'Guh' Because it's not all flowers and mooniconrs people.

I don't know why but I woke up this morning to the absolutely astounding and shockingly loud sounds of a fucking big ass gun being fired very close to where I'm sleeping. And when I say 'fucking big ass gun' I mean the soldiers at Baston would not have been able to hold that wavering line if the Germans had had theses things. For some reason or another being jolted out of bed by artillery at five in the morning made me want to write a blog. Sadly though the majority of the cool shit I've done I can't put up here, I just know some sergeant somewhere would read it not 30 seconds after being posted, I would get an excruciatingly angry e-mail telling me to take it down and be scolded for the remaining next few months.

Now I have forgotten where I was going with that.

I know it has been a shamefully long time sense I have posted anything at all, let alone anything worth reading, my only followers are two of my best friends. I know that's only because I don't give enough of a shit to read anything else anybody says. The whole blogging thing to me seems like yes, the internet has given everyone a voice, but unless you know and care about the person anyway, who gives a flying fuck? If I don't actually know you and have developed an intimate relationship with you through close personal interaction and mass epic adventuring, why the fuck should I give a damn about your quirky little mishaps and why you had a slightly worse day than a grande no-fat white chocolate mocha at fucking Starbucks. But then again, maybe living a harder life than most has jaded me to the expletives of yuppy North America.

Yes I am indeed in Afghanistan, and yes this place is truly the asshole of the world. Now I had originally written a long page about why we are here and how much I fucking hate the hippies who protest the war in Iraq but couldn't find Afghanistan on a map. But then I realized the only people who will actually read this are probably pretty tired of hearing me rant about that and I would probably get in shit from aforementioned sergeant for letting the public know how I really feel. But what I wrote was really good so I saved to my hard drive and carried on.

And for those you who are wondering, Moonicorns live on the moon.

Well balls. I spent so long this morning coaxing my internet to work with everything from peanut butter to promises of a trip to Disneyland just so I could maybe write something meaningful, but now that it works I have fuck all important to say because I don't want to get yelled at. Not because I am weak an emotional and cry when I get yelled at, 'I've been chewed out before'. I just hate it because when people yell they don't tend to think clearly and end up repeating themselves. And one of the things that is a sure fire way for me to fly off the handle and stab someone in the eye with a chair is nagging, repetitive anger. My mom used to do that and now I just leave whenever she gets upset because Gods forbid I beat her to death with a chair. I am a normally grounded, calm and patient guy, but FYI nagging repetitive (hard word to spell fluently) un-cognitive anger will land you in a world of hurt. :D

So now I lay here in my bed in my little 5 by 7 foot 'hooch' as we call it. It's really more of a bunk space constructed crudely of plywood and scrap wood. It's not too bad, I have always been very adaptable and I tend to enjoy the long periods of simple life the army has offered me. It' so pleasing sometimes to learn I can live happily, so humbly. Porcelain is a luxury we don't have and the showers are disgusting, but over 1000 Americans will do that. But it could be worse, at least I do get showers. My section has a neat little mess tent and gym (that we built) beside our workplace all surrounded by a nice iron picket and mine tape fence that I built. Altogether its not a bad place to be.

Seriously, people brand the army as a hard, fearful life. But until you live with only a few pairs of clothes and a few possessions you really don't know much about yourself do you? Too confused and lost in all the material thing you are. When I get home, there will be a mass exodus of shit from my house. Stuff I dont use, clothes I never wear, and all the odds and sods from my past that i really should let go of anyway. All I need are my comic books. And my movies. All I need are my comic books and my movies, but that's it. And my lego. My comic books, my movies and my lego, that's all! And my XBOX and 56" LCD TV. All I need is my comic books, my movies, my lego and my XBOX and 56" LCD TV. That's all I need. I don't need you!

Okay I lie. I really need you a lot.

Okay this is gonna be harder than I thought. But really, I could get on with just that stuff and some clothes. And my artwork. Fuck. I just need to stop the useless spending.

Lot'sa love.