Beer Tour!

above: SGT Harris and I prepare to demonstrate why caffeinated beer is a bad invention.

Today: +7
Days Rated: 52
Average Day: 3.08

So this morning I thought we were going to have to do this hellacious ruck march where we woke up early. I did not want to even more than usual because for some reason my Achilles tendon hurts a lot. Lessard and Hunter would not be there, but Fennerty would be. They left it up to the squad leaders how far we were going to go, what time we were going to get up, and what the uniform would be. For us it was being in formation at 0600 instead of 0630, and it would be in PTs. Some unfortunate bastards had to wake up at 0400 and roll out in full battle rattle including helmet and body armor. Our squad was standing out there. We had to have 65 lb rucks. This is a lot. Mine didn’t quite way as much as it should, but I was hoping they wouldn’t check. Keller’s weighed like 110 pounds, because he had the Rock of Gibraltar in there, but we made him take it out, because he’d just fall behind. This left him with like a pair of socks. Around 0559, we noticed that Fennerty was nowhere to be found. We decided that he had probably overslept, as he did on a previous occasion when his roommate, CPL Allman, didn’t have to get up at the same time as him. We made the quick decision that the ruck march would go much more smoothly if we just “Sua Sponte-d” and rolled out on our own, rather than waking up a cranky, rushed Fennerty. Perhaps he wanted me to lead the ruck march? After all, he wanted me to lead PT the day before! This decision took less than 3 seconds to make, and we all scrambled to get our rucksacks on. At 6:00:01, we were moving away from the barracks at a high rate of speed. Needless to say, the ruckmarch went very smoothly and we even made it back in time for breakfast chow. The day was spent doing nothing again. I allowed Plaza to play Resident Evil on my gamecube, and Nicely to play DOTA on my computer. This was a strategic error as it left me with only my gameboy and no place to sit. We squandered the day until it was time for the safety brief. Since I had no money this night due to the ATM mishap, I decided to go on a beer tour of the barracks. This is where I start on the first room on the third floor and knock on the door. I then ask for just one solitary beer. Who can refuse someone 1 beer? When I drink this, I ask for another, relying only on funny stories, jokes and general goodwill as payment. Finally, the occupants of the room grow tired of my antics and cut me off, at which point I move to the next room. I couldn’t find much fun on the third floor, but on the second, I found a large crowd in Nooney and Rohmohr’s room enjoying frosty beverages. I managed three beers here, but they are used to such tactics from me and I was soon shown the door. I found a much better reception in Herbert’s room, and the beer was quality, not PBR or the like. I then grew tiresome there, and moved onto Lyon and Kelley’s room, where a large crowd had gathered to listen to SGT Harris tell the tale of my idiotic rampage last weekend at Al’s. I decided to set them straight, all the while swilling free beer and when that was gone, moving on to vodka I discovered in the freezer. My reputation secured, the story telling was interrupted when a frantic knock came at the door. A soldier made the urgent announcement. “‘Soldier Doe’ is having sex with a girl in his room, and if you knock on his door, he’ll let you watch!” Of course we were all disgusted by this, so eight of us stormed down the stairs to warn him that he better not be violating any moral codes in these barracks. I knocked on the door. Doe answered the door in a Chinese dragon-emblazoned bathrobe, holding a cat-o-nine tails. Scantily clad girl lay on the bed, and waved at us.
“Uh, good evening,” I said, politely.
“Hello, Coach,” Doe said, smiling.
“Hello, Doe,” I said, while the crowd gathered around for a better look, “What are you doing this evening?”
“Oh, my girlfriend is visiting.”
“Really,” I said, “Oh, I see her there.”
“Yes, well I’m quite busy, but perhaps we could hang out another time.”
“Good idea,” I said, “I’ll look forward to it.”
He shut the door on us and we retreated upstairs, glad to see that there would be no filthy sex shows in these barracks. After the vodka was gone, SGT Harris and I agreed that we had reached a draw in our drinking for the evening. I yielded to him that he was the better all time drinker, and was the better man the previous weekend, but tonight we had reached an honorable impasse. I walked down to the first floor and challenged the CQ NCO, Corporal Kunkel to a fist fight because of some insult, real or imagined. Probably along the lines of “stop wathching that movie, it’s gay. Look at me!” to which he may have replied “Take your drunk ass to bed.” I may have then demanded that he leap over the counter and fight me right then in the hallway. I may then have grown frustrated when his attention returned to his movie. At this point, I may have gone to my room, yelling boasts, threats and challenges in a loud and aggressive manner while I stumbled down the entire length of the hallway. Then I went to bed. Beer Tour rules, but I think I’ve worn out my welcome in these barracks.


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