I know this isn't much of an issue now, but it still ticks me off thinking about it.  Why do they insist on playing nothing but Christmas music two weeks BEFORE Thanksgiving?  I can understand after the fact, but to hear to two months prior to Christmas is basically torture...plain ol' fucking torture.  If anyone else is in agreeance with me on this, then I am glad to share the same pain as you.  If you are one of the fruits out there who love Christmas music year long, then good for you; however, please buy a fucking CD and listen to it instead of conning the radio stations into playing that shitty music over and over again.  It would be different if there were many different songs, but there are literally about 25 different Christmas songs sung about 100 different ways each.  It gets very fucking old very fucking quick.  I'm not a hater of Christmas, or even Christmas music, but too much is too much.

For those of you who care about the economy and hate the tax system.  I am majoring in Economics and have come to the conclusion that our tax system is crooked as shit.  For God's sake, they tax our interest earned in banks as though it were interest!  Not to mention that trying to figure out how the hell to fill out tax forms is a pain in the ass that is usually a painful experience for any of us.  My solution to this is to get rid of our fucked up tax system and instill a flat rate consumption tax.  This means that whatever you BUY you pay a tax on, whether that be 15% to 50%, you pay the tax only on what you buy.  This means that if you want to save your money, you don't have to pay taxes on it, if you receive gifts larger that $10,000 you don't pay taxes on it, if you win the lottery you don't pay taxes on it (by the way, they treat the lottery as a gift tax and tax away 30% of it).  The government could split the consumption tax to pay for all of their expenses, i.e. they could put 10% of the consumption tax towards Social Security, 5% of it to roads, etc.  (These numbers are in no way, shape, or form actual figures, I am just trying to make a point).  Anyway, that is my take on how to bring this country's economy back under control.

I remember speaking to an enlisted Navy chief petty officer about three years ago while I was in San Diego.  He had some advice for me going into the navy that, although I don't think I would have to worry about needing it anyway being as that I am married, made for a good story.  He told me about how his ship pulled into port in Singapore and they all had liberty (free time to play in port for those non squibs).  This guy and his friends stepped off of their ship and noticed that there were beautiful women everywhere.  Naturally they all thought they had died and gone to heaven after being on a ship for months.  They had heard the stories and warnings about how if you want to get together with any of the women to do a "Crotch" test to make sure that they were women and not cross-dressers.  Anyway, this guy decided to play it safe and steer clear of the women.  On his way to explore the city one of his friends came up and introduced a girl he had met.  The guy took a look at the girl and noticed a scarf around her neck.  The temperature wasn't exactly cool, so it was a little out of place.  He took his friend aside and asked him if he had done the crotch test.  The guy replied, "No I know she's a girl, don't worry about it".  The guy insisted that he check just to be safe.  His friend replied, "fuck you man, I know she's legit.  Come on babe, we're out of here!"  The guy shrugged off his friend's rudeness and thought, "well maybe he's right and I was just being a prick."  The next day, the man was reporting back to his ship.  On his way to the harbor he spotted his friend sitting under a street lamp with his head between his knees.  He walked up and asked his friend if he was alright.  His friend replied, "I don't want to talk about it." The man then said, "You fucked a guy didn't you..." to which his friend replied, "I don't want to talk about it."  Moral of the story, either stay away from the locals in Singapore, or, at the very least, do a crotch test.

I am currently on Thanksgiving Break and have nothing better to do than to think about something to write on Ebaum's for shits and giggles.  You know what I hate??  I cannot come up with anything to talk about.  I try thinking about cool things that have happened to me or people I know, but I can't come up with anything, so I have decided to write a blog on how much it sucks trying to think of something interesting to say yet nothing comes to mind.  I'm sure it happens to the best of us.  Some call it writer's block, others call it brain farts, still others probably say you are just plain retarded (fuck you by the way).  I am pretty quiet natured anyway and don't do much socializing and when I do, I don't have many stories of my own to share.  I enjoy listening to others and am a big fan of the phrase, "if you have nothing intelligent or worthwhile to say, then it is better to say nothing at all".  I do, however, believe that I have heard somewhere that writing about having nothing to say can actually unblock your writer's block and I have just remembered something that I want to blog about.  So, I guess the moral of the story is, if you are out on a date or with friends and have nothing to talk about, the best thing to do is to talk about how there is nothing to talk about and surely something will come to mind.  But, maybe I'm just retarded.

Read this and think about it.

The average age of the military man is 19 years.
He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who,
under normal circumstances is considered by
society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind
the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old
enough to die for his country. He never really
cared much for work and he would rather wax
his own car than wash his father's, but he has
never collected unemployment either.

He's a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport
activities, drives a ten year old jalopy, and has a
steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when
he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and a 155mm howitzer.

He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he
was at home because he is working or fighting
from before dawn to well after dusk. He has
trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain for him,
but he can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and
reassemble it in less time in the dark. He can recite
to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.

He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional.

He can march until he is told to stop,
or stop until he is told to march.



He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation,
but he is not without spirit or individual dignity.
He is self-sufficient.

He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry.

He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never
to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend
his own clothes, and fix his own hurts.

If you're thirsty, he'll share his water with you; if you
are hungry, his food. He'll even split his ammunition
with you in the midst of battle when you run low.

He has learned to use his hands like weapons
and weapons like they were his hands.

He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job.

He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay, and still find ironic humor in it all.

He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime.



He has wept in public and in private, for friends
who have fallen in combat and is unashamed.

He feels every note of the National Anthem
vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away ' those around him who haven't bothered to stand,
remove their hat, or even stop talking.

In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from
home, he defends their right to be disrespectful.

Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy.
He is the American Fighting Man that has
kept this country free for over 200 years.


He has asked nothing in return, except
our friendship and understanding.
Remember him, always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.

And now we even have women over there in
danger, doing their part in this tradition of going to War when our nation calls us to do so.

As you go to bed tonight, remember this shot. . .

A short lull, a little shade and a picture of
loved ones in their helmets.


Prayer

'Lord, hold our troops in your loving hands.
Protect them as they protect us.
Bless them and their families for the selfless acts they perform for us in our time of need. Amen.'


When you read this, please stop for a moment and say a prayer for our soldiers and marines on the ground, sailors on the ships, and airmen in the air, and for those in Iraq, Afghanistan and all foreign countries.

To all those who claim to be "African"
American. You know what I say to that?
If you're too ignorant to realize that
you were born and raised in the US then
you can go back to Africa. Drop the
African bullshit and realize that you
are an AMERICAN! not African American,
not Asian American, only AMERICAN. The
only ones who are allowed to be any
different are Native Americans because
they were here first. Once again, I will
repeat this for the retards out there,
if you were born and raised in America,
despite the color of your skin or the
blood running through your veins, you
are a fucking American. Embrace it and
get over your racist self.