The SandGram

Gotta Smoke?

The smuggling tip came in through the usual network of low paid informants and lowlife that exists in every society. But in Iraq, having thousands of years graft and greed built into its culture, there seems to be more of it. In this particular case, a certain Iraqi high-ranking Shia military General Officer who has pictures of Muqtada al-Sadr proudly displayed on his office wall is part of problem there. He makes a lot of money on captured black market goods that come into Iraq and then find their way to the back streets of Baghdad.

In this case, part due to good intel, and part damn good luck, a Marine Cobra flight, coming back off a sector patrol, spotted a heavily loaded truck in the middle of the desert with a tent set up next to it. The Marines circled the site, and reported back to the TAC (Tactical Air Command), who in turn dispatched three battle-hardened Humvees and crews to check out this suspicious group sitting all by themselves and hidden amongst some dunes.

When the team arrived, they formed a tactical wedge on the high ground overlooking the Iraqis below. With two Humvees and their crews providing security, the young, newly promoted Captain who was on his second tour, approached the MAMS (military-age male suspects, AKA bad guys) in the third Humvee.

The MAMS came out of their tent slowly with all the firepower pointed down at them. “Hank,” the Iraqi translator, started firing off questions that went along these lines,
“What are you doing here?”
“What is your cargo?”
“Not your truck?”
“Whose is it?”
“If not your truck, then what are you doing way out here?”
“Who dropped you off?”

You can see where this is going. They were caught with their hands in the cookie jar, and not a damn thing they can do about it. Their story finally emerged. They didn’t know what was in the back of the truck; the drivers took off to meet some other guys, and they were just the strong back, weak-minded labor that would do anything for a buck.
The young Captain inspected the back of the truck and found it was loaded with boxes of Camels, Marlboro Lights, Newports, and, of all things, Luck Strike cigarettes. There must have been over 1.5 million smokes in the back of this truck. The Captain knew these bastards were lying about owning all this black market stuff so he called his guys down from their offensive positions overlooking the area. He turned to “Hank” and said, “Ask them if they care what we do with this load of illegal black-market stuff?” Hank asked, and of course, the answer was, “Oh no, we don’t care at all what you do with the cigarettes since they don’t belong to us.” (Oh yeah, as if they didn’t know what was there.)

The Captain turned to his men, “Ok, you smokers, grab a carton of smokes and, then I want them all dumped off the back of this truck into a big pile over there.” Pointing to the other side of the truck, all this downwind from the tent.

“Jonesey” The radio operator turned to face the Captain. “You don’t even smoke, where are you going?” Jonesey just smiled and replied “Sir, I don’t smoke when I have to pay for them, but free, hell I can’t pass that up. I’ll grab you some Sir, don’t worry.” The Captain shook his head and then turned to watch the three Iraqis as his men made a huge pile of boxes. He then slowly opened a pack of Marlboro Lights and put one in his mouth. Reaching into his left sleeve pocket, he retrieved a gas-operated cigar lighter that John, one of his supporters from the Metropolitan Society (A very private cigar club in Jersey), sent him. He then lit the cigarette in his mouth. Reaching down, he picked up one of the empty boxes, and torched the end in seconds with the intense heat this beast produced. Placing this box on the edge of the pile, it didn’t take long before a raging inferno engulfed the pyre of smokes. It reminded him of the bon fire they used to have down at his old College of Texas A & M.

When the fire consumed all the smokes, he loaded his men and gear into their Humvees and headed back to base. That night, an Iraqi Major showed up with his men to collect the cigarettes on behalf of the General waiting in his Black SUV. He caught up with the Marine who was taking a break outside the Command Post with his First Sergeant. Smiling broadly, he said, “Captain, I have heard that you found a large shipment of illegal black-market goods. I have come to collect it from you.”

The Captain pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights, slowly lighting one as he looked him in the eye and replied, “I’m sorry, Sir, but there was just too much of it to bring back so we burned it in place.” The stuttering and foul language could be heard in the bunker next door as the Iraqi realized this Marine had destroyed his Boss’s tidy profit for that month. He left in a huff, and the First Sergeant turned to his Officer with a gleam of pride said, “Sir, you have some big brass balls because you know you’re going to catch some crap from the Colonel for this, but I like it!!

The Captain just shook his head, took a draw on his cigarette, and calmly replied, “All in the days work. Life is tough, tougher when you’re an Iraqi on the take. Besides, what are they going to do, shave my head and send me to Iraq??.”

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

Thanks Guys

Dear Gang,
I want to thank all the Folks who voted for the Sandgram. I owe it all to Maj Pain at One Marines View for helping me out through the year and I say he is NUMBER ONE in the arena. Thanks to Momma Taco and DaNang Bell for telling me when to cool my jets on some of the posts and for Momma Taco on her editing. I have a real problem with present and past tense. I owe my wife for her patience when I should be painting the house and I’m typing but most of all, thank you guys for reading my stuff.
JP if you are out there at MilBlogging.com, thanks again for all your hard work right before you deploy.
As Forrest Gump said “That’s about all I’ll say about that”
Semper Fi,
Taco
P.S. I’m in 737 school now and will only be able to check my email every couple of days, so forgive me if I don’t answer back right away.

Without further ado, the 2006 Milbloggie Winners are:

U.S. Army

Acute Politics

U.S. Air Force

Afghanistan Without a Clue

U.S. Navy

Doc in the Box

U.S. Marine Corps

SandGram

U.S. Military (Veteran)

Blackfive – The Paratrooper of Love

U.S. Civilian

Soldiers’ Angels Germany

U.S. Military (Spouse)

Andi

U.S. Military (Parent)

Some Soldier’s Mom

U.S. Military (Supporter)

Fuzzilicious Thinking

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

Wax on, Wax Off

Dear Gang,

Being the hard charging reservist that I am, I decided, against all good advice, to enroll into the Marine Corps Marshal Arts Program (MCMAP) to earn my Tan belt. This program, the brainchild of a certain high-ranking officer, combines about six different combat styles into one modified art. Now I was under the impression that this was going to be the Geritol version for the old guys, but found out quickly how wrong I was!

Our “Dojo” was manned by a handful of mid-twenty something “Teenage Ninja Mutant Turtles” who proceeded to P.T. the crap out of these old officers and Staff NCOs. We started at 0630 and ended at 1700 (5pm) each day. It only took three hours to break the first old man. Neal, a 41-year-old LtCol airline pilot reservist, started to do his forward roll which failed causing him to get the new call sign “Nadia” as in Nadia Comaneci the Russian Gymnast. His poor grace landed him in the hospital with a clean break on his collarbone.

I know you could see the doubt in my eyes as the potential dangers of taking this course began to be clearer. They were treating a bunch of old guys like we were in shape like a 25-year old. We worked our “arses” off till lunch and then made a few phone calls, asking, “Hey isn’t this supposed to be the old man’s course?” It all fell on deaf ears. We returned for our afternoon workout getting battered till 1700. When I made it home, after a hot shower, I had to bust into my wife’s old pain med’s from her C-section for all my aches and pains. My head hit the pillow at 8pm.

Day two: The alarm went off at 0500, “Oh Lord, I can’t move!” It took every ounce of will power to get dressed. I admit it; I whined like a baby to these hard chargers at the bunker and demanded that we dumb this down a bit. “Sir” the Sgt replied, “You are a Marine, we are all Marines…you are expected to maintain that level that separates us from the other services …Suck it up…Sir.”

“O.K. Gents, stand by for the next exercise. Twenty Marine Corps pushups followed by low crawls through the grass, crab crawls, jumping jacks, smurf jacks, bends and thrusts, and duck walks.” He would put us into the next position of pain. This is all part of being the new Marine Warrior…guess I felt like Ralph Macchio in “The Karate Kid” doing all the stuff for Mr. Miyagi… wax on, wax off, paint up, paint down. It doesn’t make sense while you are doing it, but later realize its part of the overall program.

We lost pilot number two that day to a shoulder injury. I went home again, dragging butt and wondering if they were trying to kill me. I am a shell of the physically fit man I used to be at twenty-five, but I have always refused to quit. So day three, just as hard, but we can see the light at the end of the tunnel as we beat each other up, tossed each other over our shoulders, learned how to do effective blood chokes, pounded bags, kicked the living crap out of a dummy, practiced bayonet fighting and knife fighting. Did I cover all the basics? I think so. Did I tell you that this was a hard course? Oh yeah baby, I earned that belt. See this is what happens after you leave the Corps and come back in five years later, they change things up a bit. They teach this to all new recruits and young Lt’s, good thing, too, because I’m telling you that some of us old guys would have a hard time getting to the black belt level. It makes me appreciate that I’m an expert pistol shot if I ever have to use it, but if I ran out of bullets, I’d only go down after some kicking and punches. Hats off to our hard-charging young NCOs who took the time to teach us the ropes of this excellent, but demanding program.

Oh by the way, here is one Marine who proves you are a lethal weapon no matter what age you are…
Semper Fi,
Taco

February 23, 2007 — A retired 70-year-old Marine killed a mugger with his bare hands after a tour bus of U.S. senior citizens was held up in the Costa Rican city of Limon, authorities said yesterday.
The retiree squeezed the 20-year-old mugger in a headlock, broke his clavicle and choked him, police said.
The thief’s two accomplices, who were armed, fled as other retirees on the bus started defending themselves. The group then drove the unconscious mugger to a local Red Cross clinic, where he was declared dead.
Local police named the former Marine as Allan Clady, but could not say where in the United States he resides.
The 12 tourists involved in the incident on Wednesday were on a stopover from the Carnival Cruise ship Liberty.
Local Police Chief Luis Hernandez said no one would be charged in the incident.
“They were in their right to defend themselves,” he said.

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

Happy Post VD day

Nothing says love like… A Japanese toilet (photo from Cheryl Friend,: )

If you want to give your spouse a gift that will leave a meaningful memory, if it doesn’t cause a divorce, buy a high-tech Japanese toilet like I found in my hotel in Tokyo. To set the scene, you check into this beautiful hotel after a long, long, twelve-hour flight from the states. The room is very small since real estate is so expensive causing them to cram so much into such a confined area. Almost everything in the room touches something else. The craziest thing, though, is the bathroom. It looks like they had pre-fabricated bathroom modules installed into the open room when the hotel was built. Small, plastic walls with the coolest space-age toilet you have ever seen.

I had a couple of hours to kill before meeting the crew downstairs, and decided that I had to deposit some American fertilizer before taking a shower. I sat down on the toilet with an old issue of USA Today that I was re-reading for the fourth time; but that soon lost its appeal and was replaced by my curiosity of the fancy computer on the wall next to the toilet paper roll. It had a lot of buttons, with little cartoon pictures depicting certain functions of this high-speed, low-drag futuristic waste disposal unit. The problem I encountered came from my lack of understanding Kanji. Warning, graphic language to follow—hide the kids. There was a block with numbers on it, so I started pushing them and noticed the numbers getting higher, 10,15,20,30,40 before it stopped. Not knowing better, I pushed another set of buttons which resulted in a strange motor noise from somewhere in the back of the toilet seat. Not sure what that was, I peer between my legs and noticed a little white rod directly in the center of the space under my hinny.

About the time I figured out what this thing was, it erupted with a water jet of 40 Celsius or 104 degrees Fahrenheit straight up my butt crack giving me a scalding enema. I shot forward into the room, screaming like a chick, with a stream of hot water arcing over onto my back until I lay prostrate, half-in and half-out of this plastic bathroom. Once my weight came off the seat, it triggered a shutdown of the bidet, but not before it left a searing red line up my butt and the small of my back. Water was everywhere.

After I was able to regain my composure, and recover from this attack of the robotic toilet seat (this took awhile) I finally figured out what all the little cartoons were depicting. I guess there is something to be said for crapping in a hole in the ground like they do in Turkey or a nice old American Toto porcelain John.
But if you decide to get your spouse the toilet with all the works, get one of these Japanese models, but make sure that you get the one with English printed next to the cartoons…
Semper Fi,
Taco
PS, Here is an update on these toilets… (Thanks to Bridget)
Japanese Company Offers Free Repairs on Toilets That Could Catch Fire
Monday , April 16, 2007

Japan’s leading toilet maker Toto Ltd. is offering free repairs for 180,000 bidet toilets after wiring problems caused several to catch fire, the company said Monday.
The electric bidet accessory of Toto’s Z series caught fire in three separate incidents between March 2006 and March 2007, according to company spokeswoman Emi Tanaka. The bidet sent up smoke in 26 other incidents, the company said.
“Fortunately, nobody was using the toilets when the fire broke out and there were no injuries,” Tanaka said. “The fire would have been just under your buttocks.”
The company will repair 180,000 toilet units manufactured between May 1996 and December 2001 for free, she said. A manufacturing defect is thought to have led to the faulty wiring.
Toto has been a pioneer in high-tech toilets fitted with pressurized water sprayers – a standard fixture in Japanese homes.
The popular Z series features a pulsating massage spray, a power dryer, built-in-the-bowl deodorizing filter, the “Tornado Wash” flush and a lid that opens and closes automatically. Prices range from $1,680 to $2,600.
The model is not sold overseas

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

Who cares??

You know it’s a sad state for our country when I land only to see all the news channels reporting Anna Nicole Smith died today in a hotel down in Florida. Here is the problem with our country, they focus international news for, well, all day on a former stripper and gal that bared her body to Playboy, married rich and sucked as actor. I’m sorry that she is dead, but if that was you or me who died, would CNN talk about us? Maybe if we walked into a 7-11 with an AK and took the place out, then they might.

Folks, I know I’m preaching to the choir here but what about all the heroes who die in a war saving others lives, where is the coverage for that? It frustrates me that America would rather be undated with useless news on worthless actors, who they are sleeping with, what they wear and who will be divorced next. I can understand say Elvis, that guy did something with his life, but this gal??? She was a nobody, nothing, but will be remembered for years. How about our military, police, and firefighters? Where are they on the cover of people? Anna will probably immortalized as a goddess diva for absolutely doing nothing.
In a side bar on the news, Iran has threatened the U.S. with attacks on us worldwide if we even sneeze in their direction, but that only made it on the news for about 20 seconds. No, we can’t watch that… we have to mourn over poor Anna who most likely killed herself to fit into the Hollywood life style of the Rich and Famous.
Well, I pray for the souls of the seven that were lost in the CH 46 from my old base in TQ Iraq, those names will be erased in the sands of times, and Anna will remain. I wonder what will happen to all those folks who are insanely interested in that kind of stuff when the first Nuke or roadside bomb goes off in their neighborhood. Will they still be clamoring for details on who is the it girl and guy in Hollywood, or will they be looking for the heroes to come save their lives who are willing to take a bullet from our enemy for 20K a year and not a 20 million dollar contract?
America, WAKE UP.
Semper Fi,
Taco
PS, I had an affair with her too and the baby is mine.

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

Rambo…

This email comes from Captain John Hunt, US Army in Afghanistan. It’s a great update and one that I thought you would like to read.
S/F
Taco

Our guy Rambo in Afghanistan………………

Hi everyone.

I’m still alive but freezing my tail off. We got 8 inches of snow last week and it reached 5 degrees below zero that night. That’s not why I’m e-mailing though.

You may have heard about a suicide car bomb attack in Kabul last Thursday. It was at one of our FOB’s (Forward Observation Bases) about 27 miles from here.

But the real story is why no one was killed.

We employ several thousand Afghans on our various bases. Not to mention the economy that is fed by the money these locals are making.

Some are laborers and builders, but some are skilled workers. We even have one Afghan that just became OSHA qualified, the first ever. Some are skilled HVAC workers.

Anyway, there is this one Afghan that we call Rambo.

We have actually given him a couple of sets of the new ACU uniforms (the new Army digital camouflage) with the name tag RAMBO on it.

His entire family was killed by the Taliban and his home was where our base currently resides. So this guy really had nowhere else to go.

He has reached such a level of trust with US Forces that his job is to stand at the front gate and basically be the first security screening.

Since he can’t have a weapon, he found a big red pipe. So he stands there at the front gate in his US Army ACU uniform with his red pipe.

If a vehicle approaches the gate too fast or fails to stop he slams his pipe down on their hood.

Then once the gate is lifted the vehicle moves on the 2nd gate where the US Army MP’s are. So he’s like the first line of defense.

Last Thursday at 0930 hrs a Toyota Corolla packed with explosives and some Jack Ass that thinks he has 72 Virgins waiting for him approached the gate.

When he saw Rambo he must have recognized him and knew the gig was up.

But he needed to get to that 2nd gate to detonate and take American lives. So he slams his foot on the gas which almost causes the metal gate to go up but mostly catches on the now broken windshield.

Rambo fearlessly ran to the vehicle, reached thru the window and jerked the suicide bomber out of the vehicle before he could detonate He detained the guy until the MP got there.

The vehicle only exploded when they tried to push it off base with a robot but no one was hurt.

I’m still waiting for someone to give this guy a medal or something. Nothing less than instant US citizenship or something.

A hat was passed around and a lot of money was given to him in thanks by both soldiers and civilians that are working over here.

I guess I just wanted to share this because I want people to know that it’s working over here.

They have tasted freedom. This makes it worth it to me.

JOHN W. HUNT, CPT, US ARMY

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

Part two…

This is part two to “Don’t count your chickens”

She then called the reserve P-3 squadron at Willow Grove to tell the Navy that her loving husband was dead, and to find out who she needed to send the death certificates so she could collect his service group life insurance and social security benefits for the baby about to arrive in a few months. The duty officer answered the phone and said, “Ma’am, I’ve been here four years, and your husbands name doesn’t ring a bell. Why don’t you try our sister squadron next door; they might be able to help you.” He transferred her to the Admin Officer next door who said, “Bob who”??? He says, “Sorry, never heard of him and I deal with all the members of this Squadron.” She really began to freak out now. “Well, he flew up there to drill once a month for the past four years we while we were married, and he also flew to Key West a lot with you all for his two-week Annual Training each summer.” Her words were starting to babble now as she wondered why her world was crashing around her. The Admin Officer took pity on her and offered to do some research on her behalf. Armed with his social security number and date of birth, he started to scour the naval records in DC.

A few phone calls on his part about the mysterious Naval Commander named “Bob” revealed some interesting facts. It turned out that ole’ Bob was never a pilot in the Navy, nor was he ever an officer. Turned out that Bob was indeed in the Navy during the Vietnam War during the early 70’s aboard the U.S.S. Oriskney, a small aircraft carrier where he was a crew chief in the SPAD squadron, and when he returned to the states, he was honorably discharged from the service. I guess that he built himself a bio from talking to the pilots he worked for. I mean this guy knew the names of the Squadrons he was in, the flights he took, the tail numbers, he knew it all.
Then she learned that he wrote his parents, and told them that he had been accepted into the NavCad program and offered a slot in flight school down in Pensacola. He disappeared for “training” and would, from time to time, show up to visit his folks in uniform. Over the years, he promoted himself on schedule and had a closet full of Naval Officer uniforms by the time he married ole Elizabeth. His own family never knew the truth about him. For all those years, he pretended to be someone else. He sure had me fooled, for he knew things that only a guy who served would know. No wonder, he wasn’t able to apply to the airlines, all of his combat flight time was nothing more then a bunch of fluff and stuff.

Again, that night, I heard it all. She cried on Teddy’s shoulder, for there was no insurance money, no military money, a baby on the way, her dead husband was a fraud, and now she wondered where he disappeared to when he was away flying for the Navy! It opened more mysteries then it solved. Could he have switched another body in the jeep that night? Did they kill him off and he knew something was amiss and set her up? Was this his idea of revenge? I’m not sure, but I think I heard a distant voice laughing that night from the grave as he rolled over knowing he had the last laugh. See, sometimes, the truth is stranger then fiction.
Semper Fi,
Taco

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

Don’t count your chickens…

Sometimes, the truth is stranger then fiction. I think this post should be sent to “Cold Case Files,” but I’ll leave it up to you, the readers out there in Cyberland to determine who did what to whom.

When I lived in New Bern, North Cackalacky, back in the mid-nineties, I was renting the most awesome house directly across the street from the New Bern Airport also located on a beautiful fresh water lake. At that airport, within sight of my house, is where I kept my 1967 Cherokee 140, a small white and blue low wing four-seater aircraft with a mighty 150 HP engine. I used to walk to the “F.B.O.”(fixed based operator), where I met this older guy, Bob (name changed), wearing a Navy flight jacket with patches all over it. We Marines like to say that the Navy guys put patches all over their jackets so that they can remember where they were when they parked their aircraft carriers. Bob told me he flew during Vietnam in the mighty SPAD, a prop plane that dropped many a bomb on the bad guys. After hearing a couple of his stories, I was addicted to drinking coffee and listening to Bob talk about the near miss he had off a bombing run in the Qui Trang area when his SPAD took small arm hits all over. With his experience, you would have thought he would fly for one of the commercial airlines, but, no, he was now flying cancelled bank checks in a Piper Navajo at night for some fly-by-night outfit out of New Bern. I thought it strange since he said he was a Naval Reserve Commander for a P-3 unit in Willow Grove, Pennsylvania. Old Bob was married to a VERY young gal he met while taking graduate courses at a local college. It was a very odd relationship, but one that seemed to work, or so I thought.

Now, there were a couple of young flight instructors at the airport who graduated from the prestigious Emery Riddle Flight school in Daytona Florida, where it costs $100,000 to get all the ratings, and then the pilot spends the next twenty years paying off the school loans incurred as they pump gas, and fly in the mighty Cessna 150 that was held together with bailing wire and chewing gum. They were all trying to build up time to eventually one day become commercial airline pilots. A couple of these guys come into play later.

Due to the nature of the Marine Corps, my roommate was leaving in a month for Okinawa, Japan, for a fast back fill there (urgent replacement). I needed a roommate Riki Tic, so I put feelers out, and found myself in a bit of a rush to replace my friend for I would lose this awesome house on the lake if I didn’t find one soon. We are talking about the best bachelors pad in the world! Two guys who pumped gas at the airport lived in a trailer at the back of the airport with ten other flight instructors. They were available to move into my house with me thus saving me from having to find a new place to live. This turned out to be a bad decision and one of the worst of my life.

One guy, “Ted,” was from New Jersey and reminded me of Ralph Macciho from the Karate kid. He was of Italian descent with dark hair that was my same age. The other was “Beal,” a lazy piece of crap who always had a dip in his mouth, and was a real “couch potato.”
I came to the stark realization that this arrangement was a mistake when Ted showed up at my house with a girl in her mid-twenties named “Elizabeth.” She liked to smoke lots of cigarettes, and if that wasn’t bad enough, she was the wife of the Ex-Navy pilot named Bob from the FBO at the airport. I learned that Bob, a man in his fifties married a girl thirty years his junior, had asked Teddy to take his wife out for an occasional movie and dinner while he was out flying. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that these two would hook up, and have an affair behind Bob’s back. They started dating and before long, Elizabeth and Bob were separated.

Now, here starts the wild ride. Bob, who had never had kids, asked Elizabeth if she would have his child. The deal was, he would pay for her to fly to New York, and get artificially inseminated by a doctor buddy there. The other stipulations in their agreement included his taking out a million-dollar life insurance policy for himself, and that he also set up a trust fund for the baby. The weird part is that she agreed to do this, while dating Ted, and separated from Bob. She goes off and presto, the baby takes in her misguided womb and she is now pregnant. I kept busy and tried to avoid her when she came over. I wouldn’t allow her to smoke inside the house so she was out on the back deck a lot.

You can imagine that there was some tension over at the F.B.O. between Bob and Ted over his wife who was still legally married to him. As the months went by, Elizabeth’s belly got bigger and bigger, and I heard some more stories about why she left Bob from Ted, who would spew madness from time to time. Apparently, Bob wasn’t able to perform in the bedroom unless he watched at least two hours of porno beforehand to get him in the mood, all stemming back from his long stints aboard aircraft carriers. All sorts of crazy stuff, most of which I’m sure was created by Elizabeth to justify what she was doing. She claimed to love Bob, but she couldn’t live with him. At least she claimed this on the day he died.
While driving home in his old, ratty jeep, he apparently succumbed to carbon monoxide poisoning from a hole in his exhaust that leaked into the jeep’s closed cab. He veered off the highway, headlong into some of those tall pines you see along the North Carolina highways. His jeep exploded like a massive torch, and pretty much melted into a molted pile of metal, because it turned out that he had a bunch of scuba tanks in the back filled with O2, not compressed air. I guess the police where able to track down who owned the jeep from the license plate that was thrown from the back of the wreck. What a way to go.
On that cold night, I had hit the rack early only to be awakened by loud voices on the back deck outside my bedroom window, a set of French windows always cracked. It was the super wife and Ted. She, with a smoke in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, was counting the money already in her head, and ole Bob wasn’t even in the ground. “Let’s see, we have the million from his life insurance policy, and oh, don’t forget, we will get $250,000 from the Navy for his SGLI insurance. I can sell his house and make another 20K off of that.” She was working the numbers, and Ted with a smile on his face was just nodding. I never understood what spell she cast over him, but I wasn’t sure that Bob’s death was an accident after all.
They had a memorial at the airport for Bob that Sunday, and, of course, it was a nice military send-off for a war hero. Knowing what I had overhead, it was pretty weird watching the mourning wife, with her belly swelled out a foot, crying on Ted’s shoulder. Here is where the fun began…
That Monday morning she got the shock of her life, the first of several. Bob had paid his premiums on the million-dollar policy, well at least the first two installments, and then let it go. There was no money to be had since he elected to default on the payments. You could hear her screaming all the way to South Carolina as the realization hit her, no insurance money and she was about to have a baby.

Stand by for the rest of the story
Semper Fi,
Taco

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

Lessons learned…

It’s been a year since I started writing on Blogspot over in Iraq. I owe it all to Major Pain over at One Marines View for all of his help and time while I struggled to learn the code. Now I owe my Uncle Bruce who is the mastermind behind a new project. Thanks to Momma Taco for all the hours spent editing my post. I also wanted to thank all of you readers out there, your positive feedback makes writing fun!
You know, through the years, I have kept a little green “Lieutenant’s” book (a small hardbound book all Lt’s carry) ever since I was at The Basic School in Quantico. Whenever I heard a great joke, quote or word that I liked, I would whip out my book and write it down. I have many of these books and there are some wonderful little pieces of wisdom there. For you, today, I am going to publish some of these gems of wisdom. Some of these may not make sense but they sure did for me at the time. Hope you get something out of the Taco’s lesson’s of life from his little Green Book.
Semper Fi,
Taco

Sayings:
“Time is a man made imposition upon the universe, it doesn’t exist, we are trying to control something we can’t control, the universe is timeless” Capt Jim Adams

“Some men see things as they are and say “Why?” I dream of things that never were and say, “Why Not?” George Bernard Shaw

“There is no chance, no destiny, no fate that can circumvent or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul” Captain Walt Fisher

“A mistake is evidence that somebody has tried to accomplish something” John Babcock

“Better to be thought a fool, then to open your mouth and remove all doubt” Old Chinese fortune cookie

“Better to try and fail, then to never to attempt at all” Captain Jones

Quotes:

“He was hand picked, like a booger” Major Beck

“Watching him work is like watching a Monkey F**K a football” Maj John Wissler

“Don’t tell me how to build a watch you idiot, just tell me what time it is!”
Major to a Captain about a question on the up status of a plane.

“A life lived in Fear is but a half life lived” Old Spanish saying

“Fear is a mind stricture that prevents you from doing things, but when thrust in the midst of it, the fear dissipates, leaving an edge of awareness, but not the paralysis” Sailor rescued off the coast of Japan

“She must have had a rough paper route as a kid” Major Pat Redmon

“Lie, Deny, make counter accusations…” C.I.A. motto

“Hey, hand me a pair of those needle nose, vice girpping, monkey Mother F**kers”
Wrench turner I overheard in the hanger bay

“Hey, keep your motivation out here on recruiting duty. Don’t let them see you sitting at your desk with a .45 in your mouth and the Marine Corps flag draped around you!!”
District Col to his Commanding Officers during a brief

“An organization does well only those things that the boss checks” Major John Wissler

“Nothing concentrates the military mind so much as the discovery that you have walked into an Ambush” Thomas Packerman

“Minds are like Parachutes, they only function when they’re open.” My flight instructor

“Prefer a loss to a dishonest gain the one brings pain at the moment, the other for all time.” Chilon

and then of course how can we forget…”The average pilot, despite the sometimes swaggering exterior is very much capable of such feelings such as love, affection, intimacy and caring. These feelings just don’t involve anybody else.” Trader Johns’

Now words:
Lackadaisical : Adj without enthusiasm: without much enthusiasm, energy, or effort

Nebulous Adj 1. unclear: not clear, distinct, or definite

Fruition: Noun, 1. completion: a state or point in which something has come to maturity or had a desired outcome
Our plans have come to fruition.

Remiss: Adj negligent: careless or negligent about doing something that is expected

Intramural: Adj 1. within school or institution: occurring within, or involving members of, a single school, college, or institution

Wherewithal: Noun necessary means: the money or resources required for a purpose

Deleterious: del•e•te•ri•ous adj harmful: having a harmful or damaging effect on somebody or something

Trepidation: Noun 1. apprehension: fear or uneasiness about the future or a future event

Reiterate: 1.repeat something: to say or do something again, once or several times, sometimes in a tiresome way

Hubris: Noun 1. pride: excessive pride or arrogance
2. excessive ambition: the excessive pride and ambition that usually leads to the downfall of a hero in classical tragedy

Conundrum: Noun 1. something confusing: something that is puzzling or confusing

Effusive Adj unrestrained in expressing feelings: giving or involving an extravagant and sometimes excessive expression of feelings in speech or writing

Serendipitous: Noun 1. discovery of something fortunate: the accidental discovery of something pleasant, valuable, or useful

Tags: The SandGram v1.0

Now the Rest of the story…

Walking out of my room into the Corpus muggy August morning, I slowly recited my emergency procedures for the days flight. Crossing the grass, I looked up to see my blue Chevy S-10 and part of it was covered in seagull “poop.” As badly covered as my truck was, it was nothing compared to Larry’s sand-colored Toyota pickup truck. It was covered completely as if the birds just hovered over his truck and opened up all the poop gates. Cursing the birds, I rushed to the car wash to remove the evidence from that night’s attack before heading to the Squadron. Larry came in about an hour later, fuming about the birds attacking his pickup. No one really gave it much thought. The next day, the same thing happened except two other unlucky bastards were parked on either side of Larry’s truck and got hit also. It became almost a daily routine and no matter where in the parking lot that Larry parked, the next morning it was covered in seagull calling cards.

After two weeks of this, Larry was beside himself and placed a call to the animal control officer from the ready room. “Yes, I’m the one who was attacked by the skunk, and no I didn’t provoke him, he just went nuts….” There was a long pause. “No, I don’t have anything against seagulls except they crap on my truck.” Pause, “I want to know what you are going to do about these birds…” pause… “Yes I want you to kill them all…” pause… “What do you mean they are protected???” This conversation, overheard by all the students in the ready room, brought lots of snickers as they sipped their coffee. Adam said, “You know, Larry, maybe it’s the color of your truck.” Larry turned around and said, “What did you say? Color? Why do you think it’s the color?” Adam looked around and with a wave of his arm across the room replied, “Well no one else here has a tan-colored vehicle, so that must be it.” Everyone started nodding in agreement; of course, the discussion of how birds could tell the difference in color AT NIGHT never came up. As Larry left, he was heard mumbling about how he might have to trade in his truck for another color.

That night at 1130 pm, I came around the corner of the building with a load of clothes I had just laundered. Across the night came the loud clear imitation of a seagull, “Hawwwwrrrrrrrrrkkkkk, Haaaawwwwwwrrrrrrk” and there in the parking lot next to Larry’s truck was someone clapping his hands. Walking to where I could get a better view, I saw that he had spread bread all over the hood, roof, and bed of the truck; arousing the birds by his calling. They started landing on the truck to eat the bread. Me, with my arms loaded with clothes, waited by the stairwell for the mystery man to walk by. Adam almost ran me over as he turned to climb the outside stairwell. The surprised look on his face gave it away. “Taco, you can’t tell a soul about this!!! I mean it, no one!!” I just laughed and said, “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me, but don’t you think every night is over doing it a bit?” Adam, just chuckled and replied, “I wanted to do it a couple more times before he trades it in. The sucker truly believes it’s because of the color of his truck. I’m just pissed that he turned us in so I’m having a little fun with the turd.” The two walked up the steps for a beer. Now, as Paul Harvey says, “You know the rest of the Story.”

Tags: The SandGram v1.0