Look, it's been less than a week!

Wednesday, Mar. 01, 2006, 7:05 p.m.

I got a Google hit today when someone searched the term "sex for US army soldiers."

Whoever you are, random Googler, I'm guessing you're in Iraq. I feel your pain. Good luck with that search.

Speaking of U.S. Army soldiers, I ran across another one recently, while looking up the acronym "UPL" for an article I'm writing.

(It means "Unit Prevention Leader," and is, in fact, the term for the person who administers the ever-popular urinalysis -- or, in layman's terms, "piss test.")

Anyway, this chick (yes, you heard me right; I said chick -- believe it or not, there are other female soldier bloggers out there) is also far away from home, in Kosovo, I believe, and she seems to be pretty fucking cool.

Check her out here, and tell her I sent you. Girl soldier bloggers UNITE!

In other news, I'm back at work. Not right this second; just, you know, in general. And, hey, it doesn't suck!

The people I work with now are, as I may have mentioned before, cool. None of them are control freaks, idiots, or assholes, and they're all pretty easy to get along with. Which is great for me, but kind of boring for you guys. Unless I just make shit up, but while I don't have a problem with that ethically, I've found that I'm way too lazy to emit that amount of creativity.

However, Incompetent Co-worker is alive and well, and he still hasn't learned that anything he says to me can and will, somehow, be used against him. Or maybe he just doesn't care.

For example:

IC [inexplicably]: "Well, since you haven't had anything to make fun of me about lately, I thought I'd tell you about what I did last weekend."

Me: "Um. Really? Are you sure? Okay."

IC: "I was out at a bar, and I was talking to this hot girl ..."

Me: "Heh heh. Awesome. How did you fuck it up?"

IC: "Hey! Shut up! I asked her if she was in college around here, and she said she used to be, but she lost her Hope scholarship."

Me: "Oh, dear Lord. This really isn't going to end well; I can feel it."

IC: "So I told her she was an idiot, because how can you lose a Hope scholarship!"

Side note: This is the guy who once wrote a scathing e-mail to someone and then and mistakenly sent it to himself instead. Ahem.

Me: "You are such a dumbass. Why are you telling me this? When I make fun of you about it, are you going to go cry to our bosses about how mean I am?"

IC: "No! I mean ... I was drunk at the time, and ..."

Me: "Is this how you woo all your girlfriends? By drunkenly commenting on their lack of brains?"

IC: "No! I just--"

Me: "Do you not want to get laid, like, ever?"

IC: "Come on! I was drunk! I--"

Me: "Why did you feel the need to tell me this? Did you think I was not yet certain that you are a moron? Did you think you had to drive the point home?"

IC: "No! But--"

Me: "I have heard enough. This is too sad to even laugh about."

It is not, however, too sad to write about. Although it is very, very sad.

Poor Incompetent Co-worker. If any of you know a blind, deaf, semi-attractive chick with really low standards and an even lower alcohol tolerance, please let me know, because this guy really needs to get laid. Without paying for it. Thanks.

Over the past few days, I've been helping Husband study for his promotion board, which means quizzing him on all the subject matter the Army deems important.

It's been fun. Kind of like being caught in an avalanche is "fun." Or like drowning in a kettle of boiling oil is "fun." Or like getting stabbed repeatedly in the chest is "fun." Or like reading a jillion descriptions of the opposite of "fun" is "fun."

We managed to cover a lot of material, despite taking frequent breaks for me to pound the table in mental agony and shriek, "Why do you need to KNOW that?! Who CARES how much the M16A2 rifle weighs with a SLING on it?! GAAAAH!"

And as far as I know, he did well on his promotion board. Go, Husband! Make lots of money so I can get out of the Army and not starve! Woooo!

Now, I want to share one last thing with you guys (which, by the way, I already posted in Beckers' diary, in case you already saw it).

You see, a couple of weeks ago, when my commander-in-chief's right-hand man went and shot his buddy in the face during their little hunting trip, I was a bit perturbed.

I thought, "Something needs to be done about this. Like, quickly. After I eat a sandwich."

Which is why, after I ate a sandwich, I wrote Mr. Cheney a letter. And I'm thinking, maybe if enough people copy this letter and send it to him, the message could get through that The People will not stand for dumbassery such as this, and Fix It, Mr. Vice-President.

Okay, then. Let me know what you think. (We have to stand TOGETHER, folks!) Here it is:

Dear Dick Cheney,

See? That’s what you get for taking a fellow senior citizen hunting.

I realize that we’ve never met, but I can confidently assure you that if you had taken me hunting with you, things might have gone a little bit differently.

For one thing, I am young and strong, and have great reflexes. If I had been the one standing there when you let loose with a flurry of pain-inducing pellets, I would have been able to get the heck out of the way. Thanks to my youthful limbs and excellent hearing (the Army says so!), I would have sensed impending danger and adroitly dodged your little mishap.

In fact, we probably would have stood around laughing about it later – laughing about it in the comfort of our own homes, rather than in a hospital, as skilled doctors reconstructed my face.

Come on, Mr. Cheney! Admit it; you’re getting up there in years. You really shouldn’t be going hunting with other old people -- that’s just an accident waiting to happen. Oh, wait, it already happened!

Anyway, I have a solution to your problem. You need a group of high school students to follow you everywhere you go. High school students are good at things that involve physical activity, whereas AARP members typically are not.

Picture it: you’re out engaging in one of your favorite sports, when all of a sudden, you do something that could possibly cause one of your fogey friends some harm.

Maybe your shuffleboard puck flies out of control, or you smack your golf ball into the knee of the foursome up ahead of you, or maybe you trip a blind person who keeps hitting you in the ankles with her stick (because, face it, you know you’ve wanted to, deep down in your do-gooding, American people-loving, vice-presidential heart). A horde of healthy students could help you avoid incidents like that.

Now, don’t get me wrong; I love old people. All of my grandparents are old people, and they are some of the coolest people I know. And if it was within their means to bring seven or eight fit young men and women with them wherever they may choose to go, I would highly recommend it.

Please, Mr. Cheney. You’re old. Either protect yourself with a band of protective youths, or stay out of the woods.

I’m just saying.

Love,
A concerned U.S. citizen

So -- who's with me? Let's make this HAPPEN!