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Hawk: What's The Maximum Effective Range Of Your Grenade Launcher?
Seriously? Shame on you if you actually thought I was done ranting.
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.
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?
OP: It's from a joke about not being old enough.
Cake: What joke?
OP: (Busy Woodworking) Nope.
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.
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.
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.
OP: Is that all you're going to eat?
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.
What do you guys think of this build it’s unarmed melee with explosive weapons (rocket launchers and Grenade launchers) also some chems/alcohol