"Three days with no post, what gives? I am chained to my computer awaiting your next post; please get busy slicing up some Army dudes with your razor sharp wit!"
The above comment is fabricated, it was never actually posted, which is why it lacks the little gray “men’s room” logo that confirms blogger authenticity. However, I did receive some encouraging words from the Golden Girls of comedy, and in my imagination, you are all glued to your computer screens, obsessively hitting the “refresh” button in hopes that new post will finally appear. Well, your wait is over imaginary fans; feast your eyes on D-211!
Many of the battalion’s soldiers are deployed to command outposts, some are better equipped than others, but I was under the impression that they all had showers. I guess I was wrong, because I got into a truck today that smelled like a Tupperware that you find in the way back of the fridge; the kind that you pop open out of curiosity, perhaps in vain hope that you may be able to salvage the dish itself, only to be punched in the face by a stinky fist that makes you throw up in your mouth. It smelled like that.
I am sympathetic to those guys who live at the outposts; that sucks. I am not, however, the slightest bit sympathetic to people who don’t shower in the morning here on the FOB. One of the people I work with, routinely opts for the extra 20 minutes of sleep vice the shower before the morning meeting, and shows up at the last second with his boots untied and his hair all disheveled, looking like a Charlie Sheen mug-shot circa 1995.
It is a known fact that some people just “keep” better than others; I can say this, because I am not one the fortunate ones who can afford to skip a morning shower. One morning, it prompted my pretty wife to inform me that I smell like I “slept in garbage.” And that was me stateside; here, with temperatures routinely topping the 120⁰F mark, and with my very manly quaff of Tom Selleck-like chest hair imperialistically invading my shoulders and back, morning showers are not an option.
Well, some others are cursed with my same fate, but do to a lack of an honest wife or a poor sense of smell, they are not yet aware of it. The disaster of a gentleman described above is one of them. This morning, he was leaning back in his reclining office chair with both hands clasped behind his head. In this relaxed position, he was exposing both armpits and thereby releasing the smell of smashed asshole mixed with cab driver all over the room.
Never one to mince words, I turned to him with contempt and said “dude, you smell like hadj.” He muttered something about just waking up, to which I replied, “well, wake up earlier and take a fucking shower!”
It sure seems pretty simple to me.
Quote of the day: PFC with broken hand, to me
“You think I care about breakin’ ma hand; no way sir, if I cared about breakin’ ma hand, I wouldn’t been on my ATV when I was on leave… Jumpin’ mountains, you know, dirt mountains. It only hurts sometimes anyway, like when I’m doin’ somethin’ with it… you know, like turnin’ a steerin’ wheel… or tyin’ ma shoes.”
if you are AugmenteeFan#1, are saying you are you own #1 fan?
Kinda like a Mog? Half man/half dog, and your own best friend?
I remember the first day you were told you smell like you slept in garbage... I think it might have been the same day that Maximus escaped through the broken window? Basically both issues are a direct result of, and can be wholly blamed on Beer Pong.
I invented beer pong in 1891.
My wife wonders what crawled up my ass and died because I conduct chem/bio attacks nightly.
Being a hairy man there is just no subsititute for Gold Bond Powder to keep you cool and dry in 120 degree temps. It will at least limit the chaffing.
Keep the good news coming.
I'm not sure it is even appropriate for me to comment given that I'm safely back in the good ol' USA as we "speak". But I'm shocked to read The Augmentee's description of the smell hitting him like "a stinky fist". I've only heard that once before; I immediately remembered a blog post from many years ago (yea, I'm like that) that had a similar rant. I'm not suggesting our beloved Augmentee plagiarized it; its just a great coincidence of blog rants.
A tremendous read at: http://www.thesneeze.com/mt-archives/cat_steve_dont_eat_it.php
and I quote:
Okay, here we go-- Pulling back the lid (not recommended) lets loose an odor that punches you in the nose like a stinky fist. If you've ever smelled a can of dog food, it's just like that. Only imagine you are opening the can while your head is wedged in a horse's ass.
Inside is a smooth, oddly pink meat paste. So smooth, in fact, I dare call it "creamy." (I actually got a little gaggy just typing that.) Surprisingly, it was a little spicier than I expected. Although, that sensation may have been a by-product of my tastebuds dying.
URL didn't show properly so am splitting in two lines:
I'm old, senile and I eat cat food because I'm on a fixed-income
God damn it Bob, you are a fucking nuisance aren't you.
Sadly, I must admit, I have read those "Steve Don't It That," and they are dynamite. However, that was years ago, and I guess that little quip was lodged in my brain for all this time. I did not intentionally rip it off, but I guess that is the blogging equivalent of "I did not inhale, or have sex with that woman," so I'll just leave it at that and tell you mind your own god damned business.
I challenge you to find another instance of a person being compared to a "Charlie Sheen Mugshot," that one's all mine.
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