rose, and lurching to the shitters, attempted to control the smoke demons in his guts.
Now, in the mental soundtrack of my mind, Paris is always accompanied with the sounds of Mohn's frenzied self-conversation while trying to decide which end is going to explode first, in the confines of the Iraqi long-day sun-baked port-a-shitter, and the resulting hysterics from the other Marines.
And I still won't have the best story, I bet.
It was also the time before the tempo of operations started to pick up. Our patrols were around 8 to 10 hours, and if you weren't on the schedule you were free, to an extent.
One night, coming back from the gym, I noticed Ssgt. 'Bump' sitting in front of his can (small rooms that served as our quarters). Mail call had already happened, and he was quite pleased with his haul. Bump was on of those guys who always had the hook-up, and it sometimes seemed that just about everything went his way. Earlier in the day, he had made the trip to the px, and managed to score a couple of boxes of the always rare and ever popular Dr Pepper (Say it with me, everybody; War is Hell). In addition to his lucky day, he had somehow managed to acquire a box of nice cigars, and the DVD of Paris Hilton's 'greatest hits'.
Not one to hoard his treasures, he was sharing freely. So I moseyed on over, cracked a warm one, and lit up a stogy. The moon was just starting to rise over the horizon, a soft breeze was blowing in, and Paris was doing her thing.
Nice.
A couple of other Marines had sniffed the winds, smelled something free, and came over to investigate. One of them, Ssgt. 'Mohn' was a non-smoker, but decided to partake in the celebratory mood anyways.
After the show, Bump and I were talking about cigars in general, and advising Mohn in the proper method of trimming the tip of the cigar, how to light it evenly, and general methods of enjoying the smoke. We very strongly suggested that he not inhale too deeply, as a cigar is a bit stronger than your average cigarette, especially for a non-smoker.
We then started to talk about whiskeys and cognacs, and how some will dip the tip of the cigar in the liquid to add a certain something to the experience. Never done it myself, but stranger stuff has been done with cigars, or so I hear...
I caution Mohn about deep inhalations again, and a few moments later notice that he was attempting to dip the cigar into his can of Dr Pepper. Having failed at that (the cigar was too wide), he was carefully pouring a small stream of the Dr P. onto his cigar.
What the Hell?
Me thinks Mohn is puffing away a little toooo hard. He had actually worked up quite the buzz at this time.
A lull in the conversation followed, as most of us were enjoying the (relatively) cool night, and keeping an eye out for the (relatively) hot chicks that were in the area. I dunno who noticed it first, but the moon was now shining brightly in the glistening, shaven dome of Mohn. His face had turned kind of pasty green-grey, and he looked quite queasy. He quickly rose, and lurching to the shitters, attempted to control the smoke demons in his guts.
Now, in the mental soundtrack of my mind, Paris is always accompanied with the sounds of Mohn's frenzied self-conversation while trying to decide which end is going to explode first, in the confines of the Iraqi long-day sun-baked port-a-shitter, and the resulting hysterics from the other Marines.
11 comments:
That's the nice thing about Dr. Pepper, my soda of choice until I cut the sugar back: It's still nice warm. One of the security supervisors who used to work here claims it's really tasty if you heat it up in a microwave for 30 seconds. I think he might have been messing with me, though.
Ah yes... there's a Mohn in every outfit...LOL Good story.
That is just fantastic.
And by the way, Murph, keep your mind off my unmentionables unless you can reach down and grab a big enough pair to call in and talk about it :P
Murph, keep up the good work, your stories rock!!!!
Farmgirl, WTF, over?
Chris, it's from the interview I did for Mark on Blog Talk. I mentioned an incident I had on the road, and Murph left a comment on the show's page abut it. I'm just giving him grief.
Mike: DP runs a close second to coffee, in my mind. It's actually best when it's flat, but maybe that's just me.
Old NFO: Mohn certanley was a character, but then again, so were most of us.
Farmgirl: Bwaha!
But why would I need to grab a pair of MY unmentionables to call in? :)
Chris: Dunno if I can really claim credit, I was just the guy hanging out and not passed out from the hilarity most of the time. Really, you can't make this stuff up!
Ok, Murph, I'll clarify for the Marine...
If you don't have big enough cojones to call in and talk about my unmentionables you don't get to type about them :P
Har!
I should have used a wink instead of the smilie. Obviously, I still need some work on my internetalogicalistic linguistislang.
Nah, I still would have been a smartass.
Plus, I've been having the strange urge to use the word "cojones" all week.
Don't ask, I don't know.
.... cojones.... huh?
Ok, obviously, before I go any where else, I need to see if I can download the interview.....
....although, something tells me, I'll still be cofused....
BTW, the word verification today SUCKS!!!
I wonder, how many times will I have to spell "ravksveq" before it let's me in.....
OK, it was twice, not too bad!
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