Notes From the Field

A Special Guest Blog From a Member of the Armed Services

Greetings from the fucking cradle of civilization...

Let me first briefly state that this guest spot on the 1906 blog is an honor in the truest sense of the word.

Although I won’t claim to be stuck in the most dangerous part of Iraq, there are apparently still douchebags around trying to wax me and my platoon. Not cool. In fact, a total dick move. Nonetheless, my biggest moment of hostile confrontation to this date has come from within the ranks. A snitch? An attempted fragging? Did a bully take my pudding at dinner? The unit chaplain? Of course, all those possibilities seem a bit far fetched…all except the last.

About a week ago I was hanging in the building where my soldiers live. This building also happens to house some staff officers with whom I’ve become good friends. I often make it a point to swing by and see my buddies whenever I’m at the building checking on the soldiers. Following an evening patrol, the platoon decided to grill some meat and not get toasted off some non-alcoholic Beck’s. After downing a lot of wieners (HAHA get it! Obvious gay reference even though I can’t be openly homosexual in the Army!) I went over to see my buddies and watch an episode of Weeds for a little while. I left their room after a good half hour or so to get my radio that I had left in one of the Joe’s rooms. Apparently they had been listening to our old commander shitting himself on the radio, so we all mocked him for a bit, then I said my goodbyes and went back to DVD watching. When I returned to their room, my friends seemed a bit distraught and quickly told me that the new chaplain (who I forgot to mention also lives in the building) had been inquiring as to why a Playboy was in one of the bathrooms. As a brief background, pornography, alcohol, and sex are banned here. This, I think over a continuous period of 15 months, is a reasonable requirement of young men in their early twenties. Well, our unit’s new man of God proceeds to tell my friends he wants to take punitive actions against the culprit who would dare own such filth and who probably even masturbated to it.

This warning from my friends irritates me for two reasons. One, the chaplain is going around making substantial threats against my guys without consulting me, as is protocol being that I am in their immediate chain of command. Two, he’s fussing about Playboy? Come on, man. I don’t think anyone has been busted for having a Playboy since 4^th grade. I sure hope the chaplain never inspects my laptop’s “C” drive. Third, who jerks it to Playboy anymore? Whacking to Playboy is equivalent to getting drunk off a six-pack of Smirnoff Ice. It’s for beginners only.

(Editor’s note: It turns out the magazine had been left behind by the previous occupants of the building.)

Since he is new to the unit, I feel that this might be the appropriate time to go introduce myself. At first, I try the nice guy approach and tell him that I am sorry if he felt offended by the dirty mag and that I will tell my platoon to keep their reading material in their room. I thought that this was an appropriate and reasonable offer, but I was apparently wrong. It seems our new chaplain was the kind of guy who used to tell on himself in grade school. He jumps on his soapbox and tells me that as chaplain his duty is to set the “ethical climate” in the unit and looking at boobs detracts from that goal. Wrong chaplain!! Your job is to plan golf tournaments, listen to people’s bullshit problems, and make us feel awkward when we swear around you. You’re not a real officer. You don’t bust balls.

My reasoning with him is of no use. I tell him these guys got enough to deal with. They don’t need to have the worry that someone in their own unit is out to get them. This line of argument proves futile and he counters me with the fact that some Iraqi national who does maintenance in the building might get offended. He is again wrong on multiple counts. It’s a myth that these people are too religious for porn. They like porn as much as the rest of the world. They just prefer it involve goats. And finally, last I checked, we were doing enough for this hell hole. Why celebrate one birthday in Iraq, when you can have two?! I forget what else was said, but I started being a dick right back to him and let go of any language restraints I formerly used in the presence of holy men.

Needless to say, the first and probably last conversation between me and the chaplain ended less than amicably. It’s pretty cold when we pass each other outside. But that’s okay. I don’t think God likes that guy either. It’s sad that my platoon and I have to worry about mortar attacks and roadside bombs. Now we have an addition to the list of what to avoid: the chaplain folks, the fucking chaplain. Enjoy life, people.

Peace in the Middle East,

Cpt. Common Sense