I shaved my balls for this?

Today: +4
Days Rated: 143
Average Day: 1.51

Today we had the equivalent of the office party, where we got to leave work early with the solemn promise that we would all make our way to the VFW by no later than 5 PM where we could engage in mandatory fun. Since families, children, wives, pets and gay lovers were invited, it took on the atmosphere of the 19th century pub where children frolicked in the sawdust while their parents swilled gin.

Doe insisted on wearing a T-shirt that said “I shaved my balls for this?” and Nicely wore one that made some homosexual comment about recruiters in rainbow lettering. Both of them were asked to put their jackets on or leave. Nicely couldn’t drink because he’s not 21. I made a comment that “this is the first time the rest of the company is drunk and you’re sober.”

We had a little wager going on who would be kicked out first for aberrant behavior while drunk.

A. SGT Monson for bringing his childhood friend/roommate (hmmm) and shouting his catchphrase “GET THE F*CK DOWN FROM THERE” as well as slapping people, challenging people for not drinking enough and staggering around screaming obscenities.

B. SGT Mac for offering to buy everyone drinks, even those soldiers under 21. His requests were turned down, I think, but I’m pretty sure I saw him slip some toddler a couple of shots.

C. Doe or Nicely, for the shirts.

D. White, for no reason other than he’d get kicked out unfairly, then walk home the 10 miles because he didn’t want to trouble anyone by asking for a ride.

The winner was SGT Monson, who was at the affair for a grand total of 7 minutes, before he was thrown out by SGT Mac and an elderly VFW lady. Being thrown out of a party by SGT Mac is like having Barry Bonds throw you out of the Giants clubhouse for taking steroids.

There was a chili cooking contest, and the entrants had the day off to prepare. I was cautious about which chilis I ate, steering clear of any I felt were likely made in a bathroom sink in the barracks.

Afterwards, a bunch of us went to Tiede’s house with plans to go out drinking. However, I had consumed an ungodly amount of alcohol by this time. The great thing about hanging out with your fellow soldiers is that everyone falls into the category of “old Army buddy” and therefore is required by regulation to buy you a drink/accept offer of a drink. With about 120 guys in the company, that meant that there were 120! or 120x119x118… total drinks purchased at the VFW that night. Last I heard they had purchased the Lion’s Club, Rotary Club, Red Cross, several Humvees and a Tomahawk missile with the proceeds from this night alone.

I didn’t end up as bad off as Hoying who fell asleep on the couch, but I reached that stage of drunkeness known as “sleepy belligerence”. This rare and contradictory-sounding disease is characterized by extreme urges to go home immediately. When the patient’s urges are frustrated, he reacts by bellowing in fury, breaking things, and in advanced cases, physical violence against other individuals. (for the worst case on record of this disease, see Coach’s 21st birthday) It is classified as a rare malady, because it is unusual for a person badly needing to go home and rest to have such vigor and superhuman strength. Fortunately, my case was mild tonight and exhibited mainly by a stubborn refusal to leave Tiede’s truck. Despite people pulling on me and encouraging me, I would not budge until Gill, who was the designated driver and going back to post anyway, agreed to drive me. In spite of these antics, Tiede, who was quite drunk himself, did not notice that I wasn’t with them, or have any idea what happened to me until he’d been at the bar for several hours.

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