Goddamn Q


What a bastard, but I love him. Even though he put his plate of uneaten fish in Hammer’s drawer right before an inspection; even though he pissed in dude’s beer when he wasn’t looking (I admit, it was fucking hilarious when he drank it, looked at it funny, shrugged and went in for another swig); and let’s not ever, ever forget that shit you did in the desert.  Dummy.

He was on a mission of some kind, I forget which, TC in his truck. As it was told to me, he got bored and starting playing with the tracking system that was being used by quite a few Allied forces. He made a call to the entire group -everyone connected to the system- a code word that meant the caller’s base was being overrun. He maintains he didn’t know it meant that. :/

Of all the people that could hear it and respond, you know who did? The commander of Europe’s allied group. Holy shit on a red-hot poker, talk about a backfire.  Word spread and we just KNEW it was over for him, career killer status.

But you know what happened to him, that lucky sonofabitch?!?! NOTHIN!!!! A slap on the wrist, “bad, bad soldier”!  I still can’t believe it; if it had been me or one of the shmucks I was with every day, we’d have gone to freakin’ jail. Kudos to Q, you’re definitely suited for politics.

In all seriousness, I love that guy. And his mom is a freaking doll. She was supposed to call me when she was coming through my town a couple years back.  No worries, Deb.


Repost with #500 on Raine BLACK Instagram for Chance to Win SOF LCS kit


Ooh, swag! I figure this stuff is mostly military, so I’ll put it here. #500

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They’re Not Gonna Get Me!


DISCLAIMER: I’d like to make it clear that my memory is pretty foggy on this, but it’s correct in terms of the big picture. Mostly.

It’s safe to assume myself and about 98% of my brothers-in-arms were complete fuckin’ dummies most of our free time. For instance, when we had down time at work, we pulled pranks. I think Riz started all that when he rigged a folding chair to collapse when someone sat on it. It was SOOOOOO funny, too; even when he got me. The game had to evolve, naturally, and I remember one of those evolutions being a setup where we’d lead someone close to a giant box that had someone hiding in it. Or maybe that was just something we did to scare the hell outta J-Tight.
There was a distinct point where our shops’ many, many fire extinguishers became involved. It usuall went something like:

PLAYER 1: Hey [target] can you help me with this/ have you seen this/etc?

TARGET: Sure, I’ll help/ buy into your trick.

At first it led into the Tool Room where PLAYER 2 was hiding with an armed extinguisher and FOOOOOOOSH! But that evolved, while deployed, into totally random attacks, frequently when the target was especially vulnerable. In other words, in the shower.

Another Iraq prank was this gag that kinda became one of two birthday traditions: We had these floor-model freezers that we kept outside, and every day we filled them with ice, water, and drinks. If there was a birthday, that person got the first half of the day off. So through the course of the morning, the freezers would get iced and watered, but before the drinks went in, a couple of thumb breakers would go kidnap the birthday person, who was usually sleeping in (in my case, I knew I was going in, and offered little resistance). They’d get a nice birthday song and an ice bath.
Our obvious need to make a huge mess of everything somehow led to birthday celebrators being wrapped in duct tape and covered in shaving cream and/or toothpaste.

One of the main conspirators to these was Troy. Unfortunately, he was the resident gorilla, so making him the target had its difficulties. It wasn’t his intricate knowledge of the process that made him hypervigilant; it was that he was hypersensitive to being the butt of a joke. He worked to prevent himself getting got so he wouldn’t get mad, thus saving whoever tried to jump him from an ass whuppin.

Beaker and I did some brainstorming on how to attack him creatively, and I came up with a gem: get him a cake, hollow it out, and fill it with BBQ sauce. AWWWWWWWW, he’d be so pissed, but he would appreciate the effort.
We got the cake from the chow hall, and BBQ sauce, set it up, and made a spectacle of presenting to him, because he worked hard as shit every day and everyone should pitch in on appreciating him.

It must have been the way people (Nestler and Beaker) were staring; he knew it was a trap, and the gorilla went feral on us. Most of the BBQ sauce ended up on me. Dammit.

Let’s Go to the Movies!



The following story is true, to the best of my ability to remember.  But I guess when you throw booze at a bunch of crazy military kids, this is what you get.

Intro theme (what’s playing as I start): Fleshgod Apocalypse- The Violation

It never fails; every time Beaker and I get together, we end up reminiscing about our wilder days. Actually, he loves to tell what he calls “Tino stories”, I hear often that he was just telling someone about our craziness. This is another one of our more memorable outings.

I suppose it was the nature of the group of friends I had, but we tended not to make plans for our free time; someone has an idea, they spread the word a little to see if it gains traction, and then it’s go time. There were many occurrences where someone would take too long preparing and get left, to preserve the spontaneity of whatever was happening.
I have no clue whose idea it was to go to the movies one particular Saturday, but the word spread fairly quickly; could have been the social setting under which it was presented, because Miller Time was already underway, at three or so in the afternoon.
So the movie was Miami Vice, and the viewing party was myself, Beaker, Fin, Noy, Pito, Scotty, The Rogue, and Black Gallagher; there was eight of us. So we got together, talked it out for a minute, then piled in cars and headed to the theater in town, about three miles away. And yes, we had sober drivers…..geez, we weren’t animals.

The theater was a fucking trap, in terms of placement. It was located next to a tobacco store, and across the street from a bank, with a very friendly ATM. We stopped at the store before the theater; I, in my genius, thought a pre-movie drink was just what the doctor ordered. And I wasn’t alone; Fin picked up a bottle of vodka, and Noy got some rum. Pretty sure I hit that ATM too, needed cash for my popcorn- I’m a big bitch at the movies without popcorn.
The other guys were planning to sip their firewater during the movie, but not I. I bought a big bottle of MD 20/20, and sucked it down in the parking lot. Ugh, how could I stand that stuff?
So we all go in and get seats, and start hamming it up during the previews. There were only twenty people or so there, so I guess we thought it was okay.
The Mad Dog was hitting me hard fast, and to make it worse, the rum and vodka were being passed around, so we were all feeling good. We were laughing and joking and making stupid noises, commenting on the movie, just being ridiculous. Nothing could have stopped us. Not even the huge guy giving us dirty looks two rows ahead. This dude was Michael Clark Duncan big.
Pito got up to use the bathroom, and he and Beaker and I were chuckling hard, I think about how that giant guy was pissed. Then, the big dude comes and sits down next to me, in Pito’s seat; well, Beaker and I freakin’ lost it. Beaker said “Uh, sir? That’s my friend’s seat”. And without even breaking his concentration on the movie, he snaps back “I’m your friend now!”‘ All bass and angry. We were all dying from laughter, especially when Pito came back and was all confused about where to sit. Bless that angry dude, who I heard was a Sergeant Major somewhere, he just got up and left.

Or did he; he was just fed up, and got the usher. So we ended up kicked out of the film, and it only took us about twenty minutes. But I guess there are less entertaining ways to waste money and time.
For the record, Miami Vice is a terrible movie; or at least what I’ve seen. We were so deep in our douchbaggery because the movie sucked. I tried watching the whole thing about a month later, and I made it through close to half before I’d had enough. It’s a disappointing thing, because Michael Mann is really talented, and Collateral is one of my all time favorites!

Outro theme: The Faceless- Xenochrist

Gojira to Release New Photo Book + Live CD/DVD, Les Enfants Sauvages


It’s bands like Gojira that inspire me to play instruments and speak French!


Les Enfants Sauvages – Out March 11th!
This spring, Gojira will release Les Enfants Sauvages, a limited edition 5” x 7”, 60-page hardcover photo book chronicling the band’s journey around the world over the last two years, since the release of their critically acclaimed Roadrunner debut L’Enfant Sauvage. The images were taken around the globe, spanning over 150 shows on three continents, and were hand-selected by Joe and Mario Duplantier. The package also includes a live CD and DVD capturing last year’s performance at the legendary Brixton Academy in London, all of which is available for preorder exclusively in the Gojira store.

Click here to preview the photo book and DVD on Noisey!

Les Enfants Sauvages CD/DVD with Hardcover Photo Book + Exclusive T-Shirt
Buy Now
Les Enfants Sauvages CD/DVD w/ Hardcover Photo Book
Buy Now





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You get the idea.

There are a million nicknames out there for those who find themselves imbibing to the extreme.  Wino, barfly, drunkaholic, etc.  And I’ve absolutely no clue which of those million I was given while I lived in Seoul, but I will make it known, in no uncertain terms, I earned every last fuckin’ one.  I was not, however, one of those people we might see on A&E or Real Life; that certainly doesn’t disqualify my hardcore. I’m fortunate that my wild ways didn’t get me in too much hot water.  Too much.


Summer of ’04 was great; I had a huge group of friends that wanted to party in every conceivable manner at every possible moment, I had lots of money and not enough sense to not waste it, and the legal drinking age was 20.  Being 20 at the time, getting blitzed out in the city a year early?

Ill take two, please.

There was a particular ‘mandatory fun’ event that was upon us; an all-ranks banquet.  We junior enlisted gophers weren’t terribly excited, having to rub elbows  with the same top brass that were always making our lives so hard.  At least there’d be lots of booze to take the edge off.

The party was at some hotel out in the city; the leadership arranged for buses to take everyone from the barracks to the hotel and back.  We’re all there when the reception line begins (standard fare for formal events generals attend).  And you know what?  It wasn’t so bad a get together.  The brigade commander and Sergeant Major got sloshed and put on this skit where they were dancing around like rappers, dressed up in hoodies and sagging their pants- hilarious, priceless stuff.

Through the whole thing I’d been hanging with Badey and Stoolie, and we got solidly Hammersharked.  We must’ve been distracted by the mystique of the hotel, cuz when it was midnight or whatever time it was to catch a ride back to camp, we completely missed it.  We were waiting outside, all “When is this fucking thing coming” only to discover we missed the last one.  Great; no crisis, we just hailed a cab.

No doubt Mr. Cabbie was more than a little annoyed at how loud and obnoxious and stupid we were on that ride back.  We’re all dicking around, and someone has to ruin it with their damn logic.

“Hey, you got money for the ride?”

I didn’t.  Badey didn’t.  Stoolie said no.  So we can round up some dough from our buddies once we get to the Bs, yeah?  Unfortunately, my dumb ass spits out the idea that we ditch him.  Normally, the other two would never have agreed to something so reprehensible.  Too bad for those clowns the Force was working twofold against them, because A) everybody loved me, and B) everything is a good idea when you’re shitfaced.

So we pull into the main lot, it’s real dark; and we stopped right in front of B’s room.  I lived in the building behind, Stoolie too.  The car stops and BOOM, were fuckin’ ghost.  Haulin ass for my room, laughing and squealing like imps; what we hadn’t realized was that at the same time we arrived, so did this sergeant that worked for the battalion CSM (Command Sergeant Major), who saw the Tequila Face Three making a run for it.  In no time he’s hot on us, but we race for the back side of my building and duck in my roomie’s door (he was from South Philly, didn’t mind a little drama).  We’re all excited and shit; but there was a knock on the door, and Sergeant Whatshisname walks in.


After getting railed for a bit, and convincing him not to call them boys on us, the four of us make the walk of shame back to the cabbie, who railed us some more, with less effect because our Korean sucked, if it was there at all.  We made plans to work for the Sergeant personally, for an amount of time to be determined by him, in exchange for formal judicial lenience.  We ended up getting some cash together, drowning the cabbie with apologies, and looking like Destroyer-class dummies.

Our boss was PIIIIIIIIIISED come Monday.  He said he seriously considered having us dishonorably discharged; maybe he just wanted to scare us.  Which it did.  And it took us like six weeks to work off our debt to him, part of which included a letter of apology to both the cab company, the driver and his family (!), and restitution in the amount of the fare from each of us (!!).

In the end, everything was fine.  But you wanna know what chaps my ass every time I think about it?

Badey, whose room the cab stopped in front of, had CASH IN HIS DRESSER!!!

Going With Gonzo: The KGB Made Me Invisible


This is a collection of stories of ridiculous, half-brained, stupid, totally unsane people (including myself) getting themselves into the wackiest situations I can remember. Some of these stories may contain references to alcohol overconsumption, unnecessary violence, nudity, random acts of awesome, and generally deviant behavior. Names have been changed to protect the guilty. 


In an effort to mix things up a bit, I’ve lined up a nice little tale that Beaker probably hasn’t heard; we were much too busy making our own mistakes to stop and recount ones from before we met.  Prior to becoming friends in 2005 in Louisiana, I was stationed in Korea.  So here’s one from my vacation within a vacation.  And the backstory might be a bit long, so feel free to grab something to drink.


Like I said, I was in South Korea, Seoul to be exact.  Man, I never know where to start describing how amazed I was by that city, by the whole country.  I think it was around the beginning of 2004, a new guy came to our shop.  We ended up calling him Fish.

Fish was a wildcard; in fact, he’s the card a ‘Wildcard’ plays when he wants to knock everyone on their rumps.  Really something else.  Anyway, he was really cool, and fell in with the rest of the guys (Manny, Garcia, Thayer, Stacy B, Weezy, Fultzy, Bashful,  Chuck, Badey, Broad Street Bully, and me) easily.

Side story: A couple days beforehand, I had run into Gonzo, one of my Drill Sergeants from Basic Training three years earlier.  He said he remembered me- I like to think he meant it.  Big, crazy dude from LA, lots of energy.

I’m pretty sure it was Saturday.  Fish, Fultzy and Bashful wanted to go exploring around Seoul, so the four of us hopped on the subway and went; I remember going to Lotte World (a four story shopping mall) and whining about the Clarks Wallabees I wanted costing 180,000 won (about $150).  Lord knows how long we went around the city, but made our way back to the sub to go back to post.

We get off at our stop and are heading for street level.  There’s a guy coming down the stairs as we’re approaching; he had a green shirt that said something about Kentucky.  Fish cracks this ten-gallon smile and yells “heyyyyyy, Kentucky!”  And at the same moment the rest of us are wondering if he’s from Kentucky, Fish plants a haymaker dead in that dude’s face.  Naptime. WHAT. THE. FUCK.  We were all kinds of crazy now, wanting to know why he did that.  This crazy asshole says he hates Kentucky.


Fast forward to nighttime.  Fultzy, Bashful, Fish and I are gonna go to this bar in the city called the Bald Eagle; for some reason I was told early on it was the spot all the MPs went to, and they fucked with everybody and got away with it.  I  got a hold of Gonzo, and he met us on the way.


There are front and rear entrances to the Eagle, both up stairs; we go in the front and get to it.  The DJ made the super bad mistake of being free to take requests, so you know what I wanna hear?  WHAM!  and Hall & Oates.  They’ve got these hella cheap cocktails at the bar called KGB.  I’m not shitting you.  They were kinda weak, and they were pink….but they were two bucks a bottle.  KGBs, all night!


An hour or two goes by, and we’re all just chilling; but Gonzo came to me with a problem. “You see that guy over there?”, and motions toward this guy stomping around the dance floor to NOFX or Pennywise or whatever it was, obviously WAY past ‘take him home, he’s drunk’ mode.  “If he spills his shit on me one more time, I’m gonna fuck his world up”.  So I tells him I’ll handle it.  And seriously, about a minute later dude bumps into Gonzo again, he’s all over the place.  I call over to Fish, and ask about the guy.  Fish walks right up to him, puts a finger in dude’s face, and says “You mean THIS guy?”

He didn’t like that, smacked Fish’ hand away.  They have some words and *justlikethat* they go toe-to-toe.  Pretty quickly they fall over a couch just off the dance floor, Fish first, so he’s on his back, but that has no effect on the beating he’s shelling out.

At some point I sat at the bar, babysitting a KGB and watching the throwdown.  I wasn’t looking for a fight; I figured those two would get it handled, story over.  But something inside me- the homo sapiens sapiens at the basest levels of my DNA, the primal male beast sensing an impending kill, I’m not sure- told me to get off the wall and participate.  So I (this all happened very quickly) silently stood up, finished my drink, walked over to the guy on top of Fish, and started laying bricks into the back of his head.  another part of me remembered a skit from a Busta Rhymes song where he got into it with a guy and started kicking his ass, yelling like Dolemite with every blow.  My fighting brain must have a sense for  flair, cuz that’s what I did.  Every time I hit him, it was “yahhh! Yaahhhhh! YYYYAAAAHHHHHHHH!”  The guy was already thoroughly whupped by Fish, I suppose I just wanted some too, just a few knocks.  Fish pushes dude off him, hops to, and rockets out of that bar so fast I couldn’t believe it.  Fultzy and Bashful made a break too, pretty sure Gonzo did also.  Not me; I looked around at the people rushing around, slowly walked to the back door, opened it and stepped out of the way of the cops rushing in, and casually went on my way.


I was pretty tired so I went back to the post.  Thank goodness, I found Gonzo along the way, hollering at nothing in particular and falling over shrubbery, drooling and slurring and stumbling.  I helped him back to his barracks, then headed for mine again.  I didn’t catch up with the other guys till the next morning; Fultzy and Bashful went clubbing in Hongdae, and apparently Fish went solo wandering around the camp (at least he wasn’t out in the city), fell in a ditch and passed out. Fucking winners, us.

Saw the drunk guy a couple weeks later, he was okay.  good thing our stupidity didn’t land him or anyone else in the hospital.