see more Lolcats and funny pictures, and check out our Socially Awkward Penguin lolz!

And now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
And if Chuck should get blown up
I pray he keeps his other nut

T'was the night before Christmas and all through the Mosque
Not a hajji was stirring, as their houses were tossed.

Blackfive was posting gibberish, his search bar was down,
He'd been drinking all day and was wearing a gown.

Jimbo was smiling, an ear-to-ear affair
He'd just edited his Chrismas video in Yellow underwear.

CV, our CV, was playing Warcraft,
As his mother in law looked at Caro and laughed.

Taco was flying to some Caribbean locale,
Doing barrel rolls in Boeings to the delight of his pals,

Our Carrie was at home alone, once again...
She's been drinking, as usual, and out with her friends.

Maggie was blotto, the cancer remised,
She knew she was gonna stay wicked pissed.

Marcus was out dropping resumes and job hunting,
Which is hard to do when all you wear is Christmas bunting.

Jacki was packing her apartment (and she'd better)
She's a plane to catch, to get to warm weather.

All the other milbloggers took time to lament,
The POTUS' Hawaiian vacation, while breathing words of concern,
Of our troops withdrawals--from the places they'd been sent,
Now Home to an economy in shambles and no way to make rent.

As Greyhawk remembered, he'd seen this before,
The first time he served, in the Great World War.

But where was I? It was Hajji, and his mortar attack,
Or was it IEDs, or poppy seeds to crack?

Their mortars were hung by the tubes without care
With hopes to Allah that these rounds weren't flares.

The Afghans were sleeping in their mud-huts on rugs
And their hair and their bodies all crawled with bugs.

I in my Kevlar and CJ in his fart-sack
Had just settled down, in our own separate racks. (Don't Ask!)

When out on the FOB there arose such a clatter,
Neither one of us really cared to find out what was the matter.

The mortars! They landed, without roar or great flash
In the shit pond out back, they just made a splash.

The moon shining above, o'er the mountains so close,
We saw the launch site from where the rounds rose.

We waited a while for our night vision to clear,
And ran to the TOC to send out some American Cheer:

On Apache! On Kiowa! On Shadow! On Reaper!
Let's show these assholes whose missiles dig deeper!

Call in The big green airplane called Puff!
Let's scatter to the winds all of their stuff!

Counter-battery rounds we did fire and fire,
Sending Mohammed to Allah in a funeral pyre.

The QRF was out shooting, and the TOC spun up too,
I sat with my feet up, knowing full well the Taboo.

The hours dragged on and the body count rose,
When lo, to my nostrils! The heaven it knows!

Ham sandwiches were served, and pork chops wrapped in bacon
Oh but for a beer my tummy was aching.

But alas, there's no beer, it's more dangerous than a gun,
To violate General Order number One!

Where was I? Back to Hajji, the guy shooting at us--
We'd dropped all our bombs and kicked up lots of dust.

The all-clear was sounded, we all breathed relief,
When a tiny fat man came out with a beef.

My camera won't focus, there's spiders, my twinkies were swiped!
I heard someone wanted to piss down my wind pipe!

I feel threatened! I'm scared, my job is so hard,
I once caused the downfall of General Menard!

I'll sue you, and you, and you too!
It's slander you bastards, I never sniffed glue!

I don't sleep with Thai boys (their high charges and such)
And my tip jar is empty, lies and half-truths don't sell much.

I'll cause controversy and investigations and I'll slander some folks!
(I hope by New Years I can sit again; I've had so many pokes.)

I tuned out the fat man, Shook my head and walked away,
I really don't care what he had to say.

He says he spent more time in Rock pile that Hamid Kharzai,
I'm not really sure, but I think that's a lie.

Back to my bunk, in my dusty worn bed,
I took my pills and closed my eyes to rest my head.

I knew that come morning there'd be no presents here,
But I'm glad for my family and friends, and to spread Christmas Cheer.

I miss my family, it feels like forever I've been gone,
While in this war we are really but pawns.



And Oh by the way, Fuck You, Mike Yon.

-- Chuck

Welcome This Ain't Hell readers!

Over thanksgiving, my nephew, who lives in Texas, asked to give the blessing:

Our hands we fold,
Our heads we bow,
for food, and drink
we thank you now.
In Jesus name we pray...

Oh! And Jesus, help Uncle Chuck
keep all his body parts and
if he loses any
Please help him
find them.

Amen

--Chuck

Bjorn over at the US Naval instutute blog writes:

I woke this morning to an email from a friend in Germany. It is the
greatest holiday message I've received this season. Perhaps one of the
greats of all time. I thought I'd share it with the Naval Institute
family for a laugh…and then I'm going to send it all the lawyers I
know. And then to all of my uber PC friends. Let the feeling hurting
begin…

Go RTWT:
http://blog.usni.org/2011/12/23/have-a-very-merry-pc-christmas/

--Chuck

From Taco:

You have a chance to welcome home a hero Friday:

Wounded Hero Returns to His Loganville Home Friday
Sgt. 1st Class Mark Allen will be making his way through Grayson and Loganville at about 2 p.m. Friday to be home in time for Christmas.

Shannon Allen, wife of wounded soldier Sgt. 1st Class Mark Allen, said her husband will be making his way up Highway 78, through Grayson and Loganville, at about 2 p.m. Friday.

Allen received critical head injuries in 2009 when he was hit by sniper fire furing a furious firefight in Afghanistan. After more than two years in the V.A. hospital in Tampa, Fla. Allen will be returning home to Loganville in time for Christmas.

Residents are encouraged to turn out and line the streets in support of the returning hero. Shannon Allen said they will not be driving all the way up Highway 78, instead just passing through Grayson and Loganville before turning off at the Bay Creek Church Road exit. Information will be updated when it becomes available.

There's a place at the link where you can sign up for updates.

And an excuse to post this pic:


Major Chuck Z Is Having A Birthday! - This Ain't Hell
Blackfive Exclusive - Chuck Jong IL
Good Luck Chuck - Bouhammer
Happy Birthday, Chuck! - MaryAnn

Chuck,
Have you had more birthdays than surgeries yet?
~~Code Monkey


see more dog and puppy pictures

And no, it's not early. It's Afghanistan time.

Empires throughout history have fought in Afghanistan. 

I think that is the key thing to understanding these people.  Their cultural/genetic memory is imprinted with the idea that everyone else in the world can come here and kick their asses until they get bored and go home.

I think it's really their driving factor, and why they seem so unwilling (beyond cell phones) to pull themselves out of the 13th century.  Granted, they realize (and use to tremendous effect) that the US will pay, and pay, and pay, for their ridiculous "projects" to make this a better place.  They'll likely end up with the third world's best infrastructure by the time we leave--and given their insecurity, animosity towards each other, and general bat-shit insanity, they'll quickly devolve into internal warfare. Warlord vs. Warlord in a winner takes all cataclysm.

The winner of course, will get to take over all this wonderful infrastructure--and will likely tear it out and sell it to the highest bidder.  Their whole economy (with the exception of the Poppy) seems to revolve around steal X from Y and sell to Z, who then resells it to X, and also get International relief agency Q to buy us more shit.  Tremendous wealth awaits them just below the surface, in terms of mineral wealth (gemstones and industrial applicable mineral) and natural gas,  and they have no desire to build any kind of road (or god forbid, rail) network to support it.  And if someone were to build it for them, they'd end up just blowing it up, over a land dispute that started during when the cornerstone of Stonehenge was laid.

I don't really think of this place as a graveyard of empires--not the kind of place where empires come and are destroyed.  It's more like the kind of place that empires come, see what it's like, realize that the only real solution outside of outright genocide is to dump prozac in every source of water and wait twenty years, realize that probably wouldn't work either, and then try to figure out the best way to just leave.

Unfortunately, we aren't there yet.  I think we're getting closer to the "What's the point?" point, though.  Staying here won't stop the spread of terrorism.  Staying here won't make Afghanistan a stable democratic republic.  Staying here won't remove the corruption, crime, or poverty.  Staying here has no benefit to the US that I can see, long-term.  The question that keeps popping into my head is "What's in it for us?"  And I just can't seem to find an answer. 

The second question of "is it worth it?" is even  harder to answer.  How do we quanitfy that?  Is it worth it in terms of cost to the taxpayer?  That goes back to "What's the point" and "How does this benefit the US?"  What, exactly, are our strategic goals here?  If being here is rooting out terrorists, we're playing whack-a-mole.  If we're here to teach the Afghans to fight terrorists, then we're teaching Bear Grylls how to drink his own piss.  They are quite capable insurgents, and counter-insurgents.  They speak the language, have a vested interest in finding them, and have intel networks and a knowledge of the terrain that far exceeds our own.  For the most part, I think they really just put up with us, knowing that for each unit they deal with, they only have to do it for a year, and that while we're here, they may as well get while the getting's good.




--Chuck

The picture in the previous post is not the one in the HQs I work at.  This is a far, far better approximation:


--Chuck

This could be a continuing theme with me...

The headquarters building I am currently working in was built for Afghans. 

This means that there are no "western" toilets, only the "squat to shit" eastern toilets.


Given the dubious quality of our water (anything not in a bottle is non-potable) and the food, and whatever else floats in the air, the occasional emergency trip to the crapper means either a quarter-mile walk to our compound, and waiting for the guy from the Command Post to come unlock the gate, or squatting over the bomb site.

Not to be too graphic, but with the... consistency... and force... sometimes involved, this could get quite messy.

So far, I've avoided it.

But I did get to thinking... since the Afghans are really just here for my amusement... what would happen if one were to spray some PAM on the little foot gripper things?

Hilarity ensues, that's what.

I hate this place.

--Chuck

Today was ashura, the day when the mud hut dwellers whip themselves and cut their foreheads to show their sacrifice to the moon god--or whatever is is they believe in.  I started my day by watching the ritual of the beheading of the lunch goats.  Always a pleasant thing to make you want to skip lunch.  Best part was they did it right into the open sewer, so the blood will linger for days.  Hey, something else for the flies and mosquitoes to dine on besides me!  If I don't get malaria it'll be a miracle. 

Of course, being such gracious hosts, I was invited to lunch.  For a people who've been eating goat for the last 7,000 years, you'd think they'd learn how to cook one decently by now.  The afghans are far better at using the spice rack than the Iraqis are, but it still tastes like well-seasoned boiled goat.   I so wanted to take the goats away from them and show them how to operate a smoker and bbq pit.  These barbarians don't even know about mint jelly! 

I was interviewed also, very briefly, today, too.  I was asked "What makes you Army Strong, able to handle the challenges of separation, the anxiety, the loneliness, and the mix of emotion that comes with combat and reintegration?"

My answer:  "Zoloft."

I don't think they'll be using that one.

--Chuck

--Chuck

Every once in a while, I see someone say something on Twitter and call it a #firstworldproblem. Usually I think it's a way of someone showing appreciation for the fact that the so-called biggest dilemma in their lives is something that so many people on this planet would kill to have as the worst thing that happened to them that day.

Then I go to Facebook.

Facebook needs hashtags. #desperately

If your problems this Christmas season revolve around broken Christmas decorations, cooking failures, or what dress to where to which party, then you really need to #stfu.

There are a lot of people in this country hurting this Christmas, and not just in the military community.

There are people who won't put up Christmas lights because they cannot afford the extra electricity. There are people who are setting foot for the first time in a food pantry because they don't have jobs. There are people whose kids won't get presents from anyone this year because there just isn't the money.

If your worst problem this Christmas season is as simple as it not being a Hallmark movie in the making, please step back and remember there are a lot of people in this country who are "celebrating" Christmas with a loved one deployed, or they have lost their job, or they don't have enough money to buy gifts for the kids.  A dead string of Christmas lights is truly a #firstworldproblem.

Get over making Christmas perfect.  It never is and it never will be.  Be happy for what you have and remember the people who would be more than happy to have your problems.

~~Code Monkey