Tycoon Games Play Games Online WildTangent Games

An Outdoor Fresh Scented Purple Heart!

The story of my first Purple Heart has all the makings of a great "war story." There are numerous reasons to abruptly stop a vehicle in motion. I can unequivocally say daisy-chained artillery shells is a very effective way to rapidly decelerate a soft-skinned gun truck. I can also unequivocally say this is the absolute least preferred method if you happen to occupy the gun truck that is being abruptly halted. However, we didn't have a choice in the matter. Adding insult to literal injury, the kindhearted locals further welcomed our presence with a hail of gunfire. Again, all the makings of a fine war story, but we are going to talk about my second Purple Heart. Why? Because, "What are the fucking odds?"
Live Science Online states, "four seasons - winter, spring, summer, and autumn - can vary significantly in characteristics, and can prompt changes in the world around them." Many of us warfighters are familiar with another weather phenomenon, and it really "prompts changes in the world"; fighting season. This typically occurs when the desert heat is less potent, and this particular weather condition typically involves fast moving projectiles such as indirect fire (IDF) and sweet lead jellybeans.
We had just spent a miserable ten days conducting operations from our Company Outpost (COP). It was as an austere vacation spot in the heart of Baghdad. The Michelin Star worthy menu was comprised of 24 different Army Happy Meals. These meals were truly "Meals Ready to Eat" because the building we occupied lacked Air Conditioning (AC). Like our grundle, these delectable meals were always a balmy "whatever-it-is-outside" plus another ten degrees. Simply delicious. Oh, there were only two Port-A-Johns, and no running water.
The Platoon was always excited to arrive back at our Forward Operating Base (FOB). It was always a much needed reprieve from the never ending chaos the COP provided us. We still conducted operations, and Quick Reaction Force (QRF) missions, but at least we had a more suitable place to call home for a week. However, this location demanded we look more presentable, and smell less like Dutch oven basted skunk farts.
"You look like a fucking hippie," was my First Sergeant's subtle way of telling me I needed a haircut the night we arrived back at the FOB. I would rather keister a M-67 Fragmentation Grenade than upset First Sergeant, mostly because he told me, "If you don't get a haircut, I am going to shove one of these things up your ass." Well, "these things" was a M-67 Fragmentation Grenade. First Sergeant didn't appear to have a delicate touch of a tiny-fingered colorectal surgeon, so I decided a haircut was in order. Besides, my hair was still capable of growing back at the time.
Day Two
Chris and I set out on an epic journey during our second day back at the FOB. It was a journey I will never forget. It started like any other until we reached our decisive point in the hair cutting operation. We had arrived at a fork in the road.
Chris: Where you going Sloppy?
OP: I thought we were getting haircuts?
Chris: We are. It's quicker if we cut through the motor pool though.
OP: No. It's quicker if we walk around the side.
Chris: No. It's not.
OP: (Angrily) Yes. It is!
Chris: (More Angrily) I get more haircuts than you. This way is quicker.
We argued for no less than two-minutes. Insignificant at the time, but it will become more significant later. I surrendered. Chris was correct, but only about him getting more haircuts. We continued to argue about the quickest route as I followed Chris through the motor pool. Then we heard a very strange "thud". It was a very unfamiliar thud.
Chris: What the fuck was that?
OP: Don't know!?!
Chris: Think it was outgoing?
OP: No. That was definitely not outgoing. Maybe incoming?
Chris: No way. The sirens would be going off it's it incoming.
OP: Well, I am certain it wasn't outgoing either.
BOOM (A Very, Very LOUD BOOM)
I briefly, but only very briefly, recall it being loud. I suppose I was a bit concussed after that. I must have decided to take a brief nap as well, because I woke up in a strange looking room and Chris was frantically runny around. I had no earthly idea what was going on.
OP: What the fuck are you doing?
Chris: You're bleeding man!
OP: No I am not.
Then I looked down and my pants and immediately found out I was a liar. A bloody liar at that.
OP: Yup. I'm bleeding!
Chris was still feverishly searching around for something when the radio started to chatter.
"Sloppy, this is Dan. You guys okay?"
Chris: Dan, this is Chris. Negative. We are NOT okay. Sloppy got hit, and took shrapnel to the face and neck.
Chris was really excited for some reason. Watching all four of him running around the room was really starting to make me nauseous though.
For the sake of my sanity, I am going to forgo the "You, this is me" radio communications. Chris and Dan are consummate professionals and their radio etiquette was impeccable.
Dan: Where are you guys at?
Chris: Fuck. I don't know. I just dragged Sloppy into some room. PAPER TOWELS!!!
Chris, being a brutish professional had just found paper towels and applied them to my face. Chris took that "apply pressure" shit seriously. Manny "Chris" Pacquiao just wrapped his hands in paper towels and sucker-punched my mandible. The immense amount of pressure applied to my face was overwhelming.
Dan: Stay there until the "All Clear" and then I will meet you at the Aid...
OP: AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! AHHHHHHHH!!!
The daze and confusion had miraculously wore off instantly. I was now fully aware of the pain I was in. It felt like an East German Swim Team member was power-buffing my face with a hedgehog and using Bear Spray as a lubricant. I always have trouble numerating my pain on the one-to-ten pain scale while talking to medical providers. I don't know if I am underselling my manliness, or overselling the size of my vagina. I would not have struggled to answer the one-to-ten pain scale question this time; it was a fucking eleven.
Why was I in immense pain now though? I am not a doctor, but I have taken Tactical Combat Casualty Care (TCCC) enough to at least be a Physicians Assistant (PA) or Nurse Practitioner (NP). I think I have it figured out. There is a vast superhighway of nerve fibers in the human body. My medical prognosis? There was clearly road construction underway on my superhighway. The Road Construction Flagger, the guy that makes you late for work, had the sign on Stop. However, the other side was not "Slow." Road Construction Flagger person fucked up that day, and accidentally grabbed the sign that had "Right Fucking Now" on the reverse side. Honest mistake I suppose, at least traffic was flowing.
I began to wrestle with Chris. I wanted the pain to stop. I should mention that Chris is a much larger human than I am. I was David to his Goliath, but I wasn't exactly in fighting condition.
OP: Please. Please get it off my face...
Dan: What's going on? Sloppy okay?
OP: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
Chris: Hold on Dan. Sloppy is fighting me.
OP: Please. Get it off my face!
Chris: NO. WE NEED TO STOP THE BLEEDING.
OP: Please. IT BURNS.
Chris had one hand on the nape of my neck, and the other was plowing paper towels into my jawline. I assume Chris finally started to notice his "buddy-aid" was doing more harm to our friendship because he started to release my Brain Housing Unit (BHU) from his death-grip. I immediately realized the cause of my intense during the midst of Chris relieving the pressure from my face. I was a fucking problem solver.
I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), and I have "my way" of doing things. My wife sucks at Operation Do Laundry. She thinks everything gets washed, together, and in cold water. I separate whites, lights, darks, and towels. I use bleach. I use color-guard. I know when to leverage the power of hot water. "Wait! Where the fuck you going with this Sloppy?" Dear Reader, have I ever lead you on a pointless tangent? Maybe! There are very few things Mrs. Sloppy does that annoy me, but her her disregard for dryer sheets annoys me. I love static free laundry, and happen to enjoy the Outdoor Fresh Scent that Bounce provides. Chris was ever-so-slowly releasing pressure, and I fucking smelled the source of my pain.
OP: Those aren't paper towels. Those are dryer sheets asshole.
Chris: (Laughing and Intense) Whoa! Ops! My bad bro!
Dan: Chris. Chris. Chris. CHRIS.
Chris: (Radio to Dan) Wait one!
My mental acuity lost a fucking tire during the drive to the barber shop. I remember foolishly arguing about the quickest path, then waking up, and realizing some village was missing it's idiot. Dear Reader, sniff dryer sheets if you ever believe you are mentally lost. Sniff the fuck outta them. It may hurt, but you'll wake-the-fuck-up immediately.
OP: We're in a laundry mat? We have a laundry mat at FOB INSERT NAME?
Chris: (Like I was wondering toddler.) WAIT...HERE!
Chris then got his shit together. He starting ripping open a dryers, found another cloth-like item, and pummeled my mandible again. He was viciously smothering me with affection.
OP: What's that?
Chris: Somebody's gym shirt! We have to stop the bleeding.
Chris only needed one hand to subdue me. He was clearly strong enough to multitask and call Dan back.
Chris: Dan, this is Chris.
Dan: What the fuck is going on there?
Chris: We are good now. I am applying pressure and Sloppy is alert.
Dan: Alert!?! Why was he screaming?
Chris: I accidentally used dryer sheets...
OP: (I summoned my Violet Beauregarde) I wanna talk. Let me talk. IT'S MY RADIO...
Chris: Sloppy wants to talk.
OP: Dan, this is Sloppy.
Dan: You okay buddy?
OP: No. This asshole doesn't know the difference between paper towels and DRYER SHEETS. My face is on fire Dan. Chris put FUCKING DRYER SHEETS ON MY OPEN WOUND. DRYER SHEETS DAN.
Big Voice: All Clear. All Clear. All Clear.
Dan: I will meet you guys at the Aid Station.
I stood firm and stated I was capable of walking. However, Chris had a very strong desire to fireman carry me to the Aid Station. Probably because I knew a quicker way, and he was tired of arguing. The "All Clear" had been given, but Chris choose to run to the Aid Station like an asshole and didn't miss a single bump. Thankfully, the Aid Station medics had been notified that I was injured. However, that didn't stop them from asking the stupid question.
Medic: What happened to Sloppy?
Chris: Seriously? We just took mortar-fire!
Medic: Where does hurt Sloppy NICKNAME?
OP: My face. RIGHT WHERE HE PUT THE DRYER SHEETS.
Medic: (Looking at Chris) Dryer sheets?
Chris: (I'm Busted Face) Yeah. I accidentally used dryer sheets to stop the bleeding.
Medic: (Laughing) Wow. Bet that hurt.
OP: IT FUCKING BURNED. MY FACE IS BURNING.
Dear Reader, nothing super fun happened at the Aid Station. They irrigated the my wounds with not-dryer sheets and removed the all the shrapnel from my neck, and most of the shrapnel from my face. I still have a small participation trophy. The doctor told me it was too close to some important nerve-thingy (Technical Term). It helps me forecast weather though, and I have grown to love it. I occasionally get drunk enough to willingly perform the removal-operation, but my wife is totally against it.
It took a considerable amount of time to remove all the shrapnel from my neck. The skin is elastic, and refused to cooperate with the forceps. The medics eventually bandaged me up and gave me some gnarly pain killers. I was told, "nothing but bed rest for the rest of the week." Dan and Chris escorted me back to my bed where I found a Department of the Army (DA) Form 2823 Sworn Statement. I was puzzled with as to why, but a crowd was starting to form around my bed. The village idiot had returned.
OP: What the fuck is this?
1SG: I need you to fill out the Sworn Statement so I can submit it with the award.
OP: Award?
1SG: Yeah! AWARD. You're getting a Purple Heart.
OP: I already have one. I don't need another Enemy Marksmanship Badge.
1SG: FILL IT OUT!
Dear Reader, if you made it this far, you are fully aware I can ramble. I filled out the Sworn Statement, rambled my ass off, and gave it to the Company Operations Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO). I didn't proofread it, and I would eventually find out that nobody else proofed it either. The highest ranking officer on the FOB called the Company Operations NCO expressed his desire to have a meeting with Sloppy, the village idiot. My First Sergeant and Platoon Sergeants presence was requested as well. Nobody was worried, because we thought it was a "congratulations for not dying" occasion.
FOB Commander Colonel (COL): Do you guys know why you are here?
I think we all assumed it had something to do with me being injured, but nobody was prepared for what the Colonel said next.
COL: "Chris and I departed on an epic journey to get haircuts. We came to a decisive point while gallivanting the Forward Operating Base: Go around the motor pool, or go through the motor pool and get with a motor? We decided to take the motor pool route..." What the fuck is this?
I don't think the question was necessarily directed at me, but I was doped up enough to answer.
OP: Sir. I was told I needed to fill out a Sworn Statement. I did.
COL: (Not Happy) Army writing is SHORT, CONCISE, AND TOO THE POINT. This is not..
OP: Sir. I already have a Purple Heart. I don't want...
1SG: Sloppy is high right now Sir. Though you should know...
COL: (Laughing now. Not sure why, but totally laughing.) WELL YOU'RE FUCKING GETTING ONE. Tell me what "REALLY" happened. Be concise.
OP: I went to get a haircut and got hit with a mortar instead.
COL: I see you dilemma. That story sucks. BUT, you're going to write a new Sworn Statement.
OP: Roger Sir!
I wrote my second Sworn Statement, and it was short. "I went to get a haircut, and got hit with a mortar round HERE." The FOB Commander was angry at first, but I was enough of a village idiot to humor him I suppose. The walk back to the barracks was just as comical as the discussion with the FOB Commander.
1SG: You actually put that?
OP: I never did a Sworn Statement for my first Purple Heart. I thought you were fucking with me when you asked me to fill it out.
1SG: Jesus! Go to your room, rest, and make sure you make time to get a haircut, THIS WEEK!
That was that! There was no epic firefight in the name of freedom. Just two idiots, walking around, getting hunted, while we hunted haircuts. Don't worry Dear Reader, I know you have one nagging question. I would not leave you hanging in the edge of a suspenseful cliff. The peasants rejoiced, and the fighting season continued for a week without the presence of Sloppy. Two weeks later, I proudly stood in formation, with a haircut that only five dollars can buy. It was a little uneven, but it was good enough for government work.
I sincerely appreciate you taking the time to read this long story. I am glad we both agree Chris is the reason I took some hot metal to the face meat and neck-log. Thanks for the story Chris!
Cheers!
EDIT: I forgot one thing. The first "thud" was a round that landed inside the pool. I know, "We have a pool?" Well, we had a pool. Freaking Fighting Season ruins all the good things!!!
submitted by SloppyEyeScream to MilitaryStories [link] [comments]

Hawk: What's The Maximum Effective Range Of Your Grenade Launcher

Sloppy is back and I am so very excited to see that MilitaryStories is open for business again. This is by far my favorite Sub, and I really enjoy my correspondence with the regulars. I posted a total of four Hawk stories while you were away. They don't necessarily build off each other, so I am posting the most recent story. I will post the others if there is a demand for more.
Before we get to the story I would like to mention that I reference other stories, specifically Cake stories throughout. This particular story starts with a sideways rant, but it flows well into the Hawk story. There is a reason, and I promise to tie it all together for you in the end. Please don't hesitate to reach out and let me know if you are interested in the others. I don't want to inundate the Sub will all my stories, but I am more than happy to provide you links to them. I hope you enjoy. Welcome back and Cheers friends!
Seriously? Shame on you if you actually thought I was done ranting.
Actual Conversation(s):
Wife: Nobody thinks you're funny.
OP: If I agreed with you, we'd both be wrong.
That sounds mighty arrogant Sloppy! Dear Reader, it's more honesty than anything. One of the Eleven Timeless Principles of Leadership (US Army 1948) is "Know self, and seek self-improvement."I may occasionally disregard the "self-improvement" portion of this principle, but I am fully aware of the first portion. I fucking know Sloppy. I understand I am not the funniest bipedal humanoid, but I am funny. Furthermore, I know my particular brand of humor is not universally appreciated, and understand there a people who find it to be repulsive at best. Believe it or not, it is important for me to understand that.
Q: What do the workers at the abortion clinic say at lunchtime?
A: We're hungry, Fetus!
I made that joke up nearly twenty years ago. It is a perfect example of taboo dark humor. I find it comical. I don't go spouting this one-liner everywhere though. I may not be the smartest person in the world, but I am not a complete and utter retard either. My wife is in the medical field, and I wouldn't dare introduce that joke to any of her colleagues. It is vitally important I "know my audience" if I want to fool people into thinking I am fully functioning adult.
Know Your Audience
My wife and I are complete and total opposites; polar opposites. If we were actors, she is Christopher Reeve and I am Christopher Walken. The initial courtship revolved around a considerable amount of drinking, and aggressive cuddling. I was certainly aware we were different people, but I didn't fully realize how different we were until I was well into our married life. Then the kids came; one for each of us. Kelly is sweet, kindhearted, and very literal. Cake is my doppelganger. Cake Judo-chopped his way out of the baby-cave and has been a terrorist ever since.
I have myself a conundrum though. The key that controls my sense of humor snapped-off, and I have been running on "On" ever since I can remember. My humor is autonomic, and lacks a deliberate thought process at times. I instinctual make remarks before my brain has the ability to decide if it was appropriate. This creates parenting problems for Sloppy, specifically with Kelly.
Actual Conversation
Kelly: Why do older guys like Jennifer Anniston so much?
OP: I am not entirely certain. I think it has to do with her being on "Friends" and just generally a very wholesome MILF (Mother I'd Like to Fuck).
Kelly: Do you think she is hot?
OP: Boy, I'd eat a mile of her shit for the opportunity to tongue-punch her fart-box.
Kelly: You'd eat her poop?
The humor eluded him. He was very concerned that I would actually eat a mile of human shit. Actually, this may be a poor example. I am semi-certain I would eat a mile of Jennifer Anniston's shit to tongue-punch that fart-box. This was a very poor and very disturbing example. I now present example number two. This will help prove the aforementioned was not an isolated incident, and that Kelly's literalness can be a detriment.
Both of the boys were in my Garage Man-Cave last night watching the Miami Heat play the Boston Celtics. Kelly was intent on watching the basketball game, and I am fairly certain Cake was mentally determining what power tools would be the most painful torture devices. I bet some of you think I am fucking joking too.!?! My power tool collection is beautifully displayed on a metal peg-board wall. Cake refers to it as, "The Wall of Death."
Many Moons Ago (Maybe a Month)
Cake: Could you kill someone with INSERT POWER TOOL HERE?
OP: They are made for woodworking Cake. However, I suppose you "could" kill someone with most of them.
Cake: Cool! (Then runs off)
OP Brain: Lock the door. Now!
Again, Cake is my doppelganger. I don't personally think he is going to kill anyone, but I won't rule it out either. Anyways, Kelly is watching the basketball game, and Cake is being Cake.
Cake: Can I shoot the nail gun?
OP: Can your dick touch your butthole?
Cake: What?
OP: It's from a joke about not being old enough.
Cake: What joke?
OP: (Busy Woodworking) Nope.
Kelly: Please.
OP: Fine. Johnny's Grandpa is drinking bourbon and Johnny asked for a sip. Grandpa asked, "Can your dick touch your butthole?" Johnny said, "No!" Johnny's Grandpa then said, "You're not old enough then." Johnny's Grandpa was smoking a cigar later in the evening and Johnny asked, "Can I have a cigar Grandpa?" Johnny's Grandpa again asked, "Can your dick touch your butthole?" Johnny said, "No!" Johnny's Grandpa again said, "You're not old enough then." The next day they went fishing and Grandpa noticed Johnny was eating freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Johnny's Grandpa asked, "Where did you get those cookies?" Johnny said, "Grandma made them for me." Johnny's Grandpa then asked, "Can I get one of those cookies?" Johnny asked, "Can your dick touch your butthole?" Johnny's Grandpa had a smile on his face when he said, "Yes. It can." Johnny smiled back and said, "Good. Go fuck yourself. They're my chocolate chip cookies."
Cake: (Hysterical laughter) INAUDIBLE NOISES.
Kelly: That's impossible. There is no way you can bend a hard penis and have sex with yourself.
OP:(Puzzled) Have you tried?
Kelly: (Massive amounts of embarrassment) Dad. Stop.
Cake: (Unauthorized holding of nail gun and matter-of-fact voice) I think my pee-pee is long enough.
OP: Cake. Put that freaking nail gun back. Now.
That's great Sloppy. This is supposed to be a Hawk story Sloppy. Where in the fuck are you going with this? I have not led you astray Dear Reader. We are talking about Hawk. Hawk, like Kelly, he is a very literal person. This is a very desirable trait during a firefight. Hawk will immediately perform any direction I command during the lead jellybean exchange. However, free-range Hawk scares the living shit out of me. There are many areas in which Hawk excels, but commonsense is not one of them.
Dramatization
Hawk: How was your weekend Sergeant?
OP: Odd. I met this moderately attractive lady at Cafe Risque, and she invited me to her place. Imagine my surprise when I walk into her house and see a giant Nazi flag in her living room.
Hawk: That sounds like a big red flag to me.
No. This did not happen, but this scenario is very plausible. Is the moderately attractive lady being a Nazi supporter the "red flag" for Hawk? I honestly don't know, because I sincerely think Hawk would be oblivious to her White Supremacist prerogative, and simply think, "that's a big red flag." This is the Hawk that scares me the most! How about we talk about a time where literal Hawk scared me?
Dear Reader, please be cognizant that these Hawk stories will eventually end. I have a handful of Hawk stories rattling around my cranium. I will post a long one next week, but the Hawk story this week is short. However, I will put on my Yellow Bracelet ("I Cock-Blocked The Hawk Twice In One Night" reference) and do my best to "Drag" them out. I suggest you find another author if you don't like being put in the trunk of my car only to circle the block twenty times.
The deployment was successful and we were a few days away from departing Iraq. The majority of us were Armied-out. Everyone was dreaming about all the wonderful things we would do when we returned to American soil. The majority of younger Soldiers talked about alcohol and sex nonstop. I had dreams of adding another well-oiled midget to my collection in the attic dungeon. Nobody was interested in fuck-fuck games. However, the Army has a unique way of shitting in your Cheerios when you least expect it.
We had departed our temporary housing area for breakfast chow. The walk to the chow hall was nearly a mile. The Iraqi sun was unbearable, and the midday lunch trip was more akin to a death march. It only took three steps for the sweat and misery to start rolling down your ass-crack. The morning trip was the most bearable, and breakfast food is one of the few foods the Army has trouble fucking up. I am not saying Army cooks are incapable of fucking up bacon and eggs, but breakfast is typically the best meal of the day. Imagine our surprise as we near the chow hall to see a mile-long line.
Hawk: Why is the line so long Sergeant?
OP: Why the fuck would I know?
Hawk: Oh Yeah!
Why was the line so long though? Were the migrant cooks dissatisfied with the incredibly low hourly wages? We continued our disgruntled journey to find ourselves at the end of a nearly quarter-mile long line.
OP: (Pissed) What the actual fuck is going on here?
Hawk: I don't know Sergeant.
OP: It was rhetorical Hawk. Believe me, I "know" you don't know.
Hawk: Want me to go find out Sergeant?
OP: Yeah. Go ahead and do that!
I know Hawk is a literal person, but I didn't see any harm in letting him loose on a "find out" mission. I am not saying I didn't have any worries, but my "Oh My Fucking God, What did Hawk do now?" senses were low. It was late in the deployment and I was certainly complacent. "Complacency kills!" That phrase is often uttered during the end of the a deployment cycle. Mostly because it's true. Well fuck my tits! Hawk didn't kill me, but he certainly gave credence to the "complacency kills" motto. The Sea Monkey was gone for five minutes and came rushing back with an answer.
Hawk: There is a Four Star General at the door greeting people.
OP: Who told you?
Hawk: He did!
OP: (Oh Fuck) What do you mean, "he did"?
Hawk: The General.
OP: Hawk. We have talked about this. Remember? You need to be more specific with your answers.
Hawk: Right sergeant! I asked a couple Soldiers while I was walking up to the entrance and nobody knew why there was a long line. I eventually seen this guy at the door and I asked him; the General.
OP: What General was it, and what did you ask him?
Hawk: I said, "Hey Sir. What are you doing here?" Then he told me he was "thanking us" for our efforts. I don't know who he was. Just some General.
Rant: Just some General? There is not an infinite amount of fucking Four Star Generals. In fact, there are only seven of them in the Army. I have the intellectual capacity to rule some out, but I also know I can add some. Not that it fucking mattered, but I had my list narrowed down to three humanoids of God-level ranking humanoids. For the civilian readers, Hawk basically walked up to Jesus Christ and said, "What are you doing here?"
OP: Awesome. You can stand in front of me.
Hawk: Why?
OP: So I know why I am getting fired.
My fucking god. Did we ever wait in that line. It was going to be lunch by the time we fucking ate. We eventually find ourselves a mere ten people behind the "General." I could now see the General was the U.S. Central Command (CENTCOM) Commander. This "General" is in charge of every military soul in the Middle-East. Not some. Not most. Everyone. Again, God-level echelons above me, and Hawk had already asked him why he was here! Awesome. I got nervous as the line inched forward, and shit my pants when Hawk was next. I had a turd-nugget roll down my pant leg and rest above my right boot as Hawk went to shake the CENTCOM Commander's extended hand.
It was against my better judgement, but I started to feel relieved. Maybe it was just a handshake, thank you, and see you later type ordeal? Another turd-nugget lodged itself above my left boot when it turned into a Question and Answer (Q & A) session.
OP Brain: You are literally watching the death of your career at the hands of Hawk, and you don't have any ammunition anymore. You are going to have to "go manual" when you kill him.
GEN: (Chuckle) Nice to see you again.
OP Brain: FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!
Hawk: Good to see you Sir.
OP Brain: Smooth so far.
GEN: I'd just like to thank you for your service Specialist Hawk.
Hawk: I am proud to serve Sir.
OP Brain: (Happy) Damn. Hawk's got this shit!
GEN: I see you are a Grenadier (Grenade Launcher Guy)!
Hawk: Roger that Sir.
OP Brain: Now walk in the door. GO! GO! GO!
GEN: What do you say I ask you a question? If you get it right, you will get a coin (Giant "I am a Commander" coin), and I will knockout 25 pushups. If you get it wrong, you have to do the pushups. Deal?
OP Brain: NO. No deal Hawk. Walk in the chow hall.
Hawk: Deal Sir!
GEN: What's the maximum effective range of your grenade launcher?
OP Brain: Point or Area Target? I know Hawk knows both of them. Will he utter one, or go platinum and say "Point or Area target" Sir?
Hawk: About 30-feet Sir.
OP Brain: Fuck Everything And Run (FEAR).
GEN: (Straight fucking puzzled) WHAT?
OP Brain: You suck at running! Hawk has a chance at redemption though.
Hawk: 30-feet Sir!!!
OP Brain: Can my brain eat itself?
GEN: (Still puzzled) Why do you say that Specialist Hawk?
Hawk: I don't have any ammo Sir. I figure I can throw this thing about 30-feet!
OP Brain: Don't fucking move extremities. Let's see how this fucking thing plays out.
GEN: (Laughing hysterically) Well. It was not the answer I was looking for, but I suppose you are correct. Here (Presents coin and starts doing pushups).
OP Brain: (NOTHING. Nothing but astonishment)
GEN: (Still laughing) It was nice talking with you Specialist Hawk.
Hawk: (Oblivious) Talk to you later Sir.
OP Brain: I fucking hope not!
My conversation with the General was quick and painless. No I did not tell him I was Hawk's Team Leader. He would have asked why I forgot the leash. How about we just fast-forward? Like you have a choice.
Fast-Forward:
OP: Is that all you're going to eat?
Hawk: Yeah.
OP: You waited in line for nearly 45-minutes for Lucky Charms?
Hawk: I like the marshmallows.
OP: You have like ten boxes under your bed.
Hawk: Yup. How did your conversation with the General go?
OP: Faster and less awkward than yours. Eat your fucking cereal Hawk.
Hawk: Hey, at least I got a coin!
That's it. I sincerely appreciate you strapping in and taking that ride with me. I know! I could have simply wrote about the encounter with the CENTCOM Commander. It would have been short, and good for a small laugh. Writing is therapeutic though. I am by no means a "writer" but I enjoy giving you a small glimpse into my life, and this helps me to alleviate stress. The more I write, the less stress I have afterwards. Thus, the reason I spiral out of control and splinter off on random tangents. Some of you say I'm, "hard to follow." Agreed. Imagine how that feels being being me! I deal with it though. You can deal with it too I suppose.
Cheers!
submitted by SloppyEyeScream to MilitaryStories [link] [comments]

Hawk: What's The Maximum Effective Range Of Your Grenade Launcher?

I would like to ask for a simple favor before I kickoff another Hawk story. We are nearly one-month old, and we have really grown. There was no rhyme-or-reason, but my goal was to have a thousand subscribers. We surpassed that goal quickly, and had more than twenty-five days to spare. We are currently nearing 1,300 subscribers to this particularly unique sub which begs the question, why are there zero stories with more than 200 up-votes? I am not asking anyone to post. Nor am I am asking for anyone to comment. However, there are numerous authors whom have contributed their first ever Reddit story. I think the very least we can do is up-vote, and let them know we enjoyed their story. Rant complete!
Seriously? Shame on you if you actually thought I was done ranting.
Actual Conversation(s):
Wife: Nobody thinks you're funny.
OP: If I agreed with you, we'd both be wrong.
That sounds mighty arrogant Sloppy! Dear Reader, it's more honesty than anything. One of the Eleven Timeless Principles of Leadership (US Army 1948) is "Know self, and seek self-improvement."I may occasionally disregard the "self-improvement" portion of this principle, but I am fully aware of the first portion. I fucking know Sloppy. I understand I am not the funniest bipedal humanoid, but I am funny. Furthermore, I know my particular brand of humor is not universally appreciated, and understand there a people who find it to be repulsive at best. Believe it or not, it is important for me to understand that.
Q: What do the workers at the abortion clinic say at lunchtime?
A: We're hungry, Fetus!
I made that joke up nearly twenty years ago. It is a perfect example of taboo dark humor. I find it comical. I don't go spouting this one-liner everywhere though. I may not be the smartest person in the world, but I am not a complete and utter retard either. My wife is in the medical field, and I wouldn't dare introduce that joke to any of her colleagues. It is vitally important I "know my audience" if I want to fool people into thinking I am fully functioning adult.
Know Your Audience
My wife and I are complete and total opposites; polar opposites. If we were actors, she is Christopher Reeve and I am Christopher Walken. The initial courtship revolved around a considerable amount of drinking, and aggressive cuddling. I was certainly aware we were different people, but I didn't fully realize how different we were until I was well into our married life. Then the kids came; one for each of us. Kelly is sweet, kindhearted, and very literal. Cake is my doppelganger. Cake Judo-chopped his way out of the baby-cave and has been a terrorist ever since.
I have myself a conundrum though. The key that controls my sense of humor snapped-off, and I have been running on "On" ever since I can remember. My humor is autonomic, and lacks a deliberate thought process at times. I instinctual make remarks before my brain has the ability to decide if it was appropriate. This creates parenting problems for Sloppy, specifically with Kelly.
Actual Conversation
Kelly: Why do older guys like Jennifer Anniston so much?
OP: I am not entirely certain. I think it has to do with her being on "Friends" and just generally a very wholesome MILF (Mother I'd Like to Fuck).
Kelly: Do you think she is hot?
OP: Boy, I'd eat a mile of her shit for the opportunity to tongue-punch her fart-box.
Kelly: You'd eat her poop?
The humor eluded him. He was very concerned that I would actually eat a mile of human shit. Actually, this may be a poor example. I am semi-certain I would eat a mile of Jennifer Anniston's shit to tongue-punch that fart-box. This was a very poor and very disturbing example. I now present example number two. This will help prove the aforementioned was not an isolated incident, and that Kelly's literalness can be a detriment.
Both of the boys were in my Garage Man-Cave last night watching the Miami Heat play the Boston Celtics. Kelly was intent on watching the basketball game, and I am fairly certain Cake was mentally determining what power tools would be the most painful torture devices. I bet some of you think I am fucking joking too.!?! My power tool collection is beautifully displayed on a metal peg-board wall. Cake refers to it as, "The Wall of Death."
Many Moons Ago (Maybe a Month)
Cake: Could you kill someone with INSERT POWER TOOL HERE?
OP: They are made for woodworking Cake. However, I suppose you "could" kill someone with most of them.
Cake: Cool! (Then runs off)
OP Brain: Lock the door. Now!
Again, Cake is my doppelganger. I don't personally think he is going to kill anyone, but I won't rule it out either. Anyways, Kelly is watching the basketball game, and Cake is being Cake.
Cake: Can I shoot the nail gun?
OP: Can your dick touch your butthole?
Cake: What?
OP: It's from a joke about not being old enough.
Cake: What joke?
OP: (Busy Woodworking) Nope.
Kelly: Please.
OP: Fine. Johnny's Grandpa is drinking bourbon and Johnny asked for a sip. Grandpa asked, "Can your dick touch your butthole?" Johnny said, "No!" Johnny's Grandpa then said, "You're not old enough then." Johnny's Grandpa was smoking a cigar later in the evening and Johnny asked, "Can I have a cigar Grandpa?" Johnny's Grandpa again asked, "Can your dick touch your butthole?" Johnny said, "No!" Johnny's Grandpa again said, "You're not old enough then." The next day they went fishing and Grandpa noticed Johnny was eating freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Johnny's Grandpa asked, "Where did you get those cookies?" Johnny said, "Grandma made them for me." Johnny's Grandpa then asked, "Can I get one of those cookies?" Johnny asked, "Can your dick touch your butthole?" Johnny's Grandpa had a smile on his face when he said, "Yes. It can." Johnny smiled back and said, "Good. Go fuck yourself. They're my chocolate chip cookies."
Cake: (Hysterical laughter) INAUDIBLE NOISES.
Kelly: That's impossible. There is no way you can bend a hard penis and have sex with yourself.
OP:(Puzzled) Have you tried?
Kelly: (Massive amounts of embarrassment) Dad. Stop.
Cake: (Unauthorized holding of nail gun and matter-of-fact voice) I think my pee-pee is long enough.
OP: Cake. Put that freaking nail gun back. Now.
That's great Sloppy. This is supposed to be a Hawk story Sloppy. Where in the fuck are you going with this? I have not led you astray Dear Reader. We are talking about Hawk. Hawk, like Kelly, he is a very literal person. This is a very desirable trait during a firefight. Hawk will immediately perform any direction I command during the lead jellybean exchange. However, free-range Hawk scares the living shit out of me. There are many areas in which Hawk excels, but commonsense is not one of them.
Dramatization
Hawk: How was your weekend Sergeant?
OP: Odd. I met this moderately attractive lady at Cafe Risque, and she invited me to her place. Imagine my surprise when I walk into her house and see a giant Nazi flag in her living room.
Hawk: That sounds like a big red flag to me.
No. This did not happen, but this scenario is very plausible. Is the moderately attractive lady being a Nazi supporter the "red flag" for Hawk? I honestly don't know, because I sincerely think Hawk would be oblivious to her White Supremacist prerogative, and simply think, "that's a big red flag." This is the Hawk that scares me the most! How about we talk about a time where literal Hawk scared me?
Dear Reader, please be cognizant that these Hawk stories will eventually end. I have a handful of Hawk stories rattling around my cranium. I will post a long one next week, but the Hawk story this week is short. However, I will put on my Yellow Bracelet ("I Cock-Blocked The Hawk Twice In One Night" reference) and do my best to "Drag" them out. I suggest you find another author if you don't like being put in the trunk of my car only to circle the block twenty times.
The deployment was successful and we were a few days away from departing Iraq. The majority of us were Armied-out. Everyone was dreaming about all the wonderful things we would do when we returned to American soil. The majority of younger Soldiers talked about alcohol and sex nonstop. I had dreams of adding another well-oiled midget to my collection in the attic dungeon. Nobody was interested in fuck-fuck games. However, the Army has a unique way of shitting in your Cheerios when you least expect it.
We had departed our temporary housing area for breakfast chow. The walk to the chow hall was nearly a mile. The Iraqi sun was unbearable, and the midday lunch trip was more akin to a death march. It only took three steps for the sweat and misery to start rolling down your ass-crack. The morning trip was the most bearable, and breakfast food is one of the few foods the Army has trouble fucking up. I am not saying Army cooks are incapable of fucking up bacon and eggs, but breakfast is typically the best meal of the day. Imagine our surprise as we near the chow hall to see a mile-long line.
Hawk: Why is the line so long Sergeant?
OP: Why the fuck would I know?
Hawk: Oh Yeah!
Why was the line so long though? Were the migrant cooks dissatisfied with the incredibly low hourly wages? We continued our disgruntled journey to find ourselves at the end of a nearly quarter-mile long line.
OP: (Pissed) What the actual fuck is going on here?
Hawk: I don't know Sergeant.
OP: It was rhetorical Hawk. Believe me, I "know" you don't know.
Hawk: Want me to go find out Sergeant?
OP: Yeah. Go ahead and do that!
I know Hawk is a literal person, but I didn't see any harm in letting him loose on a "find out" mission. I am not saying I didn't have any worries, but my "Oh My Fucking God, What did Hawk do now?" senses were low. It was late in the deployment and I was certainly complacent. "Complacency kills!" That phrase is often uttered during the end of the a deployment cycle. Mostly because it's true. Well fuck my tits! Hawk didn't kill me, but he certainly gave credence to the "complacency kills" motto. The Sea Monkey was gone for five minutes and came rushing back with an answer.
Hawk: There is a Four Star General at the door greeting people.
OP: Who told you?
Hawk: He did!
OP: (Oh Fuck) What do you mean, "he did"?
Hawk: The General.
OP: Hawk. We have talked about this. Remember? You need to be more specific with your answers.
Hawk: Right sergeant! I asked a couple Soldiers while I was walking up to the entrance and nobody knew why there was a long line. I eventually seen this guy at the door and I asked him; the General.
OP: What General was it, and what did you ask him?
Hawk: I said, "Hey Sir. What are you doing here?" Then he told me he was "thanking us" for our efforts. I don't know who he was. Just some General.
Rant: Just some General? There is not an infinite amount of fucking Four Star Generals. In fact, there are only seven of them in the Army. I have the intellectual capacity to rule some out, but I also know I can add some. Not that it fucking mattered, but I had my list narrowed down to three humanoids of God-level ranking humanoids. For the civilian readers, Hawk basically walked up to Jesus Christ and said, "What are you doing here?"
OP: Awesome. You can stand in front of me.
Hawk: Why?
OP: So I know why I am getting fired.
My fucking god. Did we ever wait in that line. It was going to be lunch by the time we fucking ate. We eventually find ourselves a mere ten people behind the "General." I could now see the General was the U.S. Central Command (CENTCOM) Commander. This "General" is in charge of every military soul in the Middle-East. Not some. Not most. Everyone. Again, God-level echelons above me, and Hawk had already asked him why he was here! Awesome. I got nervous as the line inched forward, and shit my pants when Hawk was next. I had a turd-nugget roll down my pant leg and rest above my right boot as Hawk went to shake the CENTCOM Commander's extended hand.
It was against my better judgement, but I started to feel relieved. Maybe it was just a handshake, thank you, and see you later type ordeal? Another turd-nugget lodged itself above my left boot when it turned into a Question and Answer (Q & A) session.
OP Brain: You are literally watching the death of your career at the hands of Hawk, and you don't have any ammunition anymore. You are going to have to "go manual" when you kill him.
GEN: (Chuckle) Nice to see you again.
OP Brain: FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!
Hawk: Good to see you Sir.
OP Brain: Smooth so far.
GEN: I'd just like to thank you for your service Specialist Hawk.
Hawk: I am proud to serve Sir.
OP Brain: (Happy) Damn. Hawk's got this shit!
GEN: I see you are a Grenadier (Grenade Launcher Guy)!
Hawk: Roger that Sir.
OP Brain: Now walk in the door. GO! GO! GO!
GEN: What do you say I ask you a question? If you get it right, you will get a coin (Giant "I am a Commander" coin), and I will knockout 25 pushups. If you get it wrong, you have to do the pushups. Deal?
OP Brain: NO. No deal Hawk. Walk in the chow hall.
Hawk: Deal Sir!
GEN: What's the maximum effective range of your grenade launcher?
OP Brain: Point or Area Target? I know Hawk knows both of them. Will he utter one, or go platinum and say "Point or Area target" Sir?
Hawk: About 30-feet Sir.
OP Brain: Fuck Everything And Run (FEAR).
GEN: (Straight fucking puzzled) WHAT?
OP Brain: You suck at running! Hawk has a chance at redemption though.
Hawk: 30-feet Sir!!!
OP Brain: Can my brain eat itself?
GEN: (Still puzzled) Why do you say that Specialist Hawk?
Hawk: I don't have any ammo Sir. I figure I can throw this thing about 30-feet!
OP Brain: Don't fucking move extremities. Let's see how this fucking thing plays out.
GEN: (Laughing hysterically) Well. It was not the answer I was looking for, but I suppose you are correct. Here (Presents coin and starts doing pushups).
OP Brain: (NOTHING. Nothing but astonishment)
GEN: (Still laughing) It was nice talking with you Specialist Hawk.
Hawk: (Oblivious) Talk to you later Sir.
OP Brain: I fucking hope not!
My conversation with the General was quick and painless. No I did not tell him I was Hawk's Team Leader. He would have asked why I forgot the leash. How about we just fast-forward? Like you have a choice.
Fast-Forward:
OP: Is that all you're going to eat?
Hawk: Yeah.
OP: You waited in line for nearly 45-minutes for Lucky Charms?
Hawk: I like the marshmallows.
OP: You have like ten boxes under your bed.
Hawk: Yup. How did your conversation with the General go?
OP: Faster and less awkward than yours. Eat your fucking cereal Hawk.
Hawk: Hey, at least I got a coin!
That's it. I sincerely appreciate you strapping in and taking that ride with me. I know! I could have simply wrote about the encounter with the CENTCOM Commander. It would have been short, and good for a small laugh. Writing is therapeutic though. I am by no means a "writer" but I enjoy giving you a small glimpse into my life, and this helps me to alleviate stress. The more I write, the less stress I have afterwards. Thus, the reason I spiral out of control and splinter off on random tangents. Some of you say I'm, "hard to follow." Agreed. Imagine how that feels being being me! I deal with it though. You can deal with it too I suppose.
Cheers!
submitted by SloppyEyeScream to FuckeryUniveristy [link] [comments]

Hawk Walks Home In A Combat Zone

Sorry militarystories. I am currently working on the final Hawk story, and I realized that I had failed to post the below story here. Below is a short story, Sloppy short, about Hawk walking home in Iraq. I hope to post the final Hawk story later today. Cheers.
I have always been a very independent person. I am also not they type of person to reach out to anyone to catch up. In general, I would not expect of phone call from SloppyEyeScream. I extend this courtesy to my parents as well. My lack of communication has always been a jagged pill to swallow for my mother. My father could care less, and take that jagged little pill suppository-style and continue on with his day. However, there are still times when I am "socially expected" to return an unanswered phone call. Specifically, my birthday.
I may have been a week late, but I eventually returned my "Happy Birthday" phone call. My mother updated me on all the people that have died, despite me not knowing most of them, and transitioned the phone to my father. The conversation with my father is short, sweet, and too the point. The way phone conversations should be. However, this particular conversation was YouTube-style. You start with a clearly defined search subject, and then five minutes later you're watching people popping zits. I frequently find the "end of the internet" and I typically have no fucking clue how I got there. Well, we went from "Happy Birthday" to "Grape-Fucking-Jelly" in about two minutes.
OP: I just fucking hate grape jelly. I hate apple jelly too. Fuck jelly in general.
Dad: I don't really care for jelly either. I like jam.
OP: I am good with any jam. I don't even understand why WIFE buys fucking jelly. The grape jelly in our fridge is on it's third president.
Dad: You know the difference between jelly and jam right?
OP: Crushed-actual-fucking-fruit?
Dad: Well. Yeah. I was gonna say you can't jelly your dick into a vagina though.
What does this have to do with Hawk? Fucking nothing. You know who posted this story, and you should know by now what you have signed up for. You have already completed the first tangent of this particular Hawk story. Let my screen name, SloppyEyeScream, serve as a warning and consent form. Nobody is making you read this abomination, and we both know it's certainly not educational reading. Let's talk about Hawk.
I know there is at least one person out there asking, "Who the fuck is Hawk?" I have received numerous Direct Messages (DMs) from people stating, "I should have started at the beginning." I will simply assume you will forgo my advice to read the previous stories and take a brief moment to explain the humanoid know as Hawk.
How does a potato generate electricity and power a light bulb? Lets be clear, the potato is not, inn of itself, an energy source. The potato simply helps to conduct electricity by acting as a "salt-bridge". The potato contains sugar, water, and acid. Certain types of metal, such as copper and zinc, react with the potato when inserted inside. They essentially become electrodes. One positive, one negative, and electrons flow between the metals inside inside the potato, thus producing an electric current.
What the fuck does that mean? Hawk's Brain Housing Unit (BHU) is completely devoid of a human brain. Instead, there is a very large potato. This potato assists in generating enough electrical current to power human extremities, but lacks to ability to compute and solve complex problems. I honestly believe there is a potato at the helm. A very, very fucking stupid potato at that.
Dramatization
OP: Hawk. What is one plus one?
Hawk: One plus one Sergeant?
OP: Yes. What is one plus one?
Hawk: Jello. Final answer!
I believe this should provide you, the Reader, with enough insight about our character Hawk, and I said this wouldn't be educational. Would ya look at that! What do you say we actually get into the story?
We are in beautiful and sunny Iraq. Our Company Headquarters had departed our small Forward Operating Base (FOB) to setup shop at an even smaller FOB. The Platoons rotated in-and-out of this particular location to conduct Raids, but there was also a considerable focus on counter-mortar and counter-rocket operations. For our civilian readers; man-dress and flip-flop wearing jihadist enjoyed killing or maiming us with flying projectiles that exploded. We would employ Small Kill Teams (SKTs) in order to prevent that from happening.
There are numerous ways to skin this terrorist-cat, and I have employed numerous techniques to vitally damage a persons squishy-bits. However, sometimes it is easier to just fight fire-with-fire, and send mortars back their way. Tag, you're dead! This is a bit more complex, because we care about collateral damage, and killing an innocent civilian does not make for good Public Relations (PR). In order to avoid this, we continually "registered" our mortars. Meaning we would depart the FOB and observe the mortar registration, and provide firing data corrections. Don't worry, I occasionally ride the window-flavored short-bus also.
Mortars are an Indirect Fire (IDF) weapon system. A mortar can fire "in-the-blind". Simply, they don't have to physically see their target. Our mortar team was located within a compound and relied on math to ensure the angry metal they sent flying hit Location X. During the registration, we would actually observe it, and provide corrections if required. They shoot to Location X, and we ensure it impacts Location X, or provide corrections, and re-shoot. Got it?
My Platoon was co-located and supporting the Company Headquarters that week. There was some initial confusion at first, but I was told I needed to provided bodies. I knew it was not my turn to sacrifice my men to the brutal heat, but I obliged. I provided two Soldiers, and one of them was Hawk. One would serve as a babysitter, and the other was the potato-brained dodo bird.
Sending Hawk anywhere is like sending your child to their first day of school. It is a little different with Hawk though. We are all aware that educational progress will be hopelessly lost on him, but we should at least ensure he gets on the correct short-bus. We wave goodbye to our dumb-loving potato and pray his big brother keeps him out of trouble. Einstein stated, "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." I'm fucking well-aware Albert, but frankly speaking, I was was elated Hawk was out of my peripheral for a couple of hours. What OP? You're sending Hawk? You're fucking damn right I am!
OP's Logical Reasoning
  1. "Two bodies" were requested.
  2. The definition of a "body" is: the physical structure of a person or an animal, including bones, flesh, and organs. Hawk, at the very best, meets this very minimal criteria.
  3. There was ample adult supervision.
  4. What if Hawk successfully evades Darwinism, yet again, and returns hour later? Win.
  5. What if Hawk succumbs to Darwinism and is no longer my problem? Win.
Furthermore, the Commander and First Sergeant were at the mortar registration. There was also, at least, four Squad Leaders, and numerous Team Leaders supporting this event. It was stacked with very definition of "adult supervision". What the fuck could go wrong? EVERYTHING!
They had been gone for a couple hours now. I had already successfully worked-out, showered, and returned to my room to enjoy the peace and tranquility of a Hawk-free environment. I was not even at the midway point of the deployment, but I need a reprieve. It is astonishing to think humans have continually evolved for nearly 500,000 years, but then a Hawk is birthed. What a fucking disappointment. Hawk? He won the Easter Egg hunt? He was the most worthy candidate in that load of ball-barf? I should have half expected the following conversation.
Operations Soldier (OS): Hey Sergeant OP! Do you know where Hawk is?
OP: Yeah. He is out on the mortar registration.
OS: No. He is not out there!
OP: (Face Palm) I'll play your silly fucking games. "Where is Hawk?"
This guy is getting kind of nervous. It is almost like we somehow managed to lose a fully grown human who just happens to have an assault rifle with 210 rounds of ammunition, which is also outfitted with fucking grenade launcher and 40 High Explosive Dual Purpose (HEDP) grenades that can travel around 400-meters. Oh wait. We did lose that human.
OS: Shit! He is unaccounted for Sergeant.
OP: You guys just lost Retarded-Rambo! (Statement; Not a question)
OS: Oh Fuck!
I follow OS to the Tactical Operations Center (TOC). I am only partially worried about the misplaced Hawk. I was not necessarily needed in the TOC, but I had strong desire to watch OS's face when he radio the Commander. Most people would have been worried, but I wasn't. I was happier than a tornado in a trailer park full of meth labs. Hawk was robo-retard and he was undefeated against Darwin. I know, "What if he was captured by terrorist OP?" Fine! I'll play your fucking games Reader. Not all terrorist are dumb. If captured, they would have immediately determined that returning Hawk was more of a detriment to the American end-state. I am positive that terrorist would have wished him away after a mere one minute interaction.
Radio Traffic!
OS: Commander (CDR) this is TOC; over.
CDR: TOC; go for Commander.
OS: Roger. CODE-NAME is not here.
CDR: Did you check EVERYWHERE?
OS: Roger. CODE-NAME is still unaccounted for. Should I notify Battalion?
CDR: NO! We will continue to our search. I will contact you when we need to notify higher.
Dear Reader, this situation has just become a shit-show. Notifying Battalion, your boss, of something bad is part of the job. There are varying degrees of bad though. Losing a Soldier? It's a Category 5 Hurricane that rains tits and ass, and "they" just got hit with dicks. I am A-okay at this point. I signed over my custodial rights when I strapped that kindergarten kid in the gun truck. I was free-and-clear of any blame at this point. I stuck around in the TOC to watch this dumpster fire play out though. It was a very tense thirty minutes, and they were on the verge of finally notifying Battalion of this catastrophic blunder, and then the TOC door swings open; it was Hawk!
Hawk: I'm back Sergeant!
Cue hysterical fucking laughter! I cannot compose myself enough to even speak to Hawk. The Operations Soldier is baffled; like he was at the urinal, but just noticed he was holding someone else's dick type of look. The entire time I sat spinning in the office chair I did nothing but imagine Hawk barging through the door, ALONE! It was the most improbable outcome. However, we are talking about Hawk, which means the most improbable outcome is likely your best fucking bet!
OS: WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU? HOW IN THE FUCK DID YOU GET BACK? WHAT THE...
OP: (Talking to OS) STOP! Don't say another fucking work. (Now Hawk) Hey buddy! How was it out there?
Hawk: (Just as fucking oblivious as ever.) It was okay Sergeant.
OP: Good. Go back to the Team Room and chill out. Eat some lunch or whatever. I will come get you when the rest of the guys get back. Cool?
Hawk: Roger Sergeant
Hawk Departs!
OS: What the fuck Sergeant?
OP: Brother! I prefer to get mad once as opposed to over-and-over again. Let's just wait until First Sergeant Gets back.
The Operations Soldier immediately notifies the Commander of Hawk's whereabouts and the peasants rejoice. There were a metric fuck-ton of questions, but everyone was at-ease now. I was still bubbling with joy. I wanted First Sergeant to experience the joyous insanity he has bestowed upon me firsthand. I was not dealing with this problem alone; we were dealing with this problem together.
Fast Forward One Hour!
First Sergeant (1SG): (TOC Door SCREAMS OPEN) Where the fuck is he?
OP: Team Room.
1SG: What the fuck did he have to say?
OP: Not this time 1SG. I waited for you. We can happily question him together.
His anger almost instantly subsided. He now had a maniacal smile. We were going to hold hands and explore the inner bowels of Hawk's logical reasoning and potato-brained actions together. We were jumping off that cliff at the same time. There was no war gaming or engagement strategy developed on the walk over either. The distinctive sound of crushing gravel beneath our feet kept us company.
The Team Room
1SG: HAWK! There you are you little fucker!
Hawk: Oh, Hey First Sergeant!
My outside facial expression screamed "business," but I was laughing harder than a titanium boner at an orgy.
1SG: How in the fuck did you get back.
Hawk: I walked back! (With a well-timed and priceless giggle.)
1SG: What the fuck do you mean "I walked back?"
Hawk: I dunno. I just walked back?
First Sergeant was defeated. He gave me the "tag-you're-it" look. He evidently didn't have the ability to irrationally-rationalize and reason with the likes of Hawk.
OP: Why did you walk back Hawk?
Hawk: First Sergeant told me Sergeant.
First Sergeant stood up immediately. There was a very obvious rage in his eyes. I think wanted to "lose" Hawk again, but this time in little tiny bits spread throughout the countryside. He clearly wanted to grab Hawk's face like a bowling ball, and skull drag him to a private execution. I use the "one-armed-hand-up-I-got-this-shit" gesture. There was just so much more to learn before his death! Meanwhile, I would like to point out that Hawk is just lounging in his chair and while eating a Meal Read to Eat (MRE/Army Happy Meal). Just plain fucking oblivious.
OP: HOW-DID-FIRST-SERGEANT-TELL-YOU?
Hawk: First Sergeant came up and said, "Man! We have way too many people out here. If I was you, I'd just walk my happy ass back." So I did Sergeant.
First Sergeant is now clinching his fists so tight that I was anticipating one of his digits popping through to the top of his wrists. His face was beet-fucking-red with anger, and I just mouth, "You told (Finger Pointed Towards Head Wrist Circle Motion (Retard Hand-and Arm Signal) to go home?" There is an immediate calming realization for First Sergeant. He just realized, he inadvertently, told Hawk to leave. Yes, any rational Soldier would have realized this was a joke. We were not dealing with a rational person though. This was just plain fucking comical. It was First Sergeants fault. This is what happens when you let Lenny pet rabbits folks.
OP: (Now laughing) So. Ah! How'd you get back exactly.
Hawk: I just turned around and walked back Sergeant. I pushed through the tall grass until I got to the highway. I raised my gun so cars slowed down, and walked across the road to the Entry Control Point (ECP). They asked me for a convoy number, but I didn't have one. They let me in and I walked here. It would've been much quicker if I had a ride back. That grass was fucking thick.
1SG: Hey OP. Let's go talk outside!
OP: Roger.
Fast-Forward One Minute!
1SG: Is he fucking serious?
OP: We're talking about Hawk. Why the fuck did you tell him to leave?
1SG: I didn't "tell him leave." It was a fucking joke.
OP: You told Hawk! The literalist, "IF I WAS YOU, I'D JUST WALK MY HAPPY ASS BACK." He walked his happy ass back. Frankly, I am quite impressed he was able to follow simple instructions.
1SG: Are you saying I should be "happy" about this?
OP: Fuck! I am.
I finally cracked the boss. He was laughing hysterically. The Commander went through the same phases of anger, more anger, extreme anger, and then laughter when we relayed the story. This was just another day in the life of Hawk though. Hawk 1. Darwin ZERO.
For the anticipated questions. The mortar registration was literally right across the highway. Hawk walked approximately 400-meters and was held up at the gate because he was his own one-person convoy. No punishment was administered. Hawk was merely "following" the suggested orders from First Sergeant. I did have a fully detailed talk with Hawk, but I don't know the intellectual storage capacity of a potato. Besides, how would you recommend I punish a person who cannot comprehend what they did "wrong"? If I told Cake, "Man. The cookies your mom made look delicious. If I was you, I'd eat them all," and he fucking ate them all; shame on me! But Hawk is not a child OP! Have you met Hawk?
Cheers!
submitted by SloppyEyeScream to MilitaryStories [link] [comments]

An Outdoor Fresh Scented Purple Heart!

I posted this to MilitaryStories. However, I decided to post here as well. Mostly because we own the place. I apologize, I forgot about my Monday Hawk Story too. It was an epic failure on my part, but I will do my best to make it up to you. I recently threw my back out, and I was curled up in the fetal position. I think Cake had something to do with it. This story will have to suffice for now, and I will start my Hawk story tomorrow. Cheers!
The story of my first Purple Heart has all the makings of a great "war story." There are numerous reasons to abruptly stop a vehicle in motion. I can unequivocally say daisy-chained artillery shells is a very effective way to rapidly decelerate a soft-skinned gun truck. I can also unequivocally say this is the absolute least preferred method if you happen to occupy the gun truck that is being abruptly halted. However, we didn't have a choice in the matter. Adding insult to literal injury, the kindhearted locals further welcomed our presence with a hail of gunfire. Again, all the makings of a fine war story, but we are going to talk about my second Purple Heart. Why? Because, "What are the fucking odds?"
Live Science Online states, "four seasons - winter, spring, summer, and autumn - can vary significantly in characteristics, and can prompt changes in the world around them." Many of us warfighters are familiar with another weather phenomenon, and it really "prompts changes in the world"; fighting season. This typically occurs when the desert heat is less potent, and this particular weather condition typically involves fast moving projectiles such as indirect fire (IDF) and sweet lead jellybeans.
We had just spent a miserable ten days conducting operations from our Company Outpost (COP). It was as an austere vacation spot in the heart of Baghdad. The Michelin Star worthy menu was comprised of 24 different Army Happy Meals. These meals were truly "Meals Ready to Eat" because the building we occupied lacked Air Conditioning (AC). Like our grundle, these delectable meals were always a balmy "whatever-it-is-outside" plus another ten degrees. Simply delicious. Oh, there were only two Port-A-Johns, and no running water.
The Platoon was always excited to arrive back at our Forward Operating Base (FOB). It was always a much needed reprieve from the never ending chaos the COP provided us. We still conducted operations, and Quick Reaction Force (QRF) missions, but at least we had a more suitable place to call home for a week. However, this location demanded we look more presentable, and smell less like Dutch oven basted skunk farts.
"You look like a fucking hippie," was my First Sergeant's subtle way of telling me I needed a haircut the night we arrived back at the FOB. I would rather keister a M-67 Fragmentation Grenade than upset First Sergeant, mostly because he told me, "If you don't get a haircut, I am going to shove one of these things up your ass." Well, "these things" was a M-67 Fragmentation Grenade. First Sergeant didn't appear to have a delicate touch of a tiny-fingered colorectal surgeon, so I decided a haircut was in order. Besides, my hair was still capable of growing back at the time.
Day Two
Chris and I set out on an epic journey during our second day back at the FOB. It was a journey I will never forget. It started like any other until we reached our decisive point in the hair cutting operation. We had arrived at a fork in the road.
Chris: Where you going Sloppy?
OP: I thought we were getting haircuts?
Chris: We are. It's quicker if we cut through the motor pool though.
OP: No. It's quicker if we walk around the side.
Chris: No. It's not.
OP: (Angrily) Yes. It is!
Chris: (More Angrily) I get more haircuts than you. This way is quicker.
We argued for no less than two-minutes. Insignificant at the time, but it will become more significant later. I surrendered. Chris was correct, but only about him getting more haircuts. We continued to argue about the quickest route as I followed Chris through the motor pool. Then we heard a very strange "thud". It was a very unfamiliar thud.
Chris: What the fuck was that?
OP: Don't know!?!
Chris: Think it was outgoing?
OP: No. That was definitely not outgoing. Maybe incoming?
Chris: No way. The sirens would be going off it's it incoming.
OP: Well, I am certain it wasn't outgoing either.
BOOM (A Very, Very LOUD BOOM)
I briefly, but only very briefly, recall it being loud. I suppose I was a bit concussed after that. I must have decided to take a brief nap as well, because I woke up in a strange looking room and Chris was frantically runny around. I had no earthly idea what was going on.
OP: What the fuck are you doing?
Chris: You're bleeding man!
OP: No I am not.
Then I looked down and my pants and immediately found out I was a liar. A bloody liar at that.
OP: Yup. I'm bleeding!
Chris was still feverishly searching around for something when the radio started to chatter.
"Sloppy, this is Dan. You guys okay?"
Chris: Dan, this is Chris. Negative. We are NOT okay. Sloppy got hit, and took shrapnel to the face and neck.
Chris was really excited for some reason. Watching all four of him running around the room was really starting to make me nauseous though.
For the sake of my sanity, I am going to forgo the "You, this is me" radio communications. Chris and Dan are consummate professionals and their radio etiquette was impeccable.
Dan: Where are you guys at?
Chris: Fuck. I don't know. I just dragged Sloppy into some room. PAPER TOWELS!!!
Chris, being a brutish professional had just found paper towels and applied them to my face. Chris took that "apply pressure" shit seriously. Manny "Chris" Pacquiao just wrapped his hands in paper towels and sucker-punched my mandible. The immense amount of pressure applied to my face was overwhelming.
Dan: Stay there until the "All Clear" and then I will meet you at the Aid...
OP: AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! AHHHHHHHH!!!
The daze and confusion had miraculously wore off instantly. I was now fully aware of the pain I was in. It felt like an East German Swim Team member was power-buffing my face with a hedgehog and using Bear Spray as a lubricant. I always have trouble numerating my pain on the one-to-ten pain scale while talking to medical providers. I don't know if I am underselling my manliness, or overselling the size of my vagina. I would not have struggled to answer the one-to-ten pain scale question this time; it was a fucking eleven.
Why was I in immense pain now though? I am not a doctor, but I have taken Tactical Combat Casualty Care (TCCC) enough to at least be a Physicians Assistant (PA) or Nurse Practitioner (NP). I think I have it figured out. There is a vast superhighway of nerve fibers in the human body. My medical prognosis? There was clearly road construction underway on my superhighway. The Road Construction Flagger, the guy that makes you late for work, had the sign on Stop. However, the other side was not "Slow." Road Construction Flagger person fucked up that day, and accidentally grabbed the sign that had "Right Fucking Now" on the reverse side. Honest mistake I suppose, at least traffic was flowing.
I began to wrestle with Chris. I wanted the pain to stop. I should mention that Chris is a much larger human than I am. I was David to his Goliath, but I wasn't exactly in fighting condition.
OP: Please. Please get it off my face...
Dan: What's going on? Sloppy okay?
OP: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
Chris: Hold on Dan. Sloppy is fighting me.
OP: Please. Get it off my face!
Chris: NO. WE NEED TO STOP THE BLEEDING.
OP: Please. IT BURNS.
Chris had one hand on the nape of my neck, and the other was plowing paper towels into my jawline. I assume Chris finally started to notice his "buddy-aid" was doing more harm to our friendship because he started to release my Brain Housing Unit (BHU) from his death-grip. I immediately realized the cause of my intense during the midst of Chris relieving the pressure from my face. I was a fucking problem solver.
I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), and I have "my way" of doing things. My wife sucks at Operation Do Laundry. She thinks everything gets washed, together, and in cold water. I separate whites, lights, darks, and towels. I use bleach. I use color-guard. I know when to leverage the power of hot water. "Wait! Where the fuck you going with this Sloppy?" Dear Reader, have I ever lead you on a pointless tangent? Maybe! There are very few things Mrs. Sloppy does that annoy me, but her her disregard for dryer sheets annoys me. I love static free laundry, and happen to enjoy the Outdoor Fresh Scent that Bounce provides. Chris was ever-so-slowly releasing pressure, and I fucking smelled the source of my pain.
OP: Those aren't paper towels. Those are dryer sheets asshole.
Chris: (Laughing and Intense) Whoa! Ops! My bad bro!
Dan: Chris. Chris. Chris. CHRIS.
Chris: (Radio to Dan) Wait one!
My mental acuity lost a fucking tire during the drive to the barber shop. I remember foolishly arguing about the quickest path, then waking up, and realizing some village was missing it's idiot. Dear Reader, sniff dryer sheets if you ever believe you are mentally lost. Sniff the fuck outta them. It may hurt, but you'll wake-the-fuck-up immediately.
OP: We're in a laundry mat? We have a laundry mat at FOB INSERT NAME?
Chris: (Like I was wondering toddler.) WAIT...HERE!
Chris then got his shit together. He starting ripping open a dryers, found another cloth-like item, and pummeled my mandible again. He was viciously smothering me with affection.
OP: What's that?
Chris: Somebody's gym shirt! We have to stop the bleeding.
Chris only needed one hand to subdue me. He was clearly strong enough to multitask and call Dan back.
Chris: Dan, this is Chris.
Dan: What the fuck is going on there?
Chris: We are good now. I am applying pressure and Sloppy is alert.
Dan: Alert!?! Why was he screaming?
Chris: I accidentally used dryer sheets...
OP: (I summoned my Violet Beauregarde) I wanna talk. Let me talk. IT'S MY RADIO...
Chris: Sloppy wants to talk.
OP: Dan, this is Sloppy.
Dan: You okay buddy?
OP: No. This asshole doesn't know the difference between paper towels and DRYER SHEETS. My face is on fire Dan. Chris put FUCKING DRYER SHEETS ON MY OPEN WOUND. DRYER SHEETS DAN.
Big Voice: All Clear. All Clear. All Clear.
Dan: I will meet you guys at the Aid Station.
I stood firm and stated I was capable of walking. However, Chris had a very strong desire to fireman carry me to the Aid Station. Probably because I knew a quicker way, and he was tired of arguing. The "All Clear" had been given, but Chris choose to run to the Aid Station like an asshole and didn't miss a single bump. Thankfully, the Aid Station medics had been notified that I was injured. However, that didn't stop them from asking the stupid question.
Medic: What happened to Sloppy?
Chris: Seriously? We just took mortar-fire!
Medic: Where does hurt Sloppy NICKNAME?
OP: My face. RIGHT WHERE HE PUT THE DRYER SHEETS.
Medic: (Looking at Chris) Dryer sheets?
Chris: (I'm Busted Face) Yeah. I accidentally used dryer sheets to stop the bleeding.
Medic: (Laughing) Wow. Bet that hurt.
OP: IT FUCKING BURNED. MY FACE IS BURNING.
Dear Reader, nothing super fun happened at the Aid Station. They irrigated the my wounds with not-dryer sheets and removed the all the shrapnel from my neck, and most of the shrapnel from my face. I still have a small participation trophy. The doctor told me it was too close to some important nerve-thingy (Technical Term). It helps me forecast weather though, and I have grown to love it. I occasionally get drunk enough to willingly perform the removal-operation, but my wife is totally against it.
It took a considerable amount of time to remove all the shrapnel from my neck. The skin is elastic, and refused to cooperate with the forceps. The medics eventually bandaged me up and gave me some gnarly pain killers. I was told, "nothing but bed rest for the rest of the week." Dan and Chris escorted me back to my bed where I found a Department of the Army (DA) Form 2823 Sworn Statement. I was puzzled with as to why, but a crowd was starting to form around my bed. The village idiot had returned.
OP: What the fuck is this?
1SG: I need you to fill out the Sworn Statement so I can submit it with the award.
OP: Award?
1SG: Yeah! AWARD. You're getting a Purple Heart.
OP: I already have one. I don't need another Enemy Marksmanship Badge.
1SG: FILL IT OUT!
Dear Reader, if you made it this far, you are fully aware I can ramble. I filled out the Sworn Statement, rambled my ass off, and gave it to the Company Operations Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO). I didn't proofread it, and I would eventually find out that nobody else proofed it either. The highest ranking officer on the FOB called the Company Operations NCO expressed his desire to have a meeting with Sloppy, the village idiot. My First Sergeant and Platoon Sergeants presence was requested as well. Nobody was worried, because we thought it was a "congratulations for not dying" occasion.
FOB Commander Colonel (COL): Do you guys know why you are here?
I think we all assumed it had something to do with me being injured, but nobody was prepared for what the Colonel said next.
COL: "Chris and I departed on an epic journey to get haircuts. We came to a decisive point while gallivanting the Forward Operating Base: Go around the motor pool, or go through the motor pool and get with a motor? We decided to take the motor pool route..." What the fuck is this?
I don't think the question was necessarily directed at me, but I was doped up enough to answer.
OP: Sir. I was told I needed to fill out a Sworn Statement. I did.
COL: (Not Happy) Army writing is SHORT, CONCISE, AND TOO THE POINT. This is not..
OP: Sir. I already have a Purple Heart. I don't want...
1SG: Sloppy is high right now Sir. Though you should know...
COL: (Laughing now. Not sure why, but totally laughing.) WELL YOU'RE FUCKING GETTING ONE. Tell me what "REALLY" happened. Be concise.
OP: I went to get a haircut and got hit with a mortar instead.
COL: I see you dilemma. That story sucks. BUT, you're going to write a new Sworn Statement.
OP: Roger Sir!
I wrote my second Sworn Statement, and it was short. "I went to get a haircut, and got hit with a mortar round HERE." The FOB Commander was angry at first, but I was enough of a village idiot to humor him I suppose. The walk back to the barracks was just as comical as the discussion with the FOB Commander.
1SG: You actually put that?
OP: I never did a Sworn Statement for my first Purple Heart. I thought you were fucking with me when you asked me to fill it out.
1SG: Jesus! Go to your room, rest, and make sure you make time to get a haircut, THIS WEEK!
That was that! There was no epic firefight in the name of freedom. Just two idiots, walking around, getting hunted, while we hunted haircuts. Don't worry Dear Reader, I know you have one nagging question. I would not leave you hanging in the edge of a suspenseful cliff. The peasants rejoiced, and the fighting season continued for a week without the presence of Sloppy. Two weeks later, I proudly stood in formation, with a haircut that only five dollars can buy. It was a little uneven, but it was good enough for government work.
I sincerely appreciate you taking the time to read this long story. I am glad we both agree Chris is the reason I took some hot metal to the face meat and neck-log. Thanks for the story Chris!
Cheers!
submitted by SloppyEyeScream to FuckeryUniveristy [link] [comments]

What Is YOUR Purpose For Semen Retention? The PURPOSE For Semen Retention Is THIS!

Recently, a gentleman asked me the following questons below:
Great post man thanks for sharing this. Do you have any long-term plans with SR? What are your thoughts on tantra and karezza? I haven't tried either one but I feel like tantra is too difficult and I would not last long with karezza.
I am 31 (I think similar in age to you?) and I am still trying to figure out what I want to do with SR. I have gone 120 days as my longest streak and had TONS of benefits like everyone describes here. My issue is that I feel like I have not experienced everything that I want to with sex yet. For example I have only tried certain positions, but I want to try more. I have never been in a long-term relationship and therefore have not had tons of sex with one girl. I would like to try these things so I am thinking I will hold off on serious SR for a few years.
One final thought is how are some guys able to have tons of sex yet still achieve great things in life and be successful? Look at Dan Bilzerian for example. He has tons of sex but he is also very successful in life. Maybe TRT could be the answer? He is open about his use of TRT. When I read the benefits of TRT it sounds similar to SR. Maybe that's the answer?
Here was my response to him. It's quite lengthy and felt it was something worth sharing to others:
Yes.
To BUILD, BUILD, BUILD.
Build muscle.
Build mind.
Build character.
Build vitality.
Build relationship with GOD.
Build spirit.
Build family (and, thus, a legacy).
Build new business from ground up (e-commerce drop-shipping).
Of these, I focus exclusively on building muscle, building relationship to God (prayer), and building my new business as a single man, and when the time is right to marry & bless one woman, my wife, with my seed to give birth to our children, it will follow.
This ties into the second part of your response...
...not knowing what to do while retaining.
Answer?
Build.
Because that's what we men were designed to do since Adam.
Builders.
Not wasters nor partakers in wanton sexcapades.
Personally, I felt lost while retaining for the purpose of attracting more women.
Why?
It gets old - fast.
It's so easy; so common; it just happens with no effort and/or work on my part.
Sure, partaking in the company of women can be fun, but there is a price, however large or small...
...it takes you away from your focus; your purpose in life.
Only exception is the rare woman who helps you move closer towards your purpose...
...of building.
Am I perfect?
Nope.
Do I get distracted?
You bet I do.
Occasionally, I find myself enjoying the company and conversation of beautiful women. I'm certainly not against it. There's something soothing and relaxing about feminine energy that mines alone can never satisfy. So, the goal isn't to eliminate desire, nor replace it, but, to transmute it, where possible. It's easy to slip into too much pleasure and thinking "about girls" that it distracts.
Not a bad distraction, but not a productive one. Sometimes it can be inspiring, depending on the girl, to do more. So, if you're going to get distracted, may as well be if she's inspiring you to your purpose.
Like you, there are things I have yet to try that makes me go, "Hmmmm".
I usually snap out of it shortly after and come to my bearings, but I do get caught up in the possibility of spilling my seed for a moments pleasure.
My advice?
Don't do it.
It ain't worth it.
The juice ain't worth the squeeze.
But what I suggest won't stop you from doing it.
And, who am I to?
For a man convinced of his will...
...is of the same mind still.
Just know, there are consequences. You will fall from grace, so to speak. It may or may not be financially, as you said...
...there are people who are very promiscuous who seemingly have it all.
But do they?
You think money is a marker of success?
...promiscuity a precursor to joy?
...wastefulness the key to happiness?
Dan himself will tell you in interviews, "It is meaningless. The girls. The stuff. The money. It is nothing."
What you see in his outer world and what takes place in his inner world can be two different things. If he is indeed happy, good. I know men who sleep around behind their wife's back, with beautiful women I may add. But, they're aimless. Lost. Looking for just another wet hole to fill a dry hole within themselves. Sure looks good on the surface, though, eh? But everytime I get close to such men, the pattern is the same.
They're never truly themselves.
But, try it if you dare.
Sometimes we have to burn our hand ourselves to know pain. But some experiences you never want to "learn" from first hand experience, such as a poor diet leading to a heart attack or driving on the wrong side of the road.
I'm doing my best to avoid temptation, because believe you me, it is there, and like you I am prone to give in. So, I'm watchful of myself, not others. And, if I struggle, God is by my side. I've been convinced "I will not get sexual", and if you spend enough time with a woman, you just "do". It's a subconscious drive, and you have to discipline yourself to be made conscious of it.
Sometimes you will be minding your own business and you stumble across a woman who just draws you in, and it is VERY difficult to resist. Not always easy to ignore. And, I'm not necessarily suggesting you should. Just weigh your odds.
Be watchful of you.
I went off on a bit of a tangent, yes?
Back to men of material success...
What I think you'll find, is although they have the trappings of material success, a piece of them is missing with each sexual encounter with a strange woman. They're never really quite themselves, while losing more of themselves with time, until they become a shadow of their former selves (that happy go-lucky child before they discovered porn, masturbation, and sex).
I'd rather have the innocence of a child, charisma through the roof (due to not lusting, fornicating, masturbating, or watching porn), relationship with God, and a clean conscious when I meet my future wife and mother of my children to give the best and most potent seed I can give. I want my children to look forward to being born. I want unborn souls to fight to be next up in line. I want to give them the best chance at success, not in money or material things (although I do welcome and enjoy them), but in joy.
I want them to have what I have as a result of retaining - peace, love, patience, kindness and joy.
Hold off on SR if you dare. I personally can't imagine years from now wishing I had not. Reflecting, having enjoyed many women with nothing to show for it...
...not financially, spiritually or emotionally or intellectually. Just, "Oh, I think I remember that girl - girl #34. Melissa I think? Or was it Carmen?"
I love making money. I love traveling. I love being at one with God. I love being content. I love having the sexual energy and level of purity that brings me unbelievable good luck and fortune. It literally reminds me of the joy I had BEFORE I started masturbating, watching porn and lusting after every girl with jogging pants on. My fall from grace came after indulgence and remained for years up to now.
My first business was at 12-13. A candy story from home. INSTANT success. I had an intuitive knack for 'what will sell, what won't'. I had lines around the corner. I made so much money other kids copied my blueprint and succeeded, to my joy. Then, came sex, porn, masturbation, even drugs (weed). I could not repeat that level of success and kept trying and failing; always missing the mark. It was so bizarre. I had the golden touch, what happened?" - I thought. "How did I end up here?!"
Took YEARS to connect the dots and see that, although I had a lot of sexual energy going into puberty, I wasn't at all consumed nor concerned about sexual matters. I put all my focus on building that little candy store from the ground up and my father made sure of it.
While other boys were chasing girls, I was preoccupied chasing dreams, running my little candy shop from my basement, thinking of the next new product to sell and it becoming either a huge hit or minor success. I'm amazed at how accute and aware I was about business from that age. All of that following my 1st taste of ejaculation, masturbation and porn? Gone. I was forced to shut down my business after my 3rd year within a month by my mother...which was so weird because she never got in the way of my success, UNTIL I started PMO'ing and releasing HEAVILY, not at all knowing the consequences. Because my inner world changed, so, too, did my outer. It became darker; more bleak.
Julian Blisses book goes into detail about this realization, and I WISH TO GOD I'D KNOWN about this book much, much sooner, because I could not make out ANY logical reason behind my bad fortune, bad luck, and, seemingly, bad karma. When everything I used to do and touch turned to Gold, it turned to shit. It wasn't a sudden occurance...usually after a month of nasty behaviours.
But, prior to sexual exploration, Man, did I have a blast. So full or life and inner peace, exaclty like how I feel now at just over 2 months retaining. Couldn't be happier. There's just something satisfying about providing a product or service that gives value to others and being paid very well for such. Done on a large scale, it creates wealth.
if you can't tell by how passionate I am talking about it, it brings me a lot of pride 20 years later. I am in the process of repeating that to a much larger degree with e-commerce dropshipping. I feel the exact same intuitive guidance. I don't know WHY I know, I just know I will be very successful with this business model. It will be different for every man, so find something to "build" that around what you are passionate about.
In conclusion...
Is it possible to accomplish great things materially and financially? Yes. It's just much, much more difficult. No where near as instinctive and intuitive. Steve Jobs learned this secret early and he is known forever as the mind of Apple. His ex-girlfriend commented about retaining just PRIOR to starting Apple, then BOOM - a creative spark of inspiration. What took him 1 year would have taken him 5 to figure out if he were releasing at all. And, if you do succeed whilst wasting sexual essencee in the process, you have other things going on internally that can't be resolved with money, cars and clothes. It just can't fix it, and believe me, I've tried.
"My thoughts on tantra and karezza?"
No thoughts on it. I've yet to do it so I won't comment on it. After reading Julian - Bliss of the Celibate, he argues tantric sex is just as bad as non-orgasmic sex (or orgasming without cumming) outside marraige. So, if you're going to have sex, don't waste your seed; or, try your best not to. The sacrifice on your spirit will still remain, just not as strongly following a sexual release. If you want to play those odds, have it.
CONCLUSION
I'd like to add, these rambling thoughts are just my own at my current state of development. They may change a bit here n' there with time, I'm sure. It's not set in stone, but somethings are, such as my realization that my connection to God is MUCH stronger when sexually pure than it has EVER been otherwise...I have the most incredible good fortune and luck in EVERY area of life that is unexplainable such as people bending rules for me, making exceptions for me, being extra kind and accommodating to me.
I've tested this theory once last year shortly after masturbating and ejaculating. I went into a post office, feeling happy and relieved. Orgasmic, if you will. But there were 2 attractive women waiting in line who were distancing themselves away from me...inch my inch. I thought, "Do I smell?" And even asked the girl, and she nervously siad, "No". But I did "smell".
...my AURA STUNK!!!
Women and children are HIGHLY sensitive to it! To become shy and reclusive around me if I'm doing dirty things in secret...they don't know why they feel repulsed...they just 'do'.
I could be in the best mood following ejaculation and my outer world ALWAYS gave me a negative experience. My luck would change. Women and children would avoid me. People were ruder to me. It was always surreal to me how something that felt so good was matched with negative experiences.
Anyway. After that, I was no longer interested in testing out Julian Blisses theory on sexual purity/impurity. I experienced it for myself PRIOR to reading the book (so it wasn't a placebo effect or me expecting bad things to happen) and after. It's some kind of law, and it seems like the ultimate law precedding any other IS sexual discipline; mastering the loins and seed.

***UPDATE*** I missed a flight out yesterday by 2 minutes. Literally. TWO. MINUTES. Was it bad luck? How could this be while retaining? A family friend literally told me as he's dropping me off at the airport, "You're gonna' miss your flight." As we raced against Father Time. I was CONVINCED I was going to make it.
Then, he told me to go one direction that added 4 minutes to my time. "Damn." I thought. "Had I gone the way I was already going, I'd be on time". I was almost starting to blame him for being 2 minutes late (which was the small detour that caused me to miss my flight), but it was absolutely a blessing from God.
How?
It wasn't until I got home and realized...
...not only did I forget my contact solution and casing for the contact lens I was wearing that day...
...I forgot my normal glassese for daily wear (I can't see well in distances).
In other words, I would have been screwed. I can't sleep with the contacts I have in my eyes, I was going to arrive late in the evening so no store due to COVID was going to be open for me to buy any solution for the one pair I had, so I would have had to toss them and go virtually half blind, with no backup (glasses).
It would have been a bad trip, having to shell out money for new contacts the next day and maybe hopefully getting a doctor to see me (most do appointments only). My trip to visit family would have been all about me spending money and time trying to get my sight back.
Sure, it cost me a $40 re-booking fee, but it saved me a lot of stress I didn't know I'd have until I got home to see what I needed for my sight "unpacked".
Boy, that would've sucked and I would have WISHED I missed that flight I was so desperate to make.
So you see...even seemingly negaive situations can be a positive, and it's GOD or your higher self stopping you from falling into a trap YOU can't foresee from your point of view.

submitted by MrNaturalInstinct to Semenretention [link] [comments]

Hawk Walks Home; In a Combat Zone!

Welcome to Monday my FuckeryUniveristy friends. I have always been a very independent person. I am also not they type of person to reach out to anyone to catch up. In general, I would not expect of phone call from SloppyEyeScream. I extend this courtesy to my parents as well. My lack of communication has always been a jagged pill to swallow for my mother. My father could care less, and take that jagged little pill suppository-style and continue on with his day. However, there are still times when I am "socially expected" to return an unanswered phone call. Specifically, my birthday.
I may have been a week late, but I eventually returned my "Happy Birthday" phone call. My mother updated me on all the people that have died, despite me not knowing most of them, and transitioned the phone to my father. The conversation with my father is short, sweet, and too the point. The way phone conversations should be. However, this particular conversation was YouTube-style. You start with a clearly defined search subject, and then five minutes later you're watching people popping zits. I frequently find the "end of the internet" and I typically have no fucking clue how I got there. Well, we went from "Happy Birthday" to "Grape-Fucking-Jelly" in about two minutes.
OP: I just fucking hate grape jelly. I hate apple jelly too. Fuck jelly in general.
Dad: I don't really care for jelly either. I like jam.
OP: I am good with any jam. I don't even understand why WIFE buys fucking jelly. The grape jelly in our fridge is on it's third president.
Dad: You know the difference between jelly and jam right?
OP: Crushed-actual-fucking-fruit?
Dad: Well. Yeah. I was gonna say you can't jelly your dick into a vagina though.
What does this have to do with Hawk? Fucking nothing. You know who posted this story, and you should know by now what you have signed up for. You have already completed the first tangent of this particular Hawk story. Let my screen name, SloppyEyeScream, serve as a warning and consent form. Nobody is making you read this abomination, and we both know it's certainly not educational reading. Let's talk about Hawk.
I know there is at least one person out there asking, "Who the fuck is Hawk?" I have received numerous Direct Messages (DMs) from people stating, "I should have started at the beginning." I will simply assume you will forgo my advice to read the previous stories and take a brief moment to explain the humanoid know as Hawk.
How does a potato generate electricity and power a light bulb? Lets be clear, the potato is not, inn of itself, an energy source. The potato simply helps to conduct electricity by acting as a "salt-bridge". The potato contains sugar, water, and acid. Certain types of metal, such as copper and zinc, react with the potato when inserted inside. They essentially become electrodes. One positive, one negative, and electrons flow between the metals inside inside the potato, thus producing an electric current.
What the fuck does that mean? Hawk's Brain Housing Unit (BHU) is completely devoid of a human brain. Instead, there is a very large potato. This potato assists in generating enough electrical current to power human extremities, but lacks to ability to compute and solve complex problems. I honestly believe there is a potato at the helm. A very, very fucking stupid potato at that.
Dramatization
OP: Hawk. What is one plus one?
Hawk: One plus one Sergeant?
OP: Yes. What is one plus one?
Hawk: Jello. Final answer!
I believe this should provide you, the Reader, with enough insight about our character Hawk, and I said this wouldn't be educational. Would ya look at that! What do you say we actually get into the story?
We are in beautiful and sunny Iraq. Our Company Headquarters had departed our small Forward Operating Base (FOB) to setup shop at an even smaller FOB. The Platoons rotated in-and-out of this particular location to conduct Raids, but there was also a considerable focus on counter-mortar and counter-rocket operations. For our civilian readers; man-dress and flip-flop wearing jihadist enjoyed killing or maiming us with flying projectiles that exploded. We would employ Small Kill Teams (SKTs) in order to prevent that from happening.
There are numerous ways to skin this terrorist-cat, and I have employed numerous techniques to vitally damage a persons squishy-bits. However, sometimes it is easier to just fight fire-with-fire, and send mortars back their way. Tag, you're dead! This is a bit more complex, because we care about collateral damage, and killing an innocent civilian does not make for good Public Relations (PR). In order to avoid this, we continually "registered" our mortars. Meaning we would depart the FOB and observe the mortar registration, and provide firing data corrections. Don't worry, I occasionally ride the window-flavored short-bus also.
Mortars are an Indirect Fire (IDF) weapon system. A mortar can fire "in-the-blind". Simply, they don't have to physically see their target. Our mortar team was located within a compound and relied on math to ensure the angry metal they sent flying hit Location X. During the registration, we would actually observe it, and provide corrections if required. They shoot to Location X, and we ensure it impacts Location X, or provide corrections, and re-shoot. Got it?
My Platoon was co-located and supporting the Company Headquarters that week. There was some initial confusion at first, but I was told I needed to provided bodies. I knew it was not my turn to sacrifice my men to the brutal heat, but I obliged. I provided two Soldiers, and one of them was Hawk. One would serve as a babysitter, and the other was the potato-brained dodo bird.
Sending Hawk anywhere is like sending your child to their first day of school. It is a little different with Hawk though. We are all aware that educational progress will be hopelessly lost on him, but we should at least ensure he gets on the correct short-bus. We wave goodbye to our dumb-loving potato and pray his big brother keeps him out of trouble. Einstein stated, "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." I'm fucking well-aware Albert, but frankly speaking, I was was elated Hawk was out of my peripheral for a couple of hours. What OP? You're sending Hawk? You're fucking damn right I am!
OP's Logical Reasoning
  1. "Two bodies" were requested.
  2. The definition of a "body" is: the physical structure of a person or an animal, including bones, flesh, and organs. Hawk, at the very best, meets this very minimal criteria.
  3. There was ample adult supervision.
  4. What if Hawk successfully evades Darwinism, yet again, and returns hour later? Win.
  5. What if Hawk succumbs to Darwinism and is no longer my problem? Win.
Furthermore, the Commander and First Sergeant were at the mortar registration. There was also, at least, four Squad Leaders, and numerous Team Leaders supporting this event. It was stacked with very definition of "adult supervision". What the fuck could go wrong? EVERYTHING!
They had been gone for a couple hours now. I had already successfully worked-out, showered, and returned to my room to enjoy the peace and tranquility of a Hawk-free environment. I was not even at the midway point of the deployment, but I need a reprieve. It is astonishing to think humans have continually evolved for nearly 500,000 years, but then a Hawk is birthed. What a fucking disappointment. Hawk? He won the Easter Egg hunt? He was the most worthy candidate in that load of ball-barf? I should have half expected the following conversation.
Operations Soldier (OS): Hey Sergeant OP! Do you know where Hawk is?
OP: Yeah. He is out on the mortar registration.
OS: No. He is not out there!
OP: (Face Palm) I'll play your silly fucking games. "Where is Hawk?"
This guy is getting kind of nervous. It is almost like we somehow managed to lose a fully grown human who just happens to have an assault rifle with 210 rounds of ammunition, which is also outfitted with fucking grenade launcher and 40 High Explosive Dual Purpose (HEDP) grenades that can travel around 400-meters. Oh wait. We did lose that human.
OS: Shit! He is unaccounted for Sergeant.
OP: You guys just lost Retarded-Rambo! (Statement; Not a question)
OS: Oh Fuck!
I follow OS to the Tactical Operations Center (TOC). I am only partially worried about the misplaced Hawk. I was not necessarily needed in the TOC, but I had strong desire to watch OS's face when he radio the Commander. Most people would have been worried, but I wasn't. I was happier than a tornado in a trailer park full of meth labs. Hawk was robo-retard and he was undefeated against Darwin. I know, "What if he was captured by terrorist OP?" Fine! I'll play your fucking games Reader. Not all terrorist are dumb. If captured, they would have immediately determined that returning Hawk was more of a detriment to the American end-state. I am positive that terrorist would have wished him away after a mere one minute interaction.
Radio Traffic!
OS: Commander (CDR) this is TOC; over.
CDR: TOC; go for Commander.
OS: Roger. CODE-NAME is not here.
CDR: Did you check EVERYWHERE?
OS: Roger. CODE-NAME is still unaccounted for. Should I notify Battalion?
CDR: NO! We will continue to our search. I will contact you when we need to notify higher.
Dear Reader, this situation has just become a shit-show. Notifying Battalion, your boss, of something bad is part of the job. There are varying degrees of bad though. Losing a Soldier? It's a Category 5 Hurricane that rains tits and ass, and "they" just got hit with dicks. I am A-okay at this point. I signed over my custodial rights when I strapped that kindergarten kid in the gun truck. I was free-and-clear of any blame at this point. I stuck around in the TOC to watch this dumpster fire play out though. It was a very tense thirty minutes, and they were on the verge of finally notifying Battalion of this catastrophic blunder, and then the TOC door swings open; it was Hawk!
Hawk: I'm back Sergeant!
Cue hysterical fucking laughter! I cannot compose myself enough to even speak to Hawk. The Operations Soldier is baffled; like he was at the urinal, but just noticed he was holding someone else's dick type of look. The entire time I sat spinning in the office chair I did nothing but imagine Hawk barging through the door, ALONE! It was the most improbable outcome. However, we are talking about Hawk, which means the most improbable outcome is likely your best fucking bet!
OS: WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU? HOW IN THE FUCK DID YOU GET BACK? WHAT THE...
OP: (Talking to OS) STOP! Don't say another fucking work. (Now Hawk) Hey buddy! How was it out there?
Hawk: (Just as fucking oblivious as ever.) It was okay Sergeant.
OP: Good. Go back to the Team Room and chill out. Eat some lunch or whatever. I will come get you when the rest of the guys get back. Cool?
Hawk: Roger Sergeant
Hawk Departs!
OS: What the fuck Sergeant?
OP: Brother! I prefer to get mad once as opposed to over-and-over again. Let's just wait until First Sergeant Gets back.
The Operations Soldier immediately notifies the Commander of Hawk's whereabouts and the peasants rejoice. There were a metric fuck-ton of questions, but everyone was at-ease now. I was still bubbling with joy. I wanted First Sergeant to experience the joyous insanity he has bestowed upon me firsthand. I was not dealing with this problem alone; we were dealing with this problem together.
Fast Forward One Hour!
First Sergeant (1SG): (TOC Door SCREAMS OPEN) Where the fuck is he?
OP: Team Room.
1SG: What the fuck did he have to say?
OP: Not this time 1SG. I waited for you. We can happily question him together.
His anger almost instantly subsided. He now had a maniacal smile. We were going to hold hands and explore the inner bowels of Hawk's logical reasoning and potato-brained actions together. We were jumping off that cliff at the same time. There was no war gaming or engagement strategy developed on the walk over either. The distinctive sound of crushing gravel beneath our feet kept us company.
The Team Room
1SG: HAWK! There you are you little fucker!
Hawk: Oh, Hey First Sergeant!
My outside facial expression screamed "business," but I was laughing harder than a titanium boner at an orgy.
1SG: How in the fuck did you get back.
Hawk: I walked back! (With a well-timed and priceless giggle.)
1SG: What the fuck do you mean "I walked back?"
Hawk: I dunno. I just walked back?
First Sergeant was defeated. He gave me the "tag-you're-it" look. He evidently didn't have the ability to irrationally-rationalize and reason with the likes of Hawk.
OP: Why did you walk back Hawk?
Hawk: First Sergeant told me Sergeant.
First Sergeant stood up immediately. There was a very obvious rage in his eyes. I think wanted to "lose" Hawk again, but this time in little tiny bits spread throughout the countryside. He clearly wanted to grab Hawk's face like a bowling ball, and skull drag him to a private execution. I use the "one-armed-hand-up-I-got-this-shit" gesture. There was just so much more to learn before his death! Meanwhile, I would like to point out that Hawk is just lounging in his chair and while eating a Meal Read to Eat (MRE/Army Happy Meal). Just plain fucking oblivious.
OP: HOW-DID-FIRST-SERGEANT-TELL-YOU?
Hawk: First Sergeant came up and said, "Man! We have way too many people out here. If I was you, I'd just walk my happy ass back." So I did Sergeant.
First Sergeant is now clinching his fists so tight that I was anticipating one of his digits popping through to the top of his wrists. His face was beet-fucking-red with anger, and I just mouth, "You told (Finger Pointed Towards Head Wrist Circle Motion (Retard Hand-and Arm Signal) to go home?" There is an immediate calming realization for First Sergeant. He just realized, he inadvertently, told Hawk to leave. Yes, any rational Soldier would have realized this was a joke. We were not dealing with a rational person though. This was just plain fucking comical. It was First Sergeants fault. This is what happens when you let Lenny pet rabbits folks.
OP: (Now laughing) So. Ah! How'd you get back exactly.
Hawk: I just turned around and walked back Sergeant. I pushed through the tall grass until I got to the highway. I raised my gun so cars slowed down, and walked across the road to the Entry Control Point (ECP). They asked me for a convoy number, but I didn't have one. They let me in and I walked here. It would've been much quicker if I had a ride back. That grass was fucking thick.
1SG: Hey OP. Let's go talk outside!
OP: Roger.
Fast-Forward One Minute!
1SG: Is he fucking serious?
OP: We're talking about Hawk. Why the fuck did you tell him to leave?
1SG: I didn't "tell him leave." It was a fucking joke.
OP: You told Hawk! The literalist, "IF I WAS YOU, I'D JUST WALK MY HAPPY ASS BACK." He walked his happy ass back. Frankly, I am quite impressed he was able to follow simple instructions.
1SG: Are you saying I should be "happy" about this?
OP: Fuck! I am.
I finally cracked the boss. He was laughing hysterically. The Commander went through the same phases of anger, more anger, extreme anger, and then laughter when we relayed the story. This was just another day in the life of Hawk though. Hawk 1. Darwin ZERO.
For the anticipated questions. The mortar registration was literally right across the highway. Hawk walked approximately 400-meters and was held up at the gate because he was his own one-person convoy. No punishment was administered. Hawk was merely "following" the suggested orders from First Sergeant. I did have a fully detailed talk with Hawk, but I don't know the intellectual storage capacity of a potato. Besides, how would you recommend I punish a person who cannot comprehend what they did "wrong"? If I told Cake, "Man. The cookies your mom made look delicious. If I was you, I'd eat them all," and he fucking ate them all; shame on me! But Hawk is not a child OP! Have you met Hawk?
Cheers!
submitted by SloppyEyeScream to FuckeryUniveristy [link] [comments]

Teachers are not perfect and can easily lead students down the wrong path.

TLDR: Teachers should not abuse their power over children to catch the next generation while they are still young and dumb.
I will preface this by first stating that there are a lot of good teachers out there. They are very good at their jobs, well versed in their subject and capable of getting even the most difficult students to understand complex theories.
However, having said that, there are a lot of teachers out there who shouldn't be teaching. I've seen it many times and even experienced a pretty nasty one myself.
The teachers that I am talking about are the ones who are just there to collect an easy paycheck and they use their position over children in ways that are not ethical. The teacher's personal belief's get in the way of what they should be teaching and they end up trying to teach standards and morals to their students that only the parents should be teaching to the kids.
As an Example: Mrs B. She was the science teacher in our middle school for several years teaching all three grades. As a science teacher her job was to enlighten us about chemistry, biology, botany, ....etc Which for all of sixth grade and the very beginning of 7th grade that's what she did.
Then in mid October 1988 her classes ceased to follow the standard curriculum. It was a voting year and there were some ballots on the books dealing with abortion and forestry. Each day her class would start on on the correct subject but by the end of the class she'd be off on a tangent. The closer we got to election day the quicker she would veer off course. So for about two weeks we got an even split of Mrs B's opinion on abortion and the environment.
She was pro abortion and a dedicated environmentalist so we got an earful of pro abortion rhetoric as well as ramblings about how the logging industry was destroying our forests. Understand that these are just young kids. We were all taught that teachers were always right. So naturally we were all nodding our heads in agreement.
We didn't know anything about abortion so no one contested her on that. Some kids did take opposition to her environmentalism though. 75% of our town's economy was directly linked to logging. Any kid that disputed her would get barked at. So essentially "I'm the teacher, put your hand down and shut up!"
I could see her argument for environmentalism being included in the class but not to the degree that she took it. Like, 1 or 2 days dedicated to it then move on to other things. Instead it was continual rant and rave sessions. Mrs B even invited one of the kid's parents to come in and speak to the class about what it's like to work for the forest service. What we got was a half hour of Mrs B chewing the poor woman out while showing her pictures of what the forest service was allowing the logging companies to do to the land. It was nuts.
Abortion though, that wasn't a subject that should have ever been spoken of in class to a bunch of 9-13 year old kids. (considering she probably ranted while teaching all three grades) A subject like that needed to be in the hands of the parents, not with a teacher. There was no scholastic reason for it to be spoken of. Mrs B was using her class as a sounding board for her adult frustrations and the things that she was teaching were way out of line with what many of the parents would consider appropriate.
This is the part where I was directly affected. Ten year old me started talking one day at the dinner table. Abortion. I stated everything that Mrs B had taught us on the subject while both of my parents listened. My dad was pretty taken aback and my mom wasn't too happy about it. I was given the other side of the argument and thought it was done.
Nope, the next day at school we were studying actual science and neither subject came up. At the end of class Mrs B held me back by grabbing my shoulder and shutting the door when the last of the students exited the classroom. It was like a mouse being caught in the talons of an eagle. I don't remember her exact words but it was something like "How dare you snitch on me I almost lost my job because of you! If you put one toe out of line or misspell one word on your papers you better bet I'll mark it down!"
We didn't hear anything more about abortion, but her environmentalism still snuck in on occasion. I guess my mom called a few of the other parents that evening after I spilled the beans. The next morning several of those parents called the school and complained. Mrs B was put on probation and ordered to keep her classes on task with appropriate content or she would be fired.
I caught a lot of flack from the other kids over it and so did the girl who's mother worked for the forest service. I find it very ironic that one of the teacher's biggest supporters tried to do a presentation on pro abortion in 8th grade then got pregnant at 13 and giving birth at 14.
I encountered similar teachers clear up into college. Can't seem to sort out their personal beliefs from the curriculum. None quite as obtuse as Mrs B though. In recent years my nieces and nephews have had run ins with similar teachers. Same formula, abusing their position of power to catch them while they are young and dumb. Trying to bypass parental control and make sure the kids enter the world with the "Correct" way of thinking with "Correct" of course being the teachers view only.
Edit: Spelling and grammar
submitted by Pearldragonz to unpopularopinion [link] [comments]

My take on everything going on. Please get comfortable...

I'd like to begin with an analogy...
China is like my Dad. Dad was a completely tyrannical & hypocritical piece of sh*t who would literally threaten to kick anyone out of the house if he didn't like your opinion, even if you're under the age of 10. Nobody in the house liked him, even mother.
But the fact of the matter was that he was the head of the house. He was out providing for his family, getting funds in, putting food on the table, basically the reason my family of 6 hasn't been left to rot on the roadside for this long. He's still an insufferable c*cksucker, but that's just the reality of what we had to deal with growing up with him.
I had to learn this the hard way, but learn I did eventually. I used to always retaliate, even though he was clearly in the wrong in whatever argument we were having. But the more I fought the more I realize it would only make things worse for the rest of the house. So in time I eventually learned to just suck up and listen (by just nodding my head to everything ear-in-ear-out) to whatever rant he was going on about, even if it was about me. Because I realize by fighting back with no real way to fend for myself I'd often only make things worse for everyone else who'd have to bear the brunt of his rage.
It's even something I have to teach to my younger sibling, who in many ways reacts the same way I did during my years growing up, how to cope with our dad. And trust me, I COMPLETELY understand how he feels. It's not fair, it's unjust, and downright bullying in most cases. But I always tell him the same thing; reality of the matter is, the more you retaliate, the worse it'll be for you and everyone else.
Analogy over.
The first point I'm trying to get at is this: Understand the reality of the situation and the perspective of all parties involved, and think about the consequences that are at stake.
As it's already stated by everyone, Cover unfortunately has their toes dipped in China, that being the CN branch and Bilibili. And knowing the radical CCP nationalists being bloodthirsty, they will waste no opportunity going for blood should the opportunity present itself. I'm not one to place faith in a corporation, but if I were in charge of a talent agency that truly does want to protect my employees, I would never compromise one group of talents to save the other. They're trying to protect all their talents as much as possible, and if that means Coco and Haachama have to be off air temporarily to save everyone I'd waste no time doing so. I'm not saying this because I'm siding with Cover, but we simply don't know all the factors in play here.
And on the tangent of CCP, Cover's decision DOES NOT EQUATE TO THEM SUPPORTING CHINA. It's simply just an unfortunate scenario where Hololive just happened to have talents in China and Bilibili and China being the hive-mind neanderthals that they are. Let me make this clear, I despise the CCP just as much as the next person, but the reality is as such that we can't do anything about it.
The second point I'm trying to get at is this: Don't react when you have no grasp of the consequences at stake. Think before you act.
Everyone's response to pull back their Memberships and SCs from the girls JUST BECAUSE a cut is going to Cover is honestly such a foolish mindset to have. We're so focused at being angry at Cover, we forget that a cut is still going to the girls. Now we don't know what their financial status is, but I'm willing to take the bet that a good number of them make their living off SCs and Memberships. If we were to all just blindly get angry and pull everything back, sure we we COULD make Cover pay, but what's going to happen to the girls? This vtuber career may very well be their livelyhood. Are you really going to make them go hungry like that?
The way I see it, we have 2 choices as audiences/consumers as to how to react:
Please do think about the consequences of your actions before you act on them, as even though we can't fully affect Cover's decisions on the matter, we CAN affect how things recover.
Like I've said previously, I've already spotted a small handful of CCP nutjobs appearing in comment sections and livechats in some of the girls' streams. Now is the time more than ever that our LOVE & SUPPORT is needed for these girls.
I just want to end by saying that I really love the rabbithole that I've fallen into that is Hololive and Virtual Youtubers in general. And it'd be really heartbreaking if it all came crashing down simply because people overreacted to a situation.
Please do think about the victims, and not the perpetrators.
submitted by Major-Spoiler to Hololive [link] [comments]

DAE intentionally seek "triggering" content to desensitize/numb themselves? [TWs FOR WEEKS]

MOTHER OF ALL TRIGGER WARNINGS: LGBT+ phobia, ableism, verbal / physical / psychological abuse, right-wing politics, Holocaust references, totalitarianism, general bitter vengeful bullshit, etc.
Sometimes, to help re-affirm my own infinite disgust and rage at the state of this world, I deliberately seek out memes, quotes, manifestos, music, etc. made by "people" Hell-bent on exterminating every single POC, LGBT+, disabled person, etc. on the planet. I get a masochistic thrill out of it, but I also have a more practical rationale for this.
I want to "get in the heads" of my enemies, understand the nuances of their abhorrent ideologies and how they operate, and immerse myself in their symbolism so I can develop a counter-aesthetic that glorifies filth, degeneracy, equality, and personal liberty. In a weird way, I kinda take refuge in this shit, because it reassures me that I have clearly-defined enemies after blindly grasping in a dark fog of oppressive confusion for so much of my existence. And I live my whole life as a defiant, immaculate degenerate just to spite these fuckers.
Trauma has been a fact of my life for much of it. I was robbed of my teen years by a sadistic, manipulative, Borderline Personality Disordered little harpy of a "mother". I'd give my childhood a generous 2/10 - I was simultaneously spoiled and abused, micromanaged and neglected, and above all else, infantilized. I've been screamed at, slapped silly, disowned, tearfully welcomed back in, disowned again, terrorized with empty suicide threats, and had the pigs called on me based on this Big Lie that I was the real abuser. I've spent two weeks at a cross between a condo complex and a fucking juvie hall called WaySide, because mom regurgitated this lie to a hospital social worker. I've been called things like "shit-eating sissy [email protected]", "fat fuck", and "drooling, hand-flapping r3tard" (since I'm an Aspie and bi, this qualifies me as double the subhuman). Mommy dearest reveled in inflicting suffering on her only son, and I've often speculated that she was a Nazi death camp guard or SS officer in a past life.
Thankfully that, uhh... something that rhymes with "witch" is nothing more than a pile of ashes now, and will never be able to harm me or anyone else ever again. My life has improved tremendously in the years since I left her gas chamber of a house for good (on the day of my high school graduation, no less).
I just earned my BA after six long fucking years of arduous struggle. I've learned to establish - and maintain - boundaries, while respecting those of others. I actually have something resembling a social life now, which was forbidden under mom's roof. And most excitingly, I've been in a beautiful relationship with the most wholesome, adorable, generous, and naughty boy on Earth for about a year and a half.
Every time we kiss or hold hands, every time we're smoking a joint and he blows a hit into my mouth, I revel in imagining how butthurt mom must get as she's being spit-roasted by Lucifer and all His demons. Honeybear and I partake in all the "DeGeNeRAcY" mom was so terrified of her good little boy growing up to love, and I can say without hesitation that meeting him saved my life. Je t'adore plus que la vie elle-même, ma petite fleur de cerisier... our love is an act of revolution.
However, after I was kicked out of mom's house for the last time, I came of age in a nation rapidly plummeting into willful ignorance, mass arrogance, and outright sadism - all codified and enforced by the state. It dawned on me that there's a groundswell of shitgolems out there who are foaming at the mouth to gas every single person of my kind with Zyklon B, along with all others they've branded "untermenschen". Bear in mind, this "pure and clean" world is their idea of a utopia.
My political awakening was the GamerGate "movement"; witnessing their digital lynch mobs filled me with indignation and disillusionment. Seeing these soulless fucking monsters claiming to represent the medium I love so much radicalized me into the rabid "eSs JaY DuBbuLyeW" I am today, but it also taught me empathy for other historically shat-on demographics. GG's incredibly toxic mindset has proven quite influential on the American political Hellscape, and this corrosive dystopia has only grown more pervasive and sickening in the past couple years.
If these chuds had their way, yours truly, honeybear, and every human to the left of Pinochet would be dragged out of their homes and hanged from the street lamps. They are praying for "the Day of the Rope", and if it ever comes, you can bet your ass I shall acquaint as many of their deformed bonehead skulls with my Doc Martens as humanly possible, before spitting in my hangman's face with my final breath.
But in the meantime, I'm gonna stay smoking fucktons of bud, listening to fucktons of "Devilish" extreme metal and punk music, deep-throating honeybear's cock and taking it up the ass, and just maintaining my hard-won stability in general until the day I die.
Sorry for going off on a fucking tangent like I always do. Can anyone relate or empathize to any of this?
Thank you so much for putting up with my ranting and raving. Take care of yourselves, and do what you gotta do to self-care. Be gay, do crime, stay brutal!
submitted by vengeancesavage to CPTSD [link] [comments]

Can Empathy cause HL and LL to swap?

I am a HLM (42), married 10 years to LLF (40).
I haven't posted here very often, mostly because of time constraints... let's face it, there is no simple answer to any of our situations, and very few concepts are applicable to all of us. However, knowing the frustration of being the HLSO, and coming here often to read and learn of other people's experiences (sometimes, just so I know that I'm not crazy), I believe that I may have come to realize a very important factor that is not considered much at all.
We all know what it's like to feel constant feeling of Heartbreak when we are so sexually frustrated that the anxiety literally manifests with the same feelings of being dumped by somebody with whom you are madly in Love. I've only recently begun to notice my own libido starting to get lower, and I think I understand why... AND, I think this may be useful for many other people, and might even explain past events to some others. I think there are a few elements that many people notice, but don't get mentioned here very often.
Quick stage setting... (I think many can relate to this chain of events) Married 10 years MADLY still in Love MADLY still attracted (physically and mentally) 3rd Marriage (1st was just being young, 2nd was because we had a kid) Friendship developed first, friends for about a year before anything romantic even started (we worked together) We never had any kids "together"... and never had any desire to. (our kids were 6 & 10 when we started dating) Oh... and I have mild-moderate ED... which I discovered only after we started our relationship ( I wasn't really attracted to my previous wife, so it wasn't much of an issue ) - To be clear... sometimes I have more need for meds than others... and even on really good days without meds, my performance pales in comparison to an "average" day WITH meds. (this topic isn't about the need for meds, nor the influence of ED on any given situation, I just don't want anybody to get side-tracked on this topic... it's irrelevant to the point of this post)
The next two sections of time may vary from one person to another... but the general idea is a common thread for almost every relationship. 1st 6 months (of relationship) ... Had Sex about 1-2 times per week (includes the occasional twice in one day) - We were physical every chance we got. Didn't always end with sex... but making out with somebody you are attracted to is just such a turn on... isn't it??!! But, it wasn't every day... We each had primary custody of our own kids (one each), jobs, houses, careers, lived in different towns (30 min apart)... etc. etc.
Next 6-18 months... Sex sex 4-5 time per week - Lived together... got married. Had sex often throughout this period... but not "every chance we got".
THIS is where the split begins... At this point, I'd like to point out something that is probably recognized by anybody who has always been the HL partner, and has been in an LTR with good efforts in communication. This is a Primary Factor of influence on what eventually develops into the whole package of frustration later on, and it's something we just don't recognize at first, or, at the very least, we don't see that it could be an influence. - THE IMPORTANT PART - The LL partner remembers those two periods of time VERY differently when it comes to history of sexual activity. - For example, my wife believes that we had sex "2 or 3 times a day for the first 2 or 3 years" we were together. She has mentioned this in conversation as though it was common knowledge, and has even argued to say that I was completely wrong.... Multiple times over the years... - NOW, as I've noted above... much of this time period, we were having sex 4-5 times per week... which is my threshold for "Satisfied enough that I don't even care to watch porn... and no experimentation or fetishes are required for that level of satisfaction (lube, toys, and regular positions are enough variety)" - Of course... "minimal satisfaction" levels will be different for everybody - THE POINT IS ... for "her", 4-5 times each week plays back in her memory as though we were having sex EVERY DAY... and Multiple Times for most days. This would mean that "most days", we had sex when we woke up, when we got home, AND when we went to bed... Or we had sex twice in any of those points. It's only after I point out the impossible logistics for our lives at that point, that she recognizes she's obviously wrong. At least, until the next time some conversation steer toward our sexual history. (keep in mind, aside from kids and careers, I have taken meds for ED since we met... they have only recently been available in Generic form... there was NO WAY we could even "afford" that much sex)
WHY does she remember it like that?? - I noticed this very skewed perception around our 5th year of marriage, I just didn't push back... I thought maybe it was just story-telling embellishment. Now, I think of it more like remembering that "as a kid, I was forced to play outside Every Day during the summer, and it was Always 100 degrees outside"... clearly, that's (feces from cow-like creature with horns)... But, I truly don't remember the weather conditions when it was nice outside BECAUSE I don't recall those occasions as being "forced to play outside".
A Few Other Common Threads.... - Many times, even if we would PLAN / Schedule Sex... it still didn't happen. We would be out too late, she would have too much to eat, too much to drink, she's too tired - Being Tipsy (not drunk) is a prerequisite - Never initiates - THE MOST FRUSTRATING FOR ME... Any sort of "plan", or "willingness" (at all) for sex has to be pre-empted by my dedication toward "spending quality time". Refer back to item #1 in this list, and you can see the re-occurring problem here. I spend DAYS worth of ALL of my available time with somebody who I am MADLY attracted to ... at the end of a weekend like this, I'M JUST MAD!!! Typically it means that, not only did I not get to enjoy some of the things I want to do... but I didn't get the proclaimed reward either. (fyi... this is different from NMAP, I can say that with confidence because I have experienced that in the past... also, more explanation for this behavior is given further down) ---- SIDE NOTE: Obviously, there are a lot of elements to a relationship... don't get sidetracked... remember, the point of this post is an overall view of ALL the elements, not about any single element by itself. Conversations about "a HL partner being selfish for unwillingness to dedicate time together", have completely missed the mark and do not understand that this frustration is not a question of, "why can't we just (have sexual intercourse) and live together", rather, it's the "extreme" and repetitive nature of the "requirement" for quality time with no physical reciprocation. ---- Tangent to the Side Note: Having written many, many, many long-form posts that contain multiple variables with complex relationships to the concept I am trying to present... I have found that MOST people get lost in their heads about ONE or TWO elements and fails to see the big picture because they stopped "reading". Nothing is "simple", especially for this topic, please keep reading and take all of these factors into consideration, along with recognizing that... for anybody who is posting on reddit (like myself), we probably are writing it down here because we don't actually have the time required to write a full book. - Always feeling bad "Just Before Bed", or always "feeling tired".... OK, This one is legitimately physiological for my wife because she has POTS... Every time we even go to bed, she gets a bit uneasy in her stomach, often starts sneezing when we go to bed, switching positions from standing to laying (or vice versa) can cause dizziness and headaches. POTS is related to a problem where the nervous system does not properly control the circulatory system, and all of these things are symptoms. (the sneezing is due to change in air pressure... our bedroom is upstairs and we have the separate thermostat scheduled to keep it colder around bed time). BUT, these things can happen anytime those conditions are met... it's not ONLY when we go to bed. (this condition developed for her just a few years before we met, and we figured out how to mange it together... it took a few years)
Fast-Forward to about 6 months ago... - Too many things have happened that would detract attention from my point ... but in a nutshell, the sexual variance has been a significant issue in the last three years - Frequency has dropped to an average of 2 times per week... (note: that's an "average", not a guarantee... - OK... I can already imagine the eye-roll being expressed by many people here... BUT... be honest with yourself... is your frustration truly, solely, entirely, all-about-frequency??? If your LL partner just laid there for you, or just gave you an amount of physical attention that amounted to a commercial break... is THAT "really" what you're looking for??? Would that "really" be enough???
The REAL Problems... For anybody who's current situation is not a long-time-period, I bet these problems will be easily relatable... - LL expresses no desire... never initiates... - LL always seems reluctant, or disinterested. Even if a willing participant... they say "OK" as though you just asked, "can you please add some cream-corn to my chocolate ice-cream?" - It's ALWAYS Vanilla - Even if you have been "working on sex" as a couple, and it's been recognized as "important"... it's still the LAST THING of the Day... it's always the LEAST IMPORTANT thing that get's the least amount of energy, thought, time, effort, and energy
The Truth About Our-Selves is... - As HL "partners" in a relationship, we don't just "want sex"... we want to have sex with somebody "who also WANTS to have sex"...
Considering the LL partners feelings... - Think of something you used to like, or maybe liked from time-to-time, but then you HAD to have it for a extended period of time in your life, and NOW, you hate it! ... - OR... perhaps you had a terrible experience with something you used to do, and you have a significant level of PTSD so that your bad memories flood your mind anytime that thing is even mentioned. THIS is the best way I can explain what I believe to be the way it feels to be the LL partner. (there are probably other analogies to be made, but I'll bet these are the most common)
How I came to this conclusion... My LL wife started going to therapy - Turns out... she has a combination of the two. - First... she has had multiple sexual experiences since her mid-teens that ranged from sexual assault, to rape. - One incident that was not sexual in nature... became associated in her mind anyway (I left out details because I' m really not sure what the mods didnt like about my first post) - Clearly, she doesn't, and never has wanted sex as often as I have... it's why she recalls 4-5 each week, as being more like 2-3 times Every Day. It's less bragging 'about it', and more bragging that she 'got through it'... (even if that's not reflected in the tone of conversation) - We've recognized, and communicated about, and worked on, our different libidos since about our 4th year of marriage... - On several occasions, she has mentioned that she has to "remind herself that I am not those other people"... I didn't truly understand the degree of influence in the past - It's only recently that she's really told me the extent to some of these things... and how she just starts thinking of all the bad things (sex-related) that have happened to her when we start having sex... or even when we would PLAN it ahead of time. ---- At this point, it's easy to imagine the combination of mental habits she has made that require the long hours of attention to "remind herself that I am not them", and just as well, how easily that can be brushed aside by her habit to associate any sexuality with those bad events from her past.
HOW All of this effects MY Libido (I think).... and maybe yours too??? - So.. here's how consideration works... "if" you actually give a (care) about a person at a level that is driven by your emotional attachment (ie... you "love" that person with affection, compassion, and empathy). For this example... please imagine something VERY simple, such as "turning off the light in the garage", "lifting and dropping the toilet seat", "putting dirty clothes in the hamper", etc etc. Note... this is not applicable to NMAP relationships... the process of habit forming is forced in an NMAP. This reference is specific to a "willing process" of habit forming. ---- When the other person expresses a level of discontent with some action you present... (let's assume this discontent was presented in a manner in which you would be open to accepting it... ie, "not during an argument")... "Turn off the Garage Light" is a real one for me, so that's what I'll use as reference. ---- First... you make a willing, conscious effort to "correct" the action "after the fact", basically, this means you are forming a habit to "identify" the action "AT ALL". So, after several conversations, sometimes mixed in with a little frustration... I would eventually close the garage door, then Stop, go back in and turn the light off, then leave again. ---- Second... After you can successfully identify when you have done the action, you will begin to form the ability to recognize your mental pattern "before you do it". So, eventually I got to the point where I'd stop just before opening the door to the house, and remember to turn off the light first. ---- Third... The Habit emerges... and you unconsciously just Do the action, no effort required ... even IF, after performing that action, you might recall that your SO is the reason you do it. Now, I just turn off the light.. it's just an automatic motion that I've made a habit for with how I approach the door... most of the time I just do it unconsciously, but other times my brain reminds me that I don't really care... BUT, I know that "She Does".... and I care about her, and her feelings... even related to things as seemingly irrelevant as the garage light.
WRAPPING IT UP... Ok... the little things... those are easy. And, If you don't have the will nor want to do those little things, or if you get off on using those little things as ammo just to get your SO fired up... maybe you should rethink your life choices. But, All in all, those kinds of things only take a few months to adjust for. - Take in mind... when I say "little things"... I mean, the other person cares about it, but it's truly insignificant / irrelevant to you.
The next level would be changing something that you do for a specific reason... maybe it's something that you do deliberately for some other reason... or maybe, just because you like it?? - I really suck at examples, and I cannot think of a personal one for this... but let's say that you always slightly overcook the pizza because you LOVE the burnt edges of the crust... BUT your SO get's really bad headaches, or perhaps they find the smell of burnt cheese to be involuntarily repulsive... - For these cases, you're just going to have to talk about it and figure out who has the more sensible request... If it really makes your partner feel nausea, that's probably a good reason for them to win the argument... if it's just flavor preference... make two pizzas, trade off burning and not burning, or throw your half back in the oven... pretty simple, just requires compromise. - This CAN be related to an action formed by habit... I just can't think of a good example.
Lower The HL Libido??? I've definitely noticed that my libido has gotten lower over the past year... Now, perhaps I'm just getting older... but considering everything I've studied about the influences on our thoughts and actions, plus the fact that've been horny since the age of 12... I doubt that this is just a "natural progression of age". There are ebbs and flows of desire that progress over the course of days, and some that progress over the course of months that can be identified. Once you get to trends that enter the space of "years", you really need consistent documentation to analyze. - Note: Assessing ebbs and flows, requires fluctuation of activity... for many people here the activity has ceased... If this was sudden, it's typically associated with an event... even if the event is not physically and mentally apparent. (for example, the effects of a tumor on the pituitary gland can be very specific to some behavior, and not indicative of any imminent need to get an MRI from a neurologist.) For most behavioral changes, all things being equal, they tend to be gradual in nature, and typically triggered by several factors or a pattern of influences (change in environment, relationship, etc etc).
At this point, I am certain that the recognition of what my LL wife has experienced, and how that impacts her sexual desire, are definitely influencing my "outward expression" toward her. In other words, I'm not indicating that I want sex as often as I was even just a year ago. I know what it's like to be in a bad relationship and to be abused. I know what it's like to only remember certain "bad memories", and they only seem to be triggered by situations and ideas that many people would see as exciting / or as the "best days of their life"... and even to only recall those things WHEN that particular idea is mentioned. - Surely, most people here can related some really terrible feeling to a song, or a smell... (these tend to trigger emotions, which is most of what our memories are comprised of). Now, imagine that trigger is the weight of your partners body... and imagine the memory is something bad (details removed)
I also recognize that I can go several more days between sexual encounters before experiencing the levels of extreme anxiety that I have experienced in the past. Even when that span of days includes several of those being "quality time together" types of days.
I watch less porn.... something else that I've been doing since I was 12. Sure, it was much less often before we had the Internet, none the less... I definitely feel the need to substitute unsatisfied desire with porn, MUCH LESS often than it's been in the past (a very consistent amount for more than a decade). I'm sure there are many people who would think... Well, that's GOOD news, isn't it???
Maybe... except... I also recognize that I'm just less excited about the "potential sex" that I could imagine having with my LL partners. Even the influence of porn was an attraction to the idea of what "could be"... the pleasures and enjoyment that "could be", if only with a partner who wanted an enjoyed sex... one who I was attracted to, loved, felt respected by and respect for... etc etc etc... - BUT... along with a lot of this understanding for what my LL wife thinks, also comes some understanding about what she does and doesn't enjoy. - She never used masturbation for pleasure... didnt even do it until her early 20's... and only really used it as a measure to help her go to sleep (if she felt like she needed to) - I now accept that she simply doesn't like any of the fetishes I enjoy... - The only positive imagination she has about sex really only reflect (what I consider to be) a very Vanilla style encounter ... While I can very much "enjoy" that kind of sex... I simply don't get excited about it ahead of time.
So... now she's going to therapy... we are having less sex... it's driven a lot more by the desires she has... and I feel certain that she will never even really "enjoy" the fantasies that I "desire". ( to be clear, she's never been "without desire"... it's just that my level of satisfaction requires a frequency and/or a level of kink that is way beyond hers... it's not just being bored with the same roller-coaster... it's being forced to ride it even when you don't want to ).
It just makes the whole endeavor seem like it's more effort than it's worth.... so I have to wonder if our places are going to swap??? Am I going to get so bored with the sex she wants, that I just don't want to bother because it will never be that "exciting" sex that I REALLY WANT. In another 5 or 10 years... will "she" be the one who posting here while "I" am avoiding sex because I'd rather go without instead of being disappointed and unsatisfied?? ( note, for many HLs, unsatisfying sex can result in a burst of much higher levels of anxiety than you had just being frustrated... as I mentioned before, if you've never felt extreme anxiety, it's almost identical to being heart-broken )
I wonder how many people here are already in a DB situation where that shift has taken place and they just didn't recognize it??
submitted by redjamax to DeadBedrooms [link] [comments]

That Time a Mattress Company Sued Somebody Over a Bad ... Tangent-Bound Network - YouTube Why were Dark Tangent Disqualified from World championship ... Luke Seerveld - YouTube circle, tangent ,segments of the chorduk Polytechnic ...

Betting markets predicting Joe Biden’s pick for running mate swung sharply in favor of Kamala Harris in the 48 hours after the presumptive Democratic nominee’s talking points on Harris were ... A traders job is to tailor themselves to the betting market, extracting value in the process. If you understand the market conditions it becomes a lot easier. For example; if you are looking to scalp a horse racing market you will want to do this at it’s most stable point without the price flying off at a tangent. Appendix: The Original Definition Of Tangent. You may see tangent defined as the length of the tangent line from the circle to the x-axis (geometry buffs can work this out). As expected, at the top of the circle (x=90) the tangent line can never reach the x-axis and is infinitely long. The 90° rule predicts the CB heads down the tangent line for stun shots. The 30° rule predicts a rolling CB heads in the natural-angle direction. The Dr. Dave peace sign can be very useful in applying and making adjustments to the 30° rule. Sports Betting Tips have been put together by people who have gambling experience and understand the importance of betting on... by admin. October 7, 2020. Entertainment. The Benefits of IPTV. I'm pretty sure that not all of you are aware of its features and benefits. If you're a business owner,... by admin. September 18, 2020.

[index] [57308] [53953] [59505] [26453] [35885] [20920] [30187] [39665] [65781] [29065]

That Time a Mattress Company Sued Somebody Over a Bad ...

This Channel is labeled "Luke Seerveld", but it's really Meet The Gaffer! Maybe YouTube will help me convert it over so that more people will find it. Meet T... Parabola by using rectangle method. Base - 100mm and height - 80mm. There are plenty of reasons to seek legal action but a bad review is not one of them. That didn't stop one mattress company from allegedly doing just that. J... This is the official home of the Tangent-Bound Network - home to some of the greatest podcasts on the planet. Discover How to Test Gold 14k 10k 18k Know It Is Real. Beware Of False Gold. Find And Test. - Duration: 7:40. PickersInc11 Recommended for you

#