The Battle of Essence vs. Existence

State of the Viceroy

2012-01-26T19:51:00.001-07:00

I can’t watch the opening sequence to the show “How I Met Your Mother”. It depresses me. I wish I had pictures like that.

Babytown Frolics!

2011-08-08T10:14:00.004-06:00

Yesterday my sister and her husband welcomed a new baby into the world. They seem to think that providing the Birth Giver and Dr. Dad a granddaughter is enough to unseat me from my status as “The Golden One”.

Yes, I’m sure that nothing could make my parent’s happier than having another girl around that won’t carry on the family name.

All this baby town frolics nonsense is infectious. Suddenly the whole family is hoped up on that new baby scent like a bunch of Brazilian street kids on a glue huffing binge.

The biggest offender? That woman I currently live with.

Your parents are offering us iPads and a new car if we have a baby!

First, listening to my parents is a classic rookie mistake. Coming in at a close second would be the classic rookie mistake of believing a woman when she tells you throughout courtship that she isn’t interested in having children.

Why don’t you want a little Viceroy?

Wow. Where do I even begin? When the zombie apocalypse/alien invasion/rapture/Buffett concert/American Revolution II comes to town I don’t need someone giving my position away with all that crying. Have you ever tried to man a LPOP (Listening Post Observation Post) with a toddler? It’s a nightmare. They won’t shut up, can’t re-load for shit, and are constantly bumming all your smokes.

You make valid points and are indeed wise beyond your years. But how will you ever combat Baby Crazy Fever?

Some guys who aren’t as skilled in psychological operations might cave. I however cherish my freedom and the knowledge that I only have to worry about wiping my own ass.

Enter the puppy.

I’m going to buy the woman that I currently live with a puppy. Not just any puppy, but one of those needy ones from a rescue. White girls eat that up. This puppy will be really down on its luck and have one of those pre-diagnosed conditions like a heart murmur…in an enlarged heart…that happens to be filled with worms.

Of course, those details need not concern her.

Fast forward 6 months and puppy has long since died but the baby rhetoric endures.

Baby, you can’t even keep a dog alive! How are you going to care for another living being????

You got to attack their confidence.

It’s far more economical than carrying on the family name.

Love Making Tips w/East Bound and Down

2011-08-04T10:47:00.002-06:00

Yesterday, our own East Bound and Down broke us off on some advanced love making tips.

Now let's get "all up in the guts"....

Space Snookie

2011-08-03T04:43:00.002-06:00

The military has all types and likes to brag about that sort of diversity.

I have no idea why.

My team is especially blessed with diversity. First and foremost we have me; a black Irishman. But I can only represent so much. We also sport a white guy from Chicago, a white guy from Missouri, a white guy from Washington, a white guy from North Carolina, and a girl from Jersey.

Yup, we have a Space Snookie.

Don't believe me? Well, check out this facebook message the white guy from Chicago got from her.....

Remember, all soldiers are heroes.

*Portions blacked out for OPSEC reasons.

Cherry Bomb

2011-07-16T07:42:00.004-06:00

It’s not easy being a new guy on our team.

We recently got a new guy into our shop by the name of…ummm… hold on….what was it again…I guess it really doesn’t matter what his name is. We’ll just refer to him as New Guy.

He's a cyber guy

New Guy is of the Air Force persuasion with lieutenant blood. As if it wasn’t hard enough dealing with this racial handicap, he now has to come to grips with it amongst a pack of rabid sarcastic heathens.

“Hey New Guy, how do you like the chow hall pizza?”

“Well, it seems to be lacking proper sauce an….”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP NEW GUY! You haven’t been here long enough to talk bad about chow hall pizza! Jesus! Do you guys believe the balls on this rookie?”

We’re skilled in small unit team building.

In our defense, we’re really trying to teach New Guy the ropes.

“Alright New Guy, this is how it works. You get a care package, you immediately bring it to us, we take what we want out of it, and we’ll let you know what items you need.”

How can he not understand this system?

New Guy has tried to make nice. Just yesterday he brought us in some beef jerky…the same type of beef jerky we can get in the chow hall all damn day long.

“Sir, let me cut this joker!” (knife to New Guy’s neck)

After I had put SGT Space Snookie at ease, I explained to her that we should be happy that New Guy is trying to become part of the team. We have to applaud this first step.

Next step?

Get New Guy a mop to clean up his piss puddle.

We Got a Lot of Little Teen Age Blue Eyed Groupies

2011-07-13T07:38:00.005-06:00

You're going to want and check THIS article out immediately.

Spoiler Alert! It's about me and the ELITE US Army Space and Missile Defense Command.

A little background on this...

So no shit, there I was enjoying a brew and not all beef hot dog at the Towson University Alumni tent before a football game when all of the sudden I was speaking to important alumni people...

So you're the one with that blog who lives in Colorado!

Yes, thing were off to a smashing start. Somewhere in the conversation someone came up with the idea of an expose, a think piece if you will, on me.

Yeah, that's a horrible idea.

Nevertheless, the wheels had been placed in motion. A few weeks later a journalist contacted me for an interview. The introduction was classic...

I was given your name and the person who we wanted to write about flaked out. We figured you would be a good back-up.

Seriously, that was the start of the conversation. All my apprehensions faded knowing that I would be some publishers "morning after" pill. I can live with that.

I felt the interview went well. I'm a big fan of Towson University, their Philosophy Department, the alumni association, the support they give veterans, and figured that it would be great to talk about that.

This was all back in December and it slowly faded into memory as wedded bliss and Afghanistan kicked in. It wasn't until today when I friend from high school alerted me on facebook to...

"A 1996 graduate of Calvert Hall, he had no drive, no prospects, and seemingly, no future."

What the...

I quickly started hunting down the article online. The first thing I see in big bold print?

Brendan Curran's future looked bleak...

"Savages!" I thought while dialing up my attorney. Sensing my legal grounds were weak, I hung up the receiver and decided to keep reading.

Wow.

That was awesome. During the interviews I had always thought the piece would be about the first class education I received and how I'm able to leverage that in the Army. This?

In the chaos that currently is my life I couldn't be prouder.

But let's not pretend....

I could also really go for an import and/or domestic right about now.

Worldly Insights w/East Bound and Down

2011-07-08T10:56:00.005-06:00

"Damn boy! Your parents must be ballers! Seeing how they keep sending us this good ass expensive candy that taste just like a unicorns vagina!"

Dear Doctor Dad and Birthgiver, please keep the unicorn vagina flavored candy coming.

Why I Turned to the Dark Side

2011-07-05T11:34:00.004-06:00

I hope all you Yanks had a good 4th of July misquoting the Declaration of Independence, choking down the ground up lips and assholes of swine, and avoiding the dangers that come with alcohol fueled swimming!

There certainly were fireworks to be had in my neck of the ‘Stan.

Many moons ago it dawned on a young Sergeant De Campo that if he decided to stay the Non-Commissioned Officer course his life would eventually revolve around enforcing uniform and haircut standards, organizing barracks rooms, and farting up ridiculous safety policies.

In this Army if you’re a Sergeant Major and haven’t tried to implement at least one bat shit crazy safety policy without thinking it through then you’re a failure.

Our esteemed Sergeant Major Corps here at Forward Operating Base Cupcake recently came down with a massive case of the good idea fairy-itis. This quickly escalated into buffoonery of plague like proportions. The symptoms of which were exhibited by two Sergeant Majors and a First Sergeant standing at the gate to our compound denying people entry or exit unless they were wearing a pair of safety glasses.

But they’re just trying to prevent eye injuries to soldiers!*

No doubt. I’m sure that they successfully reduced the number of eye injuries from zero to zero.

I quickly learned how at risk I was for vision trauma while driving in a car.....with the windows up....without eye protection. My Sergeant was educated on how his amber lenses, authorized by GEN Petraeus so the savages can see your eyes, were not authorized by the Cavalry (who fall under GEN P-daddy).

Sergeant, do you see GEN Petraeus here?

It was clear that the disease had entered stage two and begun killing brain cells. At this point there is little you can do to treat the victims besides injecting healthy doses of subversion and mockery. While not a cure, it’s still fun.

As I diddy-bopped my way over to the head shed (yes, while wearing safety glasses) I stumbled upon two Sergeant Majors jaw jacking about absurd haircuts and flame retardant clothing. Low and behold! One of them was simply holding his eye protection…IN HIS HANDS!

Recognizing my awesome power they jumped to attention and presented stiff salutes.

Evening Sergeant Majors. FYI: that eye protection isn’t doing a fucking bit of good in your hands. Don’t come whining to me when you lose an eye. Set the standard!

They were not happy. It’s understandable. The itis claims all sense of humor in the later stages.
Within 24 hours the eye protection infection of 2011 had run its course and sanity has returned to our happy home. We’re free to go to the bathroom, eat, and sleep with having to wear eye protection. Somehow, we have accepted the risk.

In fact, the only way you can even tell that something happened was if you noticed a certain Captain getting an extra heaping of chili-mac in the chow hall, being allowed to park anywhere on the base, or having his laundry hand delivered to his hooch.

It would seem that calling a Sergeant Major out on his hypocritical bullshit in front the soldiers equals instant rock stardom.

* What's next in this slippery slope? Making us wear our full battle rattle at night in case of a direct hit from incoming?

Shameless Product Endorsement Pt. 1

2011-06-15T04:18:00.006-06:00

Today your favorite horde of Space Commandos received a care package.

The Heat

The good folks over at Flaming Amy's Burrito Barn, in conjunction with my sister who screams for a living, hooked us up with some of their righteous salsa. It's without a doubt some of the best salsa we've ever experienced.

You know it's good when you have to make a trip to the chow hall afterwards for ice cream. All you can hear in the latrine later that night are dudes grunting COME ON ICE CREAM....

Who invited the old guy from Futurama?

The good folks at Flaming Amy's manage Operation Salsa Drop. This G14 Classified operation sees to it that deployed military personnel can keep their hooch's stocked with spicy goodness. If you would like to become part of the Spicy Forces and sponsor a care package that will actually be enjoyed just click here.

I hope I have a thousand bastards just like Mark

As an added bonus this little letter of support was tossed in with the salsa. I'm a huge fan of the disclaimer that this was written with a dull crayon. I love that a child is actively supporting alcoholism. What makes this truly heart-felt is that he signed it "Die Hard, Mark".

If I ever become a licenced motorist in North Carolina, I hope it's Mark who makes my license plate.

Die Hard,

Viceroy De Campo

What Do You Do for Recreation?

2011-06-02T12:49:00.003-06:00

Bowl? Drive around? The occasional acid flashback?

Yeah, that's cool. Me? I create fictitious awareness months and post the flyer's all over Afghanistan.

I hereby proclaim June The Little Lebowski Urban Achievers (yes, and how proud we are of all of them...) Awareness Month!

My soldiers are a little upset that I stole their ID card pictures to use in an obvious ruse meant to enrage the man. They're now being accosted by senior leadership in the chow line.

"Hey Sergeant! Aren't you a Little Lebowski Urban Achiever? Good for you! Way to live the Army values!"

"IT"S A FUCKING JOKE! MY CAPTAIN'S AN ASSHOLE!

Ok, so they're not as into cultural awareness and equal opportunity as their Dear Leader. It's understandable, you know, being from urban areas and all. Give it time. I predict that the fund raising jars (strategically placed in locations of known mouth breathing bleeding hearts) will raise enough money to cover our pizza tab for the entire tour.

How can you say no to a Little Lebowski Urban Achiever?

Oh, and how proud we are of all of them....

In other news, if you've never seen the movie The Big Lebowski your life isn't complete.

Madness Sets In

2011-06-01T01:02:00.001-06:00

Hide Yo Wife, Hide Yo Kids, Hide Yo EOD Tech!

2011-05-28T00:35:00.005-06:00

I have a pretty motley crew here in “The Shit”. I foresee a series of future post dedicated to highlighting each of their (mis)adventures. I feel it’s important that you, the tax payers, know exactly how each of my heroes does his or her part to not win any war.

This past week I’ve had Chris, aka “Tony Hawk”, in the cross hairs.

In case you couldn’t tell, this dude looks just like Tony Hawk of 1990. What Chris may lack in half pipe skills he more than makes up for with his vast knowledge of explosives gained from his years as a Navy EOD (explosive ordnance disposal) diver. Chris is a simple man from North Carolina. He doesn’t need a drawn out ethos or code. Nope, he lives his life by two simple rules.

1. Never take part in a threesome with a family member.
2. Don’t fuck around with the devil.

A few nights ago during one of our fire pit cigar sessions Chris learned about how rape is a big problem in the military, and especially down range. This is despite everyone being armed to the teeth.

Everyone?

Men and women. They’re raping everyone out here.

Chris was more than a little taken aback by this revelation. It didn’t take long to pick up on his paranoia…and exploit it.

For the past week I’ve been visiting the same latrines and showers Chris uses armed with a black marker.

Hot man love! Looking for a lanky white boy with a southern accent to rub pecker heads with.

You: Farmer tanned honky. Me: The Black Mamba. I want to do bad things to your ass in this shower white boy.

I also took the liberty of paying some local Afghan's’s to whistle at him as he walks back and forth from the latrines.

Chris now wears his 9mm IN THE SHOWER and refuses to go anywhere by himself after dark.

I’m pretty proud of the paranoia which I have fostered in him. So proud, that I provided the following bullet in my evaluation report to the Battalion Commander.

Through a truly dynamic and innovative training model, CPT Viceroy has increased the level of sexual assault awareness in his unit ten-fold. This officer has an uncanny ability to connect his soldiers to the issues facing our men and women at war.

I guess Chris should have known better than to violate rule number two….

Don’t fuck with the devil.

Long Cool Woman (In a Blue Burka)

2011-05-19T10:49:00.005-06:00

I have set up a new base of operations in Afghanistan.

Oooo, it sounds so exotic!
With all the non-potable water you cannot drink flowing freely it is a bona fide third world paradise. As the helicopters buzz your hooch a few dozen times a night it has the tropical feel of Baltimore City. One only has to close their eyes and imagine the crack heads rushing to avoid the po-po spotlights.

I bet the place is entrenched in mystery!
Indeed, it’s very mysterious. The very reason we’re still here is a mystery.

Is it dangerous?
Very. Today I almost got tendinitis from saluting so much on the way to the Internet Cafe.

I can’t imagine the hardships you’re enduring.
After showering for 30 minutes the water temperature actually dipped to lukewarm. Lukewarm! Imagine that horror.

I bet the woman you live with is heartbroken that you're gone.
She’s slowly coming to grips with the toilet seat always being down, the floor being clear of dirty clothes, a lack of smart ass comments, jibes at her political beliefs, and the dog no longer loving me over her. As you may imagine, the suffering is immense.

Umm…Well, thank you for all you do!
Watching The Big Lebowski three times a day, every day? Really, it’s nothing.

In other news, Afghanistan is a mecca of ridiculousness, fuck-tards, kill joys, ass clowns, blowhards, holy rollers, and fans of The Eagles.

Finally! An operating environment I can unleash the full force of my debauchery on! It feels good to be a Viceroy.

Taming The Savage Beast

2011-03-13T15:36:00.002-06:00

This may be my most challenging assignment yet.

A Little Randomisity

2011-03-06T20:46:00.004-07:00

My Pre-Combat Inspections and Checks are not like yours.

I'm officially ordained in the Church of the Latter-Day Dude. You can abide HERE!

One of my combat patches. We lost a lot of good men out there...to happy hour.

Well we're big rock singers, we got golden fingers and we're loved everywhere we go....

Ok, so it's not the cover of the Rolling Stone but it's a start.

The Office Guerrilla's daughter (Princes Beef-Cake Bubble Lips) turned two and I didn't have anything else which to wrap her present.

Your car's sun shade will never be as cool as mine.

Just saying.

The [Discount] Ring of Power

2011-02-27T18:44:00.006-07:00

The woman that I live with insisted on posting this on facebook......

As you can imagine the next couple hours of my life became dedicated to communicating with screaming family and friends of the female variety.

My birth giver was especially excited. OOOOO you did such a great job! I love the cut! The stone is perfect! I'm so proud of what you picked out!

Ummmm, yeah. About that.

You see The Birth Giver, along with the rest of my socially conforming friends, rely heavily on the engagement ring calculator. Yes. Such a thing exists.

For those of you not familiar with the equation please allow me to break it down....

It's my understanding a bunch of "real" housewives took a break from spending someone else's money to develop this mathematical equation. Because they sucked at math, they just decided to make it really easy. You should spend two (or three) months salary on the engagement ring.

Let me do the math here real quick....carry the two...ok...subtract the three...got it.

That sure as shit isn't going to happen.

Why would you do something like that? Just think of how many fun vacations or Darth Vader helmets you could buy with that money!

Let's rewind and imagine my delight then when the woman that I'm living with came home two weeks ago and thrust her hand in my face.

Do you like it?

Maybe....

It cost twenty bucks.

What the...

Don't worry, that included the wedding band.

I love you.

Yes mom, I have great taste. Not to mention fiscal sanity.

Now if I can only find a way to keep the woman that I live with's finger from turning green before the wedding.

There has to be an equation for that.

I'm Putting The Whole Army On Time-Out

2011-02-18T14:09:00.006-07:00

This weekend is a four-day holiday for us army folks.

Translation: I will sit by my phone for four days waiting on a call from the local police department to inform me why Private Snuffy is currently sitting in a 6x8 cell.

As part of our commitment to leadership, we try to prevent such situations by always ensuring that none of our soldiers leave base prior to any weekend without a safety briefing.

The safety briefing is integral in reminding our soldiers that it's NOT OK to.....

...operate heavy machinery while shit faced, swim while shit faced, operate a turkey fryer while shit faced, shoot guns while shit faced, drive while shit faced, shake the shit out of your children whether you're shit faced or not, fry bacon naked, forget eye protection while doing anything while shit faced, and basically remind them that we are even bigger morons than usual while shit faced*.

As you can imagine, each of these briefings ends the same way. Me begging my soldiers not to reproduce.

Every now and then we like to mix things up and allow the soldiers to inject what they think their buddies should remember over the weekend. We go around the circle and toss out what lessons we have learned during this thing called life.

Thursday's safety briefing was going well up until the point that Sergeant Office Gorilla was scheduled to impart some safety wisdom.

"Remember fellas, if you beat your wife it's domestic violence. BUT if your buddy beats your wife then it's only simple assault. Let's look out for our buddies!"

(FACEPALM)

Oh look! I have county lock-up holding on line 2!

I hate holiday weekends.

*Mormon clarification**: I am referring to being drunk.

** I know for a fact that two Mormons read this blog.

There Must Be Some Sort of Logical Explanation

2011-02-14T20:44:00.008-07:00

I'm not going to sugar coat things.

I'm "officially" engaged to the woman I live with.

I will offer a brief pause while that sinks in and the earth adjust to its shifted axis.

.....

News of this spread quickly. Some were delighted, others thrilled, a good many shocked, and more than a few Mayans pissed that they missed the true date of the apocalypse. Everyone has been beating me up for details on the proposal.

Yeah. About that...

The woman that I currently live with and I have been in heated negotiations over legal partnership for months. Things really got ugly when she learned that she would also be eligible to receive a discount at Old Navy with her military dependent ID Card.

There were no lines drawn in the sand. It was settled that we would get married prior to another one of my deployments.

At this point of the blog I would like to thank the Army for pushing up my deployment timeline a year.

I believe the exact proposal went something like this as we lay in bed....

WILW: So are we technically engaged?

Me: (half asleep) Technicalities? What?

WILW: I will cut your balls off if you keep jerking me around.

Me: Would you like to marry me?

WILW: YES!

Me: We are now technically engaged. (farts, falls asleep, drools)

It was straight out of a Nicholas Sparks novel.

Fast forward a couple of months to Sunday when a ring was entered into the mix. That is the best story but I'm going to hold onto it for awhile. At least until we can no longer taste the poor African children's tears on the rock.

So when is the wedding?

Ah yes, wedding ceremonies. In lieu of grand floral arrangements, slightly entertaining musical acts, rubbery catered chicken or beef, prestigious halls, and carefully crafted invitations; we will be going with a trip down to the court house. Next month.

I don't do pomp.

Am I invited?

No. Don't get butt hurt. It's probably just because you have children, cats, or tend to leave out consonants when you speak. We are a few hundred miles from our families. This is incredibly short notice. Our jobs keep us very busy. Given all of that, we are deliberately keeping this low key.

I will make it up to you when I return from Afghanistan. At which point a proper social consisting of flip flops, beer, and Jamison will be held on the East Coast.

Well, where are you registered?

We're not. We have three houses between us. Two of which are fully furnished. If anything, I may send you something. We are very pleased with our current level of silverware and appliances.

What about your honeymoon?

Yes. We will have one. It will be out of the country and far away from communications infrastructure. That is all I know of at the moment.

OMG! You have a wife!

I prefer the term "partner". It drives the republican in her ape shit. It's also fun to use in a military setting. Gets them wondering about the changes to don't ask, don't tell.

Are you planning a family?

I plan on providing my parents with lots of grand dogs.

Your birth giver must be going crazy!

When is she not going crazy?

Wow! Another member of the Curran Clan!

The woman that I live with will not be taking my name. I don't believe in any of that crap. Being a feminist, I'm more likely to take her name.

When is the bachelor party?

I've had one every day for the past 33 years.

Are you freaking out?

No. I find that the calmer I stay the more it freaks out the woman that I'm living with. It's great psychological warfare.

That should do it for now. I'm not really sure if this post accomplishes anything more than updating my blog. Feel free to submit any questions you may have in the comments section.

Please utilize vowels.

Air Force Monkey

2011-01-10T10:29:00.004-07:00

A fellow walked into a pet store and was looking at the animals on display.

While he was there, a Chief Master Sergeant from the local Air Force Base walked in and said to the shopkeeper, "I'd like a line service monkey, please."

The clerk nodded, went to a cage at the side of the store and took out a monkey. He put a collar and leash on the animal and handed it to the Chief, "That'll be $1,000." The Chief paid and left with the monkey.

Surprised, the fellow went to the shopkeeper and said, "That was a very expensive monkey. Most of them are only a few hundred dollars. Why did that one cost so much?"

The shopkeeper answered, "Ah-----that was a line service monkey. He can park, fuel, and service all Air Force aircraft, conduct all required ground ops testing, rig aircraft flight controls, and all with no mistakes. He's well worth the money."

With his interest peaked, the fellow looked around and spotted a Monkey in another cage with a $10,000 price tag. "That one's even more expensive! What can it do?"

"Oh, that one is a "Maintenance Supervisor" monkey. He can instruct at all levels of aircraft maintenance, supervise all corrective and preventive maintenance programs, supervise a crew of maintainers, and even do most of the paperwork. A very useful monkey indeed," replied the shopkeeper.

The guy looked around a little longer and found a third monkey in a cage. The price tag read, "$50,000". "Holy crap! What does this one do?"

"Well, the shopkeeper said, I've never actually seen him do anything but drink beer, screw the girl monkeys, and play with his pecker, but his papers say he's a pilot."

Aim High!

I Wouldn't Have It Any Other Way

2011-01-08T11:12:00.008-07:00

Yesterday was fantastic.

I walked (literally a mile because I had to give up my VIP parking spot) to the office with a little extra spring in my step. Finally, I could get back into a regimented physical fitness routine, attend some great training, make a serious dent in my masters degree, and enjoy Colorado.

All those puppy dog and sunshine dreams were quickly squashed as I was greeted by my new Commander....

"Get your shit together. You're going to Afghanistan."

Luckily, I had my trusty Hitchhikers Guide to Army-ing handy. I quickly turned to the chapter entitled "No Notice Deployments to Afghanistan."

It only had one page.

Rounds Complete

2011-01-01T21:52:00.002-07:00

RUMINT (Rumors Intelligence) has run wild over my infrequent post during the last two years. It had nothing to do with the woman that I’m currently living with, my mental state (although that is always in question), cease and desist orders, or a nasty case of funny robbing PTSD. The real reason was my job.

What the hell is your job anyway?

For the past two years since leaving Kuwait I’ve been working as an aide de camp to a General. For those of you too lazy to click on the hyperlink, that means for the past 24 months I made the conscious decision to forgo a life and adopt someone else’s.

It has been by far one of the most rewarding and educational experiences that I’ve ever had in both the military and life as a whole. It has also been one of the most challenging.

I may be one of the only aides in history whose job description didn’t include carrying bags or making coffee. My General viewed the position as a learning experience, a chance to broaden my operational knowledge. For this, I will be eternally grateful.

Needless to say, that fifteen hour work days and traveling a few hundred thousand miles a year aren’t conducive to regular injections of hilarity. There was also that pesky notion of operational security. Trust me; my birth giver isn’t the only one wondering where in the world I (or who I may be traveling with) may be.

In a few short days I will be granted my release.

I’ve neglected much over the past two years in the spirit of mission accomplishment. I’m drained mentally, physically, and dare I say it…even spiritually.

Regardless, I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

Stop Making Excuses

2010-11-18T15:09:00.004-07:00

Some people will do anything to get out of receiving their flu shots....

-----Original Message-----
From: Army Astronaut
Sent: Thursday, November 18, 2010 2:32 PM
To: Viceroy de Campo
Subject: Out of Office Reply: FLU SHOTS (UNCLASSIFIED)

I am currently orbiting the Earth on a long-duration mission aboard the International Space Station. I will not have access to this e-mail account until I return to the planet in December of this year.

I salute your mad orbiting skilz. However, don’t come crying to me when you catch a case of the sniffles.

On a side note, I wonder what the per diem rate is up there?

Deep Thoughts w/Office Guerrilla

2010-11-16T20:51:00.004-07:00

Helen Keller?

Who the fuck puts that on money?!?!

Communications Back Online

2010-11-14T20:12:00.005-07:00

My military friends are always in awe of the Army that I'm in. For some reason they don't believe that we're actually in the same military.

My life's weird like that.

Staff Duty? Nope, I've never had it. Field Training Exercise (FTX)? I've seen a few but haven't actually gotten around to one. Weapons qualification? I like to think that Microsoft and Cisco certifications cover me there. Command/Brigade/Battalion runs? Yeah...you don't see those at my local gym. Land Navigation Courses? I drink with the dudes that fly the GPS Satellites. Close enough!

All things considered, I have successfully avoided the general B.S. that goes along with typical military service.

In place of these time honored rights of passage I have instead injected new levels of "suck". The details aren't important. All you need to know is that my 18 hour days have ended for the time being. The world still exists so I must have done something right. So to bring you up to speed before I can get back to the funny stuff....

A woman is still living with me under her own free will.

I bought another house. This one is in Colorado. It's awesome and I now have an empire.

I only made the mistake of using the decorative towels once.

I beat out a few hundred other jokers to be selected as a Space Operations Officer. Furthermore, I was the only one selected in my occupational specialty.

Damn right I was awarded my Space Commando Badge!

I now have a golden retriever.

That about sums it up. With that out of the way, we can now get back to our regulatory scheduled debauchery.

Activate Teleportation Sequence

2010-10-01T21:12:00.006-06:00

I'm currently in the process of expanding my empire.

More information to follow.

Standby for transmission.

Viceroy 6, Out.

Ask A Viceroy

2010-09-21T21:03:00.007-06:00

People are always asking me for my opinion. Like somehow my opinion is special (psss, it's not).

I blame this needless prodding on how I'm the only military person most of my friends know. Furthermore, I'm also the only person with a philosophy degree that most of my friends know.

Somehow that combination equates to brilliance. All it really means is that I can use ridiculously big words while talking about war.

Lately inquiring minds can't seem to get enough of what I have to say about the Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy.

Well, in the interest of pissing off as many readers as I can....

It will be overturned.

I can almost state that as fact. Sure, it might take another year but that isn't necessarily a bad thing. Newsflash people, the military isn't exactly a bastion of understanding and acceptance. A plan is in order. We need to figure out how to make this happen. Of course, when I say "we" I'm talking about those really old dudes with stars on their shoulders who get paid to make colonels think about this sort of stuff in windowless offices for them.

As for me, I really don't care who my soldiers are fucking so long as:

1. They're fucking.

2. They're not fucking me.

3. They're not fucking with children.

4. They show up to war on fucking time.

But what will we do about all those really gay gays?

Listen hero, you really think the same dudes who parade around in drag and cover themselves with nothing but silly string at PRIDE Fest are going to join the military?

Negative Ghost Rider.

The military will always draw a certain type. You know those gay guys serving in secret? They're just like you except they like dick....and are better dancers.

But what about those scary lesbians?

Ok. They can be a tad bit terrifying. But isn't that what we want? As long as you don't degrade the Indigo Girls in casual conversation you should be alright.

It will ruin unit cohesion! I don't want my roommate being turned on by me!

You're not that good looking. No one in the military is. Stop kidding yourself.

My religion says...

Stop. You are about to commit a moralistic fallacy. The penalty for which is me physically removing you from the gene pool. We uphold the constitution not some religious dogma.

It's a slippery slope! Next we'll have to grant their "partners" and them housing, medical benefits, everything!

So?

America's military needs good people. We need smart people. We need people who are willing to dedicate their lives to serve our country. There aren't many of those types out there. Something as petty as who you sleep with doesn't mean squat to me so long as you got my back when the rounds start flying.

I'll damn sure have your back.

I Guy Has to Have His Standards

2010-09-16T17:12:00.003-06:00

The woman that I'm currently living with has started dropping subtle hints about the future of our relationship.

"I want you to know that I understand how you're not ready to get married. However, I am."

I'm definitely starting to pick up on these subliminal messages .

My go to excuse for the past few years has been to invoke the social justice line. You know, claiming that I can't get married in good conscious while marriage rights are outlawed for the gay and lesbian citizens of our fine country. This line was a winner as it made me appear compassionate and civic minded.

That is until a bunch of states made it legal. Stupid equality.

Oooooooo, you know what would be great?

Letting me watch Sportscenter instead of Bravo for once?

Ha! No! I was thinking that we can go away for a long weekend. We can get married in San Francisco then travel around Northern California!

Not to get all technical on you BUT I'm pretty sure that I haven't proposed.

Haha! You're such a comedian!

Ha....Ha...? (nervous laughter)

Naturally, I diffused the entire situation by explaining that she was still on probation.

We've been dating for two years asshole!

Her blatant disrespect towards a time honored part of our criminal justice system is alarming. It's almost like she hates America.

It's better to pick up on these character flaws while they're still in the probationary period.

I recently lost my good friend Archie in a related battle. After 7 years of dating he finally succumb to the pressure and proposed marriage. I couldn't believe it. He had sworn that he would relish in bachelorhood forever! I confronted him on this. Eyes full of tears I tore into him. How could he be so hypocritical? Why didn't he consider the strategic implications that this would mean to all the other prolong-ers?

Archie just sat there stone faced and took the heat. Then, with a wink and smile, he handed me my invitation to the wedding.

What the? You're getting married on December 22, 2012?!?!

Archie you brilliant apocalyptic bastard.

Let's Hear it for New Hope

2010-09-15T11:00:00.007-06:00

I think that it's safe to say that nothing you see on the Internet today will be as cool as this...

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

Inappropriate Behavior (Apparently it's Hereditary)

2010-09-12T19:29:00.004-06:00

Let us take a moment to examine just two of the contents contained within a package I received this week.

My Birth Giver gifted me John Waters's "Role Models".

For those of you not hip to John Waters, he's THE Baltimore icon and leader of the Freak Army. Naturally, he is also one of my role models. And why not? We're both iconoclast (look it up), went to the same private catholic preparatory school for young men (we both claim that it stunted our creative growth and maintain that we will sue them into the dark ages if they ever try to claim us in its propaganda), respect the pencil thin mustache, and hail from the mean streets of Baltimore (er...Towson/Lutherville).

I'm only 1/3 of the way into the book, but I highly recommend it.

Now, by itself this book in a package is nothing spectacular. But when coupled with my sister's addition to the package, things start becoming more lucid.

Yes.

My sister was thoughtful enough to include a vibrating cock ring in the package.

I can't help but wonder how that conversation went...

Birth Giver: Hey de Campo's less talented little sister, do you have anything you want to include in this package for your brother?

Less Talented Little Sister: OMG! Like, I picked up this vibrating cock ring in Austria that I bet he would, like, love!

BG: Excellent! Maybe this will increase his chances of having unprotected sex thus increasing the chances of me having grandchildren!

LTLS: Like, double OMG! I'm going to sing a song about this!

(breaks into song about vibrating cock rings and unprotected sex)

The most frightening part about that analysis is that it's probably 100% accurate.

When I brought the woman that I'm currently living with home to meet my family; my less talented little sister decided to showcase her singing skills at the dining room table by launching into a tasteful little ditty entitled "My Little Vagina" sung to the tune of "My Little Pony".

Pretty standard stuff really.

It wasn't until tonight that I came to the conclusion that my long record of inappropriate behavior was due to genetics. During my weekly obligatory phone call home, the Birth Giver launches into a story about how my 11 year old cousin got a hold of her iPhone.

Harmless?

That all depends on if you think every 11 year old should be schooled on Cosmopolitan Magazine's "Sexual Position of the Day" application as being harmful.

Who am I kidding?

The inappropriate genes coursing through my veins are praying that tomorrow is show and tell at school.

Later a Giant Clown Made Balloon Animals

2010-09-05T22:07:00.008-06:00

his evening me and the woman that I currently live with braved the crowds at the Colorado Balloon Classic.

While a festival celebrating everything that is hot air balloons is pretty cool. Things take a turn for the righteous once the sun goes down.

I wonder how the "Why yes, I am a professional hot air balloon pilot" line works in the bars?

In any event, I'm sorry to report that the below video doesn't contain any Hindenburg themed destruction.

Like My Great Aunt Betty Always Used to Say...

2010-08-30T19:51:00.008-06:00

My Great Aunt Betty is really a piece of work.

At 97 years of age she is a model for her generation. And without that annoying old person purple smell!

I've always felt a special connection with the old bird. That may stem from her being the only other veteran on that side of the family.

(Note to family: Lieutenant Commander Great Aunt Betty thinks you're all a bunch of dirty hippies.)

What I love most about Great Aunt Betty would have to be her infinite wisdom. This is usually dispersed without abandon...at family gatherings...and at the most opportune times.

She will let you know exactly what she thinks when she thinks it.

You've been seeing that girl for awhile de Campo...

Yeah, well she is fun and isn't pushing for anything serious.

Good for you! Why buy the cow when you can get the sex for free is what I always say.

AUNT BETTY!

Great Aunt Betty is quick to remind everyone that even a woman closing in on one hundred still has needs.

Alright Aunt Betty, the doctor said he will be in to see....wait a minute...did you just unbutton your blouse a few buttons!?!

He's a widower you know.

She's randy alright.

When not aiming to purposely get her hip broken on dates, she serves as the family oracle of sorts. She has a remarkable ability to predict death, disease, and famine.

Have you heard from Uncle Boh lately Aunt Betty?

Ooooo he's been sick for awhile now. Quite frankly, I'll be surprised if he makes it through the winter. Yup, they'll probably find his bloated body out in the field covered with buzzards. Who knows how they'll pay for the funeral. I suspect his daughters will turn to prostitution and drugs to cover it. When you get to that age it's only a matter of time really.

Aunt Betty, he's 34.

Definitely not making it through the winter. Can you please pass me the mashed potatoes?

It's like having our own little cute old lady of the apocalypse at Thanksgiving dinner.

I was reminded of all this awesomeness when I opened a letter from her today. There, at the very top of the note, was that infinite wisdom that I love.

Keep Relationships Casual!

The Oracle has spoken.

Flight Suit Envy

2010-08-22T19:05:00.006-06:00

The reason the Army and Air Force bicker amongst themselves so often is because they don't speak the same language. For instance, take the simple phrase "secure the building".

The Army will kill everyone inside and set up a command post.

The Air Force will take out a 5 year lease with an option to buy.

I'm currently in school. An Air Force school. One that deals with astronautical engineering. If you have no idea what that is just think along the lines of astrodynamics, physics, systems engineering, and rocket propulsion.

You know, stuff that a humanities type of guy in the Army can really wrap his brain around.

It's a really cool school except for one small detail. It's filled with Air Force people.

Understand that every branch of service has its own charisma, vernacular, and level of ridiculousness. For instance, my tribe insists on saying "HOOAH" in every breath. The Air Force will have none of that. No, they are gentlemen, statesmen, scholars. You can tell by their German automobiles, bleached teeth, and fake tans.

It serves them well I suppose. I mean, it's not like any of their brass have been featured in the Rolling Stone.

I'm learning a lot from them. They're a good bunch of guys and girls. We share lengthy detailed jokes in Latin and stuff like that. It's like with each passing day I'm becoming more refined. Within a week I bet that I'll be invincible on the polo field.

Just wait until I inform my Command Sergeant Major what I've learned....

*A horrible plan with excellent PowerPoint slides is better than a excellent plan with horrible PowerPoint slides.

*The level of confidence that others have in you is directly proportional to your hair style.

*You must inject the word "warfighter" into every sentence regardless of whether or not you've actually met, or know what a "warfighter" is.

*It's understood that your IQ rises with rank.

*Even in an economic crisis there is always money available for plasma screens and computers.

*Non matching furniture and clashing paint schemes are show stoppers. End of story.

Finally, there is one major difference between Air Force and Army schools. The Air Force grading system requires you to do more than just show up to pass. Now if you will excuse me I have a riveting paper to write on orbital mechanics.....

Alien Infestation

2010-08-03T20:52:00.008-06:00

Viceroy Log 561937

It would appear that this invasion will see a sixth day.

The alien life form continues to "nest" in my environment. I'm beginning to pick up on some of its cultural rituals and nuances. Every hour I make a new discovery that may be beneficial to mankind. These practices, while foreign to me, are intriguing none the less.

I've decided to document them in the spirit of scientific investigation.

*The beast is weakest in the early morning hours. One must move silently and make all efforts not to use white light during this time. Any sudden use of plumbing, opening of drawers, or clanging of coffee cups causes the entity to lash out in strange tongues. While not versed in the dialect, the language seems to be questioning something called "consideration".

*Apparently, the toilet seat has multiple component parts.

Bizarre.

*The area around the bath tub is used for idol worship. Strange deities are assembled around the rim. They take many shapes, forms, colors, and fragrances. My research leads me to believe that the alien is partial to cucumber and pomegranate gods.

Be careful not to insult these figures by suggesting that the alien convert to a "three-in-one" or "generic quality" god.

*There is such a thing called "surface cleaning". The visitor refers to all cleaning performed by me as "surface cleaning". I'm starting to detect that it has some sort of extra sensory capability. This capability allows the entity to sense that just because a surface is covered, it may be dirty underneath.

Remarkable.

*It's diet is as confusing as its bathroom worship. It makes what I determined to be a disgusted face when presented with a freezer full of pizzas. It also scoffs at anything containing the words "buffalo" in it's title. The alien has also introduced a series of vegetable based spices into meals already vegetable based.

Additionally, one must be careful not to suggest that ranch dressing would make anything the alien makes taste better.

*The alien life form has introduced and implemented units of measurement from its home planet. It becomes enraged when one states that he makes roughly 250 lap dances and 667 beers a month. It is obsessed with actual numbers.

*When agitated, it has been found that the alien's wrath can be diverted and defused. However, one must act quickly. At the first signs of agitation (hyper-sonic noises from its face orifice, crazed hand/tentacle gestures, and glowing red orbs for eyes) the native being must perform the following in sequence:

1. Remind the alien how appreciative one is for them/their kind/their love.

2. Immediately turn the TV to a thing known as the BRAVO Channel.

3. Introduce dark chocolate.

4. Repeat step 1

5. Shut the hell up and hide in distant barricaded room for at least 30 minutes.

This experience, while still in its infancy, is proving to be educational on many levels. I see the opportunity for several more experiments.

There is already a buzz in the scientific community on how the alien will respond to the surprise introduction of native art in the nest....

It's all about compromise

Farewell Fun, Freedom, and Independence

2010-07-29T14:54:00.005-06:00

It was bound to happen sooner or later.

The woman that I'm currently sleeping with has become the woman that I'm currently living with.

I'm sure that I, having never lived with a woman once in my entire adult life, will have no problem making this adjustment.

In other news, the pending shitstorm will be reported on here.

WTF Friday

2010-07-16T13:28:00.003-06:00

Hmmmm, must be from that new Matrix Doctrine.

Original Recipe Subversion

2010-06-18T20:51:00.005-06:00

We had our Command Picnic today.

For over a week now I've been hounded by the Social Czars that I needed to bring a side dish to this little shindig.

You would have thought that they'd learned their lesson at the Command Holiday Party.....

Silly Social Czars

Because You Can't Work in Fast Food All Your Life

2010-06-15T20:24:00.006-06:00

I know a lot of you are out there in your parent's basement right now wondering "how do I pledge my allegiance to the Freak Flag and serve under the Viceroy's command?"

Well, turn off World of Warcraft because today is your lucky day!

Due to the World Cup, Chris Hansen, marriage, and stiffer penalties for repeat offenders; my ranks have become dangerously thin.

That's right people and beast of epic lore! The Mystic Legion of the People's Metaphysical Front wants you!

Please answer the below exam to the best of your ability and submit completed forms to our Entity Relations Department via telepathic bridge.

Subject: T.M.L.P.M.F. Entrance Exam
Time Limit: 3 WKS
Name: _____________________________

1. What language is spoken in France?

2. Give a dissertation on the ancient Babylonian Empire with particular reference to architecture, literature, law and social conditions -OR- give the first name of Pierre Trudeau.

3. Would you ask William Shakespeare to
___ (a) build a bridge
___ (b) sail the ocean
___ (c) lead an army or
___ (D) WRITE A PLAY!!!!

4. What religion is the Pope? (Check only one)
___ (a) Jewish
___ (b) Catholic
___ (c) Mexican
___ (d) Polish
___ (e) Agnostic

5. Metric conversion. How many feet is 0.0 meters?

6. What time is it when the big hand is on the 12 and the little hand is on the 5?

7. How many commandments was Moses given? (approximately)

8. What are people in America's far north called?
___ (a) Farmers
___ (b) Southerners
___ (c) Northerners

9. Spell: Bush, Carter, and Clinton
Bush: ________________
Carter: ______________
Clinton: _____________

10. Six kings of England have been called George, the last one being George the Sixth. Name the previous five:

11. Where does rain come from?
___ (a) Macy's
___ (b) Magic
___ (c) Canada
___ (d) the sky

12. Can you explain Einstein's Theory of Relativity?
___ (a) yes
___ (b) no

13. What are coat hangers used for?

14. The Star Spangled Banner is the National Anthem for what country?

15. Explain Le Chatelier's Principle of Dynamic Equilibrium -OR- spell your name in BLOCK LETTERS.

16. Where is the basement in a three story building located?

17. Which part of America produces the most oranges?
___ (a) New York
___ (b) Florida
___ (c) Canada
___ (d) Wisconsin

18. Advanced math. If you have three apples, how many apples do you have?

19. What does NBC (National Broadcasting Corporation) stand for?

20. The Cornell University tradition for efficiency began when (approximately)?
___ (a) B.C.
___ (b) A.D.

* You must correctly answer three or more questions to qualify, and if you are stuck on any questions, you may consult with a demonic presence.

I Have Issues

2010-06-13T20:22:00.005-06:00

Dear Barnes & Noble,

Over the past year I've turned a blind eye as you insisted on including such hacks as Ayn Rand to the titles offered under philosophy. I've even tolerated your arranging of the "New Age" section dangerously close to my territory of hallowed shelves. Finally, I tempered my self when you insisted on inflating the "Christianity" section four times over at the expense of my cherished parchment.

As I was conducting my patrols through the far outpost of wisdom and knowledge, I came upon this infraction that is a glaring violation of decency and intelligence......

I don't care what Spinoza says. There is no unity in all that exists here.

I've really come to dislike chain book stores.

Mind you, I'm not allowed into too many nowadays since my picture has been plastered on every register counter since that whole "move the bibles into the science fiction section" incident of 2006.

It's not the lack of sense of humor which turns me off to them. No, it's the commercialization aspect.

It's especially troublesome whenever a new Twilight movie comes out or that little bastard Harry Potter rears his limp wand. At which point all the stores break into a frenzy and erect altars celebrating literacy via vampires and wizards.

But it encourages children to read!

Stop. Children should be reading J.D. Salinger! We're on the verge of having an entire generation that doesn't feel the urge to purchase Saturday night specials and dedicate their lives to rubbing out pop culture icons.

Do you really want to live in a world like that?

And what's with all the diet books? I should write a diet book. Chapter 1; Stop Drinking High Fructose Beverages. Chapter 2; Stop Eating Shit. Chapter 3; Put This Book Down and Go Run.

The End.

Don't even get me started on the crap they suggest for summer reading. Just because the temperature goes up a few degrees doesn't mean you should go "light". Since when did big words and ideas become problematic for the beach?

Whenever I see someone drowning I always scream out to them asking what they're currently reading.

...gasp.. The Da Vinci Code!!! ..gargle...

Pity.

Someone's not going to make it to the next Twilight book signing.

Just a Reminder England...

2010-06-10T20:47:00.006-06:00

It's World Cup time!

This is Your Captain Speaking

2010-06-02T19:46:00.007-06:00

This morning I was officially promoted to Captain.

Has it really been 11 years? Was this really my ninth promotion?

As we trekked up the face of The Incline I got to thinking about the past 11 years. It was then, in an oxygen deprived stupor that it hit me; this day wasn't about me at all.

It was about all those who have taught, mentored, and occasionally kicked me in the ass along the way.

From those far flung third world nations to the remote Army posts of America; I've had the honor to serve with and learn from truly dynamic individuals. Each strenuous step of that trail found me thinking back to the A/46th Engineers, every breath Ft. Polk & JRTC G2, with each pop of the joints Green-to-Gold at Towson, every muttered curse 228th Signal, and finally US Space and Missile Defense Command at the sight of the summit.

Staring out over the eastern range I thought of my incredible friends. They might not always understand why I can't make the weddings, funerals, and reunions; but they never hold that absence against me.

Navigating the harrowing path down the mountain I reflected on my family. Always loving and supportive, even if I didn't always warrant such acts of affection.

Whether we shared a fox-hole, a pint, or both; thank you and congratulations.

After all, you were also promoted today.

What a long strange trip its been

It Goes With My Ninja Turtle Diet

2010-05-31T18:54:00.007-06:00

I would never go as far as calling myself a runner.

Sure, I enjoy going for 26.2 mile jaunts in the outdoors. I even revel in my daily pre-dawn trail dashes with the local coyotes. But I would never consider myself a serious runner.

Those people are crazy.

Well, this past year the crazies have worked themselves up into a frenzy about barefoot running. I rationed that being of linebacker stature with more replacement titanium parts then I care to count, this craze wasn't for me.

According to the crazies barefoot running is just the thing for me. Something about being more attuned to nature, more balanced (muscularly), and healthier for the joints. Whatever.

I'm not about to take off down the avenue leaving the coyotes free access to my piggies. Given this, I decided to invest in some Vibram Five Fingers. They're like running barefoot without running barefoot. Sorta like aquatic socks on your feet.

You know, because just running barefoot isn't funning looking enough.

The problem is that all the crazy mile junkies have cornered every pair in North America. Every store I went to, SOLD OUT. Every online site, SOLD OUT.

As luck would have it I have a friend in the import/export business....

Me: Hey Shady! I need your help. There isn't a Vibram shoe in sight here in the states. Knowing your scrounging ability, do you think you could hook me up?

Shady: No worries dude. How many do you need? 10,000? 5,000?

Me: Ummmm, a pair would work. Black if you can find it.

Shady (not his Christian name) is one of those guys who will ruin your nomination for the Supreme Court. He assured me that a pair would be on the way to me ASAP.

Not a week later this showed up on my doorstep.....

It was one of those moments where your mind goes into some montage state and all you're able to see before you are the CNN/BBC headlines.

MORON UNLEASHES ANTHRAX ATTACK ON AMERICA!

ARMY OFFICER VAPORIZED BY MYSTERIOUS PACKAGE; AYN RAND FOUNDATION SUSPECTED

The return address didn't help settle my paranoia....

China!?! I don't know anyone in China! Do I?

At this point even The Boss was yelling at me to call in the K9 unit...or at least open it outside...away from his car.

I now look like a ninja in training

SCORE!

A special shout out to Shady for making it happen! They're not even knock-offs! How exactly it happened I don't care to know. I suspect that somewhere a shoe manufacturer is still looking for it's freighter in the South China Sea.

Ladies, feel free to add this picture to your spank bank

So I'm now officially in with the crazies. In case you couldn't tell from the photographs, these shoes look ridiculous. I feel like I should be running with a grappling hook and throwing stars.

How do they feel?

Great! That is until you start running. Oh, and the morning after you run in them. They will definitely remind you that your calves weren't as strong as you previously suspected. Your whole stride changes when you run in these (toe strike over heel strike). Yeah, you do look pretty funny.

But a ninja is the last thing you laugh at.

Sacrifice

2010-05-29T08:55:00.010-06:00

It is the Soldier, not the minister

Who has given us freedom of religion.

It is the Soldier, not the reporter

Who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the Soldier, not the poet

Who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the Soldier, not the campus organizer

Who has given us freedom to protest.

It is the Soldier, not the lawyer

Who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is the Soldier, not the politician

Who has given us the right to vote.

It is the Soldier who salutes the flag,

Who serves beneath the flag,

And whose coffin is draped by the flag,

Who allows the protester to burn the flag

- By Charles M. Province

Photo credit to Stuart Johnson (I think) of Deseret News.

Consider this a friendly reminder of why you are on a three day weekend.

No, I Don't Drive a Subaru Outback

2010-05-27T19:44:00.006-06:00

Dear Kashi,

I surrender that your cereal is equal parts delicious and nutritious. But why, WHY, must you make it so humiliating to shop for?

Hugz,

The Viceroy

I Just Play One on Duty

2010-05-25T20:47:00.004-06:00

Dude, it's rocket science! It's not like we're talking about philosophy here!

This week in the Adventures in Viceroy-ing, I find myself in a course on rockets*. Yes, it's rocket science.

I know what you may be thinking and yes, that has almost nothing to do with my actual job. What the hell. I'm a sucker for education and with the Boss on holiday it was the only course remotely interesting being offered in the world this week.

Luckily, my classmates make up for the dry material.

Being ultra sensitive to the terrorist hit squads that roam Colorado Springs, it was directed that we attend the class in civilian attire. This throws the average military man into fits as he has no actual civilian clothes. Sure enough, first day of class I could spot all the military folks from a mile across campus.

When you tell a male officer in the military that the uniform is civilian casual; he will inevitably show up in tapered jeans pulled three inches above his navel, a tucked in polo shirt bearing some unit affiliation on the left breast, and a pair of hush puppies that he inherited from his older brother back in 1989.

Between that ensemble and the "high and tight" haircut you wonder if he has ever attended a concert not sponsored by the Tea Party.

Speaking of bat shit crazy, this place is a mecca for it. The class isn't held on an actual campus but rather a plot of land housing several defense contractors. They like to call it a campus. I guess Obnoxiously Large Buildings We Built with Poorly Regulated Government Dollars polled low in most demographics.

Do you know what gets defense contractors hard? Fox News. It's on every TV in my building. All thirteen I have access to anyway. With cable news rhetoric only able to get the blood boiling so much, they also have a copy of The Constitutionalist Today on every table.

I'm in my own special hell right now.

What I don't understand is the frantic note taking which my classmates engage in. While they scribble relentlessly, I ponder what part of open book exam they failed to grasp. Sure, you have to know a bunch of tables, orbits, model numbers, and ridiculous policy but let's not pretend; it's a military course. My little sister could pass this class....

...and she's just a music major.

In other news, I'm sure a good half dozen of you are foaming at the mouths to hear all about my Asian adventures. Yes, I had them. It was one of the trips where I will have to wait until people retire, divorce, or separate from the military in order to report. I tried changing names and locations but it still came off too illegal/unethical/gonzo.

I don't need that kind of heat right now. However, I posted some of the photos on facebook for your enjoyment.

In other, other news, I'm exhausted.

*As specific as I will get in this forum.

We Now Return to Our Regularly Scheduled Program

2010-05-16T19:46:00.008-06:00

After a month, four countries, a case of suspected dysentery, numerous states, and two social galas, I have returned to my Mountain Headquarters.

For a full three weeks!

Once the excitement of being able to purchase food items with an expiration date fades; I will fill you in on all the glory. (I'm thinking Tuesday)

Until then I'll leave you with a glimpse of why Interpol my be after me....

Fire Up the Teleporter

2010-04-20T22:27:00.005-06:00

As I prepare to board another plane it has dawned on me that I may not be able to post for a few days.

So while I'm battling ninjas, Godzilla, Pokemon themed ridiculousness and stewed cat; please take a moment to check out these blogs:

HEALTH FOR HOPE and THE ADVENTURES OF THE THUNDERBOLT KID

Some of you may remember my friends Brad and Jay as the super fabulous duo from the paper mill fiasco. Alas, they are all grown up and doing amazing things in Africa. Ok, Brad is the one being mostly amazing. Jay has better hair though.

Both write in amazing depth about their experiences in Africa. They overwhelm the eyes and blow the mind with the images captured.

You won't be disappointed.

If either of the above causes you to yearn for Nicholas Sparks novels or tune into the Oxygen Channel then quickly abort the mission and GO HERE to get your laugh on. Tell Sir Fingers I sent you.

Too filthy? (is there such a thing?)

Then go check out Pearl who despite confusing mass transit happenings with philosophy is quite brilliant.

Funny but not artsy fartsy enough for you?

Cheryl here leads the nation in Goth-Amish art. While you're feeling cultured, go say hi to Savanna Leigh. My admiration for her work is only rivaled by my admiration for her no pants dancing skills.

Until next time,

Konichiwa...bitches.

Other War Zone Dangers

2010-04-19T20:51:00.005-06:00

These are only some of the dangers our fighting forces face.

Just wait until the bedazzler makes its way into theater....

Yes, this is a real sign. Yes, all of these things are real problems in public showers in war zones. Yes, next time someone tells you that the military is filled with the best and brightest of society you may laugh in their face.

Talking Space

2010-04-16T06:50:00.004-06:00

Here are some photos from the last day of the Space Symposium.

Oh, and no I did not get to meet Spock. It's a long story. I won't bore you with all the petty details of security and restraining orders here.

The Office Guerrilla on stage with The Boss. I told you that we're rock stars.

It's supposedly a rocket.

He forgot his towel.

Rocket Girl quickly became enraged when we confused the satellite model as a free give away.

Galactic Jiffy-Pop

You Wanna Check Out My Space Ship?

2010-04-14T21:01:00.005-06:00

Where was I?

Oh yes, caravaning around this great land in the name of national defense and margaritas.

The War College, San Antonio, and all those places in-between so sacred that I can't remember them here are now just specks in the rear view. Why? Because I'm back home in Colorado. Just in time for the...

NATIONAL SPACE SYMPOSIUM

(hint: say it like there's an echo)

What would anything space related be without the representation of the two most electrifying Space Commandos this side of Golgafrincham. The Office Guerrilla and I have been representing all things space professionals...errr...or at least space the entire week.

Between the PhD's (real life rocket scientist!), blood sucking defense contractors (who I tolerate just enough to ensure I have a job after this army gig), hot young rocket girls (think pharmaceutical sales reps who know even less about their product), assorted foreign intelligence agents (I look forward to killing you soon), and military brass (who wouldn't know a good time if it was spread eagle covered in whip cream); it's truly become a more entertaining conference with our attendance.

And we make sure they know it.

Yesterday as a result of poor risk management we were even invited to the congressional luncheon. As we made our way through the sea of aging white men clad in dark suits we developed an impressive entourage. Whether they were enthralled by our dick and fart jokes or blinded by our impressive uniforms we may never know. What we do know is that we were ushered to one of the VIP tables.

When I say we, I really mean just me. The Office Guerrilla caught scent of the dessert tray and disappeared faster than you can say triple by-pass. All alone in a room full of people that probably think the Tea Party is just what this country needs; I was forced to step up my charisma...

...and break out the emergency flask.

Arriving at a table consisting of one governor, three generals, assorted congressmen, and industry leaders I remembered the importance of first impressions as I went to sit down.

G'afternoon gentlemen. Just to let you all know, NOW it's the cool table

It was a charming lunch. I made all the appropriate small talk revolving around alien abduction, how I applaud the President's cutting of NASA's budget, and the going rate for Thai midget hookers in Dubai. You know, light hearted stuff.

With the luncheon adjourned and security growing suspicious the Office Guerrilla and I made our escape to the exhibit halls.

These conferences are a mecca for free junk. Everywhere you turn someone is trying to give you a handful of astronaut shaped stress squeezies, logo engraved pens, rocket shaped penlights, and thumb drives designed to siphon the contents of your hard drive for China.

Most mouth breathing military members can't get enough of this crap. Me? I know they're holding out.

Where's the good stuff?

Sir????

The stuff you keep under the table for the big wigs. Don't get stingy on me now. Do you know who I am!?

Sir, I really don't kno....

Let me introduce you to my Office Guerrilla. Tell me rocket girl, have you ever wondered what it's like to have shaken baby syndrome as an adult?

There are dangers associated with passing yourself off as being overly important. Namely, someone will try to sell you a rocket fuel injector or satellite constellation. This can be fun too. I currently have a record of 24 meows during a launch platform sales pitch.

Then there are those rocket girls. The only difference between them and coked up strippers is that the strippers have more morals. Naturally, the crusty old white dudes who conveniently leave their wedding rings at home during conferences can't get enough of them.

The Office Guerrilla and I can't get enough of them either.

So tell me your favorite method for selecting orbits for earth-referenced spacecraft?

Ummmm, do you guys want some bouncy balls that light up?

Surely you can't be serious! Bouncy balls? I want to know if your product is on a repeating ground track or molniya orbit! What about energy requirements associated with a geosynchronous orbit! Answer me rocket girl!

My daddy never loved me!

We will be here all weeks folks! Be sure to keep paying your taxes!

In other news, the Ball is Friday night. That glorious time of year when we come together as a unit to drink ourselves silly and see which of our soldiers brings a girl who was featured on Dog the Bounty Hunter.

Until then,

Live the Legend

Quote of the Day

2010-04-04T20:06:00.003-06:00

Daddy, what’s Jagermeister?

Ummmm…well, you know how in fairytales there’s always a potion that makes the princess fall asleep and then the guys start kissing her? Well, Jagermeister is like that except instead of waking up in a castle, you wake up in a frat house with a bad reputation.

In other news, I assaulted The Incline this morning in route to Pikes Peak.

Why?

What else am I going to do on a Sunday?

We Got A Live One!

2010-04-02T06:28:00.011-06:00

I've been ill. Traveling around the world in a flying petri dish will do that to you. That past few days have been a drug induced haze. I'm still riding the residual waves of doxylamine succinate.

Which isn't necessarily a bad thing.

Alas, the stone has now been removed from the tomb and I've been born again hardcore.

Which is fitting considering that we are fast approaching the Easter holiday. Easter was always a mystery to me growing up. I remember my birth giver trying to explain the miracle of Christ to me as a young child...

Birth Giver: ...and then Jesus was resurrected and ascended...

7 yr/old De Campo: WHAT? Where I come from we call that the beginning of a zombie infestation!

Yes, I was a delightful child.

I hope all of you have a happy Easter/joyous Passover/and downright invigorating Zombie Jesus Day!

Hopefully, they won't find the body before Monday...

It's Not a T-Shirt. It's an Aphrodisiac.

2010-03-28T07:53:00.005-06:00

Between my travels to Huntsville, Los Angeles, Cocoa Beach, San Antonio, and several other metro areas this month; I'm now officially a gypsy.

In other news....

AT THIS POINT OF THE BLOG ALL PREGNANT WOMEN ARE ADVISED TO LOOK AWAY. FURTHER READING MAY RESULT IN BIRTH DEFECTS.

Yes, that is yours truly rocking a Three Wolves Moon t-shirt.

Let me end the speculation here. The rumors are 100% true!

A woman merely glanced in my general direction and immediately became pregnant. Thirty-one minutes later she gave birth in the bar to a 22lb 4oz unicorn.

No man should be allowed to wield this much power....

For those of you wondering what in the hell I'm raving on about...CLICK HERE for an explanation.

Sex in Physicist

2010-03-17T20:48:00.002-06:00

Universal Horizontal Integration

When saying you like to bump uglies across ethnic lines just won't do.

He's Bringing Phenomenology Back

2010-03-15T17:56:00.003-06:00

I encourage all my followers in the Baltimore/Washington D.C. area to check out my friend Al Lingis present at the Ian Moore Memorial Lecture at Towson University. For those of you who are unfamiliar with his work, you can do a quick read up HERE.

He is an amazing speaker, philosopher, and all around interesting guy. His works are an excellent starting point into the wonderful world of phenomenology (i.e.: you don't need a philosophy degree to be blown away). First and foremost, they are fun to read!

Growing Seasoned

2010-03-14T19:37:00.010-06:00

I hear that as people grow older they begin to question their mortality.

Me?

The topic of mortality is pointless. I'm permanently classified under the category of some sick prototype. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.

But you? How do you do it?

My birth giver is going to be celebrating her 60th birthday this week. For those of you keeping score at home that equates to old.

Her decline over the years has been gradual but noticeable. It started with little things like wanting to eat dinner at 4pm and referring to me as Edward. Slowly but surely these abnormalities morphed into larger deformities; like being able to follow the logic of Fox News.

Then last week she had one of those senior moments and decided that she needed a new set of wheels:

That wasn't good enough for her so she decided to opt for the "early bird package" which included having her bunions removed.

I don't even know what bunions are besides being something that old women complain about during 4pm dinners.

My birth giver has also gotten pretty demanding in her old age. Those days where she was just content to hassle me about girlfriends and grandchildren seem like a distant fairytale. Nowadays she isn't even content walking under her own power:

Those two suckers probably had to hear all about her bunions and lack of grandchildren.

I am now faced with the problem of what to get my birth giver for her 60th birthday. Do I go with one of those motorized scooters? I hear that old people like social security so I could promise to always resuscitate. What about a macaroni necklace? Maybe I could adopt a little Haitian baby and name him Edward? A vow to testify on her behalf at a future death panel?

I think the best gift I could give is this blog post.

She will inevitably hate it and curse me all week long...

...which will definitely take her mind off that whole mortality thing.

Happy Birthday Mom!

Bareback Buddhist with Pink Eye who Hate Existentialist but still Handle Their Penises along the lines of Orestes Myth while watching Jewish Porn

2010-03-08T20:17:00.006-07:00

Do you ever wonder how people find your blog?

Hey! I wonder if there are any websites out there dedicated to epic tales of Buddhist paratroopers armed with only philosophy degrees?

Sadly, thanks to statcounter.com I now know that is not what really brings people to this little slice of digital debauchery.

What does?

Let’s check the key word searches that land people (and I use that term loosely) here…

Pink eye fart pictures
why are porn stars Buddhists
bareback like a fox essence
handling jalapeno peppers then touch penis
haircut and test scores
Antonio Bandaras blow up doll
I hate Existentialist
MILF Hunter
pron vs smart woman vs child vs boy vs nures tube
Essence Infinity Dance Pants
hot lesbians naked in public
Namaste Bitches
micah’s bar mitzvah porn video
explanation of sarcophagus with myth of orestes
gay hot vagina
In essence, we're just talking about fluid exchange so lets just skip the small talk and hit it
sex with deaf girls

I may have the largest following of pragmatic sex offenders with a penchant for mythology on the internet.

Aren't I the lucky one.

In other news, outside my door the wind is blowing and the snow is falling. Yup, I'm going to L.A. again.

Testify

2010-03-07T10:31:00.001-07:00

Operation Righteous Bride

2010-03-03T20:39:00.006-07:00

I take my leadership-ing very seriously. What kind of leader would I be if I didn't concern myself in my comrades lives? How could I be nearly on the verge of exhibiting compassion if my soldier's issues weren't my issues as well?

The lives of my combatant brothers and sisters are my duty....especially their love lives.

Enter OPERATION RIGHTEOUS BRIDE

Name: Lil' Danny "The Holy Roller Kid"
Age: 31
Height: A towering 5'4"
Weight: I could probably punt him further than a toy poodle.
Hair: Red
Complexion: Casper
Occupational Specialty: Communications Officer
Secondary Specialty: Leprechaun/Designated Driver
Turn-ons: Jesus, hot cocoa, long skirts, rainbows, and pots of gold.
Turn-offs: Viceroy meddling, The Nihilist, any form of caffeine, alcohol.

Ladies, how can you say no to that?

This whole saga unveiled itself out at the bar a few weeks ago. The Nihilist was her usual [redacted] drunken self, I was my usual loud babbling philosophical nonsense drunken self, and Lil' Danny was his usual quiet sober self wrapped with regret over agreeing to drive two maniacs around all night.

I asked him how the single life was treating him.

"ummm....well...not so good. There aren't any single girls at my church"

This is why I never go drinking at churches.

Lil’ Danny stared vacantly into his Shirley Temple as an awkward silence engulfed our group. Surely he wasn’t limiting himself to the pew set? I assured him that he would not have to face this challenge alone; the Viceroy was now on the scene. I immediately sprung into action and tried to hook him up with a large (arguably) attractive black woman, explaining that she would revenge fuck his brains out for all the brothers that went home with little blond white girls, but he scoffed at the idea! He actually scoffed!

Such acts of man whorish-ness stand in stark contrast to his Christian beliefs and L.L.Bean wardrobe. This guy makes Christ look like a Jersey Shore cast member.

Lil' Danny isn't just searching for a hook up with whom to beat up the beat. He wants a commitment...a wife...a true Christian woman...who is preferably in denial of evolution.

I got nothing.

Upon further reflection I decided that Lil' Danny needed to branch out from his church. He balked, I asked what balk meant, and he balked again. His potential mate had to be from his same sect.

And how’s that strategy been working out for you buddy?

I may not be the sole source of value based women in North America, but I know people who know people. I called up another lieutenant buddy of ours, The Mormon, and gave him the run down. Surely he had a value afflicted woman running around the compound for Lil' Danny. At the very least perhaps a second string "Jack Mormon" girl who they've been looking to vote off the island.

Lil' Danny tried to explain to me that Mormon girls weren't exactly his kind of Christian.

I tried to explain that beggars can't be choosers.

The Mormon tried to explain how there was a special place in hell for me.

I now turn to you internets. Lil' Danny needs our help. If we can help earthquake ravaged Haiti recover we can help him...and we don't even need to suffer through another version of We Are The World.

Surely there is a woman out there tonight who is thinking to herself gee if only I was laying here with a little red-headed man who had a job, health insurance, and is disease free.

The bidding starts...NOW.

Oh [Why] Canada!

2010-03-01T07:16:00.005-07:00

In the tradition of good sportsmanship I would like to congratulate Canada for being barely better than America at a sport they invented.

In other news, I've become a hockey fan.

Howl at the Moon

2010-02-26T14:33:00.004-07:00

I know what you're thinking and yes, that is the most awesome shirt known to man.

I had my doubts at first. However, after reading the reviews for it on Amazon I've become a firm believer of its power projection.

I think B. Govern's review summed it up best.....

This item has wolves on it which makes it intrinsically sweet and worth 5 stars by itself, but once I tried it on, that's when the magic happened. After checking to ensure that the shirt would properly cover my girth, I walked from my trailer to Wal-mart with the shirt on and was immediately approached by women. The women knew from the wolves on my shirt that I, like a wolf, am a mysterious loner who knows how to 'howl at the moon' from time to time (if you catch my drift!). The women that approached me wanted to know if I would be their boyfriend and/or give them money for something they called mehth. I told them no, because they didn't have enough teeth, and frankly a man with a wolf-shirt shouldn't settle for the first thing that comes to him.

I arrived at Wal-mart, mounted my courtesy-scooter (walking is such a drag!) sitting side saddle so that my wolves would show. While I was browsing tube socks, I could hear aroused asthmatic breathing behind me. I turned around to see a slightly sweaty dream in sweatpants and flip-flops standing there. She told me she liked the wolves on my shirt, I told her I wanted to howl at her moon. She offered me a swig from her mountain dew, and I drove my scooter, with her shuffling along side out the door and into the rest of our lives. Thank you wolf shirt.

Pros: Fits my girthy frame, has wolves on it, attracts women
Cons: Only 3 wolves (could probably use a few more on the 'guns'), cannot see wolves when sitting with arms crossed, wolves would have been better if they glowed in the dark.

Guess who has their Christmas shopping done early this year?

Cubs...It's What's for Dinner

2010-02-24T20:14:00.008-07:00

I'm always looking out for the ladies.

Hello ladies. Do you come here often?

Ahem,

Whether it's arguing the finer points of feminist epistemology with drunken rednecks, injecting my own special touch to a "take back the night" rally*, or selling chocolate vagina lollipops around the metropolis to raise money for a production of the Vagina Monologues; I'm here for you.

So you can imagine my jubilation when Kuwaiti Jamil alerted me to this over the weekend:
Finally! A dating site dedicated to that cherished segment of our population; COUGARS!

That more...seasoned...female demographic finally has a legal place to hunt licensed cubs. No seriously, the men on this site are referred to as cubs.

Gone are the days of wading through messy divorce stories over cocktails, no more waiting for that cialis to kick in, or having to worry about who has custody which weekend; this range is primed for the hunt.

The most baggage here is having to get him back to campus before his 10 AM Mass Comm class.

Being the generous type, I had to share this with some select female friends....

OK, maybe just NYCougar (above in her formal wear) and SFC Liz. The latter still being in denial of her cougar status.

I quickly posted the site to their facebook walls. I rationed that would be the least classy way to go. A mere minute passes until I get an email from NYCougar....

I'm at work and I'm currently very bored and this is just too funny so I had to share. Yes - I was curious (and did I mention bored?) so I created a log in profile... (I mentioned I was bored, right?) and without any information other than a screen name (NO PHOTOS), I received 4 email notifications from "cubs" in the NYC area within 20 minutes. some guys out there will do anything to get laid! hahahaha!!!

and no -- I haven't checked out their profiles or replied!

..yet...

This quickly turned to panic, or perhaps unconscious joy....

eww! eww! eww! I left the default settings and apparently I'm looking for "cubs" in the 18-29 age range! eww!

RIGHT. Funny how those default settings work.

I for one am glad that I could finally help break NYCougar on her addiction to cops and firefighters. Apparently, she's already gotten some solid leads...

I am a 30 yr old professional (lawyer -- but I promise, not the bland sort) in Manhattan who has a weak spot for erudite, older, vivacious (and exceptionally naughty!) women. I especially love a great flirt...Could that be you? If you're at all curious...I'd love to hear back from you...and I'd be happy to then send my pics :)

I know what you're thinking and yes, thirty is a little on the old side for a cougar of her pedigree. But come on! Anyone who uses erudite in the form of a pick up line has to be worth a try, right?

Maybe?

Of course the forgotten victims in all this predatorial savagery are the cubs.

NYCougar has chosen a dangerous path. How many cubs will she slay before she is satisfied? I picture central park littered with the pelts of young cats whose only crime was recklessly using the word erudite.

Alas, I may have cried booty call and let slip the cats of dating.

*How was I supposed to know that we weren't taking back the night by force?

...And Molson Taste Like Piss!

2010-02-22T07:46:00.003-07:00

Believe!

Can I Get Some Hummus with the Shake?

2010-02-21T19:41:00.007-07:00

Unlike the majority of working class Americans, I don't get a lunch break.

It isn't of unheard of me to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the office. What is unheard of is me being able to eat said meal without being vexed.

I'm not just talking about the phone ringing or a suspected nuclear launch just as I approach culinary intake bliss here.

No, my office mates like to provide a running commentary on my noshing habits.

Ewwww, what's that smell?????!!!!!!

It's falafel and it's delicious.

Isn't that what the terrorist eat????

Tell me, do you even have a high school education?

If it isn't some monster mound of assorted meat piled high on a foot long non-kosher roll it isn't considered edible for lunchtime consumption by our office food critics.

Depending on what ethnic region the cuisine hails from it may even get you placed on a watch list.

(hovering inches above my plate) That cheese looks funny.

It's Brie cheese. Named for the French province which it originated. And yes, it's delicious.

I bet you voted for Obama! Didn't you?!

The main offender in all of this is my Boss. However, unlike the other mouth breathing uncultured heathens I'm forced to dine with; we share the same taste in food.

Given his rank the masses are quicker to....what are the words I'm looking for?...oh yeah..

Shut The Fuck Up.

Why are you putting olive oil on toast? Why not use peanut oil? What kind of bread is that anyway? That ain't white bread!

Yelling suddenly erupts from The Boss's office....

It's excellent for lowering cholesterol and taste great! Obviously none of you have been to the Mediterranean. You should go before your heart attack.

My Boss has a way with words.

He also has a unique way to pick apart my meals. I turn my back for a second and he's there, fingers in my plate, breaking apart a falafel like it's an owl pellet in biology class.

I would complain but he is pretty good about enabling my unique lunches. Last week for instance he brought me (and only me) smoked Portuguese sausage and a bowel of homemade baba ganoush.

This drives the office mad. Not the favoritism mind you but the fact that we make sure the entire office smells like a Lebanese Cafe.

One time Major Lady Deathstrike was so repulsed by our homemade tapenade that she brought us in lunch for a whole week in an effort to get us to eat more like white American republicans.

I can't imagine what she's going to do when I start bringing in belly dancers as lunch time entertainment.

My office is on the verge of being the best Hookah Bar in town.

Cupid's Mercenary

2010-02-18T20:09:00.006-07:00

Valentine's Day is a special day. It's that time of year designated by the greeting card industry to let the person who you're currently sleeping with feel a false sense of security...or something equally romantic.

It is also that time of year when single folk drown their lonely existence in booze and eat their body weight in chocolate.

Just to be perfectly clear, when I say "single folk" I'm referring to women.

Men? Yeah, we're too busy hitting the bars on Valentine's Day with several prepackaged lines of uplifting poetry revolving around the theme of a lonely existence.

I've never had any issues with Valentine's Day. This is mainly due to the fact that I never seemed to be sleeping with anyone in February. It's a complex mathematical equation that I won't go into here but let's just say that x=loser.

Alas, this year was different. This year I had a woman who I am currently sleeping with.

Did I mention she was an evil demon sent from hell to suck the life force out of me?

She claimed ignorance to the whole ritual of Valentine's Day. She stated, loudly and clearly, that she wanted absolutely nothing gifted to her. She threatened to up her life force sucking if I even hinted at expressing my appreciation for her sleeping with me.

Being that I minored in women's studies, I knew that this was just another ploy of The Dark Side.

Sure enough, a package showed up on my doorstep last Friday from the woman I am currently sleeping with.

I quickly employed my strategic planning skills. A retaliatory strike was in order. Something with a little shock factor but tame enough not to take out the school up the street.

Flowers? Overdone. Flowers are great....for random Tuesdays. On Valentine's Day they are too tame and predictable. Vibrator? I had already ruined Christmas gift giving with that tactic. Puppy? It would require too much postage. Besides, I wasn't ready to explain another dead puppy package to the postal service.

My geek tendencies went to bound parchment. But it couldn't be just any book. No, it had to embrace the spirit of the day while saying "hey, mad props for putting up and out to me".

What's worse than living a lonely existence?

Having me as a boyfriend.

Chicks Dig My Modal Operater

2010-02-17T07:22:00.001-07:00

The Last Flight out of Baltimore

2010-02-15T19:53:00.003-07:00

One of these days I'm going to take an actually holiday to some warm tropical climate. Preferably one where I don't have to air drop in and carry a gun throughout my stay.

In the meantime, I will settle for Baltimore. At least I didn't have to airdrop in.

My timing was impeccable.

Providing moral support while the Smurf shovels.

The only open businesses to speak of in the Charm City were bars. Without which, drunken snow angels would not be possible.

Post apocalyptic Baltimore (Hampden).

We was walking in a winter wonderland Hon.

The woman that I'm currently sleeping with put me to work

My four day holiday quickly became a seven day adventure in being AWOL. Luckily, there was ample wine.

To bring you up to speed...

...I caught the LAST flight out of Baltimore Tuesday.

...had to brief bright and early on Wednesday.

...found myself getting to the office before dawn and leaving no earlier than 8 pm Thursday and Friday.

...got lectured on my use of passive voice in official government reports (which for the record, the use of which isn't necessarily wrong).

...was called back into the office for explanation into said passive voice reports on Saturday.

In closing, it's about time for another holiday.

Cue the Dueling Banjos

2010-01-27T13:08:00.003-07:00

The Army is trying to get me killed.

No, I haven’t been ordered off to Afghanistan or some other war torn region. Not even the thought of slowly bleeding out alone in some third world ally way knowing that my carcase will be paraded down the avenue just in time for the evening news can compare to my present actuality.

I find myself in Alabama.

This isn’t just another run of the mill middle of nowhere bush mill cultural black hole mind you. Mobile is damn near Parisian in comparison to this joint.

The indigenous population is closing in. The local women sweat desperation. They eye you up like the guaranteed government paycheck you are. Their only goals in life are to get married, get pregnant, and get fat. Not necessarily in that order mind you.

Dats sooo cute how you speak n complete words and all. Tell me, dos you haves health insurance?

Men here aren’t much better. With deep fried something gravy on their breath they pose the question through clenched teeth caked with chewing tobacco…

You ain’t from round here? R ya?

At any minute I feel like I could become Ned Beatty….except that Burt Reynolds isn’t coming over that hill.

Over the sandy turf I hear the town bell toll. It calls for them to worship their precious Boll Weevil. I’m told it’s both the source of their power and illiteracy. Barricade in my room I imagine them sacrificing virgin pony bottles of Pabst Blue Ribbon to their exoskeletoned god. They pray for rain, Jerry Springer’s comeback, and an unsuspecting Yankee to imprison.

Savages.

It’s going to take more than my mastery of phenomenology and .45 to pull me through. I have to go deep cover. I upgraded the rental car to a full size dodge truck. All night I slaved over the history of the SEC. Without reason I cry out; ROLL TIDE! If someone even looks in my direction I just start rambling on about how much Jesus must love Glenn Beck.

It’s all about survival at this point.

Mess’n with Sasqu…Colonel

2010-01-24T19:21:00.007-07:00

The past two weeks have been brutal. I'm up at 4 AM, in the office by 6 AM, and if...IF I'm lucky home by 8 PM.

If I'm not careful some may think that I'm dedicated to my job.

During these sustained hours of strenuous quasi commitment, my sense of humor drops to almost dangerously low levels.

Almost.

I've recently discovered where our Chaplain hides his bronze age propaganda. I also discovered that a certain Colonel forgets to lock his office....

In the Chaplain's defense, he didn't order this propaganda. His assistant found these pamphlets while pursuing the "What Makes God Cry Catalog" and, recognizing the hilarity, ordered a few hundred.

In my defense, I....well....ok, I don't have a defense.

The Colonel in question isn't as thankful for these highly informational pamphlets as you may think. He comes barging out of his office all red faced and screaming how he will kee-haul the smart ass who thinks he is a funny guy. With all the Lieutenant Colonel's (LTC) and Major's (MAJ) lined up against a wall; he proceeds to chew ass for a good twenty minutes.

And why wouldn't he?

It's not like a lowly Lieutenant would have the balls to mess with such a high ranking officer. Especially when that same lowly Lieutenant passes him false intelligence that he may have seen some of those LTC's and MAJ's snickering and hanging out around his office.

It's the little things that get me through these long days.

Pop'n and Lock’n For Freedom

2010-01-14T08:30:00.011-07:00

It's that time of year again.

No, the ritualistic sacrificing of virgin red assed baboons was last month. Think!

I'm talking about evaluation report time here people! That cherished time of year when my superior officers take a good twenty minutes of their time to influence the future of my career.

My Officer Evaluation Reports (OER) have always been interesting. Much like this blog the typical reader is left agape differentiating between fact or fiction, and wondering what it is I really do in the military.

A cherished part of this annual report card is providing your supervisor with a self assessment. Or as we in the camouflage jumpsuits call it; a support form. In it you basically remind your boss what you did (or like to think you did) in the hope that they are too senile to remember if that is actually true.

I like to think of it as a moment to reflect (in 12 lines or less) on the year that was....(click on pic to enlarge)

The Army also likes for you to take the time to document any "unique" skills that you may have so that they can better ignore them when it comes to reassign you...

Being that the Army is ever so accommodating, you should never pass up the opportunity to suggest yourself for re-assignment to other areas. It's a great way of showing how much of a team player you really are...

On the off chance your supervisor reads your support form one should be sure to annotate what positions one feels they are best suited for so it can be included in your actual evaluation...

I know what you're thinking and yes, I know that the Army doesn't currently have a Department dedicated to Alchemy.

Yet.

In other news, I can't make those pictures bigger. You can click on them or "save as" to zoom in. I just had a health assessment so I'm clean.

Flip Flops Count!

2010-01-11T17:59:00.001-07:00

Dedicated to Cheryl de los Reyes Cruz.

I Want to Believe

2010-01-11T07:46:00.004-07:00

Apparently, this isn’t an appropriate screen saver for my work place.

Go figure.

It must have something to do with the data for one of the pulsars being misleading….

Let’s Get Physical

2010-01-07T03:53:00.003-07:00

I was partaking in my typical Tuesday mid-morning nap when The Boss came barging into my office.

You’ve let me down De Campo!

While wiping the sleep from my eyes I explained to him that he would have to be more specific.

Every year over the holiday season we always cut out to play racquetball as an office. Not only did we not play racquetball over the holidays but we haven’t played all year!

I tried to explain to him that there was a logical explanation for all of this. Namely, that he was the only one in the office who liked playing racquetball. I suggested that he just give into peer pressure and find a new activity that we can all partake in…..perhaps Tuesday mid-morning desk naps?

An hour later I had reserved two racquetball courts on the post gym.

I’ve never been one for racquet sports. I prefer a good round of mixed martial arts, rugby, climbing, or brisk 10 mile jaunts through the mountains. You know, things that actually make you work up a sweat while not looking like a fool. This left not only me but Captain Sarcasm and the Office Guerrilla in a quandary. We had 24 hours to learn how to play racquetball.

We found some websites, learned the rules, familiarized ourselves with the fashions, and quickly proclaimed ourselves masters of all things racquetball-ish. Feeling quite confident that I would dominate on the courts, I turned to my uniform….

This is what the body of a finely tuned racquetball player looks like.

We split into two groups; the guys that had never played racquetball before in one group and the guys who didn’t want to be seen with me in another. And yes, that is me wearing a PRIDE t-shirt in a military gym.

The Office Guerrilla, Captain Sarcasm and I quickly got down to business in a variation of the sport we dubbed “Blood Racquet”. The only resemblance to the true sport was that we were holding racquets.

This was a full contact game. Instead of being forced to hit the ball at the wall you could opt to just hit the ball directly at your opponent. If you grew tired of chasing the ball you could always just chase down your opponent. Leg kicks also scored points. Submission attempts were also legal in front of the red lines. One could also score points for taunting. Not just on the court either. A small mob had convened to watch this shit show. Some of which were laughing, while some harbored a genuine disdain for our mocking of their ridiculous sport. The Office Guerrilla scored early when he threatened to give a retired Colonel shaken baby syndrome.

I'm not sure what the Boss has to say about his outfit of anti-racquetball player haters. I'm sure I'll hear all about it soon.

Probably while I'm trying to partake in my typical Thursday mid-morning nap...

It’s Going to be Out of This World…

2010-01-05T10:56:00.002-07:00

Leonard Nimoy is headlining the Space Technology Hall of Fame Dinner???!!!!!

I can't help but think that this slightly discredits my occupation.

I already have my ticket. Do you?

Tale of the Camel

2010-01-03T21:11:00.007-07:00

This damn story has been making the rounds in pubs, mental wards, and PETA meetings since 2003 and I think it’s time to set the record straight. Besides, I’m no longer bound by any of last year’s resolutions involving re-post from my Myspace days.

Make no mistake as I’m not exactly proud of what you’re about to read. However, if placed in that same situation again, I may or may not probably be on the verge of contemplating doing the same thing.

I’m a bastard like that.

As the sun rose over the southern Iraqi city of Umm-Qasr, I scanned the horizon through my binoculars. Everything was as it was supposed to be; brown. It was only 0700 and the sun's wrath could already be felt. By high noon the temperature was surely going to be a hundred plus in the shade. My merry band of shooters and I had spent the night in the outskirts of al-Basrah talking with some locals concerned about the goings on at the Army base. As I turned around and zeroed my eye on Camp [withheld] I knew that those concerns were well founded. When we had arrived there from Baghdad a few days before, I had one of those gut feelings that things were not right in the universe. Pulling through the gates of the camp I was greeted by a "posse" of National Guard troops from San Diego that looked like they were part of a drum circle at a Phish concert rather than security for the camp. All that kept echoing in my mind were those famous words of wisdom from "Apocalypse Now", NEVER GET OFF THE BOAT. Upon taking in the scene, my partner “V” and I just exchanged looks. We both knew what right looked like, and this wasn't right.

The post housed a good number of detainees back then. Everyone from the regular Iraqi army to common criminals was housed there. Even with this assortment of VIP's, the camp was wide open. A mere wall of sand, called a berm, and some wire surrounded the compound. The element designated as the security and quick reaction force for the camp was comprised of the same fun-in-the-sun San Diego dudes that held down the gate. It was clear that they had tanned away any remaining brain cells since coming onto active duty. V tried his best to settle my (then) young nerves by telling me that this was just a stop on the tour and that we would be out of there in no time. I had gone into the fire many times before with V and respected the hell out of him. He knew his stuff and had been logging trigger time in third world countries since before I was a stain in my old man’s shorts. But even the calming words from my mentor brought no comfort; things were ripe for a cluster fuck.

I briefed my assistant squad leader, “G”, on what needed to be done. G was a cocky, 21 year old SOB from Jersey City. He had way too many brain cells and good looks for the Army…and he knew it. He is the only man that I have ever met that can pull off the pencil-thin mustache look. I retired to my hummer and started writing up reports on the previous night’s events when out of the corner of my eye I caught movement. Grabbing my binoculars I knew exactly what it was before the optics focused on the source of my uneasiness. Wandering over the outer berm was a herd of camels followed by a man riding high atop one of those walking spit machines. I put the binoculars aside and took a deep breath. This was becoming a common occurrence since my arrival here. The camel caravan comes across the berm, we talk with the Bedouin, tell him he has to keep his distance and he leaves. Then we get mortared to hell.

I’m well versed in Bedouin culture. Oddly enough, we had a good relationship with the Bedouin despite confusing them with the sand people from Star Wars. I knew that this guy was no Bedouin. From what I could gather from the locals and my interaction with Mr. Camel Herder, he was a foreigner, probably Iranian. This camel gig was just a ploy to gather intelligence on the camp. The locals in the region were not about to kiss Americans ass, but they hated the Iranian's even more (at that time). In turn, they were happy to sell him out. I glanced over at my sleeping deviants’ and decided that I would have a heart to heart with Mr. Camel himself. I drove across the sand, ironically past a prank camel crossing sign, to the herd’s location. As I exited the vehicle, I made sure a round was already chambered and my friendly face, dimples and all, was shining bright in the desert sun.

Before I could get a word out, Mr. Camel announced that he spoke no American. That was cool with me and I quickly shot back in Arabic that I didn't speak American either. "This is it" I informed him. “We have a couple hundred miles of desert here and you keep making circles around this camp.” Blah, blah, this is my desert, blah, blah. I was sick of the rhetoric and told him so in no uncertain terms. Mr. Camel just laughed; he had been hearing empty threats for weeks. He smiled, maybe even winked, and kept on driving his camels towards the camp, leaving me in his dust.

By the end of my conversation with Mr.Camel, the rest of the squad had awoken and they were more than happy to give me shit. "Damn Sarge, he told you!" I just smiled and turned to my human pit bull, "Outlaw get me the bazooka.” I was referring of course to the AT-4 anti-tank rocket launcher. I’ve always missed cool sounding names like bazooka and was determined to bring it back in vogue. The human pit bull, Outlaw, was one of my screw loose, muscle-bound soldiers that was just killing time in the Army before he could go back home to his 1% life in a outlaw motorcycle club. The squad laughed because they were sure I wasn't serious. SPC "Outlaw" had been with me awhile and knew different. As he handed me the rocket launcher, I realized I was in a bit of a predicament. I had only been trained on this weapon in theory. It is too expensive and a logistical nightmare to actually shoot one of these things in training. To compensate, the Army lets you go through the motions of firing a "dummy" model. Like sober Sunday morning sex, I decided to go through the motions. As luck would have it, the directions are written right on the damn thing! "Ok, check sight, check rear seal…looks good. Let's see, oh remove pin, put on shoulder, and cock it…check." It was about this time that my squad knew I was done playing patty cake with the camels. I had no intention of causing bodily harm to Mr. Camel, but I did have every intention of scaring the shit out of him.

There it was! Out in front of the herd was the biggest, most beautiful camel that side of the Euphrates. I had found my target and with that, bellowed "BACK BLAST AREA CLEAR!"

My men hugged the desert floor like it had tits as a loud WHOOSH engulfed them. The rocket left the launcher and streaked across the sand to its target. What happened next was beyond expectations. What was once the pride of the herd was suddenly nothing more than a red cloud in the horizon. Every man in the vicinity froze; jaws dropped, locked in a stare of disbelief.

Then my and Mr. Camel’s eyes met. I just smiled, I may have even winked, and with that Mr. Camel hauled ass out of there.

Little did I know that as this showdown was unfolding the entire command group of officers and senior non-commissioned officers were having a pow-wow on a hill overlooking the entire scene. Before I knew it there I was standing at attention in front of a lot of people wearing more rank than myself. They yelled, screamed, threatened to court martial, take rank, and make sure I would spend the rest of my life breaking big rocks into little rocks. They got so mad that they had to kick me out of the tent every ten minutes so that they could compose themselves. I was eventually dismissed once everyone grew hoarse and ran out of variations of “fuck”.

Once on the road back to our compound I turned to V, who had been in the tent and reaming into me as well. “I'm sorry V. I fucked upped. I put you in a bad spot, and set a bad example for the men." V then turned to me, looked me square in the eyes and busted out laughing, “Shit kid, we had to keep throwing you out of the tent because we couldn't stop laughing! In my twenty years of playing this game that was the funniest thing I have ever seen, a freaking red cloud! Next time though, just make sure the brass isn't over your shoulder, got me?”

From that day until its closure earlier this year, no one ever attempted to test the perimeter of Camp [withheld].

Pot [BAD] Luck

2009-12-17T20:50:00.005-07:00

I love faux urgent emails.

You know the ones I’m talking about. They stress the dire need for you to call headquarters immediately because someone has an unauthorized coffee pot in their cubicle or other equally earth shattering issue sure to stop the planets rotation and end life as we know it unless you project some command authority.

Whatever.

There I was in LAX making the most of my 4 hour layover by dropping 9 bucks a pop on Bloody Mary’s to soothe a hangover and get a good start on a new one when a received an urgent email.

What dish are you bringing to the Command Holiday Party tomorrow???!!!!

After recovering from the initial shock that my Command was having a holiday party I politely replied.

My charming personality and shit eating grin. It should be able to serve a few hundred.

Apparently this was a no go because our resident social coordinator (yes, we have someone whose only job is to plan social events) couldn’t wrap his skull around the fact that 1) I wasn’t going to get back to the Springs until 1 AM, and 2) I’m a thirty something geographic bachelor who travels 200,000 miles a year leaving little more than booze and condiments in his fridge.

You HAVE to bring something. Everyone is bringing a dish. There will be a competition for best dish!

A competition? I’m out caravanning in the land of misadventure, almost risking my life, and this guy is worried about whether or not our office will win the 25 dollar gift certificate to Uncle Leroy’s House of Meat.

A competition! Why didn’t you say so! In that case, I will stay up tonight making my renowned pâté.

If there is a hell, when I arrive there will be a designated demon there tasked with shoving pineapples up my ass all day long.

I slaved for a good minute and a half in the gas station pet food section selecting this delightful dish. I didn’t even count on there being a pâté flavored cat food. Bonus!

I love how it only took 3 Specialist, 1 Staff Sergeant, 2 First Sergeants, and a Colonel to throw up before it was removed from the best dish competition.

Even more disturbing than trying to pass off cat food as pâté was the fact that each of the people who threw it up immediately recognized it as being cat food. This has happened before.

Tis a shame, I really had my heart set on winning that gift certificate…..

How Much is That Jesus in the Window?

2009-12-11T06:27:00.003-07:00

Spotted by Alicia in San Francisco

This is Exhibit A in the case that Disney is solely responsible for the commercialization of Christmas.

This is My Weapon, This is My Gun

2009-12-09T06:37:00.016-07:00

Last night while searching for my funny I found this video in the depths of my hard drive. It was filmed in the summer of 2007 and yours truly even has a cameo.

A little background…

No shit, there we were, at Ft. Sill Oklahoma taking part in some ridiculous training for newly commissioned Lieutenants. The curriculum consisted of learning how to PT hung-over, wake up on time, and stand around waiting for the cadre/or Lieutenants to find their asses.

Pretty standard Army stuff.

I think they called the training BOLC II (Basic Officer Leaders Course Level 2) but it could have easily been called PNWORC I (Prior NCO’s and Warrant Officers Regret Commissioning Level 1).

The batshit crazy Captain assigned to babysit us, CPT Z, had an epiphany that we should do an educational video on weapons maintenance. Who knows the reason he got a wild hair to make this. CPT Z was truly a madman. His hobbies included throwing ammo cans at Lieutenants, slapping helmets off Lieutenants, and screaming for no particular reason at Lieutenants or other inanimate objects in general.

Naturally, I liked the guy’s style.

Sure. My squad was more than capable of making a highly educational video that would benefit the masses for training cycles to come. But why would we want to do that when making a smart ass parody would be so much more fun?

Naturally, CPT Z freaking loved it.

Can I Interest You in a Tall Glass?

2009-12-07T10:09:00.002-07:00

Please Pass the Cranberries and Ammo

2009-12-04T05:36:00.006-07:00

I’ve never understood why military types get so depressed over not being able to spend the holidays with their families. That’s one of the benefits of service! You don’t have to worry about bat shit crazy relatives, cooking, flying/driving across the country, or formulating topics of conversations other than religion, politics, and philosophy.

I think the Army is really missing out on not targeting the “please don’t make me spend the holidays with my family” demographic in recruiting.

This past thanksgiving I opted to pass on the dangers of a family get together and head to the safe confines of a military post deep in the Islamic world.

With the authorities closing in on us, the Boss and I decided to bid Germany farewell and head to Qatar to spend Thanksgiving with our team there. This wasn’t as easy as it sounds. After enduring a 7 hour flight where every 10 minutes the movie would break away to alert us to which direction Mecca was currently, we finally arrived at Doha International Airport.

Clearly they had not received the memo on my arrival because instead of a ticker tape parade I was instead greeted by a host of angry government reps demanding to know why I wanted to come into their country. After a few rounds of questions and a volley of smart ass responses I was finally released (sans passport stamp) to tour their lovely stretch of barrenness.

Not even being detained could take away from the Thanksgiving jubilation for a feast was at hand. Nothing beats a chow hall holiday meal. You want it; you got it right down to the cheesy ice sculptures.

While perusing the program for the meal I couldn’t help but notice something was amiss.

It would seem my old outfit Patton’s Third Army, those same crazy bastards that insisted on playing Patton’s March every morning at 7AM on the post loudspeakers, had made an error of epic military face palming proportions. Not only did they spell the Commanding General’s name wrong but they also demoted him to the rank of Lieutenant. If any of you have ever dreamed of commanding a remote desert base I'm willing to bet that a position has recently opened. Just a hunch.

With the pointing out of blatant disrespect and lack of attention to detail out of the way, I made my way through the serving line.

The military has a tradition of making high ups serve the meal on special occasions. This is great because I can heckle them if they skimp on the sweet potatoes.

Not everyone embraces the duty. We see Command Sergeant Major “Brock” pictured here seconds before he shoved a Cornish Hen up the chaplain’s ass.

We then gorged ourselves for two hours straight. Gone were the normal restrictions of one meat, two starches. No, we were given the keys to gluttony kingdom and we pillaged to our hearts content.

In some far off land our families, wives, children, and bartenders longed for our presence. But here, around this table we gave thanks to our own dysfunctional family unit and the camaraderie which binds us…

…not to mention the extra helping of sweet potatoes.

Viceroy Log 5912: Return to Deutschland

2009-12-02T19:33:00.005-07:00

I couldn’t help but think that the hangovers would feel different this time around. Maybe it’s because I hadn’t been locked up with a madman for the past 72 hours. Perhaps it was because I’m not dreading be recalled to the “the suck” at any moment. What if I’ve grown so much in the past year, being a senior Lieutenant about to be Captain and all, that I approach things with more maturity?

HA!

I got back to Europe and that’s all that matters. I love Germany. The beer, people, schnitzel, knife wielding jaded Turks with their younger sisters who long for a green card, was all there the taking. Not even the fact that this was a work trip dampened my spirits. In fact, that made it even better. Let the tax payers pick up the tab for my debauchery.

What? You have a problem with that? Tell me, why do you hate America so much?

The Boss was at my side this trip. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing as he had lived in Germany for 22 years off and on. Witnessing him spit fluent German in a deep southern accent was worth the price of admission. He insisted that I speak only German this trip which was interesting because I don’t speak German….sober at least. Don’t get me wrong, I can understand German just fine. I just never bothered to learn how to speak it because mispronouncing it is much more entertaining.

The plan went to hell within an hour when I asked every German “Wie viel für eure Frauen?” at the onset of every conversation.

It was a good four days. I drank my weight in beer, ate my weight in schnitzel, and got to hang out with some great people. The following is what has been approved for public release…..

Cruising down the autobahn at a healthy 200 km/h is the only way to take in the German countryside. Even behind the wheel of a Mercedes station wagon (because someone’s executive assistant has no sense of flare) it’s gorgeous.

The castles are especially gorgeous. You can’t take a wrong exist without running into one of these behemoths. There they are, calling to you, SACK ME!

Everyone raves about the beer in Germany but I for one can’t get enough of….

U.S. Military milk. Good to the last drop.

The German McNacho: a cheeseburger with three tortilla chips thrown on top. So much for German engineering.

Another rough FTX (Field Training Exercise).

I stopped by the bar of lesbians and jagerbombs to find this hanging on the front door. I really hope that sign came to be because of me.

Major highlight of the trip was reconnecting with AK my Kuwaiti roommate, and now resident of Germany. We got to drink some beers and talk about how he still isn’t getting any play.

With Germany in the books it was time to hit up Qatar for Thanksgiving (you didn't know that was a turkey day hotspot?) and Las Bahrain.

Just Another Thanksgiving in the Desert

2009-11-26T06:34:00.004-07:00

As I dine on Government Issue turkey yet again, let me take a moment to catch you up.

This past week I’ve sacked a castle, had too much fun in my Mercedes on the autobahn according to the rental company, spoken horrible German, ate my weight in schnitzel, performed the Heimlich on my boss saving his life and granting me further job security, encouraged a proper hotel room trashing, drank my weight in beer, been detained and interrogated by Qatari authorities, met up with AK my Kuwaiti roommate, been questioned by German authorities, spoken horrible Arabic, had all my Cuban cigars stolen out of my luggage, prayed in the direction of Mecca with other passengers while on a flight to Qatar just to confuse my boss, drank my weight in genuine Cuban rum, and currently have currency for six different nations in my wallet.

It’s been a busy week.

No worries, I've been taking notes and pictures which will be posted once I get back into the land of hassle free internets.

Hope all you Yanks out there are having a happy Thanksgiving! For all you other English speaking non-yanks…well, Boxer Day is right around the corner.

His (un)Holiness; Reverend Viceroy

2009-11-16T18:55:00.003-07:00

The debauchery express made a stop off in lovely Alys Beach this past weekend as yours truly was asked to preside over the celebration of the last known form of legalized slavery recognized in the western world.

Ahem,

What I meant to say was that I officiated over my friends John and Amie's entering into wedded bliss.

I quickly surveyed the battlefield and assessed that given my local I would have to make some minor adjustments in uniform and transportation. You can't risk tipping off the natives that you're an outsider. I know, I'm brilliant.

It was a lovely beach sunset complete with a genuine sense of urgency given the rising tide.

What is that I'm reading from?

It's pretty standard reading in the Church of Viceroy.

I've missed a lot of events in my friends lives over the years due to my job. To just be there was amazing, to be asked to officiate over the ceremony was an honor.

Now if you will excuse me, it's back to work.

Next stop? EUROPE!

[OFLN] Orders From Last Night

2009-11-11T21:34:00.005-07:00

Have you ever been to the Text From Last Night site? If not you’re possibly missing one of the most pointless, hilarious, time killing websites ever. It’s the sort of comedy that makes you smile and think that regardless of what our politicians do now that the youth of the nation are fucked anyway.

Whenever I check out the site I think of my own text messages. Lately, I’ve been thinking of the text messages I get from The Boss because 1) He text me the more than anyone, and 2) he’s hysterical. Since I’m on duty 24/7, and he ridiculously outranks me, I consider all correspondence orders of varying degrees.

Hence, [OFLN] ORDRS FRM LST NGT

(719) is it me or does our stewardess look like she just got voted off Survivor; Siberia? The island has not been kind to her.
(443) by 3,000 feet I will have an alliance.

(719) I’m in the lobby overhearing this girl talk about how she just got an army astronauts autograph. Explain yourself.
(443) Sir, why must you assume that I’m somehow associated with that?
(719) She’s screaming that she’s the next Mrs. De Campo

(719) Stop introducing yourself as DR. You’re not only embarrassing me but doctors, the army, and the United States of America.

(719) No shooting.
(443) Says the Sir without a gun.

(719) 3 o’clock, she could eat an apple thru a picket fence.

(719) my daughter ask about you at dinner.
(443) REALLY?
(719) I told her you and your gay lover were coming to grips with herpes together.
(443) Thanks Sir.

(443) recon complete. OPEN BAR!
(719) It’s gonna be messier than a shit fight in the monkey cage.

(719) Just got a call from NASA. Have you been submitting questions to astronauts on the space station through the public website?
(443) I thought that was what the website is for?
(719) it is for schoolchildren to ask them questions about space and science. It is not for your inquiries into sex in zero gravity.

(719) why is a Colonel carrying your bags?
(443) I told him they were yours. Please don’t ruin this for me Sir.

(719) The Commanding General’s wife is here telling everyone how she had so much fun with you last night.
(443) we watched Ellen and danced in the hotel lobby. We’re pretty much BFFs.
(719) Judging from the CG’s face you’re KIA.

(719) I know what you’re thinking. Let me help you. Yes it’s flammable and no you shouldn’t.

(719) you’re going to Moscow.
(443) Cool. Why?
(719) because when you put a watch cap on you look like a guy on a bottle of cheap vodka.
(443) who am I to argue against army logic, or lack thereof.

(719) Why is there a Major crying outside my office?
(443) I think the Office Guerrilla smiled at her.

(719) did you tell TSA that my hand grip exerciser was a penis pump?
(443) they originally thought it was a weapon. Your welcome.
(719) you’re the worst aide ever.

My job rocks.

In other news, I’m flying out in the morning for the rain soaked, hurricane ravaged Florida coastline. Why? I’m OFFICIATING my best friend’s wedding! I’m the minister!

Yes. Many pictures to come soon.

I'm an International Incident

2009-11-08T20:07:00.003-07:00

Dear Presidente/Chancellor/Dear Leader/Supreme Ruler,

Please let Viceroy de Campo into your country. He practically promises not to spur a revolution, impregnate any members of the ruling family, sing karaoke, instigate a coupe, or introduce your people to the magnificent work of Jimmy Buffett.

In short, he will possibly be on his best behavior.

HUGZ,
The U.S. State Department

Having spent ones entire adult life in the military industrial complex comes at a heavy price. Namely, I haven’t a clue how to function as a civilian or even know how civilians function.

Take for instance travel overseas. How does a regular Dick or Jane go about that? You get a passport, book travel, get a tourist visa (maybe), and have a grand ole time at some ridiculous resort with high walls so you don’t see the famine which engulfs the local population.

I’m not as lucky with international travel. Take my latest adventure for instance. It’s not enough for me to have a passport. I need to get special permission to enter some people’s territory.

Seriously.

The past few weeks I’ve been working on gaining legal entry, country clearances, to some lovely locals. I can’t just put in the visit justification line “drink beer” either. No, I have to go into a lengthy justification on why they should even let me in the door.

I suppose a bad reputation is better than no reputation.

Luckily, I have people that work all the paperwork for me. So when I put “drink beer” on a form I know that a small army of pencil pushers are burning the midnight oil penning a work of highly technical, yet highly fictitional, letter of justification for travel. I know this because they call my office sobbing something about never seeing their families because of the work they put into my applications.

These countries should thank me for jumping through such hoops! I could easily bypass all this nonsense and slip in under the guise of a tourist. I’m looking out for them, giving them a heads up that I’m stopping by! This allows for them to organize a national disaster drill, stock up on O+ blood, and hide their daughters.

Some gratitude!

I’m casting too much blame across the sea. The real stumbling block to my adventures, er…official travel is my own country and the clean as a whistle bureaucrats’ which wield the stamp of approval.

“de Campo, you stole the King’s entire camel herd last time you were there!”

For the record, those camels where in search of leadership and just happened to follow me back to the hotel. ..pool area…where I gave them booze…and I may have referred to them as my mythical camel army of the damned hell bent on destroying the evil sheep…on a live Al-Jazeera broadcast.

You guys are the diplomats! You straighten it out! Don’t you get paid to clean these sorts of cultural misunderstandings up? I get paid to be cheeky and wreak mischievous hilarity that everyone can look back on and laugh about.

I mean come on! It’s not like we’re going to have another Istanbul incident of 2003 on our hands here!

I practically promise.

Interview With a Nihilist

2009-10-26T07:06:00.003-06:00

Me: Hey, you wanna go check out Where The Wild Things Are tomorrow?

The Nihilist: No can do. Freud’s Concept of the Uncanny.

Me: A simple “fuck you” would had sufficed.

In other news, it snowed here all yesterday. I spent the better part of this morning scraping ice of the Jeep, mastering Tokyo drifts on the way into the office, and just plain freezing.

This calls for drastic measures.

I’m heading out to LA until this cold front blows over…or Thursday. It will be good to be back someplace where the weather fits my clothes.

On a Lighter Note…

2009-10-22T19:43:00.001-06:00

....the view from my desk is spectacular.

Raining More Than Ever

2009-10-18T23:29:00.001-06:00

I’ve lost my sense of humor.

This has never happened before and I’m not sure what to make of it. I’m sure it’s one of those things like losing your car keys. However, I even looked in the couch cushions and still came up with nothing.

I need to relax and recharge.

I was supposed to do this over my leave. Unfortunately, my so called “holiday” rivaled work in the stress department. I dread leave. It’s a week of making up for months of absence. In the end, somebody is inevitably left scorned and I’m still exhausted.

Adding to my angst, I aided in the presenting of an American flag to a 20 year old widow and her one year old son.

If anyone comes across my funny please let me know. I need it now more than ever.

Walking in a Baltimore Wonderland

2009-10-12T20:40:00.005-06:00

In other news, I need a holiday from my holiday.

In Case You Were Wondering

2009-10-07T15:02:00.000-06:00

I’m currently on holiday relaxing in the quiet and tranquility of……

….Baltimore.

I Love My Town

2009-09-28T11:18:00.001-06:00

Lots of caffeine, not a lot of clothing

I Feel Like a Poorer, Undersexed Version of Tony Stark

2009-09-27T20:22:00.003-06:00

I’m back.

To say that it’s been a crazy month would be a gross understatement. I returned from Hawai’i with just enough time to do my laundry, repack my suitcase, and catch another plane out of Colorado.

Last week I found myself on another dangerous mission…The American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics Multi-National Ballistic Missile Defense Conference in Boston.

If that title just doesn’t scream party you need to get back to physics class.

In all seriousness, it was a highly educational week. Among the things I learned…..

- When drinking heavily at an open bar reception with the German Luftwaffe one should be careful not to drop a napkin on your tables candle….attempt to put it out with extremely flammable beverages…then act as nothing happened as a thousand people stare at you.

- At the reception the following night one should also not take the preemptive measure of discharging a fire extinguisher on members of the German Luftwaffe.

- Regardless of the conference’s advertised theme, suggesting the whole thing should just be called “Meeting of Really Old, Really Horny, and Really White Dudes Who Conveniently Forget Their Wedding Rings” won’t win you any friends in contractor circles.

- In the exhibitors hall one should refrain from setting up a folding table and pasting a sign to it which reads “Lazzers 4 Sale Cheep”. With that, don’t man the table with a horrible French accent.

- French defense types have an even a worse sense of humor than French civilians.

- Inflating your importance to impress the hot Israeli representative you know is a spy by passing yourself off as the Colonel in your office will lead to no good and lots of paperwork.

- The protocol types’ asking if you or The Boss have any special needs isn’t an invitation to make a ridiculous list reminiscent of something Keith Moon would scribe. (Trying to find a Shetland pony in Boston named Guano is apparently difficult)

- Pointing out to other nations that defence is really spelled defense doesn’t help international relations.

- The folks working the badge table are way too trusting and willing to accommodate. Hence, I was Dr. DeCampo all week long.

- Screaming “YOU LIE!” during the opening remarks isn’t nearly as funny as it was when you did it in your head. (i.e.: “I want to thank you all for coming…” YOU LIE!)

That pretty much sums up the actual conference. Well, at least the parts that won’t get me into too much trouble. In closing, Boston is a beautiful place filled with some of the rudest assholes in the world.

In other news, I am negligent on following and commenting on everyone’s blogs. For this I offer my deepest most heartfelt whatever.

Now if you will excuse me I have another plane to catch……

Your Tax Dollars at Work

2009-09-16T18:12:00.002-06:00

I'm happy to report that Operation Theodora Hula Gold was a complete success.

What? You don't have knowledge of this operation?

It basically consisted of me going screw this, I'm going to Hawai'i for a few days to drink Mai Thai's with the Aussies.

Cue the dropping of a obnoxious "MISSION ACCOMPLISHED" banner in three...two...

Someone Farted On My Pillow

2009-09-11T10:18:00.004-06:00

Have I told you how I share an office with a very pregnant, very hormonal Major Lady Death Strike?

Yes, she is pregnant with twins. Of course I don’t say publicly that she is pregnant with twins but rather “with baby death strikes”.

This morning I woke up looking like I spent all night partying with Keith Moon and John Bonham. My normally blue/green eyes had been replaced by eerily red orbs. Chalking this up to my lifestyle, I thought nothing of it.

Until I went into the office…

At which point the very pregnant, very hormonal MAJ Lady Death Strike told me if I took one more step into the office she would be forced to shoot me dead where I stood. I was then evicted and ordered not to return until I had been cleared by a doctor. She thinks I have pink eye. I think I have a case of Lieutenant who treats his body like an amusement park.

Apparently, both are ailments she doesn’t want her unborn death strikes exposed to.

I have reluctantly made an appointment for this afternoon at the hospital. Until then I live in a state of both exile and fear that the military docs will use this ailment as an excuse to execute another rectal exam.

The things I do for unborn death strikes....

***UPDATE***
I have escaped military medical treatment without a finger up my ass. However, I have been diagnosed with pink eye.

Guys like me just don't come down with pink eye. One of your little outbreak monkeys infected me!

Wait....could it be possible...did the Smurf fart on my pillow???????

In other news, the doctor refused to issue me an eye patch.

You Lie!

2009-09-10T19:24:00.001-06:00

Conqueror of Famed Peaks

2009-09-09T21:21:00.004-06:00

This past weekend the Smurf and I strapped on our finest adventure flip fops and took to the summit of Pikes Peak.

Despite several feathered beast attempting to carry off the Smurf, we both survived.

In other news, I'm outraged that my President didn't take the opportunity to speak about the benefits of socialism to our nations school children yesterday.

Disgusting.

Paranoia Strikes Deep

2009-09-08T11:17:00.002-06:00

One day I stumble upon a Soldiers blog. I enjoy the way he mocks the system, ridicules his worthless Lieutenant, and respect how he views the world Through Amber Lenses.

I shoot a couple of comments to him and we have a good time trading smart ass jabs.

I notice that he hasn’t posted in awhile. I don’t think too much of it knowing how sketchy internet access is in Iraq.

Then I stumble across this post on another Soldiers blog……

Where’s My International Male Catalog?

2009-09-01T16:24:00.005-06:00

Off Site: An event held by leadership outside the confines of the normal work environment to discuss issues facing the organization. This is done so as the organization can determine if a change of scenery was at the root of the problem all along (hint: it wasn’t). See also boondoggle.

Does your organization hold off sites?

Mine does. In fact, they can’t get enough of them. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing as we refuse to hold them anywhere that isn’t a resort town/cool city. This allows us to blow off the off site and go off of the off site and, well, get off.

I’m currently getting off in Opryland USA, Nashville.

Nice place Nashville. You can’t stumble without hitting a bar, honky tonk, or doe eyed aspiring singer/song writer on the way down.

More on that later…

The thing that is getting my goat is the dress code for this clever ruse to stay at a resort. I think that they are taking the “senior” in [my Command] Senior Leader Off Site to heart.

Last week an email was sent out explaining how it’s inconceivable that we be capable of accomplishing anything in jeans or t-shirts. A strict uniform of colored shirts, slacks, and hush puppies was established.

Or as I like to call it, the conservative-white-male-over fifty-look.

Upon surveying the scene I’m beginning to think that it will be impossible for me to accomplish anything while having to interact with conservative white men over fifty wearing golf shorts with socks pulled up to their thighs.

Oh, and I’ve already been called out on my wardrobe.

Apparently if something cannot be tucked in it fails to meet the criteria of being a fashionable ensemble. Trust me that no good will come of trying to explain the debonair essence of Banana Republic and Territory Ahead fashion against a “senior” wearing $20 Wal-Mart kakis*.

In other related news…..

At any second a sunset will magically appear in the room, a reassuring narrator will come on, and I will be witness to a prescription male enhancement commercial in real time.

Yeah, the scene is that bad.

*I’m being generous with this figure.

Pervert!

2009-08-27T08:00:00.002-06:00

My Penis Has Some Kick

2009-08-22T21:45:00.002-06:00

Today I learned that the following sequence will lead to epic fail of one’s penis:

Cooking naked….

... while mistaking habanera peppers for jalapeno peppers…

… not washing your hands after handling said peppers…

…then handling your penis.

This is played out while I was on the phone with The Smurf. Luckily, being the supportive girlfriend that she is, she fought back laughter enough to instruct me to soak my “frank and beans” in milk to neutralize the thermo nuclear burning sensation erupting from my cock.

To sum up my Saturday night, I soaked my dick in a glass of milk while crying.

New low!

In other news, I will save you the trouble and inform you now that I DON’T HAVE PICTURES.

My New Haircut

2009-08-16T20:21:00.004-06:00

The military has a long storied history of being anal about haircuts. The party line is that if a soldier has a terrific haircut (i.e. one that will prevent you from getting laid amongst the general population) that automatically equates to them being a competent, hard charging, professional. One’s stock will rise even higher if their physical fitness test scores are good.

Yeah, I don’t follow that train of thought.

I would tell you the exact hair length requirements but I brain dumped that stuff as soon as I stopped being a Sergeant. Nowadays, I like to blend into the environment. I can’t be showing up to some drum circle or cause of the month protest with a jarhead style atop my dome. Nope, give me a little taper on the sides and don’t you dare touch the top. This look says I can jump out of a plane shooting or go to the local poetry jam….all in the same day.

Unfortunately, the powers that be at the post barber shop have other designs.

The barber shop on a military instillation is an interesting place. You have about a dozen Korean women who don’t speak English and one or two guys named Sal. Maybe both guys are named Sal if you’re lucky.

But you never go to Sal’s chair.

Sure, you may be privy to some awesome story of Sal cutting down a few hundred Germans with a Tommy Gun. Yeah, you can hear all about the ridiculous venereal diseases he picked up in the Philippines. Ok, you will only be charged 5 dollars. But trust me, Sal is friends with your Command Sergeant Major and those two are plotting evil against you.

“Morning mate, just a little taper on the sides, clean up the back, and DON’T TOUCH THE FLOWING LOCKS UP TOP!”

All Sal just heard was…

“I’m a fucking officer who thinks I can wear my hair any damn way I please because I have a fancy smancy college degree”

You will leave Sal’s chair with the same style haircut he got back at Paris Island in 1945 and like it.

The Korean’s aren’t much better. The only difference is that while you’re getting your weave wacked they distract you with how they have a niece that would do ANYTHING to marry a GI and come to America.

You know those certificates and licenses that hang in every barber shop and salon in the states?I’ve never seen one of those hanging in a military base barber shop. They get really mad when you inquire about those. They look at you in a way that says they will jack your head up good if you ever hint at the subject again.

Why am I telling you this?

I got my haircut on Friday and all weekend long I’ve been given a military discount without brandishing my ID card or even asking about such.

All I wanted was a little taper………