You Kill Me

I'm about to lose some friends, but that's okay. You don't have to like what I am about to say for it to be true.

Black culture is responsible for the murder of Christopher Lane. Had their mommas and daddies been present, they wouldn't be involved in trying to live a gang banger lifestyle. Had they not been trying to emulate the images they see from the black entertainment world, they wouldn't have thought killing someone would give them some street cred. Had they been involved in productive activities this summer, they wouldn't have been bored and killed a white man in cold blood.


Yes, those boys are responsible for their own actions. I say fry 'em. And while you do it, make sure their heroes, who I assume are raps elite, have to sit their and watch what they inspired. One of them calls himself "Baby Drake" on his FB page. And a "Black Power" pic on there. Who's to say it isn't racial now? If we can accuse Zimmerman with no evidence, we can nail this asshole with that pic, right?


It isn't a race issue you say? Maybe not, but if it was a black man shot by three white kids, y'all would be on the Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton race baiting train. Are you pissed? Good, because I sure as hell am. This is what a culture that promotes hatred, violence, crime, misogyny, etc. causes. This is what happens when you don't hold yourself to a higher standard. This is what you have allowed to happen after people fought so hard for your equality. Be fucking pissed and be very ashamed.

If you live under a rock and have not heard about how three black teenagers murdered a white, Australian baseball player in Oklahoma because they were bored, you can read about it here. Or here. Or here.

And if you aren't angry, if you aren't disgusted, if you can't feel the same sadness and rage you felt for Trayvon Martin, you can go fuck yourself you racist piece of shit. Yep, you are a racist. No apologies today or from here on out. Same standard for all.

I've Been Everywhere

I really have. And now I am smack dab in Middle of Nowhere, Texas...better known as Kitty Kat, Texas. Don't get me wrong, aside from the herd of bison that don't think I'm good enough for my husband, it is a great place. Most people are very friendly, genuine, and I know I can count on them for anything.

Anything except having a Walmart, Target, drug store, Starbucks, etc. in their back yard. If they did, I would never leave this place. But alas, they do not and I must troll the Internet for the things I require...or just really want.

Starting with: An at home pedicure. You see, there is no nail salon, no comfy chair that massages my lower lumbar as I listen to bitchy Koreans talk about how dry my feet are. I miss those angry little Asians. *tear* I've had to take matters into my own hands...

This thing is a lifesaver. No foot soaking needed and I don't have to be referred to as white girl. Time saver and less racist.

Have I mentioned that Kitty Kat, Texas is dry? As in booze is not sold in this town village rest stop that I reside in. I could drive 17 miles to the county seat and buy beer at the gas station, but no liquor or wine. BUT (!) it's almost like Amazon.com knew that this would happen and prepared in advance. I give to you Amazon Wine!

I have Amazon Prime and my shipping is free and quick. Wine shall be mine!

Now, I know what you all y'all are thinkin', that there girl needs a wine rack to store all that there wine she's gonna be orderin'. Yep. Already ahead of you. And after trolling Amazon for hours...okay, like 15 minutes, I found this one that hold 9 bottles of manna from heaven.

Wall mounted means I don't have to try to find space for it. And though that price says $30.19, I got it for free 99, because Baby Sis decided I needed a house warming gift. She kind of doesn't suck.

Now, I'm not a super lush...but I do know where a drive-thru liquor store is about 45 minutes away. 

Moving on. You know what else the country has? Bugs. Every single type of bug imaginable. I would not be shocked if a Camel Spider popped its head out my kitchen cabinet just to say "Hey!" Actually, Hubby is super OCD about cleaning and bug extermination, so finding a bug in the house would actually surprise me, but if he was chillin' on my front porch with a sweet tea, I would wave back. Little bug hates bugs as well, and I think its time to buy stock in OFF.

You may be thinking, "Wow, she has options to choose from!" You'd be wrong. I use all of these. Yes, at the same time. Okay, I'm kidding. No, I am actually not.

The other night, Hubby was out patrolling the mean streets of Briscoe County. Little Bug and I were just about to go to sleep, when we heard the unmistakable sound of the glass door opening, followed by someone trying to open the front door. Little Bug said, "Daddy's home!" and I went into the living room to greet him. But NO, I did not see his head through the windows at the top of the door. Someone was still trying to open the door though, so I turned right around and went to retrieve my baby. Not Little Bug, my other baby.

Beretta PX4 Storm Subcompact 9mm. And yes those are hollow points. Mine is loaded with them as well. Come in my house, I dare you.

EXCEPT my baby was not in its usual spot. I then grabbed my other baby, locked us in my bedroom and called Hubby. He was in the county seat, but sent the Sheriff and a state trooper to come right over and check the surrounding area. They found nothing but footprints likely belonging to the heathen children that live behind us. I'm actually happy that Hubby had my gun, because I would have probably fired. 

Which brings me to the next thing you need in the country. Security lights. And you can bet your ass that I bought one that will blind ya.

Worth every penny. Country people seem to be afraid of lights. I think that's why they don't have street lights, stop lights, or even electricity. I kid, I kid. Only the meth trailers are electricity free.

There is so much more stuff I have Amazon'd since our arrival, but I've got to save something for next week. That isn't a promise to actually write next week, but I might think about it. And since this should have been up yesterday before my iPhone Blogger app ate it, I'll have Tuesday's Thrashing up soon too!

Moment for Life

I'm back! Yes, I have said that before and thought I meant it, but this time...well, I really sort of mean it. You get a full week of Fat Bottomed Girl. I highly doubt I can keep this up though. I start my Master's program very, very soon and Little Bug starts Kindergarten in a week! So, because I will be trying to work around all of that, I give to you, my loyal fans, a full week of posts.

Monday will, of course, be Must Have Monday, but this will be a very special "So you moved to the middle of nowhere?" edition.

Tuesday, which was once Time Warp Tuesday, is now Tuesday Thrashing. I am aware that Thursday Thrashing had a better ring, but school starts on Tuesday's now...so get over it.

Wednesday will remain What in the World? Wednesday.

Thursday is now either a Time Warp or Turn Up The Stereo Thursday. It'll make sense come this Thursday.

Friday, well, I don't know about Friday. Maybe I'll rehash the week and put up some pics of my Little Bug. Or maybe I'll dedicate it to Kitty Kat, Texas. I'll figure it out as I go I guess.

Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early and with a smile on my face. Well, really not all that early and I cannot actually promise I'll be smiling.

Reunited

Fat Bottom Girl has moved. No, not domains or whatever, but actually packed up and moved. I and my brood are no longer residents of Sun City, Texas. We now reside in Kitty Kat, Texas. No, of course that isn't the real name of it, but it IS shockingly close.

Kitty Kat is located in the heart of the Texas panhandle in a county that will remind you of a one season TV show on Fox that starred THE Bruce Campbell. I'll wait while you Google it. Got it? Great. There are about 1100 residents of the county and 250 of them are in Kitty Kat. The ones I have met and had actual conversations with are lovely. They think my husband hangs the moon every night and that my daughter is a beautiful blessing. They even think it is so wonderful that I am an educated, lovely mother and wife and tell me how I am going to be such a positive role model for the girls in this community.

We went on down to the Baptist church last night for the last night of Vacation Bible School. See, hubby has been up here for a few months now, working as a deputy sheriff. He was wrangled into going to church almost as soon as he got here....despite being a non-religious Jew. Oh well. They kept him busy and fed him, and I am glad to have been dropped into such a loving group of people.

Little Bug loved it. Lots of kids her age and lots of playing.

She even got to perform in the VBS program. She managed to get most of the dance moves right and the words. I'd post the video, but Blogger hates me today.

Afterwards, there was a hot dog dinner for all the kids and the church congregation. Got to chat with a lot of great folks. We went back home afterward and Little Bug ran around the yard with her daddy, some neighbor kids, and her daddy's friend Jake until the sun went down.

Now Jake lives around the corner, while his parents and sister live across the street. We spent most of the night over at their house just talking and whatnot. Great people. They love my husband like a son and were great to me and Little Bug. I adore these people, I mean that.

HOWEVER....not everyone in Kitty Kat is as welcoming and friendly. It was overheard at the local gas station that some of the local ladies are not my biggest fans. In fact, my arrival is the talk of all the bison. No, not the bison running wild in the state park. I'm talking about the lard-ass, single bitches in town with two plus children by different daddies (and maybe one from their own), no education, and pooling their food stamps to sell for cigarette money. The herd thinks that my husband is way too good looking for me. As hot as he is, they expected I was gonna be a gosh dern super model. Instead, I'm just some ugly bitch.

Now, I know that everyone expects me to drive on down to the herds stomping grounds and let them have it, and trust me, I WAS tempted. Even had a speech:

Hi, I'm Fat Bottomed Girl, Deputy Hubby's wife. You know, the one who isn't hot enough for him. I just thought I'd come on down and introduce myself so you could say it to my face instead of behind my back.

Even thought of bringing them some of my delicious homemade cookies and adding "Have these cookies since y'all are so hungry for drama." But they aren't worth it. You see, while I certainly have some poundage to lose, I'm not 300 plus pounds of destitute scum. I've got a husband who loves me and our daughter, would do anything for us, and doesn't steal my belongings to buy meth. 

I know everyone dies famous in a small town, but I haven't even been here five days yet! Oh well, I guess that's what happens when all you have to do is lust after another woman's husband and eat. As their asses and debt increase, mine will be getting smaller and my bank account larger. Think I still might stop in an introduce myself. Might as well give them something to fear...right?

The Bitch Is Back (Part 3)

Zayda and I are an unstoppable team. I waited in the hallway for him since he's old and I knew it would take him a while to get to the classroom. I greeted him warmly, but he saw through it. "Sit with me, lets discuss the volatile circumstances between Israel and the rest of the Middle East," he said with a smile. My country is Israel for my teams International Relations project, how fitting. I told him about Iran's (Poison Pussy) desire to wipe Israel off the map. I told him about Egypt (Belittle) compromising the whole Middle East stability with false words. I told him about Syria's (GI Schmo) acts of genocide and refusal to stop being combative. He laughed whole-heartedly.

"So, Poison Pussy wants to kick you out of the group. Belittle plagiarized her whole assignment, and GI Schmo keeps picking fights?" he said with a grin. I told him that he must be a genius. Again, he laughed and said, "That, and I monitored your learning team forum this week. If I didn't have dentures I would have had some popcorn." I adore this old man. I gave him all my supporting evidence and he thanked me because "now I won't have to grade it myself." I was pretty in-depth. He told me that Israel became a free state in 1948 and now Fat Bottomed Girl became one in 2013. I smiled and said, "I feel like we should celebrate." He replied, "Getting to see you do a presentation next week without the burden of the Islamic regimes weighing you down is celebration enough for me."

I am Israel now. I am free. I posted my portion of the Week 4 assignment in my forum for grading. I get to do next week's team stuff on my own. This is like my dream class. I don't have to put up with idiots and I get all the credit. Yay me!

The battle has been won, but the war still rages on. GI Schmo and Belittle stared daggers in me when I came back in. Belittle asked GI Schmo if he was going to talk to the instructor. He looked at me still and said, "Oh yeah I will. But not in front of her." "Do you mean me?" I said with a smile. "I've emancipated myself from your repressive regime, you don't have to worry about me bettering your people anymore." He didn't get it. Why was I even closed to surprised?

We started off class with an ice-breaker. Why does the United States have a greater trade with Canada than Mexico? Belittle started it off by saying (after a very long Google search) "Um, with Canada, we have a border." Zayda said, "We have one with Mexico too. Next." Poison Pussy was up and said, "I don't have any knowledge of that." I couldn't resist and quickly replied, "Of course you don't. Heads up, Canada isn't in China." She scowled and said pass. GI Schmo also opted to pass, but added, "I've never been to war with Canada, so I just don't know much about it." Zayda asked if he had ever been to war with Mexico either and he didn't respond. I was next and mentioned a few statistics and reasons off the top of my head. Yes, McMac was closed. I don't need Google. Poison Pussy scowled again and said (in what she thought was a whisper) that I just thought I was so fucking smart. I smiled and "whispered back" that I AM so fucking smart. The other team let out audible noises implying the bitch had been burned. I desperately want to say "And not just in her vagina."

Just now, out of nowhere, Belittle loudly exclaims, "If you're going to text in class, can you turn off the noises Tiffany?!?!" Poison Pussy got really red and tried to switch her phone off. Belittle saw this and said, "Oh no girl, you're good." Since Zayda is deaf and can't hear the shit talking, I smiled and said, "I'm sorry, I am so embarrassed. You know my name, but I am trying really hard and can't remember yours. Are you new?" Even Poison Pussy laughed. You are an extra in the film doll, sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.

We have to discuss our human rights paper from Week 3 as a team before the whole class. They won't even acknowledge me on it. That's fine. I asked Zayda if I should just cover the whole Middle East since I'm the only one who knows where it is located. He laughed and said, "Maybe I'll learn something about China though." Poison Pussy did not laugh.

"Let me start because I am the team leader," Poison Pussy said. "All bow before your Queen," I added loudly. Again she looked confused. "Oh that's right, you're the only person who doesn't get it. Please, continue Your Majesty," I replied. She ranted on about how she knows where China is but she knewed (yes that is the word she used) that Iran does businesses with China and thought they were really close enough to each other. 4,000 miles really isn't that far I guess. It's like maybe a few days walk. She said Iran is seen as a leader in the Middle East and the world and that their President is respected so much that he spoke at Columbus University in New York. I didn't comment, just LOL'd and rolled it into a coughing fit, garnering sympathy from the other team. They asked if I was choking. I said that I was choking...on stupidity. Belittle jumped in to talk about President More Si? (that's her pronunciation) of Egypt. He has been the president for a long time. He was in jail, but now he is free and runs things for the Muslim Brotherhood. Zayda looked at me to correct, but I smiled and said nothing. GI Schmo kept it simple. "Syria has chemical weapons that they use on their own people. But that's their business, not ours. We don't need another bullshit war."

I cleared my throat, rather dramatically I might add, and started. I addressed the freedoms in Israel, for all faiths, not just the Jews. I mentioned world human rights agencies ratings of Israel. I highlighted the current efforts to bring gender equality to the religious sites in Israel, specifically the Western Wall. I even cited a few missteps by Israel, but stated, "In contrast to the rest of the Middle East, Israel is a mecca for human rights in the region. Though my former teammates failed to mention anything of significance, Israel is perhaps the only country in the Middle East where you will not be persecuted for not be a Muslim." I also said, "Just a quick side note. I don't know where they got their information Poison Pussy, but in what reality is Mahmoud Ahmadinejad a respected leader by the rest of the world? Do you troll pro-terrorist websites and take their word as gospel?" I had hoped this would spark a fire in her and that I would get some type of response, but she said, "I don't even know who that is." "The President of Iran," I replied. "Well, that's not who I said," she snapped. "But you said the President of Iran," I replied quizzically. "Nuh-uh." It's pointless.

This was all AFTER the break. Team A presented before we broke. It was as if they were unaware that Latin America was their chosen region. After five minuets of babble, Zayda put his hand up and said, "I'm gonna call it."

During the break, the Three Amoebas huddled around Zayda's desk and tried to complain about me and said I MADE them turn the paper in without editing it. He said firmly, "I know that to be completely false. There will be no more discussion about Israe--ahem, Tiffany. After class we will discuss the plagiarism issue at length if you wish. I have already submitted your portions for further review." Poison Pussy looked outraged and cried, "WHAT ABOUT HER?!?!?!" Zayda didn't miss a beat. "Tiffany submitted her portion separately and proved that she did not participate in academic dishonesty. From examination of your team forum, I can attest that she even warned you about the many, many mistakes and you reacted rather, well, immaturely frankly. You three will be held accountable for your actions."

I had a slight skirmish in the hallway after that with Poison Pussy. I was filling Katniss in on what was going down and Poison Pussy walked by and scoffed/laughed. So I broke out in crazy hysterical laughter. She walked down the hall, then turned around and came right back. Um, obvious much. When I came back in, she was whispering to GI Schmo and they laughed when they saw me. I smiled and said, "You can continue to talk about me, or you can try to act like an adult. I'm not sure if you can spell it, but maybe you can Google it." She said whatever and rolled her eyes and then said, "You see?" to GI Schmo. He was like, "Yeah, that's Air Force for you, real high speed." I couldn't hold back.

Me: You wouldn't know much about that would you?
GI: Excuse me?
Me: High speed. You clearly have no idea what it means to be light years ahead of anyone. Should I speak slower for you?
GI: Whatever. We kicked you out. Get over it.
Me: I asked to be removed. Enjoy those F's. You know you have to pay that money back, right?
PP: Don't talk to her. She's so dumb.
Me: But I know how to spell Egypt and where Iran is, so there's that.
GI: Whatever.

The rest of class was a series of moments of them glaring at me and Zayda demonstrating why I'm his favorite. Poison Pussy had the nerve to whisper, "What's worse is that that bitch is a mother." No, I didn't choke a bitch the fuck out. I simply replied, "Maybe that's why God killed off your litters." Cruel? Yes. Do I regret it? Not one bit. Do I wish I had gone harder? You bettcha. I think I should really thank Zayda for not having a hearing aid. They may talk a lot of shit, but I get to respond which makes it all worth it.

At one point during class discussion, I asked GI Schmo if he was legally retarded, because anyone who thought that the problems in the Middle East could be solved with giving Iran a nuke must be. I asked if he had to wear a helmet when he's awake and if he got to serve in the Army as a make-a-wish thing, you know, pretend to be a soldier. He said, "There's nothing pretend about my service. You don't know war okay." The leader from Team A said, "I had you in my last class, you said you never deployed." "That's because I don't like to talk about it," GI Schmo replied defensively. "Really?" I asked, "because you used your combat experience to explain why you can't turn your work in on time." He shut up quickly and Team A Leader air high-fived me. I didn't know we were cool like that bro, good to know.

Then this just happened. Poison Pussy had security come to our classroom. She left, went and got security and then pulled Zayda into the hallway with them. I knew immediately it was about me. Game on bitch. I'm not sure what she said, but she came in smirking. She said, "Security will be here to walk me out, so don't try anything." What? This bitch is a psychopath. Either the meth or the hair dye has warped her mind. I went and spoke with the chair of my department and the head of security. My Chair was pissed. He told me she randomly walked up to security and said "This girl is gonna hit me. I know it. Can you come stop her?"

WHAT. THE. FUCK???? Chair and Head Security weren't buying it and asked me if I felt safe walking to my car. I was pretty shocked. I told Chair about how she walked back in the class and cackled while waving her finger at me. He said, and I quote "What a crazy bitch." Yeah, that sums up my thoughts. Head of Security asked me to file a complaint and Chair said he could email me the form. She told them that I followed her to her car last week after class and threatened her all night. I wasn't here last week. "Check the attendance," I said. "That didn't happen. One, because I'm not crazy, and two, because I wasn't even here." Head Security radioed his other guy and asked him to sit in class with us. Chair said a number of times that my Hubby is a cop, so they better keep me safe. This is beyond. What, I don't know, but it is beyond.

This went from you got busted for academic dishonesty to full-blown Glenn Close boiling my rabbit. When I came back in class, she pointed at me and made the creepiest face. Like, "I'm going to get you bitch and wear your skin." I WASN'T going to hit her, nor did I ever say I was going to hit her, but now I think I need a baseball bat. And a priest and a crucifix while I'm at it, because this bitch is possessed! I was just going to settle for an honor code violation, but now I think explosion sounds like the best option. Why do the psychos ALWAYS find me?

My Chair sat in class with me for a bit. He told her to sit down and shut up or leave. He told her to stop glaring at me. After about 15 minuets, we had to answer team discussion questions, but since I am without a team, I asked if I could answer the first question. They weren't jumping on it and Zayda said that was a great idea. Chair said, "Clean out your ears, you're gonna want to hear this." Poison Pussy said, "No thank you," and walked out of class. Then, she came back, loud as hell, and said "I'm so sorry, I need my pills." Then some weird fake crying happened, she answered a text, and went back to normal. Jaws collectively dropped in the room. I want to believe this was real. I really want to. But sorry, it's all too calculating for me. If you're really having a meltdown, you don't go get security and try to set me up with a smirk on your face.

Chair and Zayda assured me after class that Poison Pussy's allegations were not to bug me. She was lying and they knew it. But seriously, who the fuck does that? She's either really off her rocker, or her break conversation with Zayda made her realize she was fucked and she needed to do something drastic. A mental health breakdown will get you out of class I've heard.

I'm mentally spent guys. I have to work tomorrow and this has drained me. I am praying for a peaceful and uneventful class next week.

The Bitch is Back (Part 2)

I left my computer charger at home. As of right now, McMac has 2 hours and 5 minuets of battery life remaining. Of all the nights! I might go old school and jot it all down by hand, transfer it to here, then blow all of your minds.

I'm the first one here and I've set up my command post. To my left is my Trenta Cool Lime Refresher and backup bottle of water. In front of me, my mac. To my left, placed just enough away from me so someone else could read it is my evidence. The plagiarism check, the professional review, and my personal edit dripping with green ink. Poison Pussy sits next to me on that side, so yeah, it's for her.

Forgot to mention why I call her Poison Pussy. Two weeks ago, she tells me (out-of-nowhere) that she has miscarried twins, triplets, and what the doctors think were quadruplets. She said (with a Jodi Arias smile) that her uterus was like poison. Then she said that she had cancer "in my pussy", but like pre-cancer, but really more like a weird test result that got cleared up. So, she doesn't have cancer. Thus Poison Pussy.

Zayda usually gets here before the students. I really hope that's the case tonight. I need to talk to him before anyone else talks to me. If I engage with the Three Amoebas first, I might waste all my good stuff right off the bat. There's a certain way you address people who you know are going to be crucified as well, and I want that satisfaction. Am I evil? That was rhetorical, of course I am.

I have this turning in my stomach. It isn't nerves, more like this amped feeling I can't get rid of. Is this what GSP felt like before he whopped Nick Diaz's ass? You know what I mean, that feeling of "Wow, this guy is so unmatched that I am actually catching a high off of my excitement" kind of thing? Someone told me today that in a battle of wits, you should never engage with someone who is unarmed. But the kicker is, much like Nick Diaz, they think they've got a shot. They're each others hype men. Think Flavor Flav, but less intelligent. Sure, this may be shooting fish in a barrel, but those fish were talking shit and I am deadly accurate.

I think I'll end here. Part 3 will be the class breakdown. This way I can save McMac's life.

The Bitch Is Back (Part 1)

I had a tough time choosing the title for tonight's blog. Ultimately, Elton John always wins out, but I had some other close choices. Keeps Getting Better was the second in line, but as I detest Christina Aguilera, I had to veto it. Stiletto by Billy Joel and Cold as Ice by Foreigner also came into play, but I think I can save them for later. Besides, The Bitch is Back is the best possible description for how my night will unfold.

I'm currently taking my last ground class at University of Fictitious Bird. This might make some of you sad, but don't fret as I have two more online classes and chapters (yes chapters) worth of stories that never made the blog. Not because they weren't good, but because they were chapter material. Read into that what you will (see what I did there?). Anyway, this class is all about international relations. Seems apropos since I seem to be the only American in the class.

My instructor loves me. He's an old, hunchback Jew who is hard of hearing, yet full of knowledge. I sit in awe each week as he explains things to us and recalls specific incidents of international significance that he lived through. I kind of wish he was my Zayde and I could come visit him in his home that smells of rich mahogany and he would tell me stories from the war. I don't think he's THAT old, maybe more Korean War than WWII. Every week, it feels like he and I have this intense discussions about world affairs and that we're the only two people in the room. Well, we are the only ones who actively participate. Everyone else needs to be stabbed in the temple to get some brain juice flowing.

My team is no exception. They. Are. Idiots. The self-appointed team leader, Poison Pussy, is a daft and aging pathetic hipster and single mother of 20. Okay, I think she said she had 4, but she doesn't have custody of all of them because of her issues. I candidly asked, "Is it the meth?" but she laughed. She either didn't get it or it was a nervous laugh because she's a methhead. She is easily in her late thirties with or without meth use, has spotty dyed pink hair, and dresses like my baby sister did when she worked at a hipster skate shop (you know it was bad little sis). And she thought Iran was in China. I'll let that sink in..........................we good? Moving on.

Then there is Belittle. She's fat, but not obese, more like weird shapes. She speaks English, but that is a generous statement. She "es an ejucation major. I like to teash the kids" Yep. She also plagiarizes like a fucking idiot and still does not understand why "joo can't just use the words of the writers because that's what joo say anyway." She's not really important, except that she would be the easiest of the group to make cry. I call her Belittle because it sounds like her name and it's so easy to do to her.

Finally, we have GI Schmo. He wasn't in class for week one, didn't speak to us at all during week two (except to say "You air force?"), and week three, didn't communicate with the group at all about the team assignment, and then added his unedited train wreck portion to the final version and said "Don't worry guys, I added my part." No dumb ass, you were left off for a reason. When I told the instructor and GI Schmo that his part should not be considered as part of the paper, he told me I wasn't as "high speed" as I think I am, then sent me this message:

i said the high speed reark as a joke i am not mocking your military service, I served in the Army as a combat engineer probably one of the most dangerous jobs to have,two deployment to Iraq & Afghanistan, so if anybody who knows what it means to serve and sacrifice it would be me. I have lost best friends in these pointless wars. So as you can see i am a veteran just like you and i know war. So if you think i was mocking your service, you are wrong, I figure you would get the joke but didn't take it so well. your bad.

Yeah, because your military service is relevant to the situation at hand. He knows war, but doesn't know how to write properly or comply with team deadlines. I got 8 out of 8 on the paper. Poison Pussy and Belittle got 4 and 3 respectively. GI Schmo got a 1. Needless to say, they're all a little pissed.

That's what brought on this weeks drama. I missed class on week 3. I didn't feel good and I was tired. But I messaged PP and told her that I would provide an outline for the week 4 assignment. She said OK. Of course she did because she doesn't posses an original or creative thought in her tiny little meth-riddled brain. I messaged her my outline and she texted me back to say that they came up with their own idea and that I could do it or be kicked out of the group. WHAT? We were on good terms the week before. Other than getting a better grade than them, I didn't do anything wr....Oh. That's it. Anyway, she assigned me and GI Schmo the same thing essentially. We can ignore the fact that her plan (which I learned was actually GI Schmo's plan) was not even close to what the syllabus called for and just focus on the redundancy for a second. I explained to her the dilemma she created and she said "Do it or don't. You can be kicked out real quick." I politely responded that a simple Google search would prove me correct, but we could always involve the instructor if she wanted to be argumentative. She did. So I got Zayda involved. He informed them I was correct and said that he "strongly suggested that Tiffany's suggestions become law in this team." Owned.

The thing is, no ones portion changed but mine. They all still had a full week to do their portions, while I had less than a day. It was due to GI Schmo on Tuesday and it all got resolved on Monday afternoon. However, I am the only one who posted my learning team portion to the team forum on Tuesday. When I noted this to GI Schmo and asked for transparency, I was told to kick rocks. He said he would edit it, post it for review, and submit it "when I get to it" and then added that I needed to "be calm and courteous" if it was even in me. We all know how I feel about time lines and due dates, but I feel even more strongly about some POS, dumb as rocks, wannabe bad ass telling me where to go. So I replied.


The team charter, much like the course syllabus, is a biding document for the learning team. Failure to adhere to it will result in the instructor grading members differently for the submitted assignment. We all agreed to adhere to the charter and university rules. I'm not sure about your feelings on integrity, but I feel VERY strongly about it. Failure to produce your portion for the assignment on the day YOU requested it is a lack of integrity on your part. Holding people accountable to their word is not disrespectful, but not honoring your word certainly is.

Not as snarky as you all expected? Well, the forum is monitored. I have to maintain some control. He didn't reply. Instead, he posted last night this:

Hey everyone here is the Paper for week 4. Good job everyone, good sources, good citations and good coverage on the topics given.  Feel free to check it out and let me know what you all think. 
Thank you for all your hard work everyone.

Except, he didn't wait for review and corrections, he posted it for grading. I am irate. With the exception of my portion and references, the entire thing is a train wreck. Egypt is spelled "Eygpt" 13 TIMES throughout three separate sections of the paper. Citations don't exist and there is bold, absolute plagiarism by the paragraph. I printed out the paper, the plagiarism check, and the school's editing software's corrections of the paper and plan on bringing them to class to gloriously shame them all. Also, I WILL be telling GI Schmo that even though he referred to everything as good, I don't think that word means what he thinks it means. Yep, sometimes you have to go Princess Bride on a mother fucker.

I publicly and formally asked to be recused from the team and the team assignment via the forum. I stated that I do not, have not, and will never participate in violations of the university's policy and do not support academic dishonesty. I also made sure to highlight that my portion was checked for plagiarism and came back clean. And I posted EVERYTHING in the team forum. I'm covered. They, however, posted nothing in the team forum, so proving who wrote (or stole) what is going to be a little harder. Zayda takes plagiarism very seriously and will be forced to submit the three of them to the Academic Integrity Council. Meanwhile, I'll be free to operate as my own learning team and next week, I'll presenting an intelligent analysis of Middle East relations. I get sweet revenge and freedom.

Well, I hope that's how it'll play out. Stay tuned....


Oh, here's a taste of the edits needed to make their paper not suck:

 

 

There was much, much more, but the black ink doesn't do it justice. I should have used green, like my favorite English teacher Mr. Woo. I feared green. Maybe these people should too.

The Angry American

Okay, I realize that I many, many, MANY years late on this one, but funny things come to me when I’m in the shower. In this case, it was brought to me by Spotify radio. I was listening to “Boys Round Here” by Blake Shelton earlier today and I was diggin’ it so much that I hit the radio button for it. Normally, Spotify would generate a radio station with similar artists and genres. I expected some “1994” by Jason Aldean, The Pistol Annies, Miranda Lambert, or even some Kenny Chesney. What I got was “Dear Mr. President” by Pink. I double-checked, then triple checked, and yes, it said “Boys Round Here Radio.” Spotify, you have never made such a big mistake, but I forgive you because the song brought on a wave of emotion.

For those of you who have not heard the song, you’re not missing much. It’s Pink’s lyrical open letter to then President Bush circa 2006. It’s everything you would expect from a liberal woman and every criticism of President Bush that was trendy. It’s also pretty catchy and I found myself singing along. Except I didn’t imagine I was pleading with W, I saw President Obama in my minds eye. If I didn’t know that Pink was a hypocritical liberal who made a quick buck on attempting to shame a man with his past, I’d have thought it was directed at Barry Soetoro. Not sure who that is? That would be President Barrack Hussein Obama II, at least that’s what he used to go by.

Anywho, I thought I would try my hand at song interpretation. In BOLD are Pink’s lyrics and underneath in regular text are my thoughts. Enjoy. Or get really offended. either way gets me blog traffic.

Dear Mr. President,

Come take a walk with me.

For a photo op? Because that doesn’t sound like something Bush would do. Obama, for sure. He loves a good walking photo.

Let's pretend we're just two people and

You're not better than me.

Did Bush really act as if he was better than anyone? This line confuses me. I don’t recall him throwing expensive parties and taking million-dollar vacations at the cost of taxpayers. I mean, we weren’t even in a recession then and the man would take a trip down to Crawford Ranch, which he owned. But whatever, who cares about poor Americans when you get to party with Justin Timberlake.

I'd like to ask you some questions if we can speak honestly.

This one. THIS. ONE. Couldn’t get Obama to do this. Everything is either Bush’s fault, the GOP’s fault, or he just doesn’t answer.

What do you feel when you see all the homeless on the street?

What does Obama feel? Not much, or not enough to do something about it.

Who do you pray for at night before you go to sleep?

Does he pray that those awful Jews stop trying to control him or that America will fall? His pastor, Jeremiah Wright, certainly believes that. He called Israel an illegal state and said “To equate Judaism with the state of Israel is to equate Christianity with Flavor Flav.” He also called for God to damn America. This is the man who married the Obama’s, baptized their children, and even is credited for the title of his book, The Audacity of Hope. I don’t think I would personally let an anti-Semitic baptize my kids, but I’m not Obama.

What do you feel when you look in the mirror?

I hear he does this A LOT. Reports also state that he spends a large amount of time Googling himself. And don’t forget the many, many, MANY reports about his narcissism. Like this one. Or this one. And this one.

Are you proud?

Yes, I really think he is. Watch Obama’s America: 2016 just one time with an open mind. You might surprise yourself.

How do you sleep while the rest of us cry?

He’d probably like to use our tears as lube. Or he doesn’t hear the cries because he’s too busy partying with Jay-Z.

How do you dream when a mother has no chance to say goodbye?

Oh this line, how I’ve been waiting for you. Not only has Obama NOT ended the war; he’s dragged us into more conflicts. But while I know this line was meant for Bush and our soldiers deaths, I’d like to highlight four mothers in particular who didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.

Mary J. Stevens, mother of Ambassador J. Christopher Stevens.

Patricia Smith, mother of Sean Smith, a U.S. Foreign Service Information Management Officer.

 Barbara Doherty, mother of Glen Doherty, retired Navy SEAL and contracted State Department employee.

Cheryl Bennett, mother of Tyronne S. Woods, retired Navy SEAL and State Department Diplomatic Security team member.

These four women did not get a chance to say goodbye to their sons; sons who ere savagely murdered by Muslim terrorists who attacked our American Embassy in Benghazi. Their sons called for help multiple times, only to be ignored by the President and his people. These four women don’t even get answers as to why their sons were left to die. They get a government cover-up on par with a Hollywood movie plot.

How do you walk with your head held high?

Oh this is easy. He’s a pompous narcissist, that’s how.

Can you even look me in the eye

And tell me why?

No, he can’t tell you why, because a man who ran on a platform of transparency has been the least transparent President of recent memory. You don’t have a right to know what a public servant does.

Dear Mr. President,

Were you a lonely boy?

Are you a lonely boy?

Are you a lonely boy?

I don’t know if he was lonely. His mom was a loose woman who had plenty of people in an out of his life. Hippies always have someone around…with pot.

How can you say

No child is left behind?

Yeah, this one was all Bush (the program at least), except that Obama cares more about teacher’s unions than the education of our children. Take a good look at the Chicago public school system, it’s pretty telling.

We're not dumb and we're not blind.

I’m not dumb and I’m not blind, but I’m not too sure about the writer of this song. Keep on praising Obama and the main stream media’s coverage of him all you want, but it doesn’t mean I have to be a sheep.

They're all sitting in your cells

While you pave the road to hell.

Yeah, I have heard Gitmo is pretty packed. Funny, I though Obama was going to close it.

What kind of father would take his own daughter's rights away?

Which rights? Her right to bear arms? He’s not a big fan of that one, or the Constitution for that matter. Obama once stated, “Our Constitution reflected the fundamental flaw of this country that continues today.” And this gem, “Well, it turns out our Founders designed a system that makes it more difficult to bring about change than I would like sometimes.” Well, thank goodness for that! Imagine what he’d be doing if he DIDN’T have the Constitution to keep him in line.

And what kind of father might hate his own daughter if she were gay?

Well, only until a half year ago did he care about that one.

I can only imagine what the first lady has to say

You've come a long way from whiskey and cocaine.

Or pot. But really, Michelle has a LOT to say. She said he was born in Kenya. She said she was a single mother. She said she was only proud of America because a black man was elected. She also said “All this for a damn flag” during the 9/11 ten year memorial.

Let me tell you 'bout hard work.

What hard work? Obama has always been given a free ride. Always. And he has only been employed as a civil servant, which let’s be honest, is welfare.

Minimum wage with a baby on the way.

Maybe those people should make responsible decisions. Besides, Obama is totally cool with you killing that baby.

Let me tell you 'bout hard work.

Rebuilding your house after the bombs took them away.

The bombs Obama sent. Drones baby, drones. And we’re next if we get out of line.

Let me tell you 'bout hard work.

Building a bed out of a cardboard box.

Just wondering what Pink knows about any of this. Why don’t you redistribute some of your wealth? After all, Obama did say that at some point, you just have enough money.

Let me tell you 'bout hard work

Hard work

Hard work

You don't know nothing 'bout hard work

Hard work

Hard work

Oh

I completely agree. Obama and you know NOTHING of hard work.

How do you sleep at night?

Just like you do Pink; with a chip on your shoulder and condemnation in your heart.

How do you walk with your head held high?

Again, narcissists can do this easily.

Dear Mr. President,

You'd never take a walk with me.

Would you?

He would most definitely take a walk with you. As long as you can get him press and a Google alert.

Stupid Hoe

The problem with last week's "MJ I'm back" fax (as it has been labeled), also known as Paperback Writer, is that I'm not really making a comeback. I have too much going on to apply the required energy to bring you all daily snark.

But I can give you pictures.

Blond Sonja has gone dark...only in her hair though as she has squeezed herself into white leggings.

I really wish I would have been bold enough to snap a full-frontal shot. I think that'll be my goal for next week. Why next week? Because I overheard her telling Juarez Teenager female about this super hot dress she got for her date next week. Oh, I forgot to mention, she is the side piece for a Muslim dude and they meet up on Thursday nights. He picked Thursdays because she already has a sitter to come to class. Odd though, I thought Muslim's couldn't have pork?

Paperback Writer

Get your towels ready, it's about to go down.

So last week was pretty uneventful in class. Blond Sonja and Juarez Teenager Female shot me hard looks because I didn't re-join their coven learning team. My most recent old team looked at me longingly and whimpered when Stoner White Boy Cop and Angel Bautista announced that they had poached me. Yeah, I caved and joined the cop group...they're my people. And Angel Bautista is almost as smart as me. Typhoid Maria and Fat Alberto didn't show *tears* but they're names are still on the roster, so fingers crossed.

Shit got real earlier today, however. I was posting my individual work to the website and in the forum for Learning Team C there was a notification screaming at me. Okay, it was just sitting there in bold (1) but the OCD in me can't handle it. I am not in learning team C, nor did I know who was, but if I clicked, the (1) would go away. So I clicked. The post I see is from Juarez Teenager Female for her team's learning team charter. I can't explain it, but I had this gut feeling that I should download the document and read it. My gut is rarely wrong.

I open up the document and sure the fuck enough, I come face to face with my words. A while back in Big Time Army's class we had to come up with a team charter that was worth HELLA points. Hella. JTF and Blond Sonja didn't help (though they never did) and after four revisions, I submitted a 7-page masterpiece. Every possible situation that could occur was covered. Psychological strategies that could assist in conflict resolution to a detailed outline of team strategies for work completion was in there. Big Time Army said it was the greatest learning team charter he had ever seen. He also said on the returned document in bright red text that he knew that the other members of the group had not participated in writing ANY of the charter and they would NOT be receiving credit for it. Do I have that document? You bet your mother fucking ass I do. I keep everything school related. CYA. If you don't know what CYA means, you're doing it wrong.

Anyway, when JTF, Blond Sonja, and I parted ways due to different course requirements, I made it very clear: They were not to use my work. Not the charter, not any "team" assignments, not one damn word. They never contributed to the team projects. I did it all. I'm not complaining, it secured me the honors I will be graduating with, but I'm not going to let the further benefit from my intellectual property. Blond Sonja was like "Yeah, I won't." JTF was less agreeable. She was actually pretty pissed off. She said she had grown accustomed to A's and that if she needed to use some of the work, she would. Okay, she really said "Oh it's cause now we have to do so much work and my grades got gooder now. We can use some of it if it helps us right?" I told her that I submitted all of the "team" assignments into the plagiarism checker under my name only. Yep, I CYA'd way back then too. I informed her that any "team" stuff she tried to submit as her own would come back as a rip off of my work. She called me a bitch, or beesh, and drove off.

Should have been the end of that. Until there my words were. They didn't even change the parts that say my name in it. Genius. I mulled it over for maybe 30 seconds and then sprung into action. I emailed the instructor. Now wait a second before you call me a rat, let me explain.

Our instructor let us know in week one that because this course is our final criminal justice course and a review of all the other ones we have taken, we could use our own past works to create our new assignments. As I have kept detailed record from every class, I literally have the entire course complete. All I have to do is show up. And contribute a minuscule amount to the team. That's it. So when I read my words posted under someone else's name (with my name still there) even after I warned her not to, I began to worry about what else she might use. I am THIS CLOSE to being done. I don't need to get popped in some academic dishonesty bullshit. I'm not really sure that I would, she'd be the one cheating, not me, but I don't want to get mixed up in that shit.

My email was very professional. I thanked him for his outstanding feedback for my week one paper (it was really great) and told him how much I looked forward to the next four weeks. Then I eased into the issue. I said that something regarding Team C concerned me. The charter they submitted was my intellectual property and they were trying to pass it off as their own. I told him what page he could find my name and information on. I said if need be I could provide proof that the work was mine, and also, that one check through the plagiarism checker would back me up. I said I didn't want to get anyone in trouble, but I feared that more of my intellectual property would be compromised. I stated I did not want anyone to get in trouble, but I would be requesting they remove the aforementioned intellectual property or I would be submitting them to the university for academic integrity violations. I also added that this week we were reviewing ethics and professional behavior in criminal justice, qualities that these two aspiring criminal justice professionals were NOT exhibiting.

Yeah, I'm that guy. Or girl. Or asshole. But yep, that's me. I didn't tell him so that he could do something; I told him because I WAS doing something. CYA.

I didn't even bother with Blond Sonja. She's dyed her hair black BTW. She's not even remotely concerned with academic integrity. She boasted that she buys her papers online. So I went straight to JTF. I emailed her this:

JTF,
It has come to my attention that you are using my intellectual property as your own. While any instructor can clearly see that the writing is above your level and would never believe that you constructed your learning team charter, I am very disturbed you would attempt to pass this off as your own. I believe your were already instructed that any work submitted by me on behalf of our team was off-limits to you once we parted ways. If I remember correctly this upset you greatly as you had planned to commit academic fraud with it. I see you went ahead with that plan. 

I cannot compel you to do the right thing. If you're determined to "earn" your degree through fraud and the hard work of others, by all means, please continue. However, I implore you to remove my charter from your learning team forum before class tonight. Additionally, any further use of the charter or any other copies of MY intellectual property will force my hand and I WILL report you to the university. 

Please do the right thing if it is in you. Thank you.


Yeah, I am a bitch. But JTF texted me almost immediately. She fell all over herself apologizing and BEGGED me to not report her. She said she would take it down right away and delete all the "other things of yours I has." Scared straight. Or not, but at least she knows I know. And our instructor knows. Ain't nobody gonna break my stride...

She looked scared when she went into class tonight. I enjoyed it.

Tune in next week. I just might blog again.

Head Bussa

I know I am on a blog break, but this shit is too long for Facebook.

Little Bug and I were having a perfectly lovely day today. We went to lunch, got to build a cool wishing well out of Lego's at Toys R Us, we were having a blast....until we dropped in Big Lots.

After finding some super cool silly things we stood in a very long line to pay. I got bumped from behind by a nice enough woman who apologized, no biggie. However, it caused my cart to gently bump a lady in front of me. I was about to apologize, when her husband turned around, slammed the cart into my stomach and yelled "WAIT! JUST WAIT." I simply said "Wow. I was bumped and in turn bumped your wife. I'm sorry, but there is no need to freak out." Even the couple that bumped into me took up for me and told him to calm down and knock off the attitude.

He snapped. I told him to act like an adult, he yelled at me to keep acting like a child. I smiled and prepared to pay for my purchases. Even the cashier was like "WTF?" Of course not one employee thought they should call the manager as this man berated a white woman with a little girl, but whatever. I wanted y Tic Tac Toe shot set.

The line we were in had two cashiers. I was at the first, he was further up at the second one, but stood right next to the card reader of mine. As he stood there, shoulders firmly squared off at me, I smiled bigger and said "Excuse me sir, can you please move aside? Wouldn't want to hit you with my cart."

He lost it. Told me to shut my mouth and even raised his hand like he wanted to backhand me. I said "Wow, you're a man. Act like one and not a jerk." Then his wife lost it and SCREAMED "You don't call my husband a jerk. You better shut up or I'll shut you up!" I took my receipt, grabbed Little Bug's hand and smiled some more. As we walked out they were right behind us, still mouthing off. I told Little Bug, "I'm sorry baby girl. Some people are just garbage." The wife screamed "Yes! Some people ARE!" I put Little Bug in the car, strapped her in, closed the door, and see the wife walking towards my car. Her husband had already gotten in the passenger seat of their dark blue Honda Civic. Probably got a DUI and the wife has to drive him.

Anyway, she stood in the middle of the parking lot row and was holding her purse like a weapon and screaming "HEY BITCH! BITCH!" I looked at her dead on and said "Get in your fucking car." She stepped back, looking shocked. She yelled, "That's some mouth on you bitch!" I took off my sunglasses, set my purse on my trunk, made a small but threatening step and said "Get. In. Your. Fucking. Car. NOW." She ran back to her car, got in, and drove off.

I was a little bummed. She thinks I have a mouth on me, she should have seen the fists I've got. She would have been easy enough to take down. It was her husband I was worried about. He had an inch and a hundred pounds on me. Could have winded him pretty quick. Maybe kneed him in the dick if he got close enough, you know, if I could have found it under all that belly.

All of this could have been avoided had her asshole husband just said "Oh excuse you." I would have politely apologized and we would have been done. But no, he turned around and forcefully struck me intending to cause harm. And in front of my child no less. I know most of you, had you been there, probably would have held my baby so I could beat his ass or just beat his ass yourself if he had struck Little Bug with the cart. Told Hubby about it when I got home. The cop in him came out real quick, but I handled it and talked Hubby down. I couldn't stop LOLing though when I refused to give him the plate number and he said "All I need is a partial."

BTW his wife's ass was so fat she probably didn't feel a thing.

Parachutes

First off, I need to get in a little rant before I start part duex. What's the point of writing a blog and scheduling a post to go up at a certain time when Blogger just pretends it will do it and then deletes it? I know I did it right this time, but no, it just shits it out of the Internet into some lost blog abyss. No more blogging in advance for me.

Okay. Here we go.

The Ballad of Stolen Valor: Part 2

It was a cold, dark night and the winds of El Paso whipped around me as I made the long walk from my car to the front doors of hell. Too dramatic? Okay, it was cold as balls and I was in a dark parking lot, trying to make a beeline for the door of work. I was trying to pry the exit door open (it was easier than going to the other side of the building), while juggling my coffee, lunch bag, and purse, when I heard him before I saw him. "Watch your six!" he yelled out with a cackle following it.

I don't know what he was expecting. Maybe he thought he would startle me and I would some type of PTSD flashback and he could see my moves? Maybe he thought we would bond over his usage of a "military" phrase? Or maybe, he's just a creepy rapist in a dark parking lot? Yeah, that's probably it. I did my best to ignore him as I finally got the door open, but he tried to squeeze past me. Um, apparently someone forgot the doors have a sensor to open them from the inside. So literally the door opens wide as he pushes past me and he looks even more like a rapist. "Oh, my bad," he says and all I can think is "You're going down tonight, fucker."

As I plopped myself down in my office chair, I began to devise a plan. I would wait until lunch and call him out in front of EVERYONE. Of course I would keep and ear out all night for his tales of Taliban killin' glory. But then it happened. I made an ally I will forever be blog indebted to.

His name is Tim. We will call him Midcity Stoner. MS is originally from SoCal, but thankfully didn't call it that. I would have hated him immediately. He used to work at Walmart, got fired for punching his manager, smokes weed like he's Snoop Dogg, and is my height or slightly taller (5'4"). He's thick, borderline fat, but has that sort of laugh that makes you laugh too, even if what he's laughing at was stupid. He calls me Tiff, only because the first time he did I asked him not to. He asked me why and I told him that a tiff is a petty little fight. So he never stopped. Whatevs. I call him much worse.

I'm walking back to the computer room to grab some paper and Midcity Stoner pops out of nowhere (scaring the shit out of me) and says "Tiff, come here. I gotta tell you this shit." We covertly make our way to the corner where diapers meets clothes and he fills me in.

MS: You know I fucking hate Mario, right?
Me: Well yeah, doesn't everyone?
MS: He he he. Yeah. Everyone. Even his family I think.
Me: True.
MS: So you were military right? Air Force or some shit?
Me: Yes, that exact shit.
MS: So you know about planes?
Me: Probably not as much as I should, but enough to call bullshit. Please tell me you have bullshit.
MS: Girl, I've got some serious shit.
Me: Please...continue. (Yes, I made an evil hand gesture, think the psych ward guy from Beauty and the Beast)
MS: Alright, so we're talking about Transformers 3 right?
Me: Why? It was terrible!
MS: I know, but its the only movie in the break room and we're gonna put it on during lunch.
Me: Got it. Continue.
MS: So Kenyon (another guy we work with...who's dreds have creatures) says like man that shit was crazy when theys in they squirrel suits. And Mario's fucking eyes light up and he starts saying that he used that shit when he parachuted or some shit into Baghdad.
Me: *could've heard a pin drop*
MS: Wait though, he said he parachuted from a B1. I don't know shit about shit like that but I know that's not that kind of plane.
Me: *finding my voice* What. The. Fuck.
MS: Right?
Me: Let's go with the plane first, no one, EVER, would jump, not parachute, but jump from a B1. It's a bomber. It holds bombs, not people. And who fucking "parachutes"? Seriously. I have never heard anyone who has been to Jump school call it Parachuting school.
MS: You look heated.
Me: He's just such a fucking liar.
MS: Call his ass out. That's what we do in my hood.
Me: That's what we do in my hood too.
Kenyon: *next isle over* Oh you got a hood?
Me: Yeah, you know. I keep it gangster.
Kenyon: I feel you.
MS: You're fucking stupid Tiff.
Me: I know.

So we devised a plan. I would take my lunch at the same time as everyone else, we would cue up the squirrel flying scene from Transformers 3 and wait for him to start. As soon as he opened his mouth with that bullshit, I would strike. I was giddy to say the least. He strutted in the break room about 20 seconds after I called for lunch. Such a fucking camper, but MS was right behind him. He didn't even go to the fridge, he cued up the movie. As the last employee strolled in, he hit play. Stolen Valor almost came.

SV: Yeah this is the best part!
Me: Why's that?
SV: Um, have you seen it? They fucking HALO. It's awesome. I guess you'd have to experience to get it.
Me: And you have?
SV: Pffft. Wouldn't you like to know.
Me: Yeah, I would.
SV: I bet you would.
Me: Well you'd win that bet because I would love to hear about your time in the service. Navy, right?
SV: Yeah.
MS: I thought you said the Army.
SV: No way bro, I'm a squid all the way.
MS: But you told me and Selena Army.
SV: You must have been high or something. *drunk hyena laugh*

I sensed what could happen here. He could try to divert attention on to MS so he wouldn't have to tell me about his service. I had to redirect.

Me: So seriously dude, you've done that?
SV: Uh yeah. I think I said that.
Me: Like operational or just for an exercise?
SV: We parachuted into Baghdad.
Me:...
Me:...
Me:...
Me: You did what now?
SV: When the war started, we had to parachute into Baghdad because that was the only way in.
Me: When was this?
SV: When the war started.
Me: But when?
SV: Like end of 2001, start of 2002.
Me: But you said you were involved in Umm Qasr in 03.
SV: Yeah, and?
Me: But that was the first battle of the war.
SV: Of the official war.
Me:...

Could shit have popped off secretly before the war started? Sure. Was this man involved in it? Hell no.

Is this what Navy bad asses look like? 

He went on to say that they had to parachute into Baghdad because there was no airport. So this place, aptly named Baghdad International airport since 1980, doesn't exist:

Baghdad International Airport is actually just a mirage. Oh, you flew into there? No, you didn't.

I asked him what kind of plane he jumped from. He said, " I PARACHUTED from a B-1. Who says jump? Hahaha." Um, everyone says jump. You go to jump school to learn how to jump. What the fuck? But I almost missed the plane he said he jumped from. Almost. 

Me: You jumped from a B-1?

SV: That's what I said.

Me: That's crazy. 

SV: Yeah.

Me: No that's literally crazy. A B-1 is a bomber. Where did you jump from? The bomb bay?

SV: Whatever. I was Navy. I don't know the planes. 

Me: Neither do I really, but I know you can't jump from a bomber.

SV: I meant M-1.

Me: That's a rifle.

SV: You know what I mean.

Me: No, I don't think I do.

There was a long, awkward silence...from him. Everyone else was stifling their laughs.

SV: What's the plane that they talk about in that chant thing?

Me: Do you mean a C-130?

SV: Yeah, that's the one.

Me: How do you mix that up with a B-1 Bomber or an M-1 carbine?

SV: *calls me something awful in Spanish*

Everyone was rolling at this point. No one tried to hide it. He got called the fuck out and yet, he wasn't done. He started talking about when he and his buddies went on a beer run to a nearby FOD (not FOB or forward operating base, but FOD, foreign object damage) and their convoy got blown up. Listen, I watched all 13 glorious episodes of Over There more times than I can recall and I know that that exact story happened in the same episode Bo gets his leg blown off in. I wish I could have had the smarts to record him telling this story as it was a shot by shot reference to that scene. Cool story bro, but Steven Bochco beat you to it. I held in my laughter and said "Man, I've had to do FOD checks so many times, but I've never seen anyone get blown up doing those."

Gee whiz info for the day: FOD, or foreign object damage, occurs when rocks or debris get on the flight line and damage the planes. When driving a vehicle onto the flight line, you're are supposed to stop before entering, check your tires for rocks, remove them, and then proceed slowly onto the flight line. Or just get out of your vehicle, pretend to look for shit, then get back into your vehicle.

The whole time he's popping off at the mouth, I'm posting his antics on my FB wall. My friend Melissa (we can work on blog names later) was in the Navy and was a great resource for me whilst calling him out. I asked him here he went to Boot and he got that answer right, but then told me he went to BUD/S and graduated on 9/11 ("The first one") and then it was boots to ground right after. Or is it boots to plane to air to ground?

Lunch ended far too soon. I couldn't stop though. Our word for the night became "jump." I streamed Kriss Kross' "Jump" and House of Pain's "Jump Around" on repeat through the PA system for much longer than would have been funny...except it was hilarious because Stolen Valor didn't get it. He...wait for it...actually jumped during the third or fourth playing of "Jump" and said, "Oh I fucking love this song!" Midcity Stoner almost died. We made sure to work the word jump into every conversation we had. "Hey, I need you to jump over to the bike section and get me this." "Make sure you don't jump off that ladder. It's pretty high. Not B1 high, but high." It was endless. The unspoken rule was that you couldn't just use it to use it. Stolen Valor had to be present. And each time, he just didn't understand that we were mocking him. He would just try to offer his opinion as a subject matter expert. 

There was much more to this post the first (and second) time I wrote it, but I will end it here today. Be ready next week for Part 3: The firing squad.