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Barracks Story: The Angry Pizza Delivery Drive Is In The Army? No Bleeping Way!
I typically don't eat breakfast. I really only eat dinner, but I had to run an errand this morning to get more Copenhagen. I decided to be a semi-decent parent, and I picked up some treats for Kelly and Cake. One of those treats was Jack Links Bacon Jerky. I bought it for Kelly, but I decided to steal a couple morels and chalk it up to "Dad Tax." George, my dog, and I are sitting in the garage "teleworking" and George only loves me because I have a jar full of treats. Dear Reader, I fucked up! I gave George Jack Links Bacon Jerky, and then I accidentally ate his bacon-shaped dog treat. The fuck up? I realize Jack Links is overpriced and I should have been eating dog treats all along. Delicious.
Apologies, but at least we got the first tangent-rant out of the way. Today we are going to discuss another Barracks Story. I believe I have previously explained for our Civilian readers, but I feel the need to reaffirm this knowledge. Each Army base is akin to a city. Some are small, and some are very large. We have grocery stores where you can observe the Commissarysaurus. We have hospitals where you can observe the Tricareasaurus-Rex. There are also gas stations and liquor stores where you can observe the not so elusive Dependapotomus. Lastly, you have the "businesses" and these business are kind enough to provide accommodations for their Junior Enlisted "employees." These places are called "Barracks."
The dynamics of each barracks are different. Some of them house model citizens (Soldiers), and others house the not-so model citizens. Infantry, and Special Operations Forces (SOF) Soldiers are different. Think of a prison without guards or walls. We are not all miscreants, but a considerable amount of chaos occurs in these barracks. I'd expect nothing less from Little Groups of Paratroopers (LGOPs) that believe God created them to kill in the name of freedom, and attempt to impregnate anything that has one-to-four legs and a vagina. Well, maybe not four-legs, but definitely one-to-two legs.
I thrive in chaos and I sincerely loved my tenure in the barracks. There are so many fond stories, and we are going to talk about the very first time I felt my military career was about to abruptly end. I had been in unit for a mere six months, and I was no longer a FNG (Fucking New Guy). I had created a bond with some fellow miscreants, and we had developed a routine. The Big Lebowski!
The plan was simple. Augie, Shaun, and Timmy would gather in my room to eat pizza, drink White Russians, and watch The Big Lebowski until we forget why we chose to enlist in the Army. It was my turn to host that night and I spent an hour preparing for the debauchery, and I was playing Halo: Combat Evolved while I patiently waited for the clock to strike the 1900 Hour go-time.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
OP: It's open.
Timmy: OP NICKNAME. What are you doing?
OP: Just getting ready for the evening.
Timmy: Cool. Did you order the pizza yet?
OP: Yeah. Should be here in thirty minutes.
Timmy: (Big Ass Ninja Grin (BANG)) FUCKING SWEET!!!
Timmy then ran from my room. I should mention that Timmy was anything but normal. I don't know how he made it into Regiment. He was an Oompa Loompa-sized ferret on crack. He was a picturesque "potato-bodied" human. He was five feet and zero inches tall, and it was comical to road-march behind him. You just followed the "floating rucksack". His abrupt departure from my barracks room worried me. I didn't know "why" I should worry, but I "knew" I should worry.
Seventy-Five Percent Room Capacity
Shaun: When we gonna start?
OP: Waiting on the pizza and Timmy.
Shaun: Where the fuck is he?
OP: I don't know. He was here twenty minutes ago, but then he literally ran out when I told him the pizza was coming.
Augie: I'll call.
Augie: No Answer!
My barracks room was on the first floor. I had an excellent view from my window, and could see the glowing "Domino's Pizza" light on top of a red Mazda truck. I was initially baffled. Mazda makes pickup trucks? The bafflement quickly faded when my belly realized the pizza was about to be swimming in a milky sea of White Russian goodness. Go-time was about to commence and I was happy. Then, the reason I was previously worried popped-up like a stripper with a dick.
Outside Chaos: SURPRISE COCK-BAG
Shaun: HOLY FUCK! What the fuck was that?
OP: (Standing. Mouth-Opened. Cash In Hand) F-U-C-K!
Augie: Dude. Someone just shot the pizza guy with an Airsoft and ran.
I knew who it was. I shrugged the "worry" off. Timmy scurried from my room with a devious grin. Timmy had recently purchased and officially licensed Heckler and Koch (HK) MP5 Airsoft gun. That little fucking gremlin hid in the bushes outside my window and ambushed the pizza delivery driver. My belly was disappointed, and I grabbed my phone and was about to place a repeat order when I was beckoned.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Boom was an understatement. It sounded like my barracks door withheld three Flex Linear (Door Bombs) breaching charges. It was fucking loud. I didn't even have the door opened a full inch before the Domino's Assaulter breached the doorway shoving a Domino's Heatwave Bag in my face. Angry was an understatement. The pizza delivery driver was screaming at me like I had just rectally inserted a pineapple and dabbed some ghost pepper hot sauce on his balloon-knot.
Pizza Employee Not Intelligently Sane (PENIS): REAL FUCKING FUNNY ASSHOLE. YOU OWE ME FORTY BUCKS FOR THE PIZZAS AND I WANT YOUR FIRST SERGEANTS NUMBER. N-O-W!
OP: (Inspects Pizza) Yeah. These pizzas are totally fucked up dude. I am not paying for this shit.
PENIS: OH, YOU'RE FUCKING PAYING FOR IT. I WANT YOUR FIRST SERGEANTS NUMBER TOO.
OP: Sorry dude. I am totally not paying...
PENIS: YOU FUCKING SHOT ME. FUCKING SHOT ME!!! YOU'RE FUCKING PAYING FOR THEM.
OP: (Angry) If I wanted to ambush you, I WOULD NOT ORDER A PIZZA TO MY FUCKING ROOM.
PENIS: FUCK YOU DUDE. FORTY BUCKS, and you First Sergeants number NOW!!!
OP: (Laughing) You're a PIZZA DELIVERY DRIVER! FUCK YOU DUDE! Get the fuck out before we beat your fucking ass.
PENIS: I'm a fucking Captain!
OP: Yeah. Cool. And I'm a MAJOR then.
The PENIS is now reaching in his wallet. I was shaking in my boots while I waited for him to pull out his Mensa International Card from his camouflaged Velcro wallet. Both Augie and Shawn were now preparing to extradite the PENIS from my room. The situation was getting tense, and then he whipped it out. It was not his Mensa International Card, it was his Department of Defense (DoD) Common Access Card (CAC). He had just put his CAC right in my face. Yup, his big ole CAC.
PENIS: I'M A FUCKING CAPTAIN.
OP: (Speak Before Thinking) Why the fuck are you delivering pizzas?
PENIS: MONEY! FIRST SERGEANTS NUMBER. NOW!
Captains are not exactly god-level in terms of rank, but he was god-level compared to our ranks. I paid for the calzone looking pizzas, and gave him my First Sergeants number. There were no other options. He knew my phone number, address, and he knew my name. I was properly fucked in this situation. I didn't fully buckle though I managed to maintain a small shred of dignity.
PENIS: (Dickhead Eyes) NO TIP???
OP: (Zero Thinking) You can keep the welts!
PENIS: (Smile) I'll be sure to tell that to your FIRST SERGEANT.
Let me tell you about my First Sergeant. He was a former Delta Operator and he was only doing his First Sergeant time to give his family a break and virtually guarantee his promotion to Sergeant Major. He was a BAMF (Bad Ass Mother Fucker). He was on the ground during Acid Gambit, and Gothic Serpent. The man has killed more people than cancer. He takes bad news poorly, and doesn't have a gentle touch. There is actually an old Army joke that perfectly describes his demeanor. Tangent: Engaged!
First Sergeant Tangent Joke
First Sergeant: Fall-in! (Formation) Private Smith, take one step forward. (Boldly Announces) You're mother is dead. Now fall-back into formation.
Private Smith, under the immense gravity of the news, collapses to the ground and cries uncontrollably. The Company Commander is notified by the Battalion Commander how poorly the First Sergeant handled the situation. There was zero empathy displayed by First Sergeant, and the Battalion Commander orders the Company Commander to counsel his First Sergeant. The Company Commander instructs the First Sergeant to exercise subtlety and tact next time he delivers devastating news.
A few weeks later First Sergeant is delivered more bad news about one of his Soldiers, but has a chance to redeem himself.
First Sergeant: Fall-in! Everyone whose father is still alive please take one step backwards. Stand-fast (Don't Move) Private Jones!
This is the type of leader my First Sergeant was. The debauchery was canceled for the evening, and I was deathly scarred about going to work on Monday. The rest of the weekend dragged on, but Monday morning eventually came crashing down. The walk to the Company Operations Facility (COF) felt like I was going to meet my executioner. I gather downstairs with the mass of intellectually gifted Privates for no longer than one minute before I was given the news.
Charge of Quarters (CQ): OP NICKNAME. First Sergeant wants to see you now.
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First Sergeant: Why the fuck you here penis?
OP: Because you called for me First Sergeant?
First Sergeant: Well no shit penis! Why did I call for you?
OP: Because I am in trouble First Sergeant?
First Sergeant: Do you know what I hate?
OP: Negative First...
First Sergeant: FUCKING OFFICERS. I don't like getting a phone call from some fucking Officer because he got shot with a fake gun. WHY THE FUCK IS HE DELIVERING PIZZA and WHO SHOT HIM?
OP: (Trembling) I don't know First Sergeant!
First Sergeant: WHO DID IT?
OP Brain: You mostly heard it. You didn't actually see him. Time to lie!
OP: I don't know First Sergeant!
First Sergeant: YES YOU DO!
OP Brain: Roll with the lie!
OP Brain: I didn't see it First Sergeant. I only heard him getting shot at, and him screaming.
First Sergeant: (ON TOP OF HIS FUCKING DESK) CQ. GET ME TIMMY!!!
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Timmy: (Looking at Sloppy) You fucking ratted on me?
First Sergeant: No. He's too dumb to rat you out. I know you're the only person dumb enough to do something like this. So what am I going to do to you?
OP Brain: Is that a question?
First Sergeant: Are you going to answer me or are you doing to keep staring at me like I have a dick growing out of my forehead and licking your lips?
OP Brain: Was I licking my lips?
OP: Article 15 (Non-Judicial Punishment) First Sergeant?
First Sergeant: Does that fit the crime?
Timmy: Negative First Sergeant!?!
First Sergeant Thinking/Staring Pause
First Sergeant: We are having a keg party in the barracks!
Keg parties in the barracks are actually against policy. It actually states, "No kegs in the barracks." I don't know why my brain allowed my mouth to run without restriction, but the stupidity just started to fall from my mouth.
OP: Kegs are not allowed in the barracks First Sergeant?
First Sergeant: Are you saying I, can't have a keg in the barracks OP NICKNAME?
OP: No, First Sergeant!?!
First Sergeant: Is outside your room "in the barracks" OP NICKNAME?
OP: Negative First Sergeant!?!
Dear Reader, the rest of the week was uneventful. I did a considerable amount of push-ups and other physical exercises because Timmy landed me on the shit-list. I swept. I mopped. I buffed, and I even wondered who were the owners of the curly-Q pubs I had removed from the urinals. I optimistically dreaded Friday. Unfortunately, there is no way to stop Father Time.
We were dismissed from formation and scurried to the barracks. Our The Big Lewbowski event was on hold. This will be the only time I ever write this statement, but I was praying the keg party would be forgotten. First Sergeant didn't say anything about it at our last formation. I sat in my desk chair pondering how the evening would pan-out, but then I heard the grumbling of a large diesel truck. It was First Sergeant, and he was parked outside my window.
First Sergeant: (Screaming at Window) HEY FUCKO. HELP ME UNLOAD THE KEGS.
He had not forgotten. He had six kegs inside his truck, and it seems the rest of the company was aware we were having a party, "outside the barracks". I do as I'm told though. I unloaded the kegs, and it didn't take long for the outdoor shit-show to start. It was all shits and giggles, until someone giggles and shits. There was more than enough beer for someone to shit, and I was merely waiting for shit to go down.
First Sergeant: OP NICKNAME. Is my beer not good enough for you? You're not going to drink.
OP: I'm not 21 First Sergeant.
First Sergeant: You are today penis.
He then slammed a beer into my hands. Again, I do what I'm told. Nearly three hours had passed and it was approaching 1900. It was time for First Sergeant to unleash his diabolical plan. I believe this was my first introduction to masterful fuck-fuck.
First Sergeant: OP NICKNAME. Get Timmy and come here.
First Sergeant: Alright shit-stains. This is what we are going to do. We are about to start ordering pizzas. The boys need to eat. Where did that fuck-tard work?
OP: Domino's Pizza First Sergeant!
First Sergeant: You're certain?
OP: I still have the Domino's Heatwave bag in my room. Pretty sure it's Domino's.
First Sergeant: Don't be a prick. You got yourselves into this mess, and now you need to get yourselves out.
OP Brain: WHAT THE FUCK IS HE TALKING ABOUT?
First Sergeant: We are going to order pizzas every half hour. We will order them to rooms in other Companies. You two little fucks keep your eye out for his vehicle. What was that asshole driving anyways?
OP: Red Mazda pickup.
First Sergeant: You're sure of this?
OP: Only because I didn't know Mazda make trucks First Sergeant. What happens if he doesn't come First Sergeant?
First Sergeant: (Smile) We have another party next week!
The amount of drunken chaos was astonishing. The normal shit like Cornhole (Baggo), and darts were being played. Then you have "our normal" shit, in which people were drunkenly rappelling off the barracks, throwing knives, throwing axes, and just literally beating the shit out of each other in the name of fun. Then "it" happened. PENIS showed up in his red Mazda truck.
OP: First Sergeant. That's him!
First Sergeant: GOOD!
OP Brain: Are we gonna egg him?
First Sergeant retreats to his truck, and then returns with some things that made me question my enlistment. It seems that Article 15 was off the table for this particular offense, but may be back on the table in the very near future.
First Sergeant: You and Timmy put these on.
These? These were two hairnets, and rubber fucking gloves.
First Sergeant: As I suspected. His truck is still running, and I assume he is going to try to figure out "who" order the pizza when the occupants answer. You don't have much time. Take that fucking truck and park it at Range Number XX. Give me a call when you get there, and I will come pick it up.
OP Brain: W-H-A-T?
OP: First Sergeant. Isn't that stealing and...
First Sergeant: (Evil I Killed More People Than Cancer Eyes) NO! You're not stealing it. This is a Fire Lane and you a kindly re-parking it, ON RANGE NUMBER XX. GO NOW!!!
Again, I do as I'm told. Timmy and sprinted to the truck. He is built like a potato, but he was fucking fast. Not only did I learn that Timmy was faster, but I also learned that he cannot drive a manual truck. We had to perform a quick switch in order to evade detection. Off we were. There was laughter and excitement at first. Then I realized I was playing Grant Theft Auto, but this was the In Real Life (IRL) version. The felony version.
Timmy: I'm changing the radio. I'm not listen country while we steal a car.
OP: Don't fucking touch anything we don't need to touch.
Timmy: Fuck you! I'm changing it.
There are certain things you don't forget. Stealing a vehicle happens to be one of them. At least for me it is. That fucker had to change the radio station.
Five Minutes of Searching
- Bible Stuff
- Scary-Loud Spanish
- Near. Far. Wherever you...
- Pop. Fucking Pop Music.
The drive to the range was about twenty minutes, but it seemed longer. I had finally arrived and parked not-my-truck on the range. I meticulously inspected the vehicle to ensure I didn't leave any incriminating evidence. I was not confident in my counter-CSI (Crime Scene Investigation), but I made sure Timmy didn't leave any Sailor Soup (Seamen) on the dashboard. I then called the First Sergeant once I completed our directed task.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
First Sergeant: Hello?
OP: First Sergeant. We are ready for our ride back.
First Sergeant: You parked the truck at Range Number XX?
OP: Roger First Sergeant!
First Sergeant: (Laughing) Well, I'm too drunk to drive. It looks like you need to walk back.
OP: (Realization) Roger First Sergeant.
First Sergeant: (Hysterical Laughter) Oh. Don't call your friends either. They're all drunk. Also, no cabs. Don't want to draw attention to yourself.
OP: Roger First Sergeant.
Timmy: What did he say?
OP: (Hate Eyes) He said we are walking.
Timmy: What the fuck. I thought he said he was picking us up?!?
OP: No. This. This here is our punishment.
Timmy: That's bullshit.
OP: It is. It's bullshit that YOU shot the guy delivering MY PIZZA and I am walking back because of YOU!
Timmy: You're right. My bad bro.
OP: And you need to learn to drive fucking stick!
There was a lot of talking on the way back. Not because we were totally interested in talking to each other, but because we had plenty of time on our nearly fifteen mile walk back to the barracks. At least we didn't have fifty pounds hanging off our backs. However, we didn't have water either. There was also this urge to hide in the ditch or treeline whenever a car passed. You know, to avoid that grand theft auto thingy!?!
We arrived back to a nearly silent barracks. There were Soldiers all over the place, but the majority them were passed-the-fuck-out. Brian wasn't though. Brian was one of the few people awake to welcome us back.
Brian: HEY. HEY OP NICKNAME. THAT SHIT WAS AWESOME.
Timmy: What shit? Walking back?
OP: (Condescendingly) Yeah. Totally fucking awesome!
Brian: No. The pizza guy video.
OP: (Perky) What video?
Brian then presented his phone, and a glorious video.
PENIS exits barracks.
PENIS: What the fuck? MY TRUCK! WHERE THE FUCK IS MY TRUCK.
PENIS pulls out phone.
Voice in the background: IT WASN'T ANY OF MY GUYS. (Whisper-Mode) FUCKING PENIS.
That was that! Grand theft auto and walking home was my punishment. It was how we "got ourselves out of our mess." This was the "old Army" though. I am pretty certain this would not happen anymore. It is not a leadership failure either. I simply don't see too many millennial's eager to participate in a felony. Again, I do as I'm told. Especially in the early 2000s, and especially from a man that scares Chuck Norris. Lastly, we eventually called the Military Police (MP's) to report a red Mazda truck on Range Number XX.
Hope you got a giggle today.
A Quick Gut Reaction Coming From Rift S
Fantastic picture. Great sound. Everything else is total jank.
If I had to sum it up I would say right now the G2 feels like Linux and my Rift S felt like Windows.
If you get it setup right and jump through all the hoops and put up with the occasional issues and restarts and everything then it is fantastic! But it's a road of effort to get to the good stuff. Whereas the Rift S's picture is OK and the sound not even worthwhile, but it sure is easy to get things going and without real issues.
Tracking... like people have said. Below Oculus but OK... with some jank.
Sweet Spot... highly subjective. In the sweet spot things are crystal. But shift your eyes elsewhere and it blurs. And quickly. I think the combination of the contrast of the blur with how quickly it becomes so makes it more noticeable. I hooked the Rift S back up because I never really noticed it there and my conclusion was it happens there but the blur gradually gets blurrier so you don't notice it.
The comfort... it is really going to depend on your face. I have a big noggin so my face is wider. And if you look at the face plate it curves in a LOT on the sides. So when I shove my face in there it is tight. There would be no way I could wear glasses because there would be no room on the sides for them to stick out. Maybe that threw my sweet spot off, but it sure didn't feel like it. But because of that the Rift S halo was nicer. PRO TIP: When you put the headband on, you can then tilt the visor down some (it rides up because it pivots) and that helps you find the sweet spot.
Turning it off... the best practice is to reach down and unplug it. Really? Just more jank to top it off. It's the only equipment I have that I have to unplug to turn off.
All in all it feels like death by a lot of little compromises. I'm debating if I keep it. I figure make it my full time driver for a little bit to see if it is just the unfamiliarity of it. But more than anything at the moment it may be pushing me to buy an Index.