Guac Is Extra

Right now I hate fun. I hate joy and other people. I hate the world and my life and puppies and happiness. I want to burn down every building, I want to shoot every kitten, I want to pour acid on dolphins and shit on art. Tonight after the Mandatory Fun evening that I have to waste 2 hours of my Friday night/ life on I am going to set fire to an American flag.

Today has sucked so fucking much I can barely stand it and I have no prospects for anything fun to happen this weekend and then the shit-storm will start (though it hardly seems it ends even for weekends) all over again.

I understand that as a soldier I have surrendered some of my rights. I am ok with that, it comes with the territory. But if the Army says I am allowed only a mustache as facial hair, then my CO says No because he thinks it looks stupid... Well what the fuck? I mean fine I'll shave it, I am not going to make a big deal about it with the Sir, but I am not going to take it lightly. And now I have to go waste my "free time" on a Friday night because of him too. I do not want to support the soldiers of my Company who have a boxing match today. I do not give a fuck about their match at all. They know this because I told them so. They seemed ok with my apathy. They seemed ok because they are grown fucking men and don't need people to come to their Little League games and tell them that it's ok because they tried their hardest. We are all fucking men and we are all fucking sick and tired of being treated like fucking children.

Holland vs. France At The Alamo: The Greatest Battle Never Fought

Ok what follows is another direction I could have gone with that post that wouldn't have been as depressing. From the top:

It is weird to think that any event that you take part in may be the last. I don't mean to be terribly morbid, but think about it. Life is a fragile thing I am aware, but all too often we forget that. And maybe it is for the best. I mean who wants to live their life thinking about the possibility of their imitate and unforeseen death? It is a topic we put off thinking about because we have to.

When I was home on Leave I had lunch with Allison C. and she said something that I had never even considered. She referred to my dog-tags as 'romantic'. Not in like the romantic-love sort of way, but the other way. What she meant was that my ID Tags have a specific purpose, ie to identify my dead body. When my corpse is found one is left around my neck and the short one is taken by the person who finds me so they can report that
NAPPI
MICHAEL J
XXX-XX-XXXX
A POS
NO-REL-PREF
was found dead.
It is romantic (so says AC and I agree) in that I carry with me my own death. This chain around my neck is a personification of my death. And every moment I wear these tags around my neck I have a physical reminder that I will die and there is not a damn thing I can do about that. The only course of action open to me at that point is to assist with the identification of my own body. There is something undoubtedly tragically romantic in that, is there not?

Walk Like A Man

It is weird to think that any event that you take part in may be the last. I don't mean to be terribly morbid, but think about it. Life is a fragile thing I am aware, but all too often we forget that. And maybe it is for the best. I mean who wants to live their life thinking about the possibility of their imitate and unforeseen death? It is a topic we put off thinking about because we have to. But recently I have been thinking on it due to information recently passed down to me.

I may have celebrated my last Mardi Gras last night. I may have already had my last Thanksgiving Christmas. I should get another shot at 4th of July, but that ain't certain either.
What I mean to say is that since joining we have wanted to go to war, but in the 14 months we have been training and waiting nothing concrete has come down to assuage our fear that we might not get our shot. This has fucked our heads bad, and now we have to get our shit together and do it relatively fast. There is a big 'ole truckload of the Suck headed our way, and when it gets here I sure hope we can deal. Because if we can't the consequences aren't hard to imagine.

If You Ain't Got No Money Take Your Broke Ass Home

So I have a scratch on my glasses. Like a noticeable one. It is in the lower 1/4th of my right lens and I know exactly how I got it. As you may or may not know I am fucking terrible at cleaning my glasses. Because of this not only do the lens' get dirty, but also the frames. One day I was attempting to clean the dirt from the bottom of my frames and I was using a jagged piece of metal. I was at work so it was something I just happened to have on-hand. I was thinking to myself; If I'm not careful this will scratch my lens. And then it did. I remember laughing to myself because I knew exactly what would happen and then it did.
I find this to be a wonderful metaphor for my life. I know what is going to happen 90% of the time dependent upon my actions, and yet I still will always play the odds. Keeps shit interesting I think.
I mean how terrible would it be to see the future? Oh you might think it was cool for a while, making money in the stock market and winning bets left and fucking right. But down the road a bit, or even the first day you had the power shit is going to start to suck. You would take no risks because there are no risks left to take. To know the outcome of every little thing would be so horrible I can't even imagine it fully. I mean you couldn't even kill yourself because you'd know if you were or weren't. What kind of life is that? Fuck that shit, give me uncertainty and risk and chance. I'll take the long shot any day.

I Think It Is Awesome When Females Say "Suck My Dick"

So I got this new computer, which is fucking sweet. It has a big monitor and is fast as balls, but I have a very serious problem. My entire 1,500 iTunes song library is on my old laptop. My laptop works and everything, but it is slow and I don't use it because I just dropped $600 for the computer I am writing this fucking second. So now I have to figure out how to transfer all my muzik over, and until I do I have 3 songs to listen to. They are:
"Orange Sky"- Alexi Murdoch
"Leaving On A Jet Plane" - John Denver
"Glamorous"- Fergie (Don't judge me, or I will cut you.)

In unrelated news, one of my Battles who shall remain unnamed is being forced to go to ASAP (Army Substance Abuse Program) for bullshit. My Battle isn't a drug user/abuser, he barely even qualifies as an alcoholic in the outside world. Fuck knows he doesn't register on a list of Top 10 drinkers in my platoon. But because of fear and ignorance (two predispositions in this Army) he is being treated like he is some dangerous alky. What happened was that he was seen drinking before he went out to the bar one night. Now drunk driving is bad, I will accept that. It is dangerous to everyone and blah blah blah. But drinking and driving is not drunk driving. The law in many states sets a limit of or around .08 BAC as the legal limit at which one is too impaired to drive. So say my Battle has one standard drink (12 oz of beer) which takes him 30 minutes to consume then leaves for the bar. With the average rate of processing one standard drink per hour and one standard drink giving a person a .02 BAC that means that Nappi's Battle would have a .01 BAC when he left the barracks to go out for the night. Far from being too drunk to drive in my, and nearly almost every state's opinion. But the Sgt. who was on duty that night didn't agree so he called my Battle and asked him to take a DD with him. My Battle complied with the order, found a DD and went out to the bar. At the bar the DD got hammered, my buddy didn't have much to drink and came home. The next day he was told to enroll himself in ASAP or he would be ordered there. To me this is fucked the hell up. This dude will often sleep in his car after a night of drinking to avoid driving drunk and has never been reprimanded for his drinking habits before. Short of a few times he has shown up late to work after a night out alcohol has had no adverse effects on his life. (Unless you count having sex with ugly girls as one.)
My issue is that when confronted with the facts of the matter (the scientific fact that he was in no way drunk or even close to the legal limit when he left) those who are at least nominally in charge refused or were unable to listen to logic and reason. This is so very typical here and it is one of the many reason why it hurts me to go to work sometimes. I'm not a fucking genius, I am not a cutting edge thinker, I didn't even come close to graduating college for fuck's sake, but why does everyone have to be so fucking ignorant here? I mean is it that hard for some of these people to learn anything, or is it just too difficult to put down the controller because Saint's Row 2 is just such a great game? Fucking retards... And the bitch of it is whenever they don't know something they come and ask me, like I am the font of all knowledge or some shit. Which is fine, but if you're going to trust my brain about Random Topic A why are you going to argue with me about Random Topic B? I mean someone tried to tell me the definition of an alcoholic is someone who, when offered free shots of Patron will not turn them down. No matter what I, or anyone else said he would not budge; taking free Patron=alcoholism. How can you fight blind ignorance like that?

I Forgot To Wash My Hat

It is 8:36AM and I already know it is going to be a hard day. How do I know? First there was the fact that I didn't get to bed until midnight-ish and I awoke promptly at 0425 to the sound of a Sgt. banging on my door to tell me to get into uniform because the drug-sniffing dogs were coming to check our barracks. So from 0500 until 0720 I stood outside with the rest of my company. Then we were told that we have mandatory classes at 1800 tonight. That means at 6pm instead of getting to come home I have to go and listen to dumb people tell me how to be financially responsible and how to recognize if someone is going to off themselves. And lastly today is my first day back from my too-short visit to Ship. I might regale you with tales later today, but in all actuality it might be too painful still. What I mean by that is I am quite despondent because I had forgotten the simple joys of college not afforded to poor soldiers like myself.
In summery; today is going to be hard.

It Won't Be The Nicotine That Kills You...

You know what I want? Well a few things, but maybe most of all I want to be a Bad Guy in a Bond film. Not like an actor, I mean in real life. (You Only Live Twice is on and that is what is inspiring me to write currently.) And I don't want to be like the Arch-Villain, I want no part in policy-making or the setting of long-term goals, I want to be the guy with the out-dated sub-machine gun and single color jumpsuit. I want the matching hard-hat that defines my job by its color. You know; Blue means machine gunner, Red means Lab Tech, Yellow means something else. I want to fall off catwalks and get judo-chopped by Bond. I want it to be my lack of alertness or the ease with which I am distracted that leads to Bond's escape. I want the moon base, the volcano base, the secret oil tanker base, the underwater base. I never want to speak. I want to visit exotic locales and never be able to see them because I'm guarding the ray-gun. I want it all goddammit!
As you can tell, I give lots of thought to the "little people", because we all know that the Arch-Villains and the secret agents who kill them at the flick of a wrist sure don't. I always think about those guys, and not just when they die or run around in a panic, but before the Plan goes to shit. I think about them while they sit behind their 1970's computers and those huge audio recorders that spin ceaselessly in the background. These men and women have lives, and I really want to know about it. Like where are they from? What training do they have? Do they have families? And most importantly, how the fuck did they get that job? I mean are they contracted out or hired directly? Do they interview? What's the pay like and are their benefits? Do they get paid cash? Direct deposit? Are they employed by a dummy company, like "Clarke & Clarke Consulting"? How loyal to the cause are these guys? I mean do they know the Plan, or are they just there to make a buck? Do their supervisors put up Mission Statements in the breakroom? "Our goal is the complete and utter destruction of the world banking organization through nefarious and violent means. To achieve our goal everyone must always be sure to bring their best effort to the table, and remember that we are all on the same team." Do they have to have classes on Equal Opportunity and Sexual Harassment?
Do you think there is one guy out there who has worked for multiple Villains? Like he gets this job guarding the ray gun at the volcano base, and its an ok job. I mean he really doesn't have much in the way of options. Maybe he was a soldier right, but left the life. Thing was the economy wasn't so great and there aren't a lot of options for an uneducated guy whose only skill set is killing and obeying orders in the best of times. Somehow he falls into the job of Nameless Uniformed Guard and finds himself in a volcano with a ray gun. Then one day some suave Limey rolls up, kills the boss, blows up the ray gun and sets the volcano on fire. Next thing Nameless Guard knows he's swimming away from the island wondering what the fuck happened and supposing that he isn't getting this month's paycheck. So he's out of work again and as it so happens he hears of another opportunity. This time its some bald weirdo who has his own pet cause that he is spending his fortune on and he needs reliable men to watch out for his interests. Thing is his secret base is on the moon. Well we all wanted to be astronauts when we were kids, so he's guarding the moonbase. Well fucked if that same damn Brit doesn't roll on up to the moon and blow it all to hell again. And Nameless Guard's employer didn't spring for Escape Pods because that is an "unnecessary extra". Mr. Villain figures that everybody goes down with the ship if he does. But you and some co-workers (the brainy ones with the lab coats on who were working on all the science-y stuff. They only took the job because the pay is good and they have student loans to pay off from the 8 years of college that it took to get a Masters in fucking Chemical Biology. And really no one is hiring Chemical Biologists since the UN managed to pass a binding resolution banning all chemical weapons research and this girl geared her studies toward that speciality because as her dad always told her 'defense contracts will never dry up'.) manage to modify the lunar shuttle enough to get the fuck outta dodge before the moon gets a new crater. So our tragic hero is back on Terra and out of work. His only break is that since the British government doesn't want the world to know how close a billionaire madman came to killing the human race from his nifty base on the moon, he and the other handful of former employees of said madman are free from criminal prosecution.
But that is just an idea kicking around in my head. Now it is time for a drink.

Who Would Label Their Post Under "Scooters"?

Why do I like to drink so much? Sometimes I think about it and get all caught up in high-handed bullshit. Like because I can't deal with my life, or because I'm lonely or maybe its a side effect of being a borderline sociopath.
(I say 'borderline' but if you look up the criteria I fit almost all of them and exhibit almost all the symptoms as well. And it could be that I am just being a mental hypochondriac and I'm not a sociopath. But to be perfectly honest almost all of the people I know have the same symptoms. Which begs the questions; Is the definition for Antisocial Personality Disorder too broad, is it a bullshit disorder, is the sample population with which I draw from ie Upper-Middle Class young people/ young male Infantry soldiers predisposed to this disorder, is the prevalence understated, or do I just have a tendency to surround myself with sociopaths?)
But now I seem to have gotten way off topic. Drinking. So as stated I tend to lose myself in the wilderness of my mind when I search for the reason of my drinking, but I might have found away around that; I like to drink because its FUN. Yep, there it is. I don't know/care the reasons behind it, I don't give a fuck for the chemistry and my brain functions, I just know that I have fun when I'm drunk as a skunk. And it really doesn't bother me that I can't recall what I did yesterday or that I passed out before 10pm, occupational hazards of being a drinker I suppose. But to be honest I guess drinking is less of an occupation and more of a hobby; no one pays me to drink. Though they will once I leave the Army.
Yes ladies and gentleman, the US Military will give you a sweet check if you can prove that you have been injured while in service. And our lovely military considers alcoholism an injury, so if I can prove (simply by going to the Army Substance Abuse Program) that I am an alcoholic then they will pay me a disability check. Who needs government bailouts when you have government loopholes. Fuck, my 1st Sgt. heard of a guy who got 75% pay for sleep apnea, that is some serious dough for a bullshit condition.
In any case I have wandered away again and I have to go take a shower and start my day so I'll just close this one out. And it turns out I bought 6 bags of Cheez-It's from the vending machine last night and ate them in bed. Funny thing is, our vending machine doesn't take dollar bills so I must have found 6 dollars in change somewhere...

In The Late, Great Words Of Colonel Sanders: I'm Too Drunk To Taste This Chicken

Warren Zevon: Lawyers, Guns And Money

That song is as American as Apple Pie, Baseball, the Death Penalty and Barrack Obama.