Kuwait 2008 Big Country Versus the Bat Part II

When we last left off, the Olde I.R. was still in Kuwait working… what follows is from 25 August 2008….
The IR on a Day Off:
The weekend again, or at least a reasonable facsimile of
one… a rude awakening of brain power and such, and I figured what the hell,
I’ll start peckerating agin at ye ole keyboard and see what bullshit rolls on
out of my head and into this strange little box on my desktop… Yep… LOVE the
feeling of weirdness that’s come over me… 
I mean really… what an Odd Thing this is to be sitting in from of a
small plastic box that closely resembles a light bright toy from the seventies,
albeit with a higher resolution and picture than those fucking little annoying
pegs could come up with… Granted, the screen on this is a hell of a lot easier
to change, and for this I am thankful…
Yeah…. Bit o’madness in the air… Air raid siren in downtown
wailed and scared me ‘cause I had forgotten that the Kuwaiti Kit Kat Klub was
holding its weekly “The Iranians are coming! The Iranians are coming!”
drill.  “Just a flare!!!” as DiNero said
in ‘Apocalypse Now’… me, I’ll take my apocalypse later… much later, preferably
with mayo and extra bacon on the side. (Cue Homer: Mmmmmnnnn Baaaaaacon.)    The other bits that struck me as odd and
that I’ll comment on before I get to some continued humor is the whole bit of
dealing with plastic boxes… Specifically, the port-o-john. 
Mother Nature, to put a fine term on it, ‘represented’ the
other night and I was forced to utilize one of the omnipresent portashitters
they got set up all over base.  Now any
of you who have been here or to a Major Sporting Event, (or even a Riot ) has
known the lush odor of a Portajohn and all other entertainment contained
therein.  One of my absolute favorite
pieces of graffiti written in acid-black indelible was “C Co. 2-227 Trans:  Only 3 more days til 3rd ID chicks
are ugly again!!!”  Now to explain as the
poindexter in the back is waving his arm, the reason that’s so fucking funny is
that it was obviously written by a short timer who was on his way back to
Germany to redeploy, and that because they were in Iraq, the chicks who
normally wouldn’t even rate got to act like and get treated like princess as
the poontang was in such short supply… this essentially means that when they go
home, the Lee Sisters, Ugly, Homely, and Beastly will be back in the
“Wallflower” mode… LMAO!!! sorry… it’s funny as hell to me.  Anyways
What hit me is that in the past 5 years I’ve spent more
‘quality time’ in a plastic box communing with the Gods of the Outhouse than I
have in or on porcelain.  It struck me as
funny as hell as I had to artfully insure I didn’t get the “Blue Water
Backsplash Blues” meaning if it was a real growler, the splash of it making
‘touchdown’ throws the blue stuff up, and if you ain’t lucky, you get what’s
known as either “Smurf Ass” or literally “Blue Balls.” (quick side
observation:  Would chicks call it the
“Bluebeard The Pirate Clam?”) Yeah… that sucks when it happens.  And it strikes me as how funny it is that I’m
sitting in the fucking desert at 3am, in a plastic box, taking a dump in 130
degree heat, and I’m hoping to high heaven that I don’t come out with blue
stains on my nether regions, I start to laugh… 
I know I know, not that funny, but still, what do you want?  This my email and I’ll write whatever comes
to mind LOL 
Yeah, well the absurdity of it gave me the giggles.  The really funny part was when I got done and
popped the door to outside and there were like 4 Indians standing outside
staring at the large American who was laughing his oversized ass off inside the
Plastic Box of Poo…  Moe, Larry, Curly
Joe and Shemp are standing there, (or would it be Pankosh, Punjab,
Mahatma, and Pravit?) staring at me like I’m completely off my fucking
rails.  The look on their faces made me
laugh even harder and louder as the whole ludicrous situation doesn’t translate
into Hindu too well, not that I can even expect to try and make them understand
what I was laughing at.  Hopefully when I
go in on Monday, they won’t be waiting for me with a straightjacket, but who
knows… Anything is possible.
Well lets see… oh! 
Update on the Bat Story… when we last left our Intrepid Reporter, he had
been traumatized by his run in with the Goddamned Batman… er… make that the
Bat.  Well.  I thought that once “Mister Fuzzy-Musty
Batfink” had flown the coop, that should have been The End and cue the
credits.  Nope… not with my happy
ass. 
Seems Mister “Flying Bag’O’Skin” scratched my nose, be ever
so small, there was a little cut on there. 
Me?  I been hurt worse than that
brawling with a kitten.  I ignored
it.  Now, cut scene forward two days
later:  The Intrepid Reporter in the
shower whilst getting his scrub on, finds a swelling in his right armpit while
lathering up.  OK… No biggie.  4 days later, said swelling is now a hot
painfully swollen mass that resembles a golf ball and is right shmack dab in
the area that my Lymph Nodes are.  That
night, I was talking to my Dad and he goes and, what with his current medical
conditions and shining “Lets put on a happy face” bedside manner tells me “Huh…
sounds like bubonic plague to me!”
Gee… thanks Dad.
I kinda took it at face value as the Old Man’s always going
to go “worst case scenario” and I appreciated his concern.  I blew it off until the next day, when said
lump exploded on me and I was all feverish and sweating and man did the thing
like detonate.  Now not to be gross about
it, but it bled bad, and I figured “Hell, let’s check the ole online MedRx
diagnostic page and plug in our symptoms!”  I had a fever, headache, swollen                  –something- in the armpit
that hurt like hell, and was sore all over. Add in a generally shitty feeling
like I was 40 pounds of shit stuffed in a 30 pound bag and you get the
idea.  I plug all this in and then I get
back:   Bubonic Plague as Option #2.  The first was some obscure Lymphoma that had
a slew of other symptoms listed as well as what I had, so I was sort of stuck
on this as the #1 wasn’t likely, but Number 2? 
Shit, after my run in with the Goddamned Bat, it was entirely too
possible that I had been exposed.  I mean
c’mon, this is a third world shithole, despite its attempts to dress up.  As my old Drill Sergeant used to say, you
can’t spit shine a turd.  But as I was
saying,
“Bubonic plague symptoms appear suddenly, usually after 2-5
days of exposure to the bacteria. Symptoms include: High fever, Smooth, painful
lymph gland swelling called a buboe, Commonly
found in the groin, but may occur in the armpits or neck
Pain may occur in the area before the swelling: Chills, General
ill feeling, Muscle pain,
Severe headache, Seizures
end of snip..  My reaction?  “Awww FUCK!”
Well, needless to say, the more I read, the more fucking
freaked out I became.  Now those of y’all
who know me know I’m good with some things, bad with others.  THIS is DEFINITELY one of the ‘things Big
Country is BAD on…’  I mean put me in a
firefight with the Muj or Haj, no problem. 
I’ll kill ‘em all, and let (insert deity of your choice) sort ‘em
out.  What I DON’T deal with is bugs and
suchlike.  ESPECIALLY one with “prognosis
with treatment is a possible 50% mortality rating.”  Needless to say, I boogied to the hospital
toute fucking sweet.
Now:  The hospital I
went to was the same one I went to when my leg was shmacked up.  I figured it’s the best bet across the board,
and I should already be ‘in the system’ there as I didn’t want to fuck with any
paperwork or other bullshit.  Now a quick
word on the hospitals.  The Obamamessiah
is talking free universal health care. 
Fine N Dandy.  Just as long as HE and
HIS family are in the SAME program that he wants US to use… just like the
Brits… what with socialized medicine that means I should be ready to be seen by
next October, provided funding isn’t cut, they MIGHT be able to squeeze me in
by 445pm local time…IF he was to have his way, the private sector will be
fucked.  It’s the last thing we need in America
enuff ranting, so anyways.
Here thankfully, the healthcare is “Cash and Carry” and once
I went into reception, they printed up all my shit, got an imprint of my Visa,
and I was off and running.  Total time,
to include blood work STAT in the lab and be seen by an Infectious Disease
doc?  Like 55 minutes.  To include a quickie test for the Plague…
guess it’s a fast and simple thing and the doc told me that  they have this as occasional outbreak what
with the Indonesians and Burmese workers here… guess some places ARE worse than
Baghdad in many respects.  Total cost to
me?  Including meds and such to treat my
infection?  Try like $125 which I can
submit to my insurance to get paid back to me. 
Fuck socialized free healthcare. LOL!!!
Yeah, all the panic and bullshit for a blocked sweat
gland.  That’ll teach me to use a
deodorant I suppose.  Better to sweat it
out naturally and inflict my stench on my coworkers, not like I like the fuckers
anyways and anyhow!
So, I’m left now with continuing this saga on my day back to
work.  Last night was quiet… real
quiet.  We’re in “Calm Before The Fucking
Hurricane” mode now, what with it being on the news that we’re leaving Iraq NTL
(no later than) 2011.  This to me mean
there gentle readers, that when the drawdown starts, and if and IF (boldface 24
point CAPS here now) I am still unfortunately present on this contract, all
them trucks, tanks, heli-O-calopters and other such militaristic tools of the
trade that I’ve been so deft at handing out over the past 4 years will
literally and figuratively come back to haunt me, in one way shape or form.  The reason being is I’m no longer, like I was
before; doing issuing… rather I’m on the receiving end.  That’s how I get to see all the toasted up
wrecks and worn out deadbeat beat to death trucks ectectect.  Well, since the surge, that WORKED mind
you,  we’ve seen a cut to damned near
stop in incoming equipment.  My hunch is
that when they say “Time to Go Home!” Every swinging dick or piece o’ poontang
(gotta be an Equal Opportunity Insulter here) North of the 39th
Parallel is going to Pack Up, bit a Fond “Fuck You I’m Out!” and drop their
shit off on my yards like a Democrat donating to the Salvation Army.  That is, frequently dropping  off unwanted shit that’s wore the fuck out.
“Yep… come one, come all to Big County’s
Surplus and Vehicle Sale!!!  It’s the OIF
Fire sale… Over Instantly and Fast! 
C’mon down!  Bring the Kids!  Get a Grenade! C’mon down!  Specials this week:  Buy ONE M1114, get the SECOND of equal or
lesser value for half price!  Empty shell
casings at NO EXTRA CHARGE!”
At least I’m sure that’s how it’s going to feel.  They haven’t told us shit… Last to know,  mushrooms and all that.  Oh… ok Poindexter whining in the back wants
to know “Mushrooms?”   Yeah… mushrooms
‘cause they keep us in the dark and feed us shit.  May I continue now?  (Somehow, I think this literary exercise is
going to get me locked up one day, seeings I’m pretty schizophrenic these days
what with the questions and self answering…but fuck it… according to the
Military and my loved ones, I’m fucking cracked already.)  So yeah.. Big push to go the fuck home means
a LOT of work here for me.  If it helps get the Joes and Joettes home
sooner, so mucho the better.
Although, of course we’re headed in Ramadan… as you recall
(those who were tuned in Last Year at this time) we are rapidly approaching the
High Holy Roller Days of that ubiquitous animal: The Desert Roaming Towelheaded
Weirdbeard.  Yeah, this is the time when
the Hajjis really get stoopid so to speak… No food from Dawn to Dusk.  As long as BOB  (The Big Orange Ball) is overhead, then we’re
on a no-food-no-drinking-no-sex-no- nothing environment.  Now, seeings I ain’t got no wimmen laying
around, no big deal, the no booze thing I can handle too…  But no fucking McDonalds or ANY stores that
sell food being open?  Holy shit man… and
I’ll have to deal with this for a month? 
Even the fucking Druids take a few days off here n there for good
measure.  Last year was worse to a point
as I was on Days for a while, which meant NO off post food…  everything closes down literally… they roll
up the sidewalks til dark,, and then run all night as opposed to the days… no
wonder these people are so fucked up… the circadian rhythms are all out of
whack, never mind the low blood sugar.
So anyways, It’s off to the rack I go…  This week is shaping up to be a Grand Old
Version of a Ball-suck… the Global Program Manager is in route here to show
face (read kiss ass so no one else fucking quits) and him, I got no use for him
after this past 19 months of this Steaming, Heaping Pile of Fly Blown Still
Fresh Dookie that he calls “a high paying job.” 
Hope that Japan
gig comes sooner rather than later, or I’m gonna suddenly find myself running
out of places to hide the bodies…
OK
Peace til Then, It’s the Intrepid Reporter Boring you as
always:
Big Country
Billy

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By BigCountryExpat

Fuck you if you can't take a joke. No one gets out alive so eat me.

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