Rowr.

Cool bike.

Shamelessly stolen from Theo.

Adapt, Improvise, Overcome

"All right knuckleheads, bring it around" I said as my section moseyed around before the platoon formation. Ignoring the two jokers that were demonstrating their close working relationship developed on the recent float by holding hands, I gave the plan for the mornings festivities. "Unless something else comes up, and it probably will, all of us are scheduled to get our hearing-test done this morning".

"What?" was the unanimous response.


Everyone's a comedian.


Surprisingly enough, other than a few guys that needed to go to dental, the overwhelming majority of my guys were able to attend the testing at the same time. My jokers all together in one place might've been good for scheduling and checklists, but it was potentially bad for... everything else. Aside from the sticky-fingers ('Ain't no thievery in the Corps, everyone's just trying to get their own shit back...'), the Mystery Science Theater / Three Stooges nature of my squad ensured that with the guys all in one place, there would be some interesting commentary and goings on.

Re: hearing tests in general, did I mention that we were for the most part all school-trained mortarmen? Let's put it this way; while some of the guys weren't sweating this test like they would a day in the pool or at the range, there were some guys that had their doubts about passing the test.

The test itself was much like a test in the civilian world, with the head-sets, soft tones in either ear, and the little clicky thingy to indicate left ear or right, but this one was done in the back off a van about the size of a small school bus. You would board the van, eight to a group, and walk down the isle to an empty booth. You'd scrunch up your legs to fit into the booth, put the headset on, and begin to flunk-er, take the test.

The festivities started when we found out who the proctor for the test was. Said Marine was a guy that wasn't very popular amongst the Marines, probably because of his tendency to squirm out or anything that might put him at risk of breaking a sweat and also his habit of talking up his past exploits in 'combat'.

We'll call him Staff Sergeant Squidgy.

Ole Squidgy started off by talking down to the Marines, like they were in a newly invented fourth phase of recruit training. I could tell that they were not taking it terribly well, but to their credit (and my freely wielded evil-eye), they didn't do anything more than a few muttered comments.

Revenge is sweet... or stinky, whatever.

One of my Marines just happened to develope a slight counting problem about then, and when the first eight Marines moseyed up the stairs into the bus, he joined the end of the line. Ignoring his buddies who pointed out that there were only eight booths on the bus, he clomped up the stairs and stood, ninth in line and apparently dumbly while Squidgy assigned my Marines to the booths. We heard form the interior of the bus as Squidgy berated my Marine for his inability to count to eight. My Marine was the model of decorum and sounded with the appropriate 'Yes / No / Aye Aye, Staff Sergeant'. He turned in the aisle and paused right at the doorway.

His nefarious plan for revenge was revealed just as the doors closed when everybody in the bus started gagging and retching from a sudden... bad odor.

Giggling, he asked me if he had enough time to run and... get a coke (avoid persecution).

After a short break, the first groups test, and another smokey treat for Squidgy, where we got to hear (again) about his heroic tales as a combat journali-er blood thirsty grunt, it was our turn. Climbing aboard, I turned to my Stinky-one and frowned, due to the lingering... ambiance. He shrugged and muttered something about the bean burritos in the chow hall.

Finally, we were all seated in our booths, sweaty head-phones on our heads and playing with the clackers like a troop of monkeys. Squidgy interrupted us with an in depth description of what we were expected to do on his hearing test. He slammed the door on his own booth, to start off the test.

We waited for the test to begin.



And waited...



And... WTF, over?



Looking around, I realized that all of the other Marines were looking around at each other. One of my guys was mining for gold and staring off into space. The guy behind him was passed out, snoring. One Marine had his headset off, and it appeared that he was trying to find the 'On' switch. Another Marine, well schooled in the mindset of seizing the initiative, had his multi-tool out and looked like he was going to begin disassembly of his head set.

*Wham!*

Squidgy came in, and he was none too pleased.

After an earful or three, we found out that the test had been ongoing for a minute or so, and nobody was clicking the clickies to his clicking satisfaction. He told us to pull our heads outta our asses, and listen up for the tones.


Whoopsie.

Did I mention that we were all mortarmen?

Yeah.


So Squidgy started the test again.

I didn't hear anything for awhile, but shortly after the re-start, I noticed that the Marines to either side of me were clicking away enthusiastically. Looking to one side, I gestured to the Marine clicking away. I pointed to my head set and gave a thumbs up. [hear anything?] He responded with a tap to his head set, leaned back and put both index fingers pointing from his chest, middle finger to Squidgy's booth, and more clickys. [Nope, my headset's tits up, frack that guy, just click, man.]

Sweet Baby Jesus, Take Me Now.

Whilest watching the tube recently...



"... live from the Democra-"

*click*

nope

".... lary Clinton's true feelings about-"

*click*

mumblegrumble...

"... ak Oba-"

*click*

gottabesomethingon...

"... estamos aqui en la ciudad de Denver, donde Barak Oba-"

*el click*

"Hope! Change!"

*crash*



Bah. Wake me when it's over.

Hammer's Jackpot Meme

From, amazingly enough, Hammer.

You just won the mega powerball jackpot to the tune of 150 million dollars (after taxes).

1. What would be the very first thing you would do?

"I'll tell you what I'd do, man, two chicks at the same time, man."

2. Where would you chose to live?

Maybe the beach.

3. What kind of house would you live in?

The kind that fits lots and lots of man-toys.

4. What kind of car would you buy?

Yes.

5. Where would you vacation?

Everywhere, every day.

6. Would you have anything on your body fixed?

If it ain't broke...

7. What kind of hobbies would you engage in?

See #1.

8. What charities would you donate to?

Probably ones dealing with breast cancer and Toys for Tots.

9. Would you give money to your relatives?

Depends. How good of a job in the yard did they do?

10. Would you run away from your current life?

Heck no, I'd pay others to run away for me.

11. Would you continue to work?

BWAHAHAHahaahaha!!!!

12. Would the money change you in any way?

Nope, absolutely not.

Don't Mess With Texas

So the other day I switched the channel from the Olympics to cruise through the news channels.

Hmm, a high speed chase down the way, a bit...

Watching the chase, I got real, real nervous. What the Youtube videos don't show is this turd blazing through red lights, busy intersections, store parking lots, the wrong way down busy streets, and whatnot. There was a moment in the chase where I seriously thought he was going to mow down a cop trying to employ his spikes on the truck's tires. Felt like it was this close ][.

Thankfully, from what I could tell, there was no injury to innocent persons, or law enforcement on this one.

There might have been a smaaall dent on that one cruiser, though. Small price to pay, if you ask me.




For all that this turd was doing while running the cops, I have no problem with watching him perform a triple flip with a full twist offa the nose of that cruiser. Turd didn't stick the landing, but you better believe the cops did.

Does it make me that much of an asshole if I chortle whenever I see the turd's shoe go flying off into the distance ('Weeeeeeee')?

Heh.

Olympics = Crack

Yeah, I'm kind of a junkie when it comes to the Olympics. I'm debating about whether to mount a flat screen in the bathroom, where I can see it from all angles.

I think it stems from the fact that it was one of the very few times that me and Dad would hang out late, past my normal bedtime hour, when I was a child. Perhaps that has something to do with all the events that I like, and those that are... there.

Track and Field? - Cool.

Swimming? - Neat-O.

Gymnastics? - Holy crap, that's a buff lookin' chick.

Handball? - WTF?

Not to belittle anyones choice of sport, or anything... I suppose that these guys and gals are in the top of their form, the best at their chosen field, but there's definitely some stuff out there that just doesn't do anything for me.

It's all relative, I'm sure that there's some of my readers that aren't particularly crazy about soccer - it's ok, nobody's perfect, ya know...

Speaking of soccer, I've actually never really been a great fan of Olympic soccer because that's what the World Cup is for. It is kinda cool in that we get to see some of the top players doing their thing. It does seem like there's significantly less theatrics in the competition, though, so that's a plus I guess. Always fun to see Brazil dominate.

Speaking of domination, I was getting a little bit miffed that I hadn't actually seen this Phelps guy doing his thing. Every time I turned on the toob, it was handball, gymnastics, diving, commentary, gymnastics, gymnastics, and China-background stuff. Mebbe it's all the fawning by the media over another particular guy, but I have to admit I was kind of reserved about my position on ole Mikey.

Then I saw him swim.

I guess I caught the race shortly after the start, and only knew that he was racing when one of the commentators mentioned his name.

That kind of got my interest.

I snorted when I realized that the green-line that the cameras superimposed over the swimmers was behind the lead swimmer, looked like their system was way off. The only time I had seen that kind of stuff was for the NFL games, and I just naturally figgured that it was supposed to mark out the lead swimmer.

Then I realized it was the marker for the world record.

You know it's a fast race when something like the 4th or 5th place guy breaks the old world record, and he's doesn't even get a medal.

Back to the events...

Bad Boys Bad Boys...

Something interesting happened a little while back... some a-hole broke into Mom's house.


Lemme 'splain.


A little while back, Mom had decided to buy a house up in the central Texas area, to be closer to kiddos. Anyways, I spent a 'fun'-filled day house shopping with Mom. It wasn't 'fun' because I had to spend it with Mom (don't mind that, not at all), but because I had to spend it shopping. All friggin' day. For Houses. In what (because of my work schedule) was my middle of the night. Guess who was at work before and shortly after shopping for houses?

Ayup.

I've noticed quite a bit more news blurbs and articles in the recent years about thieves breaking into construction sites and zapping themselves to death, getting trapped in grill vents, and whatnot. While it always warms my little heart to hear of these occasions (more like warms theirs, actually *drum crash*), I was always curious to think about what would happen around here. Not much, I assumed. I know that the price of materials is factored into the price of the new homes, and any costs associated with theft are basically passed on to the purchaser.


It was the new house that the guy was breaking into, not the one down in the Valley that she currently lives in.


Unfortunately, it wasn't me that discovered the guy, but a neighbor-friend.


I've heard this story a small number of friends removed, so while I can't swear on a stack of Mom's blueberry pancakes, the general details goes like this;

Said neighbor lady friend decided to take her newborn out for a stroll one evening. She loaded up her little Princess in her stroller, checked to make sure that she had provisions for the trip around the block it seems like all new Mommas have (keys, cell-phone, bubble wrap, band-aids, bazooka, teething-ring, snacks, toys, etc...) and set off. Her house is just up the street from my own, which is located on the corner. Passing my house, Mom's new house is on the other side of the street, one house down.

With a new house, there's a lot of activity, a large number of guys in construction, plumbing, wiring, and whatnot. There's guys delivering first mainly lumber and concrete, then stuff like cabinets and railings. It's not a huge deal to see vans, SUVs, pick-ups, and cars parked all over the place.

It's not terribly common to see them parked there after dark, though...

So apparently while friend was walking by Mom's house, she noticed another interesting fact.

Previously mentioned goober was bringing stuff OUT of the house, and not IN.

*bring... bring...*

Our local Po-po was kind of keen on having a word or three with said guy, and was prompt in arriving to their impromptu meeting. I heard that they even brought the guy a nice set of bracelets for him to wear.

Yay!

You know, come to think of it, mebbe it was a good thing I wasn't the one to catch him....

I am so easily amused

Heh, I dunno if it's because I'm trying my hand at ASL again, ...

(Har! Get it? Trying my hand... *sigh* Nevermind.)

... because it was a popular song back in the day (why again?), or what, but this really tickled the ole funny... uh, bone.





Well, it's sign language of a sort, right?

Heck, who knew mimes could actually be funny?