My career

This incident should have given me a clue that no matter what I did after this, my military career was at an end. After this I still had five years left.



One day in Iraq, I was working the Operations Center, and we got a call from one of our patrols. They got hit by an IED. Thankfully, nobody was hurt, and there was very little damage to the patrol itself. They came back to base.

What got me was where they got hit: In the middle of a field.

Usually, IEDs in that area were set by the side of a major road to hit a 'target of opportunity'. They wait for a military vehicle to come by, and they set it off. Since this one was set off in a field, it means that they knew our patrol route, and were waiting for us.

So, I tell my Battle Captain about this. I advise that she let the Battalion Commander know that they need to vary their patrol routes. NOW.

She asks a couple of questions, but doesn't understand the answers, so she basically blows me off.

I figure that she will at least do her job and let somebody know about it. Either that, or the next shift would see what happened, and after I explain it to them, they would do something about it. Neither of those things happened, but I didn't know that. 

A few weeks later, that same patrol got hit by yet ANOTHER IED in the exact same place. Our guys didn't vary their route at all. 

There's a saying that I learned a long time ago: "Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action." I didn't want this to get that far.

This time, I told the Battle Captain, the Major in charge of our shift, and the Lieutenant Colonel in charge of the OC. Something else.... Nearly every morning, I made coffee for our Brigade Commander. He'd get a cup, go out on the back porch, and watch the sun come up. So, I managed to talk to him about it, too. I told him that he should get his underlings in order, otherwise, someone was going to get killed. He agreed, and told me that he would take care of it.

I assumed that he was a man of his word. I was mistaken.

About a month after the second incident, we got yet another call saying that the same patrol got hit in the exact same place. One change, though. A soldier was killed. The IED flipped the truck, and it landed on the gunner. 

When the letters K I A were spoken over the radio, the entire room fell silent. 

The shift NCOIC, a Master Sergeant, looked at me for a minute. He just stared at me. I could feel his stare in the back of my head.

I turned around and asked him what the problem was. His only response was, "What happened to our Intel? This shouldn't have happened." HE WAS BLAMING ME. I looked around the room, and saw that most of the people there seemed to agree with him.

I immediately stood up, walked over to him, looked him in the eye, and told him to fuck off. I had been telling all of them for over 2 months that something bad was going to happen, and that the people in charge needed to talk to one another and figure out how NOT to get a man killed. 

I went outside, and started smoking. I must have smoked a half of a pack in 30 minutes. My battle Captain came out, and tried to talk to me. I told her to go away, or I would knock her out. I was done working with or for her, and I would have a replacement the next day. I finished up my shift, talked to my bosses, and let them know that I was no longer working in the OC. The Master Sergeant never said another word to me.

A little while later, I got word that the powers that be wanted to see me.

It turns out that they wanted to charge me with gross negligence, demote me, and have me kicked out of the Army. Their version was that I withheld vital intelligence that command needed to know, which resulted in the death of a soldier. Thankfully, I was writing a journal at the time, and had dates and times of the conversations I had with them about the incident. Plus, I had the backing of our Major who was in charge of Brigade Intelligence. I had told him about all this, too.

There was actually paperwork charging me. Can you believe that?

In the end, the paperwork disappeared. Mostly because I threatened to get the media involved, and tarnish the name of the Washington Army National Guard. If I or they had gone through with the Court-martial that I requested, I would have come out a little worse for wear, but still kept my rank. However, I would have made sure that at least 5 higher ranking officers and NCOs would have been busted down.

At least, that's how it would have went in my head. I probably would have made a big scene, and they would have just quietly given me an Honorable discharge from the Army.

Either way, my career was over at that moment. I was never promoted because I have an "attitude problem", and every year on Veteran's Day, I raise a glass to SPC Donald R McCune for what happened to him. I wish I could have done more.

Geek Convention

Holy crap, do I love me some geeks.

For the past few years, I've been able to attend several conventions in the Seattle area. Most notably Norwescon. If you don't know what it is, Google is your new friend. Basically, it's a Science Fiction/ Fantasy convention held at Double Tree Hotel in Seatac each year. I've only been to the last 2 or 3. There have been 35. There's also Rustycon, Westercon, Crypticon... The list goes on.

Here's why I love these things:

I'm more normal than 90% of the people that go there, and because of that, I'm a freak. It's wonderful. Plus, I get to dress up like it's Halloween. It's pretty fun to try and figure out what you're going to wear at Con.

A few years ago, I met some of these people in a bar in Lynnwood called O'Finnegans. They think that they're an Irish pub, but really they're just a sports bar with karaoke every night. Me being a karaoke whore, of course I went there.

Suddenly, I get, well, almost accosted by a group of people. I was wearing my fedora, and they seemed to like the hat. So, they asked me about it, and I told them the story. If you don't know the story, read about it HERE. Most of the people who read this actually know me, and are probably tired of hearing/reading the story. 

Anyway, we hit it off immediately, and had a great time that night. I sang some songs, drank a bunch, and one of the girls took me home. A good night all around.

I found out that night that these people were part of a party crew that goes to most of the conventions around Seattle.  They rent out one of the rooms, set up a bar, have a few of their own DJs, and party it up all weekend. So, naturally, I started going to the conventions. Especially since they "adopted" me the first night we met.

This past year, I managed to wear my kilt, and borrow a peasant shirt from a friend of mine. I didn't look like anything special, just some ginger in a kilt and tan army boots. They asked me to bartend for a shift at the party. Of course, I will always take a shift for them. Midway through my shift, a woman comes up and takes my shirt off of me. So, I'm bartending half naked. Bare chest, kilt, and boots.

At one point I shout out "AM I PRETTY YET???" The whole room chimes back "YES!!!!" To which I respond, "THEN YOU'RE ALL CUT OFF!!" We had a nice laugh at that, and we went back to drinking and trying to get laid.

A little later on, a woman that I had been hitting on, who is now obviously drunk, comes behind the bar and slips her hand up my kilt. I just kept on serving drinks. She tells me that she's not going to stop. I reply, I always win at Chicken. The bouncers eventually came and got her because she wasn't supposed to be behind the bar. Oh well. I guess no handy for me.

We all have a good time that night, and I go back to my hotel room alone, much to my chagrin. The next day was full of games and panels and whatnot. Good times. That next night, I put on my leopard print onesie.

That's right, I have leopard print adult footie pajamas. They are the toast of the town. Or, if you'll pardon the slight pun, the Cat's Pajamas. When I first wore these things to Con, one of the Biohazard guys asked me what was wrong with me. He and a couple others started making fun of me, but not as an attack, just lighthearted stuff about being a "Furry". Not three seconds after that, four women walk up and ask me if they can pet me. "Of course!" I say, with a knowing look to my friend. I give him a wink, and say, "That's why".

Adventures in bus riding #1

This is a short tale, but I nearly laughed hard enough to spit my drink out when it happened.

When I first moved to Seattle, I didn't have a car, so if I couldn't get a ride from a friend, I had to ride the bus. One day, I noticed a woman about 24 years of age, with her son in her lap.

She was staring out the window, contemplating life, and looked down to notice that her son was sucking his thumb. She scolded him for it, and hit his hand out of his mouth. A little harsh, but hey, I'm not going to tell her how to be a parent.

As she was staring out the window, her own hand started creeping upward, and her thumb seemed to make it into her mouth.

The little boy, saw this, and hit her hand. Poetic justice, I thought.

But, it doesn't end there.

I was on this bus for about 30 minutes, and every 5 minutes or so, one of the pair would smack the others hand out of their mouth because they were sucking their thumb. What I found particularly funny was that the mother didn't realize what was going on. She just thought that her son was acting out, and hitting her because she hit him.

Like I said, this happened every five minutes or so for over half an hour. Nothing quite like chastising your child for doing the same thing you are...

Richard Cheese is a dick

I wrote in a previous story about being in Las Vegas, and seeing Richard Cheese playing a show. It was a pretty damn good show, even though it was almost exactly like his live album. He played all the same songs that he did on the live album. Only the banter was different. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it very much. It just wasn't different.

Now, here's where it gets tricky.

Richard usually comes out front and gets pictures with his fans after the show. Pretty cool of him, I think. He signed some CDs, talked a little bit with the people, and all that. When it came time for my turn, everything went just as it had for everyone else.... Until picture time.

I put my hand on his back. Just a place to put it, I wasn't trying to molest him or anything.

"Don't touch me." he says.

I laugh it off a little bit, but put my hand back on his back.

"I said, don't fucking touch me." He doesn't sound angry at all, but he does have a certain look of disdain in his eyes.

So, I put my arm down, we get a couple pictures, then go on our way. We walked a few paces away, and I watched him take pictures with other people for the next 5 minutes or so. Every time there was a hot woman, he would put his arm around her, or let her fawn all over him. However, if there was a guy, he would make sure there was plenty of space between them. Either he's homophobic to an extreme I haven't seen before, or he's just a dick.

A couple months later, he comes to Seattle. I go with a few friends of mine, and we have a great time. When we walk in, his manager is at the front table selling t-shirts and CDs and such. She recognizes me and says, "Hey! What are you doing here? Weren't you in Vegas?"

"Yeah! I live here. I came to this show, too, because it's a friends bachelor party."

We exchange some more pleasantries, I give her my number, and we enjoy the show. Two of my friends are constantly talking and making comments during the show. So much so, that Richard notices, and points ME out. He tells the crowd to boo ME because I'm talking. One of the security guards comes over, and chastises me for it. I explain that it wasn't me, but my two asshole friends. (Who are still making comments, by the way). The security guard reminds me not to make comments, or I will be escorted out.

I don't say anything else during the show. And we have a pretty good time.

Afterward, we get pictures with Richard again.

I'm wearing the same suit as I was in Vegas, and he recognizes me. I don't touch him at all this time, and we get a picture. He then turns to me, and says, "Don't yell shit during my show." I try to explain that it was my idiot friends, but he wouldn't listen, and just walked off.

I went down to the "Green Room", which is the bar inside Showbox Market, where the concert was. I end up having some drinks with the piano player, Bobby, and the drummer, Frank. I even get them to sign a girl. Frank got the front, Bobby got the back. They were cool as shit.

Richard Cheese is a dick.

Dangerous intersection

I was in a pretty nasty car wreck when I was 17.

At the time, I thought I was a pretty good driver. And, to be honest, I was.

I had only had my license for about 6 months, but I had been driving various vehicles since I was 5. This particular day, I had stayed after school for Track Team practice. After it was all done, I went to my car, and headed home.

Instead of taking my usual route home, I decided to explore a little. I had a cassette tape of Metallica blaring on my radio, and it was a very nice spring day. I pulled up to the intersection of Ahtanum Road and Marks road. it was about 2 miles from my home. The part of the road I was on, was a gravel back-road, that didn't get used a lot, and had a pretty steep grade downward.

Ahtanum Road sloped down hill from right to left. Off to the right, was a blind corner about 150 yards away from me. To my left, it stretched on for at least a quarter mile. Marks road, in front of me, gently sloped downward for the next mile. Ahtanum Road didn't have a stop sign, but Marks Road did. So, I stopped.

When I pulled up to the intersection, I did as I was trained. I looked both ways. Twice. Coming from my left, I noticed my neighbor pulling up to the intersection. They slowed down, and waved to me. Part of me must have thought that they were being really nice and waving me through, because I started through the intersection.

Three quarters of the way through the intersection, I glanced to my right.

The grill and bumper of a Ford Aerostar Minivan was about 4 feet from my door.

Everything went into slow motion.

I turned toward the steering wheel, and screamed. That scream was cut off by my car getting hit at 65 miles per hour by the minivan. Everything went black.

When I came to, Metallica was still playing, and I couldn't breathe. So, I unbuckled my seat belt as quickly as I could manage, and flopped onto the pavement, trying to get some air. My neighbor came over and checked on me. She thought I had been thrown from the car.

So, here's what happened from an objective viewpoint.

My neighbor had slowed down because she was turning onto the same road that I was on, and was waiting for the minivan to pass her, before she turned left. The minivan was speeding down the hill, and didn't see me until I was almost through the intersection. When we collided, we traveled about 50 feet. We ended up about 8 feet from a drop off to a field 20 feet below. My passenger seat was stuck underneath my seat, and my car was completely totaled. I had slammed into the steering wheel somehow, and that's why I couldn't breathe.

The woman driving the van worked at my High School. She was an assistant teacher for the Special Ed class, and was a very nice lady. She also had her 8 year old son in the van with her. He was not injured at all. In fact, he was more worried about his Game Boy than he was about anything else.

I spoke to the Sheriff, filled out some forms, got in my dad's car, and went home. They towed the wreck behind us, and dropped it off in our field. I used to think that I was going to tear that car apart someday, just for fun. I never got around to it, though.

That winter, I was coming up the opposite way on Marks Road, and there was snow on the ground. I thought I was driving carefully. I didn't speed. If I had to slow down, I pumped the brakes. I didn't over-correct.

Unfortunately, there was ice underneath the snow, and I couldn't stop. I looked to my left, and saw a car going way too fast from around that blind corner. The first thing I thought was, "Great. Now I get it from the other side. This is going to kill me."

I knew that I wouldn't have enough time to stop without getting hit. So, I did the only thing I could think of.

I stepped on the gas.

I managed to get up enough speed to pass in front of the other car, and not get hit.

They must have missed me by less than 3 feet.

After that, I never drove around that intersection again. I always took other routes. It was safer.

Shooting Craps in Vegas

I've been to Las Vegas a few times, and I love that town. Just the way things are handled there seem pretty cool. to me. I once walked from the Stratosphere Hotel halfway down the strip all the way to Binions on the north end of the strip. The whole way, I had a glass of whiskey in my hand and I was alone. I didn't get molested or fucked with at all, amazingly enough. I've heard stories of people getting mugged if they stray too far from the casinos.

On one trip, I was staying at the Imperial Palace, and after 2 days, I was down $800. I had gotten VERY drunk the night before, and went to bed around 5:30 am. I woke up at 8:30 am, completely sober and awake. I still don't know how that happened.

I decided that I was hungry, and went downstairs to the casino next door to get some breakfast. I still had about $100 left, and decided that if I lost that money, I wouldn't gamble any more. On my way to breakfast, I noticed my friend's dad, Gene, playing Craps. I had never played craps before, and neither had he. One of the dealers was giving him pointers, so I joined him.

After a little while, we were both up a little money, and were doing pretty well. People started gathering around the table, and joining in on the fun. My stack of chips started growing. Then, we got on a cold streak, and I was down to my original $100. I told Gene that if I lost that, I was done.

Then, we got on a heater.

There were 16 people playing on the table, and we were all winning. Normally, a player rolls for very little time. 10 minutes is usually a nice run for people to make money on. That's because it's pretty easy to "crap out" by rolling a 7 before hitting your point.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, look up the rules.

Gene rolled for almost an hour. He kept hitting point after point. Everyone on the table was winning. We won so much, that they had to refill all the chips. If you've ever passed by a craps table, you see a lot of chips by the boss. They almost ran out.

In 4 hours of shooting craps, I went from $100, to $1200. We had a great time, and made a bunch of money.

Another time I was down there with a couple friends of mine, Maureen and Jeremy. Maureen decided that they were going to take me to a concert as a surprise. They took me to see Richard Cheese. I'll tell ya, that guy can put on a show! He's an asshole in person, but that's another story.

We go to the show about an hour and a half early, and they wanted to look around. I, on the other hand, went straight to a craps table. In an hour, I turned $100 to $500. There were about 10 people on the table, and nobody would roll except for me and the guy on the other end of the table. We kept rolling, and people kept making money off of us. It was glorious.

One For My Baby

I have a black fedora with pin stripes. A lot of people have seen me in this hat. It is my favorite hat. I love this hat more than I love nearly everything else in my life. 

I know, you're probably saying to yourself, "How can you possibly love an inanimate object that much?"

Well, there's a reason. My grandfather left me this hat.

After he died.

I'll explain.

One day, I happened to be in Yakima, and decided that I wanted to go visit my grandfather in his nursing home. My father showed up, as well. As we're sitting around talking to him, other people begin to show up. A few of them bring cards. 

Really? You're bringing a blind man a greeting card?

Turns out, it was his 94th Birthday. I had no idea. I started to feel really shitty, because I had forgotten, and didn't bring him anything. 

My uncle and aunt showed up with cake and ice cream. A lot of my grandfather's friends showed up as well. We all went into the common area, and had a little birthday party. Every person in the room was at least 35 years older than me. Some were 60 years older than me. I felt VERY out of place.

After a while, I got an idea. I sat down next to my grandfather, and asked him a question.

"Grandpa, do you like Frank Sinatra?"

"Of course I do, honey. I love the Rat Pack."

"What's your favorite song?"

"One For My Baby."

"Oh, yeah, I know that one. Bette Midler sang it on the Tonight Show the last night that Johnny Carson was hosting."

"Yeah, I remember that night."

I stood up, and got everyone's attention in the room. I explained to them that I felt really bad about forgetting my grandfather's birthday, and not having anything for him. So, to make it up, I wanted to sing to him.

In front of my family and my grandfather's friends, I sang, a cappella, One For My Baby.

Everyone cried. Including me.

I walked over to my grandfather, and said, "Happy Birthday. I love you." I kissed him on the cheek, and walked out. I proceeded to sit in my car for the next 20 minutes and weep. I remembered when I was growing up, that he was always at our house before I was even awake. He would work in the garden, feed cattle, etc. He always seemed so strong to me. Seeing him in this nursing home, getting cake and ice cream all over his face because he can't see it.

That was the last time I saw him, until his funeral 4 years later.

I went back to Yakima for his funeral, dressed in my Class A Uniform. I thought I could keep it together the entire service. Once they opened the casket, though, I lost it.I cried until it was time to put him in the hearse.

I, my brothers, and my cousins loaded him in the hearse. His EIGHT grandsons. We went to the cemetery, and laid him next to my grandmother.

Afterward, we all got together for his wake. We ate some food, talked with distant relatives, and some of us were drinking whiskey out of the back of my brother's trunk.

After a while, I decided it was time to get out of my uniform. After all, it was the same one I got when I joined the Army, and I weighed 143 pounds. So, I went to my car, and grabbed my bag with my regular clothes in it. I went inside, changed and came back out to my car.

I will preface what comes next with this: I ALWAYS LOCK MY CAR. I don't care if I'm at home, if I'm only going to be away from it for a couple minutes, etc. I always lock it.

I get back to my car, and throw my uniform in the back seat. 

Sitting on the front passenger seat is this hat:

It was as if someone had placed it in my car for me. Some have said that it was just a coincidence. That someone must have put it in there while I was inside. My car was locked, though. There was no way to get in.

So, my grandfather gave me a fedora on the day of his funeral. I will have this hat until the day I die.

On leave, #1

I went to Yakima to visit my Dad and some of my friends that still lived there.

Being a Thursday afternoon, Dad was bowling in the Senior league. He introduced me to several of his friends. Every one of them felt the need to hug me. That was wonderful. Nothing like getting some old people love from strangers.

After our little visit, I went into the card room. They had black jack, pai gow, etc. I had a bunch of disposable income, so I wanted to play some cards. I sat down at the Pai Gow table, and started playing.

Not much later, I ended up hitting a straight flush, and won $250. Since I was up at that point, I decided to walk away. So, I got up, and headed toward the cage to cash out.

I passed by the Texax Shoot Out table, and noticed the dealer was a woman that I used to deliver pizzas with back in the day. "What are you doing here?" she asked. "What are YOU doing here?" I replied.

We spoke for a moment, then I decided to sit down at the table, as I had a few extra $5 chips.

The second hand I was dealt, I had an Ace and 8 of clubs. She then dealt five cards in this order: 9, 10, Jack, Queen, King of clubs.

That's right, I had a 7 card Royal Flush. I won $1000 for that hand. I wish I had did that on the Pai Gow table. I would have made about $30,000. So, I tipped the dealer, cashed out at the cage, and left. When I got into my car, I took a picture of my $1,250. Mostly because I knew I wasn't going to see it again.

The next day, I went to lunch with my Dad and my daughter's mom, Ange. We had a great lunch, and when the check came, I immediately grabbed it. Dad argued, of course. His train of thought was "I'm your father, I'll pay for lunch."

I then pulled out my camera, and showed him the picture of the money I won the day before. Then, I paid the bill, and handed him $200. "What's this for?"    "Just for being my dad."

After lunch, we went to our favorite bar for some drinks. Dad"s friend Craig showed up, as well as my friends Ron and Hannah. We had a few beers and talked about old times, while Dad and Craig played pull tabs.

After a while, I noticed that my dad was writing checks for pull tabs. "Knock that off, Dad. Here's some money, let me know when it runs out."

Since they were playing, I decided that I would play, too. There was an "In Til You Win" game that they had just put up, and the top prize was $500. I put $5 into the game, and checked out my tabs. The first one I opened was $5, and the second was $500.

"Well, the $500 is mine, and everything else is for you, bartender. I'm going to go smoke."

So, in less than 24 hours, I won $1,750. And I spent all of it while I was on leave. It was great fun, though.

North Fort

Just before my first deployment to Iraq, we were training on North Fort Lewis.

There was a nightclub called, ironically, "North Fort". Genius.

Anyway, one night, a friend and I were there, having some drinks, and went out for a smoke. While smoking I overheard the following:

"I don't know what you're worried about girl. You don't need a man. Hell, I don't need a man. I've got my vibrator, and that's more than enough. My vibrator doesn't give me problems."

I glanced at my friend, and he said, "No, leave it alone."

"Oh, come on. I gotta mess with these people."

"Alright, but be nice about it."

I walked over to the woman in question, and said, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. Did you say that you don't need a man because you have a vibrator? Is that correct?"

"That's right. What? You think you can do better than my toy?"

"Honey, I hate to burst your bubble, but a vibrator can't hold a candle to any man in this place."

"Really? Why is that?"

"Because no vibrator can grab you by the back of the hair and say 'GET DOWN THERE! CHOKE ON THAT, YOU NASTY LITTLE BITCH!'"

She paused, thinking of some rebuttal, then realized that she had none. "You're right. I stand corrected. What are you doing later?"

Just so you know, I didn't go home with her. I had a girlfriend at the time. I just wanted to fuck with her world view.

It's all my fault

Every once in a while, you get a glimpse into the mind of the people around you, and what they think of you.

For me, this usually happened in the Army.

My last deployment, I was made a team leader. I had 2 other guys in my truck, and I was responsible for them.

Now, by this time, I'd been in the Army for 11 years, and had been a Specialist for 7 of those years. I had realized that I would not get promoted, so my career was winding down.

One day, our new squad leader (we had 7 in 9 months) asked me to meet him. He wanted to go over some of the things he expected from me and my team. He was a really good NCO, but not much of a combat leader. Which is fine. Not all people are suited to lead in combat. I don't know if I was, but I did it anyway. This man had been in the military for about 15 years, and was a Staff Sargent.

So, we talked about what he expected of the cleanliness of our rooms, counseling my troops and other issues. One thing he was adamant about was finances. He told me that he wanted a list of my guys' financial obligations, so he could keep up on them, and help out when they needed it.

Immediately after he told me that, I told him no. Just that. NO. I will not ask my team to provide you with a list of their finances. That is an unlawful order.

This surprised him. He wasn't used to a troop like me that knew the rules, and didn't blindly follow orders, or rail against them just because he liked to stir up shit.

I explained to him that at no point may he require that someone under his command give him access to their finances. I said that I understood the point of getting such information. He just wanted to help his troops. If they started getting into financial trouble, he wanted to help them out with it. It wasn't that he wanted to steal their identity or what money they had.

Now, I'm the kind of guy that will offer a solution whenever he brings up a problem. My solution was that I would relay his intention to my team, and let them know that if they needed any kind of financial help, he was available.

He paused for a moment, and then told me, "You know what, Grissom? I think you'll make an excellent NCO someday."

"You can go ahead and shove that right up your ass, John.'"

"What do you mean? You're young. You've got plenty of time left in your career. What are you, 22? 23?"

"I'm 30, John. I was born in 1977, I've been a Specialist for 7 years, and in the Army for a total of 11. Almost all of my superiors have told me that same thing. That I'll make a good NCO some day. Well, what day? I should have been one 5 - 7 years ago, but they keep thinking that I'm a kid because of my rank, and that someone else will mentor me. Well, guess what? Nobody has. They just keep passing me off to others or promoting kids that are younger than me, and expecting me to train them. So, either get me promoted so I have a reason to think about my career, or leave me alone to do my job."

At which point, he finally understood why I am the way I am. At least, militarily. He apologized, and asked me to pass along his request, as I suggested it. The rest of the deployment, he let me run my team without interference. I think he knew that I would do whatever my job was, and more. That I would always take care of my troops, as he had always strove to do.

Mind you, this conversation took place less than 3 weeks after he took over as squad leader. His first day, he took me and my buddy (who was also my driver) aside for a little chat. He sat us down, and said, "The two of you are responsible for the downfall of morale in the entire company."

I'll say that again:

"The two of you are responsible for the downfall of morale in the ENTIRE COMPANY."

My response, at first, was, "Thank you. It's nice to be included in something."

"Well, when you two get together with your little E4 Mafia meetings, you undermine the authority of the leadership, and basically make it harder for us to accomplish our mission."

Then I went off. I mentioned our asshole commander who was putting our lives in jeopardy for the sake of his career. I mentioned our idiot First Sargent who was more concerned about the length of our socks than he was about proper maintenance on our vehicles, or the welfare of his troops. I noted the fact that we were doing a job that we were never supposed to do, without proper training, and were excelling at it. The only thing HOLDING TOGETHER the company's morale was US. People came to us with their problems, and we helped them by either explaining the situation, or bringing it to the proper channels to get it resolved.

The E4 mafia was the only reason we didn't have any suicides or major injuries, why our troops always had proper equipment, and why our missions were completed successfully. So, to say that two lower ranking soldiers who have been doing the job of a Sargent Major were making things worse... well... that just showed me that our leadership actually had no idea what was going on, and didn't care to get it right.

Then, I walked out before he could say anything that might anger me more.

That might have been a contributing factor to him letting me do my job, and staying out of my way. Of course, I helped him whenever I could. I didn't want him to fail, and in turn, for us to fail.

Get the job done

Strippers

There are many things that happen to or around me in my line of work. I’m a bouncer.

I’ve left a few parts out, seeing as they don’t make the story any better or give you any insight into the actions of the evening.

A friend of mine came in one night with a friend of his. It just so happens that she is a stripper at a club in Seattle, is very hot and brought a hot friend with her. After they had been there a while, we were outside having a smoke. Holly (brunette) and Sarah (blonde) were talking about their various piercings. Holly decided to show Sarah her new one: She had her hood pierced. She just pulled down the front of her pants and showed Sarah. In turn, Sarah pulled her breast out, and proceeded to lick her nipple. She had a very nice bar through it.

Being the bouncer, I had to tell them to put it away. I didn’t want to, but it’s my job, after all. Very nice tits, by the way.

They went back inside, and my buddy and I talked.

Me:     “Dude, you gonna make this happen or what?”
Shawn:    “What are you talking about?”
Me:     “I’m talking about those two. You’d better include me in the deal, too. Hook a brotha up!!”
Shawn:    “You can have Sarah. I like Holly.”
Me:    “Very well. I’ll take one for the team. You’d better make it happen, though. I’ll be your wingman on this. Don’t make me take point. You know I’ll do it, too.”
Shawn:    “Yeah, I know. We’re hooking up an after hours at this other bar. You’re welcome to join us.”
Me:     “It’s on.”

I managed to get off early, and found out where the after hours was going to take place:
Another bar. Several of us showed up, and I wasn’t quite sure what was going on, so I just went with the flow. Holly wanted to jump into my arms in the parking lot for some reason, so I let her. I think that was one of the things that inured me to her. That, and I have VERY short hair, and she likes skinhead punk rock types. I was trying to keep Sarah’s attention, and blow off Holly, but it seemed like things were starting to work the opposite way. Oh, well. Either I be the wingman and hook up Shawn, or I don’t get any at all. I’m a philanthropist, after all.

We get to the door, and the owner opens up. I didn’t know he was the owner at the time, but soon found out when he introduced himself, and asked what we were drinking. Sign number one that this was gonna be a good time. There is nothing like being in a bar after hours and drinking the good stuff on the owner’s dime.

It takes less than 15 minutes for Holly and Sarah to start making out. Naturally, all four of us guys in the room break out our phones, and start taking pictures and video. The girls either didn’t mind, or they were getting turned on by 4 guys watching them dance and make out. Either way, we were enjoying it fully. I really got some good pictures and some good video.

However; when one of us would try to join in, they would push us away. Apparently, they just wanted to give us a show. For now.

After several minutes of this, they stopped making out, and came back to the bar. I had planted myself there, and kept serving everyone drinks. Ed (the owner) didn’t seem to mind, as I was pouring shots onto Sarah, and having anyone and everyone lick them off of her. I’m such an instigator.

Suddenly, Holly decided that she had enough of being naked, and put her clothes back on. Sarah was having too much fun being naked, and decided to get everyone else’s clothes off. I waited patiently behind the bar while the girls stripped off everyone else’s clothes.

Holly came behind the bar and told me that clothes weren’t allowed. I said, “Look who’s talking!” We made a deal. She’d take my clothes off, and then I’d take hers off. (Like there’s going to be a loser in this deal!) So, she slowly took my clothes off, and then stood still while I took hers off. At this point, Shawn is positively glaring at me. I can tell what he’s thinking: “Dude, back off! I told you that I like her!” That’s what his eyes seemed to say, anyway. So, I went back to tending bar. Naked. I will say that when my clothes were taken off of me, I did the typical preemptive explanation. “It’s a grower, not a show-er.”

Sarah ended up coming back behind the bar a little later, and she seemed interested in me, so I started putting my hands on her, and trying to put my fingers IN her. I wasn’t intrusive with it, but I did give her the option to refuse, which she did by moving away. No biggie. I’ve been rejected before. However, I already had the feeling that this night was going to end up as a story to tell.

We were drinking and carousing for a couple of hours that night. Sarah and I danced and made out on the dance floor, Holly was talking with Shawn, the other guys were bullshitting about owning a business and being in a band, etc.

Eventually, the night wore on, and Holly came behind the bar, grabbed me by the hand and told me to follow her. She took me to the kitchen pointed at my dick and said, “Make that hard. I want to see how big it is.”

Me:    You make it hard.
Holly:    If you have a big enough dick, you’ll probably end up with BOTH of us tonight.
Me:    I’m already gonna end up with both of you!
Holly:     Well, how big is it?
Me:    How big is your mouth?

She opened her mouth as wide as she could. To which, I said, “Yeah, I guess it’ll fit.”

Right there, she grabbed my head, and started making out with me. Hard. I pulled back, and asked, sarcastically, “What? Do you just wanna get it on right here on the prep table?” Then Ed walked in. He was just checking around to see where everyone was. After he left, Holly grabbed me and started kissing me again. Then Shawn walked in. He was, to put it mildly….. Pissed off.

Holly and I came back out to the bar, and I talked to Shawn. I explained to him that I had already told him that if he couldn’t pull the trigger, I would, and that’s what I did. I was going to try and get him included in the deal, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen. It especially wouldn’t happen if he was going to act like a jealous boyfriend, which he wasn’t.

The night calmed down considerably after that, and we all ended up getting our clothes back on and leaving. Shawn was giving them a ride home, and Sarah told me to follow them. Apparently, he didn’t realize that I was following them, and he took a route back to Holly’s apartment that was about 4 miles long, and was driving about 60 miles per hour in downtown Seattle. Holly lives 4 blocks from the bar we were at.

We got there, and it was apparent that Holly was not having Shawn anywhere in her place, and I had to calm everyone down. I gave Sarah my card, and told her to call me in about 10 minutes so I could get rid of Shawn. He didn’t seem to want to go home. Holly called me on her phone, and said that she was coming down to get me. She did, and I apologized to Shawn. I know it was cold of me, but that kind of thing has happened to ME before. It’s not like we really have control of other people, and who they want to fuck.

We got upstairs, and I lit up a smoke out the window, as Holly doesn’t want the smoke in her place. I’m a gracious guest. When I finished my smoke, I went to the bathroom. When I came back out, Sarah and Holly were making out. “Game On!” I thought. When things like this happen, there really isn’t a way to describe the specifics. There are too many variables, too many things happening at once and it all just becomes a big blur. Here are some things that I do remember, though (not in any particular order):

·    Holly going down on Sarah and me licking her asshole.
·    Holly handcuffing Sarah’s arms behind her legs, shackling her ankles together, and me going down on her.
·    Fucking Sarah’s face while she was wearing a blindfold.
·    Fucking Holly in the ass.
·    Both girls sucking my dick.
·    Sarah lying on top of Holly, and Holly leaning around Sarah’s head and saying to me, “I want you to fuck her like you hate her.”

About that time, my heart started acting up. I was getting short of breath, and my heart rate increased. Great. Another mini-heart attack during sex. I apologized to both girls, and let them know that I needed to get home and take my medication. They both started talking shit, but not seriously. I drove home, furious with my heart for keeping me from finishing one of the greatest sex stories I’ve ever had the pleasure of being involved in.

To top it all off:     I never finished.

Dollar Store Adventures

For about a year, I worked at a Dollar Store in Union Gap. I started working there because a guy I met at the Denny’s near there was the manager of the place, and he needed some help. So, I filled out an application, and started work almost immediately.

I started as a cashier, and eventually worked my way up to Assistant Manager. Not a bad gig, I guess.

I met so many people working there. Some were good, some were bad. But there were a couple of people that I met that really stuck in my head.

While working at the cashier, a Hispanic man walked in and said hello. I had a long line of customers, so I only gave him a nod, and continued working. This man walked to the food aisle, picked out the biggest box of Corn Flakes that we had, and got in line. He waited at least 15 minutes to get to me.

Once he got to the counter, he asked me, “Quanto?”, which means “How much?”. “Un dolar.”, I replied. “Gracias”.

He then went back to the food aisle, put the box of Corn Flakes back on the shelf, said “Adios” on his way past me, and left.

So, let’s get this straight. A man walked into the DOLLAR STORE, got a box of corn flakes, waited in line to ask how much it was, and then left. The only thought that went through my head was, “Is this a joke? Did this guy just do that on a dare or something?”

Another day, I was outside smoking a cigarette. A man and his wife pulled up in a ’53 Rambler. She got out of the car, and walked into the store. The man got out of the car, sat on the hood and said, “So, the wife’s mother has to go to the hospital again.”

“Excuse me?”

He repeated himself, and continued on, explaining current events in his life. We had a very in-depth conversation about the state of medicine, and how much it sucks to have a family member in the hospital. We ended up chatting for about 20 minutes, then his wife came out of the store.

"Time to go, I guess."
“Well, see you later Ray.”

“See you later, Jim.”

He and his wife got in the car and started to drive off. While they were backing out, I could tell what they were saying to each other. She asked him who I was, and he told her. She then asked how he knew me, and he paused. For a full minute. He even stopped the car.

He looked at me, looked at her, then back at me. Shook his head, said, “You know what? I really don’t know.”, and they drove off together.

We had talked to each other that long, as if we were old friends. And we had never met. That sort of thing used to happen to me all the time.

The Pamper Night

The names in this story have been changed to protect the guilty. But, if they happen to read this, they will know that it's them....

So, I was sitting at a restaurant one night with a couple friends of mine, Carla and Darlene. It was a typical night for us. Just sitting around, drinking coffee and people watching.

This particular night, Carla and Darlene were complaining about their respective boyfriends. Things like “he doesn’t do THIS for me anymore”, or “he never shows me he cares anymore”, or “when we have sex, he just gets off, and goes to sleep. There’s no romance anymore.” Things like that. Basically, their self esteem was low.

I suggested that they needed to have a “Pamper Night”. I told them they needed to find some random guy that they would basically be at their beck and call for a night. A guy that would feed them grapes, massage their feet, change the channel on the T.V., etc, anything they wanted.

They agreed that it was a good idea, but couldn’t think of who they would get to do that for them. Of course, being the guy that I am, I volunteered. Not, as you would expect, to get laid, but because I had two friends that needed something, and I had the ability to provide it for them. I’m a philanthropist like that. At first, they didn’t trust me, but after a little while, I had convinced them that I was just doing it to be a good friend.

I can tell, my fair reader, that at this point, you don't believe me either. Well, I'll tell you the truth. I really didn't do it because I was trying to get laid. I was just going to hang out, do little menial tasks they wanted, and help two friends of mine to feel better about themselves.

About this time, the idea is in their heads, and they’re planning and scheming. “When can we do this?” “Well, my boyfriend is gone for the weekend, we can do it tonight. Let’s go to my place”

You got it, ladies.

We get to the house, and I stand at the threshold, waiting for instruction. “What are you doing?” “I’m just waiting for you to tell me what to do.” Apparently, they were still wary of my intentions. So, to prove it, I told Carla to give me an order, and I’d obey. She told me to stand on one leg, so I did. I stood there silently for 5 minutes before they finally started trusting me.

Me: So what now?
Carla: Well, I like the idea of someone feeding me grapes. Go get some.
Darlene: Yeah, I like that too.
Me: Ok, I’ll be back.

Mind you, this is about 11:30. I head to the grocery store, and get the biggest bag of grapes I can find, and that’s all. The cashier looked at me, looked at the grapes, looked at me… “Just take them, dude. You seem like you’re going to be having one hell of a night.” Thanks, big guy. I am.

I get back to the house, and I can’t find the girls. I hear from the bedroom, “Go ahead and chill for a minute, we’ll be right out.” So, I go into the kitchen, wash the grapes, and make up two bowls, one for each of them. I go back into the living room, and set up. A bowl of grapes for each, an ashtray for each and a glass of water for each. I’m thoughtful like that.

They come out of the bedroom, both dressed in black teddies. “Gorgeous”, I say, as they take opposite ends of the couch. I sit on the floor in front and between them.

“Here we are. If you want a grape, say grape. If you need an ashtray, say flick. If you want water, say water. Simple.” I know that I’m supposed to be the submissive, but someone has to set some ground rules.

We sit like that for a while, talking about whatever. The latest T.V. shows, our college classes, being in the drama department, etc. I’m multitasking like a pro. Grape, flick, water. Darlene disappears for a little bit, and comes back with her hands behind her back. “Hold out your hands.” I do, and she places a feather in one hand, and a small whip in the other. “The feather is for Carla. Tickle her with it when you feel like it. The whip is for me. Hit me with it at random times. That’s how I like it.”

As you wish. I am your servant.

So, I’m multitasking like a pro even more. Grape, flick, water, tickle, grape, water, WHACK!!. They’re loving it.

Darlene then tells me, “I bought my boyfriend something, and he won’t ever wear it. I want you to wear it. You’re about the same size, so it should fit.” She goes into the bedroom, and comes back with a small box, about 7 inches wide on a side. This ought to be interesting. I turns out that the object that she bought was as such: A vinyl, fur lined speedo with suspenders, plastic gold chains across the front, and a little red Velcro bow tie. I can understand why he wouldn’t want to wear it.

Before I come out of the bathroom, I make them promise not to laugh. I look ridiculous. I’d better be getting laid for this. When I walk out, Carla says, “Damn! Did basic training do that to you?” “Do what?” “You’re hot!!!!” Mind you, when I went to basic, I was 6 feet tall, and 143 pounds. I was thin as a rail. When I got back, I weighed 190, and actually had muscles.

I continue the pampering. Grape, flick, WHACK, water, flick, grape, tickle, WHACK. Etc.

Suddenly, Carla says, “I could use a massage.” Darlene agrees. They didn't want to lay on the floor, so we move to the bedroom.

They lay side by side, face down, with me kneeling between them. Darlene on my left, and Carla on my right. Since they wanted massages at the same time, I had to rub them both with one hand each. Darlene wanted a deeper massage, and Carla just wanted a light rub. I started at their feet, up each of their legs, along their asses, up their back to their shoulders. I even massaged their heads. If you've ever tried to massage with two different pressures at the same time, you understand how difficult this is. I'm totally concentrating on my work.

As if there was a signal, they both flipped over onto their backs at the same time. Again, I started at their feet, worked up their legs, hips, stomachs, arms and necks. As soon as I finish massaging, they both asked why I avoided their naughty parts. “Well, I’m still at your command, and you haven’t told me to do anything dirty.”

I am the ESSENCE of game at this point. They both want the FULL massage, so I happily oblige, and massage their breasts and between their legs.

Here’s where it gets REALLY interesting.

Darlene gets up, turns off the lights, and ties Carla to the bed. Once she’s tied up and blindfolded, Darlene goes down on her like she’s looking for the Lost Treasure of the Sierra Madre. I’m standing to the side, watching this whole thing. That’s all, just watching. Somehow, Carla’s blindfold comes off, and she notices me standing to the side. “What are you doing over there?” “Nothing, until you tell me otherwise.” I’m still playing the game. “Well, get over here, and get involved!”

So, I do.

I take Darlene’s place, and go down on Carla. She tastes soooooo good. I’d been wanting her ever since I met her, and now I’m having her. I’m going to make every moment of this count. If ever there was an instance in my life where I really took the time to eat a pussy right, it was this moment. I took my time. I explored every bit of it.

Darlene unties Carla, and suddenly, she gets in this mood to be a director of a porn. She has me lay on the bed, and makes Darlene suck my dick. She is rather talented. All the while, I still have the feather in one hand, and am tickling Carla with it. She has the whip now, and is occasionally hitting Darlene with it.

Darlene gets up to get a condom, and Carla comes over, and sucks my dick. She has got some real talent. Not only does she use her hands in just the right way, but she doesn't seem to have a gag reflex. Darlene joins in.

Gentlemen, if you've never had the pleasure of two women sucking your dick, I highly recommend it.

They put the condom on me, and Darlene rides me like her life depends on it. The whole time, Carla is giving directions, and hitting Darlene with the whip. I had been, well, warned about Darlene before. When she orgasms, there are no peaks and valleys. She plateaus, rises, plateaus, and so on until the act is finished.

Carla gets on the bed to the right of me, and continues to hit Darlene with the whip. She alternates between kissing me, and licking or caressing Darlene's breasts. I relinquish the feather, and slip my hand between Carla's legs, sliding my fingers inside of her. I thrust with my fingers and my cock at the same time, and both women moan with pleasure. I continue this way, alternating between them, until all three of us climax at the same time.

Exhausted, we collapse on the bed together, and silently fall asleep. Darlene has her head on my left shoulder, and Carla is on my right. Up to that moment, I had never felt as content in my life. I have done a good deed, and had my first threesome in the process. I feel like a god.

I wake up in the morning to the sound of someone rummaging through the closet. I peek out from under the covers, and notice that it’s Darlene’s boyfriend’s MOTHER looking for something in the closet. I quietly, put the covers back over my head, and try to stay as silent as possible.

She leaves, and I get out of bed. I don't think she noticed that I was there. I don't know how. The girls are nowhere to be found in the house. They’ve both left, and I don’t know where they’ve gone. I’m still wearing the suspenders and the bow tie. And the condom.

Quickly, I change back into my clothes, get into my car, and head home. My dad asked me where I had been all night. I didn't tell him. We mad a pact.

They never talked about it at all, and I never said anything to anyone. Until now…. I figure 15 years is long enough to keep this secret.

The 4 Way

The names in this story have been changed to protect the guilty. But, if they happen to read this, they will know that it's them....

I was seeing a girl named “Janine”. “Janine” has BI tendencies, and had a friend named “Christine”. “Christine” has a girlfriend named “Patricia”.

“Janine” called me one night to let me know that she bought a bunch of new outfits from Victoria's Secret, and had told “Christine” about them. Of course, “Christine” wanted to see them, as she and “Janine” had messed around before. She wanted “Janine” to come over and put on a show for her and “Patricia”. “Janine” wasn't entirely comfortable with it, as she was with me, and didn't know if that was kosher. (Although, she was married at the time, getting a divorce, and I refused to acknowledge that we were together, just that we were sleeping together.)

So, as “Janine” put it, “Christine” puts the phone down, talks to “Patricia” for a minute, then comes back on and says, "You can bring Ray...". So, naturally, she calls me to ask what I think. My first reaction was that all it was going to be was a little fashion show, and if anything happened, I wasn't really going to be involved, as “Christine” and “Patricia” are mostly gay. So, I asked for clarification. “Janine”'s words to me were as such: "“Christine” and “Patricia” are inviting us to come over this weekend, have me put on my new outfits, drink a bit and get naked with them." I agreed.

So, as it stands, I was invited to a 4-some with three women. I rock.

“Patricia” wanted to meet me first, to make sure that I might be someone she wanted to invite into her bed. Understandable. We went to drinks that Saturday, and had a good time. “Patricia” seemed very reserved and quiet, so I wasn't sure if she would be into me. Of course, 7 drinks later, we're all laughing and having a good time, so I'm in.

We set up for about 2 weeks later, on a Saturday night, since they both work a lot. “Janine” decides to bring her PS3, and a few karaoke games, since we're all karaoke junkies. We show up at their house, set up the game console, and start drinking and singing. We all seem to be having a good time, “Janine”'s changing outfits ever so often, and each one is better than the last. The mood, however, doesn't seem to be leaning toward nookie. “Patricia” isn't talking that much, and again, doesn't seem that into me. “Christine” ends up jumping on “Janine” and making out with her for a minute or two here and there.

It was getting pretty late, and I was just about to give up hope. “Janine” and “Christine” were having fun, but it seemed like “Patricia” and I were only spectators. So, I decided to go have a cigarette, and figure out if we were going to go home, or if we were just going to crash from drinking too much. On my way out to the back porch, I passed by “Patricia” coming out of the bathroom. I stopped, looked at her, moved over and planted a kiss on her. When she returned the kiss, and wrapped her arms around my neck, I knew it was on.

Now, I have no game, mind you. I never know what the hell I'm doing. I just sort of make shit up as I go along, and see how well it works out. Many times, it works out for the best.

After the kiss, I went to smoke. I was only out there for about 5 minutes. When I came back in, nobody was in the living room, the stereo speakers had been moved toward the bedroom, some techno was playing and I couldn't find the girls. Figuring they were off talking or something, I made another drink and sat down to see what other games we had brought.

Just then, “Christine” comes into the living room and says, "We're back here, are you coming?" I get up, and go to the bedroom. No sooner do I enter, than “Christine” puts some porno on the TV that we don't even watch. Just for background noise, I guess. “Patricia” lies down on the bed, and “Christine” climbs on top of her and starts caressing her. I don't know where “Janine” is, and frankly, I don't care. I've HAD her. This was someone new. I lie down beside them, and start kissing “Patricia”. “Janine” comes in and says, "Started without me, eh?" She gets on the bed behind “Christine”, and starts kissing her neck.

Now, most of the rest of the night is a bit of a blur. I don't remember exact sequences, but I do remember bits and pieces:

·        “Janine” going down on “Patricia” whilst “Christine” is on top of me, fucking away.

·        “Patricia” going down on “Christine” whilst “Janine” is going down on me.

·        “Christine” fucking “Patricia” with a giant strap on while I'm eating her out from below.

Various things like that. At one point, “Christine” breaks out this little bottle of something she calls "Rush". I don't know what it is, but it gives you the same body high as doing X, but doesn't last that long. You don't drink it, you smell it.

Now, this vision will forever be burned into my brain:

I'm standing near the end of the bed, porn playing on the shitty TV, bottle of "Rush" in my hand. I take a sniff, and look down. All three women are sucking my dick at the same time. I can't put into words the emotional, physical or psychological JOY that I felt at that exact moment.

We continue to suck, fuck and fondle for a couple of hours, and I end up fucking “Patricia” and cumming. (Finally). I took a couple minutes, went to the bathroom, and had a smoke, naked on the back porch. It was snowing. LOL

When I get back, “Christine” throws me on the bed, and starts giving me head again. Only this time, she's got her finger in my ass. I know, graphic, but you wanted to know the details. This went on for about 30 more minutes, and we all collapsed into a big pile of flesh. I got up, had a smoke, came back, and “Patricia” and “Christine” were already asleep. “Janine” called me from the guest bedroom, so I went in there. Just before we went to sleep, I fucked her, and we pass out.

The next day, we all went to breakfast together, and then “Janine” and I went back home.

That was possibly the most awkward breakfast I have ever had. Mostly, it was because we were in public, and I keep having visions of these three women naked.

Drinking with Goons

Have you ever went drinking with a couple friends that obviously can out drink you, even on your best day? Well, it's happened to me a couple times, and this is the story of one of those times.

Myself, Kevin, Jay and Ryan finished up a solar job in less than a day. We thought it was going to take about 3 days to do, but we busted our asses and got finished early.

After work, we went to our local bar for some drinks to wind down. Turns out, we were just winding up.

We started off by just having a couple of beers. That's all we were gonna have. Then, someone starts buying shots. And by someone, I mean everyone. Not including me, because I haven't gotten paid yet. We started doing shots of Fireball Whiskey, then shots of Jameson, then Wild Turkey.

Suddenly, Ryan has the bright idea that we should all go downtown and party, since we got paid, and we don't have to work in the morning. Great idea.

We all head to our apartment (mine and Ryan's), to shower and get changed to go out, as none of us has showered yet. Ryan is taking forever, so he says he'll just meet us downtown. We get in a cab, and head to Pioneer Square. I'm pretty sozzled by this point, and we haven't even started yet.

We started off by hitting the J&M Cafe. A shot or two there.

Then, we go to the Central Saloon. We each have a double Jameson there.

Then, we go to the Firehouse, get some food, and have another couple shots.

This is just the first hour. Now, I'm wasted, and so are my Jay and Kevin, but they're handing it better than I. We were about to head into a club, when some guy walking past me says something about my shirt. It's a nice summer evening, so I'm not wearing a jacket, and I'm also wearing an ARMY t-shirt. This guy was apparently in the army. So, he says to me, "Army, huh? You know you shouldn't be drunk in public in the army, right?"

"Dude, I'm rocking a ginger beard that is obviously manicured, and has also taken obviously more than a couple days to grow. I'm not in the Army anymore. But thanks for the advice, Staff Sargent."

"How did you know my rank?"

"Only a newly promoted Staff Sargent would correct someone on their outfit. AR 670-1. I remember. Now fuck off."

At which point, Jay notices that I'm having an issue with someone, and that guy is walking away, obviously pissed off. His friends are trying to convince him to let it go. But he doesn't want to. Jay asks me if there's an issue, because he's in the mood to fight someone. I tell him it's cool, and we head toward the club.

Still no Ryan.

Outside, we meet another Goon, Shawn, who is the head bouncer at the club. Jay and Kev are bullshitting with him, and suddenly, I have the need to get home. I'm so drunk, that I don't even bother telling them I'm heading back, and start walking.

It's 6 miles back to West Seattle, and I'm determined to walk back. Alone. With no jacket.

So, I start down 1st Ave, posting on Facebook on my phone during the walk. This was not a good night for me to be drunk and unsupervised. As I was walking, stumbling actually, people crossed the street to avoid me. I don't know why. It's not like I was going to rob them. I even sat down near Studio 7, and took a nap on the sidewalk for about 10 minutes.

That's right. I was so drunk, I took a nap on the sidewalk. Not my proudest moment.

I walked all the way down 1st Ave to the West Seattle Bridge. I walked under the bridge, over the lower bridge, and arrived at the Chelan Cafe. On the way, my friend Krista got a hold of me, and came to get me. She bought me a couple Jager shots at the Chelan, then gave me a ride home.

I was home for a couple hours, passed out on the couch, when Jay and Kev got back. Still no Ryan. Jay crashed on the other couch, Kev slept in my bed, and I was still passed out on the love seat.

When we woke up the next day, there was still no Ryan. Turns out he bailed on us to go hang out with some chick. Thanks, buddy. It was your idea to go out to Pioneer Square in the first place.

The fun part is, I wasn't even hung over the next day.

I was still drunk. For the entire day. I was hung over, the NEXT day. That sucked.

There is no light at the end of the tunnel

Someone asked me tonight about death.

Well, I have died a couple of times. I know what you're thinking. No, it's not just a delusion. I actually died.

Here's what happened...


When I went to basic training, I was a pansy. Really. I weighed 143 pounds at 6 feet tall. I took my first physical fitness test about a week into it. I could only do 11 push ups, 25 situps, and run 2 miles in 25 minutes. If you think that's not so bad, do 10 pushups. See how long it takes you.

I'll wait.

Didn't take very long, didn't it? It took me all two minutes to do 11. I tried to do another one, but my arms gave out, and I hit my face on the ground.

Anyway, to the point of my story.

One day, we were in the classroom doing an inventory of our gear, and also cleaning it. Since it wasn't instruction or physical training, people were talking. A lot. And loudly. Our Drill Sargent warned us to keep it down. He didn't care that we were talking. He just didn't want to have to yell over the crowd.

Finally, he had had enough of the noise, and told everyone to get outside. We all got up, and went outside. He ended up taking us to "The Pit". Every basic training has something like this. Ours was a 75 foot long by 45 foot wide shed that was only open on one end. The floor of this shack was 3 inches of loose dirt and bark.

If they wanted to punish us, they took us out to The Pit, and made us work out. Push ups, sit ups, running in place, other various exercises. When you get 50 people running in place in the dust, and there's very little ventilation, it tends to get difficult to breathe, which was the case on this day.

We were doing crab walks, bear crawls, etc. The dust got so thick that you couldn't even see past the doorway. I could barely breathe, and was already exhausted from the exercises, that I started feeling pretty woozy. Our DI (drill instructor) saw that I was having problems, and called us into formation. I tried to get up, but my arms were jelly. So, I rolled over, and tried to get up, but I couldn't. One of my friends grabbed my hand, and helped me up.

I fell into formation right in front of our DI, and did my best to keep standing. He told us to go upstairs, get cleaned up and come back to the classroom.

When I got upstairs, I went into the bathroom to wash up, when suddenly, my vision started closing in. Yup. I'm gonna pass out. So, I grabbed the sink, to try and hold on to some sort of reality, but to no avail. I remember it going black, and then nothing.

I came to on my bunk, and bolt upright, breathing heavily. There were several people around me, a couple of which seemed completely terrified.

I asked them what happened, and they pieced it all together for me. Apparently, I had stopped breathing because of all the dust in my lungs, and passed out in the bathroom. I hit the back of my head on the tile floor because I fell straight backward. This could have been a contributing factor to what is next.

I stopped breathing all together.

For 10 minutes.

I know you probably think I'm full of shit, but that's what they told me. They tried doing rescue breathing on me, and an ambulance was on the way. However, after that long, the rescue breathing just isn't going to work. So, they were basically just waiting for the ambulance to take me to the hospital and declare me dead.

That's when I sat up in bed, and scared the shit out of them. The paramedics got there, checked me out, and said that they didn't hear anything wrong with my lungs. I had a slight concussion from hitting my head on the tile, but other than that and being disoriented, I was in good condition.

So, I went back downstairs like nothing happened. I ended being one of 5 people who got promoted at the end of Basic, and the DIs told me that because of my help, my platoon was "Honor Platoon" in the company. Which, in turn, made us "Honor Company", which also in turn, made us "Honor Battalion". I also had the best run improvement time they had ever seen. I went from running 2 miles in 25 minutes, to 13 1/2. Not bad, eh? I couldn't do it again, mostly because I smoke.

Anyway, the point I that I'm making, I think, is that I didn't see anything when I was "dead". No tunnel, no light, no choir of angels, no burning inferno, no blackness, no heaven, no hell. Nothing. Is that weird?

How are you not in prison?

This is probably the best example of why I never got promoted in the Army.

Some time after the incident where I almost died, I had a different kind of situation happen in the Operations Center.

We were just doing our thing, sitting around, waiting for something to happen. That was our job. Wait for something to happen, then deal with it quickly and efficiently.

I was at my desk, reading a book, when one of the heads of the OC walked up to me and said:

"SPC Grissom, I need you to get me a 'roll up' of all the 120mm mortar attacks. Thanks." Then, he turned around and started walking away.

This threw me off a little bit. Mostly because it was a very vague request, and he never really talked to me.

"Excuse me, sir, but I have some questions."

"Oh? Such as?"

        As I started asking questions, I had a hard time not giggling. You'll see why in a minute.

"Well, first off, from what area are you wanting this information?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, do you want info from around this base? Do you want it from Mosul? Tikrit? Baghdad? Basrah?"

"Oh, I see. Well, how about where ever your Brigade is located?" Just FYI, our Brigade was scattered all over the country.

"Oh, so the whole country, eh? Ok, What time frame are we looking at?"

"What do you mean?"  This man obviously hasn't thought about what he's been asking.

"Well, do you want the data from last week? 3 months ago? A three week period 4 years ago this August?"

"Oh, how about the whole time that you guys have been in Iraq?"

"So, 8 months? Alright, then. <stifled giggle> When do you want this information?"

"Oh, as soon as possible. I was hoping to get it in a couple of days."

"I see. Sir, go fuck yourself."

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?!?!?!?!"

"Now that I have your attention, you're going to listen to every word I have to say, aren't you?"

"You're damn right, son! You'd better have a good explanation for this."

And, here we go:

"Well, sir, there are several problems with your request. First of all, 120 mm mortar is one of the most widely used munitions on the planet. Did you want me to filter the results? German? Russian? Chinese? British? American? Japanese? You do know that they also use those things in IEDs, right? So, I would have to go through each instance to determine whether it's an indirect attack, or a cache, or an IED. 

As far as the area goes, you're asking for data from the ENTIRE Theater of Operations. We here in the "Base Defense Operations Center" only deal with our little slice of the war. Now, let's talk time frame. 8 months worth of data, huh? For the entire country? And you want it compiled and filtered in a couple days? By myself? Ok. Let's just, for the sake of argument, say that I can get all that done in a couple of days with no time off for sleeping or eating. Once you have this information, what are you going to do with it?"

Keep in mind, there are about 20 people of various ranks in the room watching this play-by-play. Sargeants, Specialists, Chief Warrant Officers, and several officers, as well. And they all have a look of utter disbelief on their faces. I've known several of these people for years, and they still can't believe that I'm actually challenging this guys authority.

"Well, we're going to sit down and figure out if it's a group of insurgents that are hitting Mosul one week, then going down and launching at Baghdad the next week, then Fallujah a couple weeks later...."

I interrupt him at this point. "Sir, don't you mean "I" (pointing at myself) would figure it out? I highly doubt you would sit down and do the analysis yourself. That's why you have lower enlisted personnel such as myself. I also understand that you're going to be leaving Iraq in 2 weeks, and would like to have something really nifty to show your superiors so you can get promoted. I can appreciate that, it wouldn't help me in the slightest. We're not in the same unit. And you couldn't promote me.

Also, you can't task me, officially, for intelligence data, being in a different unit. You'd have to go to your chain of command and ask them for the data. Then, their commander would have to talk to our commander and request the information. Our commander would task our intelligence personnel with the task, but we would tell him that it is out of our range of operations, and deny the request. Then, it would go back to your chain, then back to you. Which is why, I'm assuming, you came directly to me in the first place. Easier to walk 15 feet than to take the time and go through proper channels.

Now, there's something I want to tell you. What you have requested from me is a theater level intelligence request. 3rd Corps is currently in charge of the theater, and they have teams of analysts working around the clock figuring this kind of stuff out."

"Really? How many analysts?" 

"TEAMS!"

Some of the higher ranking individuals in the room are now trying to get my attention. Of course, I'm ignoring them. I'm not gonna bail out of this. I'm gonna stick it like Mary Lou Retton.

"However, sir, I do have an alternative. Remember those special mortars that get launched from the other side of the river? We have a "roll up" of that data, complete with analysis. I could get you that..."

Now, he's getting a little excited. "You have that information? Really?"

"Sir, what do you think our intelligence section does all day? Make coffee?

What I'll do for you, sir, is see if I can get you our analysis. I'll even pass along your crazy request."

"Okay. Thanks, Grissom. Oh, and I'm sorry for that whole thing. I guess I just didn't think it out before I asked."

I get up to leave and pass along the crazy request, and on the way out, the Chief Warrant stops me. "How the hell did you get him to apologize?"

"The army trained me, and pays me to be the smartest person in the room. Not a difficult task in THIS room"

I go over to our office, and on the way, I run into my direct supervisor, Dan. I inform him that I have a request for our Major, and I wanted to tell him myself. I also didn't want him thinking I was going over his head, so I invited him to come along with me.

We go into the office and talk to the Major. I tell him what happened, with no embellishment.

"You didn't just tell a Lieutenant Colonel to go fuck himself...."

"Yes, sir, I did. What should I tell him now?" Dan is now covering his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

"Well...... Tell him no.   IN THOSE WORDS. But, we can give him our Intel for the 'Fast Freddy'."

I make a hard copy of the data, and also put it on a flash drive, then headed back to the OC. When I got there, I knocked on the door, and requested permission to enter. The Colonel turns and looks at me like I have three heads. I have NEVER, before or after, knocked on an officer's door, and requested permission to enter. I just walk in. They're expecting me, anyway.

"Sir, I have that information you requested. The 'Fast Freddy' data, not the crazy request data." Then, I hand him the hard copy, and start giving a tutorial about using a flash drive.

"Here ya go, sir. I've got a hard copy for you, and a copy on this flash drive. What you do, is you take this thing, and stick it in the little slot on the side of your laptop..."

"Grissom, I know how a flash drive works."

"All due respect, sir, you just requested something completely asinine. I'm not taking any chances." I then proceeded to explain to him how to copy the file over to his desktop. When he was done, I told him, "Now, sir, we've already distributed that to Theater Command, so you won't be able to change it, put your name on it and take credit for it. I know that's what you were thinking."

As I was leaving, he says to me, "Specialist, just for future reference,  you probably don't want to tell a senior officer to go fuck himself. It could be detrimental to your career."

"Colonel, just for future reference, you probably want to think about what you're asking before you make an ass out of yourself in front of your subordinates"

And, I walked out and went back to my desk.

Shit my Mom Says

Since I told a story about my dad, I'm going to tell one about my mom.

Several years ago, I moved from Yakima to Seattle. I started off in Tukwila, but then moved to Burien.I was living in a two bedroom apartment with an old high school friend. How we came to live in that complex, and the adventure within, is a story for another day.

A few weeks before my birthday, I got a card in the mail. It was from my mother. She had sent me a birthday/Christmas card. People do that to me all the time, since my birthday is pretty close to Christmas. Anyway, I open the card, and notice that there are two checks in it.

One is marked "Birthday", and the other is marked "Christmas". The birthday check wasn't signed. Good job, mom.

So, I put the check in an envelope with a note asking her to sign the check (even though I could have just forged her signature) and also thanking her for the money, and send it on it's way back to St. Louis, which is where my mom lived at the time.

A couple days later, I get a call from mom.

"Hi, honey! Did you get the card I sent?"

'Yeah, mom, I did. Thank you again."

"Again? What do you mean?"

'Well, mom, I opened the card a couple of days ago, and one of the checks you sent wasn't signed.'

"Oh, honey. I'm so sorry. Send me back the check, and I'll send it back to you."

"Not a problem, mom. I already have."

"OK, good."

I pause for a little bit, and then say, to my MOTHER:

"Mom, I don't want to sound like an ungrateful son, but if the check isn't signed, how am I going to cash it and buy cheap liquor and hookers?"

She didn't even take a breath:  "Oh, honey. You know you don't buy cheap liquor..."

I Sprained My Thumb

And long story short, I had my appendix taken out.

Here's what happened.

I sprained my thumb playing volleyball in Iraq. We had a barbecue for our company and a fellow company. Lots of food, fake beer and people trying to have fun in one of the most desolate places on the planet. We started a volleyball tournament, and in the first game, I jumped up to block the ball. The problem was, the guy on the other side of the net was a LOT bigger than me, and slammed  it down into my hand.

It hurt.

A few days later, I wasn't feeling so good, and my thumb had started to turn a little purple. So, I told my boss that I was going to the med center to have them check out my thumb.

When I get there, they take a look at it and tell me that there's nothing they can really do. I have to just let it heal. But, they COULD give me ibuprofen. Like I don't have enough of that already. They wouldn't do a scan or even check the mobility of it to see if it was broken.

While checking out my thumb, they noticed I was holding my stomach. "Is your belly OK? You seem to be holding it." I told them that it had been hurting a little bit for a day or two. The nurse, a Specialist, says she's gonna get the doc.

The doctor is a 1st Lieutenant, and had a great bedside manner. The whole time I was there, we were laughing and joking. He asks me to lay down, so he can examine my abdomen. I do, and he starts prodding, starting with the lower left quadrant, and moving counter-clockwise.

He finally gets to the lower right quadrant, and pushes in. "Does it hurt here?" "Fuck yes it does!" Then, he says, "Does it hurt more when I push in..." ( I swear he was trying to touch my spine) "Or when I release?" When he let go, it felt like he had reached into me, grabbed some organs, and tried to rip them out, while simultaneously, someone hit me in the back of that area with a pickaxe.

I shot up off the exam table, and almost threw a punch at the doc. It was a good thing he was an officer and a nice guy. Otherwise, I would have hit him really hard. Ok, I would have used some very harsh language.

He tells me to lay back down and then explains, "Ok, we're going to get an IV in you, give you some Morphine, and get you on the first MEDIVAC flight out of here. You have Appendicitis, and you need to get that thing removed as soon as possible.

Holding up my hand, staring at my thumb. Then the doc. Then my thumb. Then the doc. "I came in to have my thumb looked at!"  "Well, your thumb will heal. Your appendix will kill you." "Well, okay then."

One of my buddies brought me a backpack with a couple changes of clothes, a couple packs of cigarettes, and a crossword puzzle book. Apparently, the med center staff called my unit, and told them that I was getting a MEDIVAC, and to have someone bring me some essentials. However, they didn't explain why I was leaving. Everyone knew I was going to the Med center to get my thumb checked out, and suddenly, I'm being flown out like a medical emergency. I gained a lot of respect for that.

An hour later, I'm on a helicopter, flying to the nearest hospital, which is 100 miles away. They put me in the ICU and give me 2 CT scans. Just after the CT scans, the doctor comes to talk to me. He tells me, "Well, your appendix is just about the size where we could take it out, but you don't seem like you're in A LOT of pain. If you were here on this base, I'd just send you back to your unit, and have you come back if it gets worse. But, since you aren't, and it would be such an ordeal to get you back here, we'll just go ahead and get that thing out of you." Which I was very enthusiastic about. Seriously. I haven't had a real surgery since I was 2.

So, they took it out of me, and I had one of the nurses take pictures. Pablo looks angry. That's right, I named it. I wanted to take it home, too, but they wouldn't. The bastards. I woke up in the ICU recovery room, completely whacked out on Morphine, and babbling my ass off. Apparently, morphine makes me very talkative. Problem is, I was speaking gibberish. I must have made up 10 new words. When I finally came to, I went quiet for a minute. The nurses were concerned, because they thought I might have had an adverse reaction to the anesthesia, and might vomit. I called one over.

You okay?
I have a question. Problem. A problem, question.
All right?
Where are my underpants?
That's your question?
No, that's my problem. Where are my underpants? I went into surgery wearing them, and don't have them now.
Oh, they're under the gurney.
...
...
...
Okay. Here's my question:
I'm doped to the gills, I hurt from the belly button down, and for some reason, my genitals are wet. I feel like a sex crime victim. What did you guys DO to me while I was under?

All the nurses started laughing, and some of the doctors who just happened to be walking by started laughing, too. I'm glad that I can make people laugh. Even after surgery, I still have a sense of humor. Once they moved me to ICU, they put another IV in me, and wouldn't let me eat or drink. I hadn't eaten since before I went to the med clinic 2 1/2 days earlier. They wouldn't even let me have water. They were afraid I was going to vomit it back up. So, I had an IV in me for the next 2 days, until I convinced them that I was well enough to eat. I think I lost about 20 pounds while I was there.

Since I could hardly stand, let alone walk, I wasn't able to smoke, and could barely get around. I wanted a wheelchair, but they didn't have any that were available. (I think they lied to me. They always do that.) Hell, I couldn't even shower, and I was starting to get ripe since I hadn't taken one for about 5 days. So, I kept asking everyone to give me a sponge bath. EVERYONE. Officers, enlisted, nurses, men, women, the LTC who did my surgery. I just kept saying, "Don't be shy! Grab a sponge!" They didn't. Where is their bedside manner? 

After a couple days, I was well enough to walk, and got a ride to the airfield to try and catch a flight back to my base. Took 3 days. Finally, I catch a chopper and head back. I got put on light duty for a month, and was given Percocet for the pain. Which was wonderful. Not as good as the morphine, mind you, but good enough. It kept me from weeping every time I had to take a shit.

Oh, by the way, the entire time I was gone, 10 days, I didn't have access to a computer, or any contact numbers for my command back at my base. So, I couldn't let them know when I was coming back, or give them updates as to my condition. They basically just heard that I went to have my thumb checked out, and then I became a medical emergency. I had to explain it all to them, because the Med center wouldn't tell them anything.

Once I was back on base, I was showing everyone my scar, when my buddy Bill come walking up. He had just gotten back from R&R. As he was walking up, we yelled hello at him, and waved him over. My partner in crime, Tiger, leans over, and whispers, "You got stabbed at the pumphouse." Gotcha. The two of us were intelligent and bored. So, we always had to fuck with people's heads. Bill usually didn't fall for our stuff, but this time he did. Hook, line and sinker.

When Bill got over to us, I showed him the scar, and told him that I was out on mission at the water pumping station, and got into a tussle with one of the Iraqi Army guys, who was apparently up in the tower looking for one of our female soldiers. I told him to get down, he wouldn't, we started wrestling, and he ended up at the bottom of the ladder well. I, however, was stabbed in the abdomen. The Medics got me in a truck, and brought me back to base.

"Dude! Really!"
"Yeah, bro. I'll tell you this. That guy disappeared. We haven't seen him since."