Mental Masturbation of the Soul (Facebook Edition!)

The title is meant to imply that I am not really so self-centered and narcissistic as to think that writing a blog entry that strongly resembles a really long About Me section of a Facebook profile shows that I am actually a very deep individual, with ideas and thoughts that will change your ways of thinking. Or that I am the kind of person you think you are, but deep down know you really aren't.

It's a lie. I am that shallow and narcissistic, and I have no original ideas or anything interesting to say. What I am is bored at work and feeling like I need some kind of entry on this page. It's a shame I'm not feeling as inspired to write right now, as I am when I'm laying in bed trying to sleep.

Let's see where this goes!

My name is Jason. Apparently, I look like a Michael. That's my middle name, though I like to tell people it is Montgomery just to watch their face as they lie and tell me it is a beautiful or "unique" name. I grew up mostly in a small town on the edge of Georgia and Alabama. Hated the town, hated the schools, and pretty much hated everything until I was out on my own and living in Atlanta.

At sixteen years old I was kicked out of school for fighting my principal. He had sent me home several times before because of my hair. He didn't like the different colors. I tried going to other schools, but none would accept me. At 18 I decided to get my GED, took the test, received the diploma (if you can call it that), and proceeded to work crap jobs until I was 19. This is when I enlisted in the Army.

I did my time as a soldier. Never went to the desert, but I did go to Korea and several countries in South America. Got out, moved around for a while, and then worked some more crap warehouse jobs.

One Spring Break I took a week off from those crappy jobs and went to Puerto Rico to visit this hot chick I met on a message board (Bolt.com before it became whatever bullshit board it is now, and no, it is not a dating site). Had a blast and the next month she flew up to visit me. Then the following month I up and moved down there so I could actually date her like the normal person I am not.

A few months later she moved back to Georgia with me, and I went back to crap jobs.

When I finally got sick of those crappy jobs, I went into sales. I'd never worked in sales before, and thought it would be fun. It was... for about a week. I stayed in door-to-door sales for a few months, and then went into Car Sales. I didn't think anything would be worse than Going door to door, selling crap. I was wrong. Car Sales was the single worst job I have ever worked. It eats at your soul (and with a soul as short as mine, I couldn't afford to make a career out of it). Spent about two years there before leaving for a decent job with not many hours.

Then I landed my current job at a Helpdesk. Basic IT troubleshooting, and within a year and a half, I'd been promoted twice. Not bad for a fucking GED.

Somewhere near the end of all that, I married that Hot Latin Chick, and last September we had our first child. We spent a few years planning him, and seeing as how rare that is, I like to point it out. His name is Xekan, and he's fucking awesome.

Just look at this punam (WARNING! Better put on a helmet before scrolling down!):

Yeah, that PERSON used to live in MY BALLS! Took my awesome, mixed it with my wife's awesome, and we created awesome that has caused heads to explode.

Now is the part where I start listing all of the things about me that are unique and junk. Are you ready?! You'd better be, Sally Mae Doofinsmurtz!

I am a midget because I have a short soul. My actual height is something people are always asking me. I think Brutus was awesome, because he stuck it to the man. I hate country music, reggaeton, and southern white gospel. Everything else is at least tolerable. When I taste something, the first thing that I think of is the shape that it tastes like. I recently realized that certain sounds cause physical reactions in me that can change my mood almost instantly. I am an Atheist. My father is/was a preacher. I think the smell of powdered laundry detergent is the greatest and most delicious scent in the universe. I get excited by science, and inspired by the most simple things. I want to be like Dr. Neil DeGrasse Tyson when I grow up, and hope to have published books that touch people in the ways that my favorite authors have touched me. Authors like David Sedaris, Douglas Adams, Neil Gaiman, Douglas Coupland, Tiffanie DeBartolo, Antoine de Saint-Exupery, Kurt Vonnegut, and Dan Wells.

I have a strange sense of humor, and I could not care less if I am the only person laughing or not. I will laugh at anything, and anyone. I will not treat someone like they're special just because they're retarded, sick, or dying. I lack empathy and/or a conscience. I'm a good person because I do good things, and I do good things because I enjoy doing good things. I look at all of the likely consequences of each choice I make, and I do not have to worry about God or Guilt preventing me from making the correct choice. The first thing I ask myself before most any choice I make is "Which one will have the best story?"

Darkwing Duck has the most passionate theme song of any cartoon I can think of. When everyone in elementary school was listening to Michael Jackson, I was listening to Prince and Stone Temple Pilots. The first thing I ever said I wanted to be when I grew up, was a Mad Scientist. Once I noticed people laughing at it, I changed it to professional baseball player, and left that as my default response until I was out of school. I never wanted to play any sport professionally.

I am a good listener. Scratch that. I think I am a good listener because I was a good listener until I was about 17 and someone actually listened to me. Then I realized, not only how good it feels to let things out, but how much more interesting I am than everyone else. I sometimes talk just so I can hear myself speaking. I have a great voice, and there are times when it sounds so perfect I don't want to stop listening to it. Like a song on repeat, that you just can't get enough of.

I expect people to be who they are, and nothing else. I am never disappointed. I have a pro active way of thinking, and a laid back way of acting. I'm extremely logical and rational, though my mind sometimes shorts out and appears broken. I choose to see the bright side of everything, and that makes this universe so much more beautiful than any other way I've ever looked at it.

I think I'll stop now, since this is getting stupid long, and no one will ever read it all.

The Definition of Pretentious...

I've been trying to find the time to type this up since it happened over the weekend. Seeing as how it has taken me all week to get to it, you aren't likely to find the same passion I was feeling right after it happened.

My brother was over last weekend, as is often the case on weekends. It was Saturday night, and it was dark out. We were getting ready to take my dog Kale for a walk around the neighborhood, and Brent decided to go outside to wait on us. As soon as he stepped outside, there was an old man walking his dog that quickly snapped at him to come over so he could ask him a question. His tone and body language put my brother on the defensive, but since he was an old man, he walked over to see what he wanted.

The old man didn't want to ask a question. It turns out he wanted to make a statement. You see, Kale stays in our garage when it is cold outside, and we walk him a few times a day and play with him inside the garage where it is warm and cozy. In the summertime he has our backyard to roam around and play in, and when the weather is bad he has his kennel in the garage. We rent, and dogs are not allowed inside. Plus he's a big, dumb, smelly, mutt. Pretty much the most perfect furry friend imaginable.

Well, as you may have already figured out, the old man didn't like this. Or, I should say, he didn't like that Kale stays in the garage. He didn't know any of the other things, or the fact that I work nights, so most of Kale's play time is after dark and before I go to work. Basically whenever this guy isn't walking by my house.

He proceeded to tell Brent how cruel it is to have him locked up in the garage when there are people at home, because every single time he walks his dog by our house he hears him barking. He kept using the word "cruel" like a weapon of self righteousness.

Brent argued that the man was making assumptions based on facts he didn't have, and asked how the man knew the inside of garage wasn't a palace. He asked him what he did with his dog when he wasn't at home. His response was that he let's his dog roam freely throughout their home, and that's what any real animal lover would and should do. Then he said he was simply showing concern as an animal lover. Brent told him to wait right there, while he went to get me so he could say all of this to my face.

I was still helping my wife put our son to sleep, and putting on some warmer clothes. I told Brent I'd be right down, and he went back outside to find the old man walking away. He stopped him, and made him come back to repeat everything to me.

I stepped outside and asked him what the problem was (Brent had not said anything more than he wanted to ask me about Kale). He stood there, with his big pure breed poodle, and let me know how cruel it is that I keep my dog in the garage when people are at home. He did not ask me anything, he just told me. I explained the situation and why he is in there, and he had the fucking gall to tell me that I would understand where he was coming from if I had ever watched any of the animal shows on television.

I interrupted him and asked if he had ever done anything to help animals, or if he'd just watched those shows. I then asked if he knew who Brandon Bond was, and explained to him exactly what he has done to help dogs and other animals everywhere; I told him how my wife and I both do what we can to help animals and how we have fostered animals until we were able to find them homes, just to keep them out of shelters. I pointed out the dogs that were inside other people's houses that were barking at his dog. You know, because some dogs bark when they hear/see/smell other animals, regardless of where they are.

I then told him he needed to leave, and that I was done talking to him. He said he was just trying to show concern, and I let him know that he wasn't. He was actually being pretentious and just wanted to feel self righteous by telling us how he lived his life.

I was told I needed to look up the word 'pretentious'.

I didn't, but Brent did. He's never been one to turn down a challenge.

Pretentious:  
a: making usually unjustified or excessive claims (as of value or standing).
b: expressive of affected, unwarranted, or exaggerated importance, worth, or stature. 
 
I would not have been so upset if this did not happen the night after I heard about the death of Cain, Brandon Bond's pitbull and best friend. My wife and I read his story, and spent the night crying and hugging Kale and our cat Chiquita. For someone I have never met to walk up to me and tell me that I am cruel to animals, while they are wasting money paying breeders for pure breeds rather than saving an innocent animal from dying in a shelter... It gets to me. I hope that man, that old fuck, chokes on his dinner and dies slowly as his poodle pisses on his carpet in front of him.

This is the happy puppy, that apparently shouldn't be happy since we're so cruel to him:

Christmas Time for an Atheist.

It is Christmas Day, and I am at work. By choice, I volunteered. So, I'm going to write about Christmas and me (my favorite thing to write about!).

Now, everyone knows that I'm an Atheist, and they are probably sick of me constantly talking about it. I don't care. I really don't. But I would like to clear a few things up about Christmas time.

My being an Atheist has nothing to do with why I do not like celebrating Christmas, nor does my not celebrating mean I hate Christmas. In fact, I love Christmas time. Everyone is a little be happier and children smile a little more. The songs are so cheery and catchy. The weather is perfect. It's awesome! I love it! The family time, the food, the music, the weather, the smells, etc. It is a great time of year. I just don't like feeling like I have to celebrate today, when I celebrate every single day of my life. Being forced to make today extra special, to me, is like saying the rest of the year doesn't mean anything at all. As if all of the time I have cherished with my loved ones means nothing compared to Christmas Day.

Bullshit.

So I don't believe in Santa, in buying or receiving gifts (not that I don't enjoy these things, I'd just rather it happen on random days when it isn't expected), or making today more important than any other day of the year. I definitely don't believe Jesus was ever even a real person, let alone a magic baby that was born on this day 2000 years ago.

^^^
See that last paragraph? Pretty small, eh? Well I don't believe any of those three things have much to do with Christmas time at all. Even the super religious aren't thinking about God or Santa when they are gathered around the television after a big meal, laughing and sharing stories, while posing awkwardly for family photos. They are just thinking about how happy they are to be with the ones they love, having a good time. Listening to cheesy Christmas songs and smiling with people you love, or even at the stranger you're passing down the street. THAT is what Christmas time is really about. All of that other bullshit is exactly that. BULLSHIT.

So, please, remember this if you are not an Atheist: Christmas is not just for the religious, or young at heart. It is for everyone that loves life and spending time with awesome people.

I do wish that I could be at home with my wife and son right now, but I wish that every single day of the year that I am not with them. Today is no different.

Merry Christmas everyone!

An Essay For The United States Army

When I was a soldier, I was reprimanded for showing up to formation in BDUs ready to go to a medical appointment. I received the call as I was getting dressed for PT from the doctor's office asking if I could come in that morning instead of later in the day, otherwise they'd have to reschedule for the following week. I let them know I would, and then called my Platoon Sgt. He didn't answer his phone, so I called again and again and again, and finally left a voicemail and ran to formation. 

He said that because I didn't call him (which later turned into didn't speak to him when he realized I had called and his phone was on silent), I had to be punished and tried to make me give an embarrassing class/speech to the rest of our Company. This is pretty common practice, but most soldiers don't know that they do not have to do it. I wasn't most soldiers.

He then assigned me to write a 5k word essay about the importance of informing your chain of command. This too, is something I didn't have to do, but knew I could have fun with.

I wrote his essay, clocking in at 3,193 words. Took me about 45 minutes, and he never counted, or even read it. But I passed out copies to everyone else in the company and hung a few copies in his office.

This is that essay:

Before you begin this essay, it should be known that all grammatical errors are intentional and meant to frustrate and confuse its intended recipient. The rest of the content was intended to anger said recipient. Unfortunately, he refused to read it, so I have decided to share it with everyone else. Please enjoy responsibly.
 

When I think of the importance of informing my chain of command about appointments I am reminded of a story that my father told me, while I was growing up. It’s the story of a guy that didn’t inform anyone of the things that he had planned on a day to day basis. This is that story.

Kahula Jack was a rambunctious little fellow that loved to live life to the fullest. However he had a bad habit of doing everything sporadically and without warning. He would go off in the middle of the day to the zoo where he would climb the cage full of monkeys and tease them with bananas and ice cream cones. He would then head over to the polar bears and steal their food and replace it with the little rubber vomit gag toys that he would buy at his favorite gag shop “Big Bills Little Shop Of Nonsense” every Tuesday after he finished working at the miniature golf course as a golf ball, which was much better than the job he had before that as a spoon in New England. The polar bears didn’t like the rubber food replacements that he gave them and would become angered with him and the zoo keepers. They went on strike for a while, but caved in when they discovered the secret of life lay within the little pieces of fake carrots inside the rubber vomit. They spent the rest of their days trying to unlock that secret. Sadly, they all died of animeinhalation, which is very common in bears of their stature. They caught it from the moths inside the robes of the mother-in-laws of the zoo keeper’s best friend’s second cousins, which makes it difficult to catch but common none-the-less. When Kahula Jack wasn’t fooling around with the monkeys and polar bears in the zoo or working as a golf ball at the miniature golf course he would be jumping out of windows and eating as much candy as he possibly could. He like to stay in shape so they candy really didn’t effect him all that much. Occasionally he would become distraught with life and go into a daze of confusion and mayhem that would ultimately lead to his falling in love with the woman that designed the bottle labels for Pepsi that we all love to rip off and get mad at for not coming completely off in one tear because there is always that one little piece that has to rip and stay on and leave the part that came off partially translucent and tainted with imperfection! But she did not make the labels or put them on the bottle; she only designed them and made quite a bit of money doing so. Since she didn’t put the labels on herself Kahula Jack was able to love her. However he did try awfully hard to find out who the person that put the labels on was so that he could seriously injure them from her but she wouldn’t talk. But I’m drifting away from the story. They anarchic dazes that he went into caused him to lose his socks from time to time that would, in turn, cause him to lose his temper with himself and his dryer. He had to find a way to keep in eye on his dryer and socks to see if the dryer was eating and/or stealing his socks or if, just maybe, his socks and dryer were conspiring together against him. He tried getting in the dryer with them, but the dryer would get angry and beat him up until he became unconscious. He finally cut a whole in the door so that he could see, but that also angered the dryer and it stopped drying his socks. Finally, one day, he came across Ms. Cherry Wild (she’s the label designer that I spoke of earlier in the story if you remember correctly. If you don’t remember then you should start back at the top and read the entire thing over, maybe even take notes if you think it will help you remember, because if you’re not paying any attention to this story then maybe I’m just wasting my time. Anyway, she’s pretty and she likes legos.). Ms Cherry Wild was the woman of his dreams and held the answer to his dryer troubles! She simply had him fix the whole he had put in the door and apologize to the dryer for scarring it like he did. Then she had him tie strings to all of his socks before putting them in the dryer. He would the tie on the opposite end of the string a board that he hung out of the dryer with the socks and other end of the string inside. Now if the dryer tried to eat his socks he would know! However his chronic athletes foot still didn’t go away (I forgot to mention his athletes foot, but he has it and boy does he have it bad.), which led him to believe that the dryer and his socks WERE in cahoots with one another! After discovering this he confided in Ms. Wild hoping that she would have another solution to his problems. She did not. However, she did have a new hat for him to wear that made him smile more than he had ever smiled in his whole entire life! The hat had a little fish on it that was holding a bowl that was under a table that was on a cloud in the middle of Egypt. Underneath this wonderful picture was written “Egyptian Cereal may taste like fish but it will put you on cloud 9 if you eat it in the right place!” He loved that hat and totally forgot about the evil dryer that had turned all of his socks against him. Cherry believed that the dryer was under the control of Charles Manson, but had no real proof. Kahula stuck by his theory about the VP of S.C. Johnson & Son making a deal with a leprechaun so that he could have supreme pizza’s whenever he wanted without having to pay a delivery fee or having to tip the pizza guy. He always hated having to tip those guys, which is a shame because lots of people make their living that way and you don’t see anyone telling him that they only want to pay half price for his products. Sadly enough, Kahula could never prove his theory. So, the case of the evil dryer and sock henchmen remained unsolved. Aside from having good taste in hats, Ms. Cherry Wild was an excellent florist. She could put together an ensemble of flowers that would make your mother want to buy dance a merry little jig in front of the mall dressed like a keebler elf. Her arrangements were amazing and it was partially due to her experience as a hostess and the Little Debbie factory. One day after her and Kahula Jack had been seeing each other for more than a year; she decided to pop the big question to him. He gladly said yes and asked her what had taken her so long to ask. She said she was embarrassed and he laughed and replied with, “No need to be embarrassed, I love the wiggles too!! I was going to buy the tickets to their show myself but they were all sold out. How’d you get them?” She was so excited to know that they both loved the Wiggles that she did the happy dance of enthusiasm in the backyard of her grandmas neighbor Herbert Von Walrusteen. It was an amazing dance of love that led Herbert to his patio full of onions that weren’t quite ready to be eaten but were cooked up anyway for his wife Maude Von Walrusteen-Boogalike. When Kahula Jack saw Ms. Cherry Wild dancing in the back yard of Mr. Herbert Von Walrusteen and Mrs. Maude Von Walrusteen-Boogalike he smiled and ate some candy (because he loves candy, as I told you earlier). That was when he realized that he was truly in love with this woman that most called Ms. Cherry Wild, but that he had begun to call Grandma Coffee Cup Green. No one else is allowed to call her that so for safety purposes I will continue to call her Ms. Cherry Wild. After Kahula Jack finished eating his candy and watching his lady friend Ms. Cherry Wild dance in the backyard of her grandma’s neighbors Mr. Herbert Von Walrusteen and Mrs. Maude Von Walrusteen-Boogalike he went to the store to buy some cup cakes for dinner that night. The store that he usually went to was closed so he had to go to the dreaded “Lost and Found Food Mart” that no one really liked, but were sometimes forced to go to. He desperately needed those cup cakes so he went on in and started searching for them. He came across many cup cake shaped food items, but none of them were quite what he was looking for. A few looked like they had been made with shoe laces and random wires, bolts, and other parts from a broken radio. He didn’t trust those cup cakes at all. He also didn’t trust the cup cakes that smelled of old laundry and dirty diapers. He suffered through the foul smell of the store until he came across some cup cakes that did not smell like they had been in someone’s gym locker and they did not look like they had come from and auto parts store. He picked these cup cakes up and tried one. They were superb! He immediately bought them and rushed home to Ms. Cherry Wild so that she could taste the awesome goodness that was in these delicious baked goods that he had found in the most unlikely of places! When Kahula Jack arrived home with the cupcakes, that tasted of heaven and smelled of perfection, he put them in the fridge so that they wouldn’t go bad before Ms Cherry Wild got home. Kahula Jack forgot about the cupcakes of heavenly delight while he was eating dinner with Ms. Cherry Wild that night. The next evening when he arrived home from work he found the cup cakes ( acting not so heavenly ) in bathrooms, bedrooms, and every other room in the house. They had completely destroyed the place! They were acting like a dog that was left home alone and started getting lonely and wanted attention so they tore everything up that they could find and/or get their hands on. However, the focus of this story is not the tantrums thrown by these spoiled little baked goods, but the irresponsibility of Kahula Jack ( and, of course, his love of candy and Ms Cherry Wild ). Now that you have an idea of the background of our character, Kahula Jack, I’ll start with the real story. This is the story of why Kahula Jack was fired from his job as a spoon.

Kahula Jack (the guy I’ve been telling you about for a while now. Maybe you should go back and take notes like I suggested earlier, you seem to be pretty forgetful. You got to pay attention, because this story is important and could save your life one day.) was a man of many faces and had many skills. One of his skills was the ability to be the best at what he did. What he did was not an easy job by any means. Oh no. He was a spoon at a prestigious five star restaurant in Upstate New England. Now being a spoon is no where near as easy as you might think. There is a lot of bending and conforming to do. Some people may find it to be degrading, but many a fine person make a good living doing this. Kahula Jack was the best spoon that that restaurant had ever seen. Did I mention the name of the restaurant, yet? I didn’t? Well then, I guess it’d help if I told you, huh? The name of this fancy five star restaurant was The Star Of Earendil Mist. It was such a lovely place, but I shouldn’t be talking so much about the restaurant. YOU want to here more about Kahula Jack. Aside from being the greatest spoon that The Star Of Earendil Mist had ever had the pleasure of employing, he was the also the most apathetic person anyone had ever come across (that is, before he met Ms. Cherry Wild ). He would come into work and be THE best at what he did, but then he would turn around and leave whenever he wanted to. He wasn’t trying to be rude by any means and lord knows he didn’t think he was too good to have to tell anyone where he was going. Bottom line is he just didn’t think before he acted. He would make assumptions in his head that everyone already knew and that he shouldn’t bother them all the time constantly reminding them of the other things that he had to do. But, this isn’t how the staff of The Star Of Earendil Mist saw things. They thought he was lazy, rude, and cocky, for not telling them when, where, and/or what he was doing. It made him look bad. So one day, after he had finished up his duties of being a spoon and had washed up to go home, one of his supervisors came to him. He wanted to know where he had been the day before. No one had seen him all day and no one had ever received a phone call from him. He told him that he was at the zoo ( and we all know what he does at the zoo! That crazy crazy man ) like he was every Wednesday. The supervisor became furious with Kahula Jack, accusing him of trying to “pull one over on him”. He began to yell and scream at Kahula Jack. But our hero ( because he is a hero my eyes and he should be in yours too ) wasn’t phased. He showed no emotion to what was being said. He heard it all but, being the apathetic guy that he was; he showed nothing to let his supervisor know he was paying attention. Once they yelling had ceased he asked if there was something wrong. THAT was not the thing to do. His supervisor became enraged with him. He told Kahula Jack to leave right then and there. So, Kahula Jack did as he was told and went to work on his dryer some more ( remember the evil dryer? It eventually took over most of Eastern Europe and is now on its way to take over Russia and Iceland ) before his favorite show in the world came on. It was a show on Fox about these two kids that were obsessed with internet drama and what people thought and said about them on certain message boards ( which will remain unnamed for now, you’ll have to watch the show to learn what and where it is ). Their obsession became so strong that they started investigating posts and screen names. They would trace ip addresses and whine about private messages and red Chiclets ( you’ll also have to watch the show to find out more about these reputation giving devices. The chicklet is what gives us life and defines who we are. They are controlled by the Chiclets Mafia and we…I mean they, have total power over everyone ) with little messages that would tell them how much they were hated. These messages to them were just to cause drama, and drama they sure caused. Without the drama of these Chiclets and these two characters ( who I will call Section Kate and Eumikeit for now, or at least until you watch the show and discover their real names ). The show is better than CSI and that, my friend, is why Kahula Jack watches it. Fox sure does have some great shows! Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I was talking about Kahula Jack being sent home from work ( which was odd because he was told to go home as he was leaving to go home anyway ). He made it home, worked on his dryer ( this was the time he cut the huge hole in the door to see inside and angered the dryer like I had told you before. Where are your notes? You should have known this.) and then turned on the tele to watch his favorite show ( that I told you about already ) The ICFEP Krew!!! This truly is the greatest show on Earth. Once the show was over her went for a walk down by the volcano that was located about 3 miles from his house and had just recently become active again. He took a basket of fruit with him to sacrifice to the volcano God Susan. Susan was a vegetarian so he had to sacrifice fruit and vegetables. Susan the Volcano God got picked on by the other Gods a lot but she had grown used to it and really didn’t care anymore. Things like that always happen when you’re different from everyone else. But back to Kahula Jack, he went down to the volcano and made the fruit sacrifices to Susan and cried from the sounds of the little fruit voices screaming for mercy. Then he did some jumping jacks for about 20 min. He loved doing jumping jacks because, in his head, they were named after him. Once he had finished he went back home and discovered and message on his answering machine telling him that he had been fired from The Star Of Earendil Mist ( located in up state New England ) and that he would never work in that town again. He went one town over and started working as a golf ball the very next day.

If you’re wondering how this story ties into the subject that I mentioned in the very beginning paragraph of this essay, it’s quite simple. If you do not tell your chain of command about your appointments immediately after they are made, then like this story that lead from one random thought into another into another until you forget where you started, things may happen that will keep you busy and/or preoccupied so that you do not remember to tell them until it is too late. This may cause problems that can get you and/or your supervisors into trouble. It can cause unneeded stress to be added to the other members of your team and it may possibly get you or someone else fired/chaptered out or at least and Article 15. Moral of the story is, always tell those over you what is going on before you get side tracked by something else. Don’t be like Kahula Jack going from one job to another not caring about anything but a girl that designs Pepsi labels.

Jason M. Caldwell

SPC USA,

SSS Supervisor

*Disclaimer* Despite what the introduction and essay may imply, I was not THAT soldier. I didn't cause trouble, complain, or go against authority. I did what I was told, when I was told, without asking questions. I did not, however, allow anyone to walk over or take advantage of me in any way. This particular NCO was known for doing this to everyone, and tried doing this to me right up until the last minute of my last day as an official soldier. Today is that anniversary. Six years since I became a civilian again.

Not a funny story, just pictures of my sleeve in progress

I've been working on this sleeve for about a year now. Haven't had the time to have any work done since April, but hopefully will have it completed by my birthday.

Artist is Dave MF Tedder at All or Nothing Tattoo Studio in Atlanta (Smyrna), GA. http://www.AllorNothingTattoo.com/

These are right after the third session:

This is right after the fourth session:

Midget Paintball

This was about two years ago, while I was home sick.

We have no mower, or weed eater, or even a sling blade. We need our lawn mowed pretty badly. My brother said he would, but we never got anything for him to mow it with. Then the Jason across the street told Shy he'd get the side of the house for an extra $5. She paid and he did nothing. This pissed me off. I don't care if the guy is a little retarded, you don't tell me you are going to do something and then not do it.

So now we have people randomly stop by to ask if they can mow it. Which happened before, but Shy swears it is because it needs it now (we've had people stop by the day after it was cut).

So this drunk crackhead just stopped by (not Skeet. I think Skeet is in jail or something).

This was our conversation:

The CrackHead's voice should be read as the stereotypical voice you'd expect from a black, 40 to 50 something, toothless crackhead drinking tall can of Old English 1800. Mine should be read as an over excited stoner. 

CH: Hey man! Just stopping by to see if you still wanted yo yard cut!
Me: Still?
CH: Yeah, man. You still want it cut?
Me: Where'd the still come from? I never wanted it cut. How am I supposed to hide the midgets with short grass?!
CH: Midgets? What the--
Me: Yeah man! The midgets! I am going to have a midget paintball field! I'm going to make so much scratch!
CH: Hell yeah you will! Hey you think I can--
Me: Hell no! I said midgets! You have to be this tall (this is where I pointed at my penis) to play in the field. Otherwise you'd get your goddamn head blown off.
CH: I'd what? What do--
Me: You don't know many midgets, do you? Man! They are fucking ruthless! If you can't hide behind something, they'll kill you! They're like tiny little demons on meth, man! They will fuck you up!
CH: I heard that, man! My sister dated a midget--
Me: Oh dear! Bless her heart, man. Bless her little heart. I hope he didn't hurt her too bad. I know how terrible it can be.
CH: No, he just--
Me: I hope I didn't make you late, man. You have fun with those kids, dude.
CH: The what--
Me: Yeah, man. I wish I could go, but you know how it is. Can't stop the rockin' with the bam da bam diggy and a up jump those boogy and beats, you know what I'm saying? Yeah, you know.
CH: (Look of confusion) Yeah...
Me: You take care now. Keep it real.

It made up for not feeling well enough to talk with the Church ladies that stopped by the day before.

Guilt: My Favorite Flavor

I used to work part-time at a storage company around Atlanta. I was working there one day, which just so happened to be my birthday, and we were unusually busy right at closing time. I had a lady that was very upset that other people were in front of her, and when it was finally her turn, she let me know that she was also upset that we were out of the boxes she wanted. Or I should say we didn't have the quantity that she wanted.

This was how our moment played out:


Lady: Why don't you have anymore of these boxes?
Me: I don't know. We are opening several new loactions, so perhaps they were taken there until we can order some new ones. I'll take from these and add to yours so that it works itself out to the same thing.
Lady: Just void the payment and I'll go somewhere else! I've been standing here for an hour for what? FOR NOTHING!
Me: Those people were here first. I couldn't tell them to hold on while I helped you, that would have been rude.
Lady: Well you're being rude right now by not having what I paid for!
Me: I have no control over that. You're not being very nice to me. It isn't my fault, and I'm trying to fix the problem for you.
Lady: I'M being mean?! Who the fuck do you--
Me: It's my birthday.
Lady: What does that have to do with anything?!
Me: It's my birthday, it's Saturday, I'm working, and you're yelling at me for something I had know way of controlling. It's kind of depressing.
Lady: Prove it's your birthday.
Me: See? (I showed her my license)
Lady: This isn't real. It says it expires in 2048!
Me: Georgia doesn't require anyone that has been in the military to renew their license until they turn 65. Don't have to pay for it either.
Lady: So it's your birthday and you served in the Armed Forces.
Me: Yes ma'am.
Lady: I'm sorry. I feel like such a bitch.
Me: It's okay. Happens to all of us from time to time.

She bought the boxes and didn't complain anymore.

True Stories From My Past Part III: The Midget Strikes Back

This is almost two years old. 

Friday night (really Saturday morning, around 3:15) after work, I walked to the car. I always walk to the car, but this time I was walking to a different parking garage (it's cheaper) and it doesn't have a tunnel going from the second floor of International Tower to the car. That's okay with me, because it increases my chance of fucking with a crackhead.

So I am wearing some worn out jeans and one of my gray army hoodies that has some paint stains on it. I've also got on a backpack. As I am walking down the street toward the parking garage, I get stopped by a crackhead that ran across the street to get to me. You know, lonely white boy in downtown Atlanta must be looking for junk, coke, and/or weed.

So this guy...Let's call him Myrle. So Myrle comes running up to me and asks where I'm from. I tell him "here" and go about my business. He asks me, "Here, where, man?" So I say, "Here as in down the street. I sleep under the overpass most nights, but sometimes I find other places to crash."

Myrle looks confused now. Myrle wants to know why he hasn't seen me before. I tell him I've been away for a while and he asks how I got into the towers (they lock everyone out after 8pm) and I tell him I know someone that works there and lets me crash with them every now and then if I help him out some.

Myrle gets a little excited and starts asking questions (we're getting closer to the garage too) like, "What's his name? What kind of shit he have you do? You just clean and cut grass and shit?" and I tell him, "Nah, nothing like that. I just share some of my knowledge with him and he gives me a place to sleep, bathe, and wash my clothes. He even gave me these."

So Myrle is all, "Knowledge? What you mean you just talk to that mutha fucka and he give you shit?! What's his name?!"

I smile and look at Myrle like the crazy bastard he is and say, "Jesse, but no. You don't know what knowledge is?"


"Yeah I know what knowledge is, but how he get somethin' from it?! That shits free!"

"Come on, you know, 'knowledge' man. Head. I suck his dick a little and he lets me crash with him."

(Blank look of shock)

"What? You never suck a dick for something you want?"

"So he gives you food and clothes and shit for head?"

"That's what he does."

"What's he look like? You think he'd want anything? I got the best weed and coke in Atlanta! Best black tar too!"

"Oh, he's about my height, short hair, kind of brownish blonde, big nose, always wearing a hoodie. Don't fuck with him, though. He's clean."

Then I walked into the parking garage, got into my car, and pulled out. I waved to Myrle as I drove by smiling.

I'm a little upset that I didn't tell him Jesse is a ninja.


For those of you that missed it, I described myself to Myrle, and Jesse Collins is the fake name that I first started using in Korea.

True Stories From My Past Part II: Electric Boogaloo

This one took place a few years back, when I was in college and on my way home from class. I call this one `Christian Road Rage'.

I was on my way home from school, dodging traffic and what-not, when the car in front of me put on their brakes. I saw there was room in the lane to my left, put my blinker on, counted to 3 instead of 5, because the car in that lane decided to speed up when they saw my blinker, and jumped over into that lane. I didn't notice at first, but apparently that pissed that couple off. After I passed the car that had hit it's brakes, I got back in the right lane and then noticed the other car was just backing off of my ass. They were all up in my shit.

Anyway, they passed me and the woman in the passenger seat was yelling at me. I smiled and waved with a goofy grin. Then we came to a red light. They were going left, and I was going straight. As I was pulling up beside them I saw her rolling down her window, and I suddenly had a great idea! I turned my radio over to 93.3 and rolled my window down. I put a clueless look in my eyes and a retarded smile across my face. Then the fun began...

Woman: Where the fuck did you learn to drive you stupid mother fucker?!
Me: Jesus loves you!!
W: What the fuck did you just say?!
M: Jesus loves you ma'am!! He loves you sooo much!
W: Shut the fuck up you stupid ass--
M: He loves you THIIIS MUCH!! *I spread my arms out like I was on a cross*
W: Are you fucking retarded?!
M: Oh no, I'm a virgin. God doesn't like for people to have sex before marriage. It makes the baby Jesus cry.
W: You fucking idiot!
M: No no silly! I'm Jason! Who are you?
W: Shut up! I don't know what the hell you're--
M: OOOOOHHHH!!! I LOVE THIS SONG!!! *turned up loud christian music* Don't you just LOOOOOVE Amy Grant?!(I have no clue if it was Amy Grant or not, she's just the only female christian singer I know of.)
W: No you stupid fucking--- *Light turns green* (she's still ranting)
M: I LOVE YOU AND JESUS DOES TOO!! GOD BLESS YOU!!

Everything she said should be read in Ebonics. I refuse to type in the grammar that she used. It was too fucking ignorant.

I'm glad the light turned red right as we were approaching it, but I wish it had lasted longer. I didn't even get a chance to squirt water from my water bottle at her and yell "THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU!!" I was just two or three sentences from it too. *kicks ground*

A Story About Ted Danson, and How He Saved My Soul...

Today I was reminded of a time, not so long ago, when I was trying to help Frankenberry save Christmas. It was an odd time, that I don't care to relive; so to take my mind off of it, I am going to tell you about the time I went rollerblading with Ted Danson.

I was about 19 years old, and fresh out of rehab. I had been working for a Jewish family just outside of the perimeter in Atlanta. We were an OTP business by about 1.2 miles. Classy place, surrounded by busted strip clubs and what I can only hope was anything but a Buffet, like the brown and gold sign outside said.

Anyway, one day while I was leaving work, and heading over to some friends to shower, change, and get ready for a night of club hopping, and pill popping; I came across an old man playing a fiddle and playing it hot…No wait…There was no old man or fiddle. I don't think I've ever even seen a fiddle. Stupid radio. I was heading over to my friend’s place to get ready, when I saw something I thought I'd never see. I saw Tony Danza, on the side of the road, doing the robot. That’s right, that man can really shake his groove thing.

Wait a minute… This wasn't the Tony Danza story, was it? No, this was the Ted Danson story!!! My bad.

So this is the story all about how my life got flipped turned upside down…Sorry, sometimes I just have to break it down a little bit.

There I was, driving through Midtown, looking for a place to park. Well, I wasn't actually driving. My sister was. So my sister was driving and WE were trying to find a parking spot. Yes, that’s right.

Okay, so we were looking for a parking spot, so we could go get our rage on, and that’s when I saw him. Ted Danson. Crazy old man was just walking down the street like he wasn’t Ted Fucking Danson! I mean, come on! It was TED FUCKING DANSON!!! You don't just see a man like that every day.

I reached into the backseat of my sister’s car and grabbed our rollerblades of rage, and I dove out of the car! TUCK AND ROLL, MOTHER FUCKER!!!! It was glorious! I was like a technicolored (Did I mention I was wearing tie dyed UFOs and the least heterosexual shirt I could find? Well I was. If Prince can get the ladies while breaking gender stereotypes, then so can I!) ball of Goddamned fury! Beautiful, I tell you! Just beautiful!

I am running and rolling and hopping and sliding all over the fucking place! I mean EVERYWHERE! Dodging cars, and trucks, and bikes, and mailboxes from Hell, and even some birds and dogs. I was like a champion dodging type person and junk! It was incredible!

What was Ted MF Danson doing during this time, you ask? WELL I'LL FUCKING TELL YOU WHAT HE WAS DOING!! He was still walking and keeping it cool, like only TED FUCKING DANSON CAN DO!!!

So I smacked that son of bitch upside the head with a pair of pink and purple rollerblades with dolphin stickers and micromachines stuck to them, and I said, “Don’t just stand there, bust a move!”

He didn't hesitate. Before I knew it, he had those blades of rage on his tiny feet, and he looked me in the eye and said, “It.Has.Been.Brought.TED…MOTHER FUCKER!!!!!!” and he was off! Just like that, he had a head start and was headed for whatever place he thought we were headed. I slapped on my blades of rage and was right behind him. Jumping midgets and babies and baby midgets and an old couple making out on a bench waiting for the Marta bus to pick them up and take them to their sex den in the mountains! I even grinded down the crutches of some kid with a broken leg.

That’s when I saw it. I saw what we were racing to. We were racing to Hooters, where everybody knows your name.

Lucky for me, Ted Goddamned Danson is a sucker for a nice pair of boobs, and he got distracted enough for me to make my move. So I pants’d him and made it through the doors first. Got all the beer and chicken wings my tummy could handle. All at the expense of the Great Ted Danson. So it goes…