Wednesday, October 3, 2007

Oleocapsicum Resin, A Violent Meeting with My Pain Threshold, and Yet Another Libo Story...

Camp Lejeune was the base where I had the dubious privilege to learn about non-lethals, and more specifically to this story, OC. A small number of Marines were sent to school to learn all about this stuff, and then turned loose on us. The reason that we got this training was for the possibility that while we were cruising around the world, if there was an embassy that needed evacuating, or some sort of ass-kicking that needed to be done with less than lethal tools, we would have the means to accomplish it.

If we were going to use the stuff, we needed to know how it worked.

For any doubters out there, the stuff the military uses works like a champ!!

Anyways, the instructors were well versed in all of the ins and outs of 'liquid pain', as I like to call it. They even brought up an interesting point. For a very, very small percentage of the populace, there is what can vary from just a little to no effect of the stuff. There are some theories on exactly who might be less affected, but seems that you find out by trying it, basically. That is why in a real situation you always have someone nearby who is not using the spray, and who is able to convey your intent to the person or persons with the standard issue M-16 'universal translator'.

The instructors completed their classes, and we moved out to the courtyard in front of the barracks to complete the practical application portion of the training. Yippee! Pain, hate, & discontent!

As we were standing in formation, the CO revealed that were were to have an evening of liberty, once completion of the training was attained.

This was a Big Deal.

As we were trying to squeeze a normally 5 month long work-up into a 2.5 month long work-up, we were quite busy. Up to that point, we had received no liberty to speak of, and definitely nothing off base. Everyone was quite eager to get sprayed with the OC, and get their party started...

Until the first few guys got sprayed, that is.

A good time was had by all when the C.O. and his X.O. went through first, but there was a very important distinction that most realized later. The fact of the matter was that Officers of Marines have quite a bit in the way of pride, especially in front of their Marines, too much so to reveal how much that shit burns!!!

A few of the lower ranked Marines had no such pride restriction, and they very vocally let us know it!

It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt... then it's just fun!

It was funny for about the first ten minutes, and then when they didn't shut up, some of us got kinda worried. One guy was rolling around on the ground screaming about how he couldn't breathe...until one of the instructors pointed out how if he had air to scream 'like a little biatch!', he had enough to breathe. Those of us not yet sprayed found that amusing, the poor schmuck rolling around on the ground... not so much.

After a few more chuckles, I stepped up to the plate.

I assumed the Position of Attention, and sounded off my name for the admin guy to note that I had completed this portion of training. After watching the first few guys, I definitely didn't want to have to do this over.

I then closed my eyes and waited....

Immediately upon being sprayed across the forehead, I dropped down and started cranking out push-ups...

After the push-ups, I got up and ran over to the punching bags and started wailing away. This is supposed to simulated having to go hands on with someone after deploying the spray. It was during this portion of the practical application that I realized that there was no pain.



No burning or itching in any way!!!

Continuing through the gauntlet, I was way passed the point where many others had dropped to the ground, wailing to all known (and a few unkown) gods to deliver them from the evil that is OC, hand clutching their faces, inadvertently grinding the OC deeper into their pores. I was thinking to myself, 'self, you RULE!!! you must be one of those that can drink this stuff with your coffee in the morning!' - when a tiny drop of sweat finally broke free from my brow and traveled down to the very crack of my left eye ball.

With a thunderous 'You Rock! You're the Friggin' Man! You Ru-"Holy SHIT, that burns!!!", I entered the self-defense portion of the class. This was where you were forced to keep your eyes open as two or three Marines with padded sticks beat the shit out of you while the liquid pain worked its way into your sockets.

Yeah, I got the shit kicked out of me like everyone else.

Roughly an hour later, long after the class had ended and most of the other Marines had gone into the barracks to prepare for evening liberty, I was just getting to the point where I could forcibly open my eyes without whimpering too much. I was surprised to note that the grass in the immediate vicinity had apparently not yet burst into flames and shrivled away.

As I laid there on the grass moaning and contemplating if hara-kiri was only slightly or waaaay less painful than the eye-fucking from Satan's minions that I had just endured, I resolved that I wasn't going off base that night, and if I was going anywhere, it would be to the px to buy the biggest vat of vanilla ice cream that I could find and a scoop.

1) Scoop out eyeballs, toss before they burst into flames and melt the scoop, 'cause you're gonna need it to-
2) Put ice cream into empty sockets.
3) Repeat as necessary.

The instructors were right, some Marines were able to fight through it with only a few problems, some couldn't do much at all, and some could breath & move tolerably (moi), but the pain, MAN!, that was something else! S'ok, call me a wuss, I've been called worse...

The next morning, some of the Marines had a very interesting story to tell.

As I was hitting the showers, in deathly fear of reactivating the spray, a small group of Marines had already cleaned up and headed out to enjoy the night life that surrounds any military base.

Of course, that means the local titty bar.

One of the group had just celebrated a birthday, and he was looking for some fun. The thing is, this guy was not all that and a bag of chips, but he was one of the lucky few that just seemed to have a way with the ladies.


Marines were always marveling at his ability to hook up with the hotties, and trying to figure out exactly how he was able to accomplish this. True to form, on this night, he hit it off with one of the strippers at the club.

Now, those of you not really enlightened in the ways of the nudie bar might be surprised to learn that the chicas are not really super-friendly out of the kindness of their hearts. Shocker, I know. Those in the group insisted that this girls was 'extra' friendly. She had been sitting in the birthday-boy's lap, running her fingers through his hair, playing some pocket pool, making plans for the rest of the evening, etc when she realized that she was due to be up on stage shortly. At the time that she realized this, they had been sucking face pretty seriously, trying to ignore the hurt look of the rest of the groups faces, when she finished nibbling on this Marines ear and neck, stood up and turned to the stage.

After about three paces, she stopped.

With a hand to her mouth, she turned around and said...

"What the Fu...- My mouth! It burns!!! Why is it burning?!?!!"

The Marines, being the delicate creatures that they are, were roaring with laughter at their hygenically challenged buddy, the poor girl went running to the nearest fountain to give that sink the night he'll always remember, the bouncers hustled over to hear the story, hell even the dj got into the act, berating the Marine for his inability to completely clean the spray from his face before the unsuspecting stripper started smooching all over him...

That made me feel better, but only a little bit.


Anonymous said...


If there's one thing I love to do, it's sit in the mess and listen to the stories from the old guys who've been there, got the t-shirt, and got the bullet holes in it.

Don't ever run out of stuff. You're hilarious. I owe you a cold one.


Murphy said...

Yeah, bar room war stories are the best. Glad to hear that you are enjoying some of mine, thanks.

GeorgeH said...

If you grew up in a family that bought Tabasco Sauce in the economical gallon jug and your skin isn't too fair, you have a chance.