Getting some stuff on Amazon today. I'll order it. And yeah, Fante isn't as dirty either. He's just as honest though. And it seems he was a nicer guy which doesn't make him less interesting, just different I guess.
So the morning after I screwed that girl at the costume party in Lincoln, my friend James took me to Popeyes. As I'm eating, still in my Charlie Brown costume, he opens up facebook on his phone and goes to the girl's account. He shows me a picture of a little girl and asks in high-pitched voice "Are you my daaaddy?" That's when I remember she was married. She had told me it was an open marriage so it was fine. She had talked to her husband on the phone about how she and another girl there were horny and he had offered his services. She made a big production out of telling her husband she was going to be “just fiiine” and patted my dick. This is all shit that would have ended things before they began for me any other night but I was fucking loaded with rum.
Anyways, that shit got to me. I had never messed with a married woman before - open marriage or not. And I thought about it on the long drive home quite a bit. And it wasn't long after getting home that I couldn't stop pissing. I started to fear the worst. And it didn't matter how much I drank - and I drank a lot of fluids - I could not piss more than a couple seconds at a time and barely anything would come out. Then as soon as I was done I had to go again. It felt like I had stopped mid-stream and was holding it all day.
I was on night shift at the time and got no sleep during the day. It was impossible. I even put wads of toilet paper in my underwear to make sure I didn't piss the bed but the sensation just wouldn't let me sleep. That night it didn't get any better. I called in sick to work. The pissing was constant. I didn't even want to go to the bathroom anymore. It was every other minute. I might as well piss on the fucking floor for all that was coming out. Just a few drops at a time, what was that going to do the floor anyways? I tried drinking more fluids, no fluids, after a couple of days it was time to do something. But it was night time and I would have to go to the ER.
I went to the ER. Fuck it. I have health insurance. I get to the hospital and I see this chubby bitch I used to know in high school. She could have been nice back then but she had to have an attitude to go along with the extra weight I guess. She was nicer now that I'd told her I was coming in for "frequent urination." I told her my symptom like I was asking a question. She giggled and said it was no big deal and pointed me towards where I needed to go.
I live in a small town so the ER was dead and I saw a nurse right away. This cute, almost middle aged blonde asked how frequently I had to void my bladder, what other symptoms I had, and if I had intercourse recently. I told her I felt a dull pain in my kidneys which wasn't entirely untrue but it was really just half imagined. I think I wanted it to just be a simple urinary tract infection and be done with the shit - especially with the cute girls I was seeing in ER. Again, I live in a small town and the way rumors go around isn't cool.
Then the doctor came in, an Asian-American guy with glasses that was dressed like he could give a fuck. He talked that way too. He asked the same questions. Then he asked why I didn't wait to go to the clinic the next day, saying I was wasting about five hundred dollars coming into the ER. I explained that I hadn't slept in over a day because of the constant leaking. He then asked if I had a girl in my life.
"Yeah I met somebody recently."
"So you two were intimate?"
"So you're worried now about that?"
"I'm worried about having to piss every minute or so."
"Ok, but what is it then that's keeping you up at night Jack? Why did you need to come to an ER instead of the clinic tomorrow? Why can't you sleep?"
"I feel like I'm going to piss the bed!"
"Alright, well we should have the test run for infection any time now. But if it's... chlamydia or gonorrhea... you'll need to go to the clinic tomorrow anyways and have lab work done."
What a fucking prick. But he was right. I was sure this bitch had burned me. And what the fuck? What kind of whore was she? She was supposed to be married! Thirty-one years old and I'm burning for the first time. I wanted this shit out of my dick as soon as possible. But I was going to have to wait it out. I swear the fucker was smiling when he came back and told me there were no signs of an infection and gave me my record to take to the clinic the next day.
Luckily they were able to fit me in at the clinic in the early afternoon. As usual, I had to wait on the doctor an extra half hour or so but I brought a book with me to read. I was a quarter of the way through Slaughterhouse Five when I was finally called back by a nurse. She showed me to my exam room and took my measurements and left me to wait longer. I continued reading. Billy Pilgrim was in a horrible situation. I knew what it was like marching in those shitty boots the army gives people. And Billy has it far worse than I did - separated from his unit, captured, and being forced to march on bloody feet. But I'll bet the asshole could still take a good, long, healthy piss. When was this fucking doctor going to show up?
About that time he did show up. I didn't have too much left to read. He was much nicer than the ER doc. He scared me more though. He said it might be a symptom of diabetes. So now I was really pissed. I had been on a health kick for three months straight - working out nearly every day, no soda. I had only started drinking pop again in Lincoln. I mentioned to the doctor that the physician in the emergency room thought it may be an STD. He didn't seem to think so after checking me out. During a small silence I asked him "Am I an idiot for hoping now that this is gonorrhea and I can just get it taken care of?" He seemed to want to laugh but he stopped himself.
Then he sent me to the lab for the big tests. Once there the lab tech informed me that for the std tests I was going to have to refrain from urinating for two hours before the test. I asked in a whimper "You know I have to piss every two minutes, right?" He didn't have a problem laughing. And so I finished Slaughterhouse Five with plenty of time to spare. I wondered if some poor asshole in Dresden with an irritated pecker had welcomed the bombs so he could finally get some rest.
I was finally able to give the sample. It was the most I had pissed in days, half of a tiny cup. The results were back quickly at least. I did not have chlamydia or gonorrhea. I was clean. The doctor said sometimes these things happen. We just can't nail things down. He then asked if I drank a lot of soda or dairy.
Soda. Fuck. I hadn't had any for three months and now I was drinking it just as much as ever to stay awake for night shift. I had pounded it so I could try to piss more. And I was only making it worse. This whole fucking time I thought I had the some version of the clap, the vengeance of the angry Catholic God, or some of this girl's shit got in my dickhole, and here it was Diet fucking Mountain Dew that was driving me insane.
After a day of nothing but water I was fine.
Thank Hickman there was an happy end to this one, lol.
My friend Gunner started dating a girl named Jenn we worked with at the call center. She was 36 but acted like she was 19 which was good and bad I guess. He had started things by letting her know he didn't want a relationship. After a couple of situations where she acted like she was about to boil his pet rabbit he had tried to break up with her, but he made the mistake of doing it in person and got blowjobs instead. I liked her.
Anyways, she liked to go downtown in Yankton and when she had a few drinks in her she wanted to see boobs. So we'd end up at The Cockatoo. The Cockatoo wasn't the worst type of titty bar but it wasn't the best either. So it's just right for me - not a complete whorehouse but not too legitimate either. And the girls are usually above fuckable.
As soon as we got our drinks there Jenn wanted to hit up sniffer's row and throw some dollars down. She was already drunk. I was only about halfway there and although this isn't my first time in a place like this I'm still a little sober and feel like half a pervert. So when the curvy thirty-something takes my dollar and tells me to yell "I love tits!" I don't really muster a full shout and she gives me all kinds of shit for being a prude. Then we started taking shots.
The cocktail waitress was by far the most attractive girl in there and she knew Jenn - one of the reasons I liked hanging out with Jenn. The more I drank the more shit I gave my friends. Gunner and Jenn teamed up on me while she was gone. Then the waitress came back, sat in my lap, and asked what we all wanted. I said I'd have a Budweiser and the other two could get a glass of fuck off.
The waitress asked "How about I get you a glass of 'Fuck you?'"
"Fuck off!" and she hopped off my lap.
This was just the right amount of intoxication for me but I screwed that up and took more shots. I walked by sniffer's row and screamed "I LOVE TITS!!!" at the top of my lungs and the blonde laughed while in the middle of a dollar dance. Then I pissed in the bathroom sink for no good reason. I was thoroughly plowed when I got my couch dance from the blonde. Some strippers do nothing but shake their shit in front of you in the back room but this girl actually did good work. When I got back to our table, Jenn made mention of how the stripper went straight to the bathroom after my dance. She figured she got wet and needed to dry it off. One can't be sure that's what happened but it was a nice thought.
Sometime after this I became completely shitfaced. I vaguely remember Gunner giggling as he got me from a table I sat alone at by the back room. I don't remember any of the ride home. I think I remember being dropped off but I'm not sure I'm not imagining it. My first clear memory after this is looking around the lawn outside of my duplex for my keys, and then falling flat on my face and thinking fuck it.
I woke up on the ground with a horrible pain in my right side. It couldn't have been much more than forty degrees outside. I remember thinking I was lucky to wake up. I might not have survived the night and died like a bum just feet from my doorstep. It took a few tries but I got to my feet and after some more looking I gave up on finding my keys. I called my ex and told her I was outside, locked out in the cold, and some asshole must have kicked me in the side after I passed out. She was very worried and I can only guess she was relieved when I found out our sliding door had been left unlocked because I had no more need of her and ended the call.
The next day I went to work I told the story and showed the bruise on my side to Gunner and Jenn. It was bigger than a softball. I told them I thought it sounded crazy too but some asshole college kid must have kicked me while I was out. They were used to this type of shit by then and laughed it off. Then Gunner drove me home after my shift and asked "Has your fence always leaned like that?" I looked over to see that our wooden fence was leaning quite a bit, as if someone's car ran into it. Then he asked if the fence post at the end was about the size of my bruise. I said it was. And then he laughed like the asshole he is and didn't stop laughing as I got out and he pulled away.
During basic training we got no newspapers. We had no television. And the first few weeks there we got no phone calls to our families. Now none of youngsters really gave a shit about the news before we got there but once you're deprived of knowlege of the outside world you definitely notice.
The one source we did have for news was letters. Fucking letters, it was like living in a different century. My favorite baseball player had always been Mark McGwire and I was in basic training during his home run race with Sammy Sosa so I looked forward to mail every day. But sports were about the only updates we cared about. As far as other current events went we were in the dark.
So it was quite a shock one day when we all sat in a museum before a class on the history of army customs when the drill sergeant that looked like Dempsey let us know that Bill Clinton admitted to having that chubby brunette suck his wang. It may seem naive now of us but everyone gasped. But before we could digest that thought, Dempsey went on to say that Saddam Hussein, most likely seeing this as a moment of weakness, was preparing for war to retake what he thought was Iraq's. We were told that due to the limited numbers the army had some of us would be sent to Iraq as soon as we completed basic training. Then he welcomed a spectacled, overweight guy in a suit on to the stage to teach us about trivial shit like how the salute came about. He was very into the presentation but I'm sure I wasn't the only person in the room that didn't give a shit. My wandered from positive to negative thoughts. I had signed up as a medical specialist and now I'd be sent over to do generic shit like driving trucks and sitting in guard towers. I had signed up with my occupation guaranteed and here I was getting it shit on. On the other hand I didn't sign up to stay in the US the whole fucking time and if I had to go right out of basic that mean the national guard assholes had to go too.
When he was finished Dempsey jumped back on stage. He explained that President Clinton had indeed confessed to having sexual relations with Lewinsky. But we were not in any immediate threat of war. He explained that we were made to believe that for a time so it would become real to us that we could go to war at any time after basic training. I wasn't so sure why people training to be soldiers had to learn this lesson but after getting back to the barracks and hearing everyone freak out about it I realized there were some dumb fucks that never expected to go anywhere. So our lesson that day was to expect to go anywhere at any time. But there was a more important lesson there. This was the first of many times that people in charge knew more than us and told us only what they thought we needed to know. Soldiers put it very simply - that the higher ups treat us like mushrooms - keep us in the dark and feed us full of shit.
Last edited by Jack Roller; 07-25-2012 at 04:39 PM.
It wasn't just the superiors that fucked with people's heads. Everything was fucking rumors. And it was always "I know because my brother was in and..." or "I had a friend that said..." And some of the shit that people repeated. I think about 99 percent of the trainees in basic training honestly believed that if you got caught jacking off that they made you wear your hat backwards as punishment. Why this was made up I don't know. Some people must really not want to be around other people that are jacking off - not that this isn't normal but the means they went to... So out of fear of having to wear hats backwards, this big hairy Italian guy, Zingarelli, said that when his buddy was in basic that when the drill sergeants left for the night one guy would yell "GREASE!" and everyone would jack off at the same time so nobody got caught and nobody snitched. And nobody questioned him about it. Nobody said "What the fuck are you talking about Zingarelli you sick fuck?" Nobody laughed. Nothing. This was normal talk. Everyone just ate it up.
So when the drill sergeants started telling some of us that were in to be medical specialists that we were going to end up in the infantry in Somalia and our fellow trainees told us "Nah dog, you're gonna be wearing hospital whites and working in a clinic." - we really didn't know what to believe. Personally I chose to believe I'd be wearing hospital whites. Why the fuck not?
Then after basic all the medical specialists took a bus down to Fort Sam Houston for our advanced individual training (AIT). It was a high school atmosphere all the way down and we were sure things were going to get better and not worse. And when we got off the bus we found out we were right. The first time one of us snapped to attention and requested permission to speak one of the drill sergeants said to relax and that asking to speak wasn't necessary. There was no cursing, no yelling. People were screwing up and there was no physical punishment. I was going to love it here. And then Drill Sergeant Denwalt, always squinting and speaking in spaced sentences with a monotone voice, told us "Welcome to Fort Sam Houston... Home of the combat medic." Fuck.
I had remembered then telling my friend's dad at home that I was joining the army to be a medical specialist. He said "Oh yeah, you're gonna be a platoon medic, huh?" I was polite and agreed with him but thought he had it wrong. But nah, it was very possible that was where I was headed.
So when I got to Fort Bragg I was hopeful I would be wearing hospital whites, if medics in the hospital even fucking wore those, but since this was home of the fucking airborne I wasn't optimistic. I can't remember how many days I spent at the replacement barracks before I got to my unit - just that they were shitty. They were from around the Korean War era and needed to be burned down. Before we were released to the barracks each night we told not to wipe our asses with the funny pages because the old pipes couldn't handle it. And we were told that for two reasons. One, dumb fucks wiped their asses with the funny pages regularly. And two, thieves are everywhere in the army and a roll of toilet paper never lasts long in the open, but the funny pages get left behind I guess. So I spent New Year's Eve there alone in my room, guarding my shit paper and listening to a DJ Clue - The Professional.
Then the next day my friend Gustavo showed up along with a couple of females from our AIT. And it was also the day that we got our orders. So instead of waiting for days to find out where he was going to be sent, Gustavo got his orders to the medical unit with the females. I got fucking artillery.
Last edited by Jack Roller; 07-27-2012 at 06:16 AM.
lol @ the 'need to know' info in the military being where you might get sent to next and the president getting his dick sucked.