Monday's Missives

• There are a couple hundred movies in my place- few of them I care to see again. Maybe I can interest the library
  in them.
• I traded huge batches a couple of times for debt forgiveness of my overdue books.
  
• I think I may quit drinking coffee.
• Bwah-haha.
• Life needs frosting- what it says on the side of the Cinnabon box.
• An old girlfriend would pester me about the fact I never told her she was pretty. I could not because- she was not. I didn't love her because of her looks- I loved her in spite of the fact she wasn't all that pretty. 
• I loved her truly for who she was- and that was not good enough.
  
• Your favorite sitcoms ruined by math.

From The Archives: A War Story

One of our duties in Iraq entailed corralling third country national truck drivers- keeping them accounted for and not a danger to themselves or others. One thing people- even soldiers present did not understand was why we would not allow any type of knife (even small kitchen ones), no amount of alcohol and absolutely no pr0n (which when found would invariably be of the gay variety). Really- why would care if they watched gay pr0n in the sleepers of their trucks? What about a little drinky drinky at the end of a long, dangerous day? They prepared their own meals often- they couldn't even have a small kitchen knife?

Why were you so hard on these fellas who took the same risks you did- while unarmed?

Well, add the aforementioned activities together and that's where the problem comes in- things could get a little stabby in the ole truck stop.

Hey, sergeant you need to come out onto the lot- some of the drivers are in an uproar. Said the young Marine over my radio. What’s going ? I replied I don't know. I think a couple of them were queering off.

Roger, I'll be there in a minute. With a sigh I headed out, half expecting to referee a minor lovers quarrel.

When I turned down the line of trucks I was told to watch for I knew something was up- there were probably 20-30 drivers in a half circle around the cab of a truck. I could see they were absolutely seething from 50 meters away.

No one wanted to admit to being able to speak English to help defuse the situation when asked if anybody knew English- a bad sign they didn't want to be guilty by association. Normally, somebody would step up whose English was less terrible than my Arabic and try to help. This time though, everyone stood around in Absolute. Furious. Silent. Rage while flexing their fingers against the stones in their hands.

The objects of the fury did not want to come out of the cab and in fact forced me to climb up and show my face and beat on the window with my pistol. When the door opened the smell of sex was overwhelming. The interior of the cab must have been 90 degrees- musty buttseks. There was gay pr0n lying everywhere. As my head started spinning I ordered the two lovers out of the cab.

They were terrified.

They maintained an unusual distance for Middle Easterners from each other and me. Both of their faces were bright red. One would stare at me in wide eyed terror, the other's eyes alternated between the ground and pleading for mercy from me.

I ran the weaker hangers on at the edge of the crowd off and back to their trucks and respectfully indicated to the older ringleaders to back up and thanked them when they took a few steps back.

Jedi crowd control trick for Middle Eastern third country national truck drivers- feel free to use it anytime- just credit me.

You making freaky freaky and drinking beer? while pantomiming a drinking and sex action complete with spanking motions on my imaginary sex partners behind. The crowd roared in laughter. No making freaky freaky! No drinky drinky. Me no Ali Babba, mister! One said while his breath wafting across me smelled like the exhaust to a liquor powered sex machine.

We then retrieved some of the pr0n from the cab and as I recall empty alcohol containers of some type, but no booze. They hung their heads low and their faces looked in danger of bursting into flames from blushing when the contraband was held up to their faces.

I berated them for a while to beat them down- hoping it would be sufficient to avoid a real beating from the crowd when I left.

I ordered the driver of the shaggin wagon back into his truck and told the other to go to his. No, mister, mister pleaaaase he begged, his eyes rolling in fear while glancing around at the crowd. He then pantomimed sleeping sitting up in the cab of the love truck while his boyfriend slept in the sleeper. Guessing that yeah, sleeping in the same truck might still cause some upset among the other drivers, but if they were in danger, it might also prevent things from getting stabby if they could watch each others back through the night- I let them stay together.

When I turned them loose, they fairly flew up into the cab and had the door locked before their rear ends touched the seat.

I turned to the crowd, smiled and shook my head. Everybody laughed real big and turned back to their trucks for the night.

 

The End