Friday, October 31, 2008
Okay people for the 9th time (after this I won't recap no more, it takes forever to set up) let's recap...in Love American VS Korean Style parts 1 through 9 we saw...JihadGene (me) meet the lovely Kim (my wife of over 30 years now) in a US Army AAFES Snack bar. For me it was love at 1st sight. It was ON like Godzilla at a Wii Party! I mean I was as all shook up as Elvis, who I believe still lives, BTW. I made friends outta everyone Kim knew, thank you very much. I even finagled a birthday party for a Korean guy so Kim would attend the party and there I was ready to make my Hunka-hunka burnin' loove move on her and everything. But as the Alcohol God's would have it...Birthday Boy celebrates too much and hurls chunks on my Kim. Crap. Kim goes home and the Korean grandma's take pity on me. I am possessed by Kim's beauty and these Grandma's are really like some kinda good witches/shaman...lest I piss them off. The Grandma's and I (all eleven of us) pile into a tiny Korean taxi who's 4 cylinder engine is granted Warp-speed by these Korean Witches. We run over bicyclists and drunk pedestrians to get to Kim's so the Grandma's will tell Kim what a great guy I am, so's I can get a date with her. I wait outside while they have a Korean pow-wow. Now the Grandma's tell me to return to base (RTB) and that they will fix it up for me. Cool. Well, almost. It's almost nationwide curfew in the city of Pusan, South Korea. I am without money and have to travel 10 km's (or over 6 miles) in about 20 minutes. I have no money, no smokes to barter with, and no good luck. I see a bus taking off in the direction of the Camp. I jump on the back bumper and hold on at 40MPH for about5 miles until we hit a pot hole the size of Crater Lake, Oregon and I crash...and I burn. Now I'm bloodied up, crippled up slightly, and the Korean national Police are chasing after me. I am faster than them and I run down a dark street and run smack-dab into a low hanging roof. Roof tiles fly and I received concussion#2. I shakily get back up, the Korean Cops are on my tail again, I run around a corner, and climb a telephone pole like my Dad used to do in the US Marines as a field wireman. I give 'em the slip. Yeah! I requisition (rip off) a beat up bicycle with only one tire. Luckily it is the rear tire and it has some air in it. I pop a wheelie and down the streets I go on one wheel in the crisp Korean night air. It is March 1975. I am 20 years old. I think of my lovely Kim as I ride off the edge of a banjo (sewage) ditch into it's mucky, yucky, bottom. Hello concussion#3. When I come too, I use an orange colored Samyang Ramen bag to staunch the bleeding from my 3rd or 4th head wound. I look like the Creature from the Black Lagoon, except for the orange ramen bag stuck to my forehead. I continued on until I was literally "lit up" by a ROK Army tank, M-60 series with mounted spotlight. I am held by the ROK Army who are friendly, once they put down their M-16's, and are laughing their asses off at me. Within 30 minutes a US Army M.P. jeep from my company rolls up with it's red light on to take my filthy and battered butt back to base. It's about 0130AM.The Military Police Sergeant in the jeep knows me and is laughing his ass off as I relay my love story to him. When we enter my camp's main gate we are stopped and there is my Platoon Leader, a new-in-country 2nd Lieutenant, who can only gawk at me as I salute him with the Samyang ramen bag still stuck to my head. He mumbles, "Very good". My pass is pulled and I have to see my 1st Sergeant later in the morning. On to medical..... I limp/drag my way out of the jeep to the small Evac Hospital/Dispensary. The medics got the word of my somewhat "funkified condition" and were waiting for me...outside with the hose. I am decontaminated then sent inside for further cleaning, evaluation, X-ray, and three stitches by an Army Doctor at around 2:00 AM (0200hrs military time) who is laughing his ass off at my story, while almost sewing my right eye shut because he's laughing so hard. At around 0300 hrs I hit the bunk in my barracks and I'm dragged outta my bed about 3 hours and 10 minutes later (0610hrs) by my House Boy, Mr Park. It is now 0700 hours. The morning after. I report to the First Sergeant and stand at parade rest. He looks at me closely from head to toe. I swear he still is a Drill Sergeant. I am told to have a seat. I sit up and I mean straight up. You dare not slouch in front of this professional soldier. He asked what happened last night. I tell him all. I hold nothing back... not even my feelings for the lovely Kim, who is my sole motivation/reason for this entire turn of curfew breaking, bus-bumper-ridin', pole-climbing, police-dodging, bicycle-stealing, banjo-ditch scuba-diving events! The big black man just sits behind his desk. He doesn't bat an eye. He has his elbows on the desk and his huge fists are tucked under his chin. He asks me if I know what an Ambassador is? And so now, he is about to teach me what one is...He tells me, "Now get your bicycle larceny committing butt over to the motor pool, draw a vehicle with trailer, and enough rope to retrieve the bike. Then get back here with it by 0830, and you... and I.... and the KATUSA (Korean Augmentation to the US Army) First Sergeant, are going out to recover that bicycle, find the owner, and make it right". Yes First Sergeant, I reply. After a quick change, I hit the motor pool.
AT THE MOTOR POOL
So, I get to the motor pool and everyone of the mechanics asks me "Is it true"? My reputation of the previous night has proceeded me. Damn M.P.'s are bigger blabber-mouths than a US Congressman entrusted with a monumental secret on national security. These Motor Pool Monkeys know it all. Accurately too. One grease monkey is looking under my hat saying "look there's the stitches", then he tells another mechanic "Pay me, sucker"! I can only turn beet red. I never had a poker face. I never will. I don't play poker to this very day. I go over the preventive maintenance for the M151A2 (army talk for a jeep) and trailer. I check out a rope too. I get the dispatch (paperwork to authorize my using the jeep) from the Motor Pool Sergeant who tells me to please keep his M151A2 outta the banjo-ditch. "Roger that", I replied. He laughs as I run out of the quonset hut headed for the jeep.
BACK TO THE COMPANY AREA
It's now 0825 hours. I pull up in front of the company area. Though I am early, 1SG B.T. (Black Thunder) Johnson and the Katusa (Korean) 1SG Yoon, K.Y. (I'll just call himYOON, Kill You) load up. Everyone in the orderly room is looking out the window at me, pointing and laughing. Ass holes. As we stop at the main gate, manned by my fellow American and Korean M.P.'s they snicker at my being with the two First Sergeants. One M.P. asks me why I have the rope. Black Thunder smiles broadly and says, "Specialist JihadGene is gonna learn how to repel off the edge of a banjo ditch today". They all laugh. Koreans and Americans. This good ambassador stuff sucks, I think. First sergeant Johnson says, "Let's return to the crash site". Crash site? I thought. You mean the banjo-ditch, First Sergeant? "Exactly", he says.
I HAVE RETURNED
So we back tracked through Pusan City (March 1975 pop. 2 million) traffic, past the ROK Army base where I was apprehended after being lit up by a tank's spotlight. A few more blocks and there it is. Down there in the ditch. In the muck. I see the handle bars sticking up. Now a good Marine would have jumped right down into that sewage pit and retrieved that one-wheeled bicycle, but not me. I was a US Army M.P. and I came from Texas stock (my Mom & Dad). 1SG B.T. Johnson smiles as I prepare the rope. I make a lasso. He must be from Texas. He knows. The Korean 1SG smiles an all knowing smile. He must have fought side by side with John Wayne in Vietnam. He knows. He too, smiles his approval. I was standing very close to the slippery edge of the ditch. One throw and bingo! I got the rope around the handle bars all right, just as I slipped and fell 5 feet down into the stinkin' banjo-ditch on my ass. The muck of the ditch is soft. The muck is cold. Both First Sergeants have their arms crossed over their stomachs, are bent over at the waist, and laughing. Laughing really hard. Finally Black Thunder catches his breath and manages to ask me "You OK, Cowboy"? The First Sergeants are roaring! Yeah, I'm OK, Top...I replied. I have never been so red-faced in my 20 year old life. Well almost. I get to my feet, take one step, do a slip-and-slide in the muck, and fall right back down again. Both First Sergeants are crying they are laughing so hard! Now there are about a dozen Koreans all around, looking down into the ditch, laughing at me as well. I stand carefully up and take a bow. Everyone howls! Yes I am quite the red faced Caucasian comedian, who looks and smells like he has been dipped in shit. I pull the bicyle with one wheel free and get it up on the bank/road. I emerge from the ditch yet once again as "The Creature from the Black Lagoon". I placed the bike in the trailer and Top (my 1SG) tells me to get in. I start for the jeep and he waves me off like the Virgin Mary would a drunken sailor. I am told to sit in the trailer with the bike. We proceed painfully SLOWLY down the streets of Pusan City so I can yell directions back to where I had taken the bicycle from. I am on my knees in the trailer yelling forward to the passenger side of the jeep, of which the KATUSA 1SG is leaning out, in order for him to hear me. He then relays the info to my 1SG Johnson who is driving. This is just like returning from my fishing trip with Uncle Bob. Jeeez. People are pointing at us (me) and laughing. Lightning really does strike twice in the same place. Have I got some bad ju-ju, or what?
At around 0910 hours we pull up. There's the telephone pole. There's the wall of the house where I took the bicycle from. The Korean First Sergeant goes to the gate and calls for the owner to please come out. Out comes a handsome, slightly hunched over, silver haired grandfather in traditional Korean clothing. His eyes open wide when he sees me (looking a mess) and the crud-covered bicycle with one wheel. His face is one of surprise, not anger. The Korean 1SG is explaining what happened. He is telling all. I know it because First Sergeant Yoon is doing lots of talking. He keeps pointing and looking at me and the old man is laughing. Then the Grandfather says something I can't make out and both he and the Korean 1SG are bent over with hands on their knees laughing even harder. They motion my First Sergeant and me over. Black Thunder then says quietly to me, out the side of his mouth, "Well Soldier, you might just survive this after all. If you know how to speak any Korean and I know you do...it may just help to save you but remember this, I've seen the ROK Army in action (Vietnam) and they can laugh their fool heads off while cutting down the enemy. They are warriors, all. You are on shaky ground, son. You understand"? I nod a yes. "What happens here and now will reflect on all Americans. You will not let me... or... the US Army down. Understand"? 1SG B.T. Johnson looked in my eyes when he said this. I knew he meant each and every word. He was a leader of men. An American man. A Soldier. I swallowed hard and said..Yes, First Sergeant.
THE GOOD THE BAD THE APOLOGETIC
I took my fatigue cap off and approached the old gentleman. I was genuinely ashamed. I looked down at the ground, not into his eyes. I learned this from the Korean soldiers I worked with. If you are sorry for something you must bow your head down and don't look into the eyes of the one you've wronged. Most American troops in Korea know how to say I'm sorry in Korean but don't know the customs. My apology was only slightly different in that I said I was VERY sorry and addressed the old gentleman as "Har-op-o-gee" (Grandfather). The Grandfather said something I didn't understand. The Korean 1SG told me to look at Haropogee. I looked up and the old man's face beamed. He believed me. I was sincere. Then he began talking Korean at 100MPH grinning from ear to ear and the Korean 1SG began laughing as hard as ever. Black Thunder and I didn't understand. The Korean 1SG translated..."That bike old piece of crap! Grandfather no more want. He leave bike outside so someone take. He was maybe gonna throw it in banjo-ditch. It is now yours. Thank you very much". My jaw dropped. Grandfather and the First Sergeants were bustin' a gut! When all finally finished laughing, I said thank you, and we said our goodbyes. The First Sergeants and I all bowed a deep bow to the Grandfather. They hopped in the jeep and I went back into the trailer with the bicycle. We journeyed back to base with Korean-American relations fully restored. (To Be Continued)
Thursday, October 30, 2008
In keeping the rigid standards even rigiddittyer, JihadGene has demanded nothing butt the breast for the faithful followers of Great Reader, KIM Jong IL's brogg...the one and ownree GREAT READER! Being as how it's a Halloween and all... KIM Jong IL has called in the lovely Rihanna to assist on this very scary and special dance video. You will see nukes. You will see wockets. You will see North Korean soliders marching, shooting, and doing martial arts! You will see the sexy NORKO traffic cops of Wonson! More special than even that, you will see KIM Jong IL film clips from his latest movie...Friday Night Fever! Do not be alarmed as the Great Reader does all his own stunts and RUV's YOU LOOONG TIME!!! Also later on Friday night you will be amazed by the entire Korean Penninsula's most infamous tale of love and flat out bad luck. This is a love story between a lecherous G.I. (JihadGene) and the lovely Korean flower (Kim). So come on now...stay tuned and crank up the volume! Live from the DMZ near Fresno, California it's a Halloween Friday! Let's dance!!!
*WARNING At 2 minutes and 30 seconds into this video you will see people wearing big fake bunny heads. You may wish to turn your head away from the screen for 4 or 5 seconds should big fake bunny heads scare you. I am KIM Jong IL and I am proof of this message.
Great Reader (JihadGene) and the Mrs (Kim) have been working on this kid (Ben) since he was three and a half months old. He was that old when the wife FedEx'd him from South Korea. Got him on Ebay from a Power Adoption Agency. He was almost new, but he was out of the box. No PayPal. No credit cards. No diapers included. He recently turned 13 years old and before we know it, he will be unleashed upon the world. My, it seems like it was only yesterday when he was age 10 and he walked past me...farted...then looked at his bee-hind and said these immortal words, "Hey Dad! There's a duck in my pants"! Lord, he's just like me. I didn't think he was listening when I was watching Caddy Shack. Or when I'm driving. Or when I'm happy. Or when I'm pissed. Now, in the morning when he steps outside the house, he automatically hawks one up, and launches a loogie into the flower bed. We now have something made of flem that resembles the termite hills you could take cover from enemy fire behind, found in the book "We were Soldiers Once and Young". I shit you not. We both spit there. He got talked to at the Christian school he goes to for spittin' outside the classroom door. It seems he's making his very own termite hill there as well. Guess I'd better be careful of where I scratch before I get another call from the school. He's like my wife too. More of that at a later time. JG
(*Photo JG and Ben 2004)
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
My right middle finger got bayoneted when I was removing some Yucca plants from our back yard yesterday. Yuccas have sharp pointy spears. I do not like them as they have kept me from my life-long dream.... hosting a blog meet for nudists who love to play volleyball. Now my right middle finger is infected and sore. How on earth can I watch another Obama commercial, NBC, ABC, or CBS News without my "Baptist Pointer" in top shape? Yeah, I'm goin' to hell for this post too. But even more that that...How can I even manage to drive 1/10th of a mile in California without "the finger"? So I beg you, my Great Readers, to feel free and give me your "finger" anytime. JG;)
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Here's an update on PFC Hunter Levine and his visit with Actor Gary Sinise at Army Household6. For those of you who want Hunter's mailing address I have it and also what to send and what not to send him. You can email me at email@example.com
Answered prayers....SUHWEET! Please keep praying for Hunter! HOOAH!!!
Also I must offer up this aplogogy for failure to blog on Love American VS Korean Style. An aplogogy is my apology for not blogging when promised. I'm sorry. It will have to be later this week.
Another prayer request-My best friend and his wife, my wife's best friend, flew in from Washington DC to say goodbye to his little sister (Sheila age 46) who had cancer. He got the call that she had passed while at the airport in Baltimore on Wednesday. His mother is in a convalescent home and suffers from Alzheimer's. Both his Mom and Sister are in Fresno. We went to Fresno and had a Korean dinner together. Here's some background-My best friend (Arnie) went into the Army 2 or 3 years after me. He too ended up in Korea and married in 1978. Kim and I were wed in Oct 1975. I knew Arnie since he was in Jr High. I was Army enlisted. He went Army enlisted also, then later got commissioned as an Air Force Officer. Ironically we both married Korean girls. The stories they could tell! When Kim and I adopted our son after 20 years of marriage, they were there in Korea 1995 to visit with our new son & Kim. I was still in California working overtime and prepping the house for our new arrival (my boy). Arnie & Yung flew over from Japan, where they were stationed. I have them on tape with Kim and my son in Korea. They saw my son live and in person before I did! They knew both of my parents (now deceased). I knew Arnie's late Father. We shared and continue to share a lot. That includes the loss and pain. His sister was blessed though. She fought her breast cancer for years. All arrangements were made by her. Sheila was a nurse who loved to travel, and that she did... with a passion. She was under hospice care when she left us. Arnie said only last month she was rock climbing and now, she's gone. It was swift. It was a blessing. It hurts. Kim and I were able to give 'em our friendship...the very best...over dinner tonight. We prayed. I made them laugh. It's gonna be alright. Some friendships are golden. Some friendships are cherished. This friendship, I will never let go. JG
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Now, as you all know...or should know by now....I am one 6'3" round eyed caucasian heathen bastard. One bred by Texan parents in the fruits & nuttlands of California. Yep. I'm one raggedy-assed Baptist who deserves no answered prayer and does frequently (especially when driving) deserve The Lake of Burning Fire! But occasionally some of my bullshit slips through God/Allah's SPAM filter and arrives on the Jehovah Jireh monitor of P-mail (prayer mail). This morning I hit it big! My lovely Korean-Naturalized American wife (KIM) wakes me up at the crack of dawn (8:30 AM) and shoves my cell phone down my esophagus. She says "It's for you" but it sounds more like "About time you got your lazy American Round-Eyed-G.I. butt up"! I dislodge the deep-throated and saliva covered Samsung cell phone and say in a sand-papery voice...hello. Well, long story short it's a Vietnam Vet with the American Legion Riders calling me from West Sacramento. He and his veteran motorcycle riding buddies got the word from a friend I had e-mailed (who's in the Patriot Guard Riders) and that they are going to Palo Alto's V.A. Hospital, later in the week to visit with wounded Iraqi War Veteran, PFC Hunter Levine. I tell him that yes, Hunter is still in Palo Alto, and that in mid November Hunter will go home to Texas for a little Thanksgiving vacation, then back to Palo Alto for more eye surgery. Palo Alto is the place to be for that. "Cool", says the Legion Rider. I tell him Hunter may or may not wish to see them and he doesn't even flinch. Instead he says, "What's important is that he (Hunter) knows he's not forgotten". Can I get a BIG AMEN here Brothers and Sisters???!!! Besides, he says..."We can visit other Vets/Troops in the V.A. Hospital while we're there". BIG AMEN!!! I am blessed by this phone call and bail out of bed. I hit the floor running. The phone and one of my dogs goes flying! Sorry, dog. I get to the computer and go to Armyhousehold6 and what do I see?! Actor/singer Gary Sinise will be visiting Hunter this weekend! A BIG U.S.ARMY HOOAH AND A JIHADI-BAPTIST HALLELUJAH!!! Living proof that once again prayers (from even a heathen like me) CAN and DO get answered when given in good spirit! Now, may the Lord's love encircle you and keep you, and may all my enemies be dressed like moose grazing in the front yard of Sarah Palin...sorry Lord, my bad. This is JihadGene signing off till tomorrow, when I'll be back with installment #10 of Love American VS Korean Style. JG ;)
Friday, October 24, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
*Disclaimer I ripped this off from Uber Pig at Black Five Dot Net.
WIFE'S TIGHT-FISTED MONEY POLICY PUTS MAN IN A BIND
DEAR ABBY: I am in my 70s, on Social Security and in my second marriage. My wife, "Irene," is in her early 50s and holds a good job. She also holds the purse strings, and allows me $5 a week for coffee with my friends. I drive a little scooter, and Irene has given me a gas credit card so I can get around.
Last week, I told her that I need some underwear and asked her for her store credit card. She said she has a drawer full of nylon panties and that I should wear them instead. She said when they are worn out she will buy me some new men's underwear. She also said she didn't want to waste any money on me since the panties are still wearable.
What if someone finds out? Irene says that since I'm over 70 it doesn't matter. Do you think this is right? -- PREFERS BRIEFS
Screw what Dear LABBY says! Let's go see what words of advice GREAT READER, KIM Jong IL has for PREFERS BRIEFS.......
Deer PUDDIN' PANTIES,
NUMBA WUN- Get her dlunk (drunk)!!!
NUMBA TOO- Dress IWEEN (Irene) up like Bullwinkle the Moose.
NUMBA TREE- Take her to Sarah Palin's house Trick or Treating.
Ruv You Not So Looong Time,
Great Reader, KIM Jong IL
It was 25 years ago today, 23 October 1983, when the Beirut bombings of the US Marine barracks occurred. A total of 241 Americans were murdered. 220 Us Marines, 18 Navy, and 3 Army. President Reagan said that Marine and Pentagon commanders would not be punished for security lapses that preceded the October 23, 1983 truck bombing of Marine headquarters in Beirut. "If there is to be blame, it properly rests here in this office and with this president," Reagan said.
God bless those slain troops and their loved ones they left behind.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
To My Dearest Wife
With You.....................................I Just Knew.
33 Years already?! Some said those interracial/intercultural marriages don't work. Some people have no faith in love's true power...well that... and a good sense of humor. Once my Father met her, he knew that for once in my life, I was right. I was one lucky guy and I still am. Wooooo Hoooooooo!!! Hey, I 'm over 50 but I think the hormones just kicked in. Who needs Viagra when I have her?! Oh yeah! Now play that video and crank up the volume! It's our wedding anniversary!!! JG & Kim :)
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Okay, I'm game. Time for some Q and A...
Let's ask the Magic 8 Ball.
Q-Does Joe Biden think he is Carnac the Magnificent?
Q- Does Obama smoke crack?
Q- Is Sarah Palin hot or what?
Yep. That's proof enough for me! JG ;)
Monday, October 20, 2008
I found this out from the Milblog blackfive.net
This is PFC Hunter LEVINE. From Houston, Texas. He is in the Palo Alto, California V.A. Hospital. He needs your help NOW. Read his story here. I live 3 hours away and have just contacted some Patriot Guard Riders north of me. Let's help with a card, letter, package, or whatever it takes! Point of contact is the following e-mail address:
Go here to read Hunter's story and have some tissues.
God bless you all who can send something or know people in the Palo Alto area to possibly visit this Trooper who is feeling down and out. JG
Sunday, October 19, 2008
*About the photo...rendition of a Buffalo Soldier, rank- First Sergeant. I met such a man in 1975 and will never forget him. I changed his name in this story (of course). He was and I hope is still around and teaching the Real Deal. This part of my story I dedicate to the Senior NCO's of the US Army. They are Army Strong! HOOAH!
To recap...met future wife in Army snack bar sitting with friends. Made best friend out of friends to get at future wife (KIM). Tried to hook it up. No can do. Made anybody who were remotely Kim's friends, friends 'O mine. Set up a birthday party to have Kim attend. She got barfed on. I am no where near 1st base and Kim goes home from the party before I can set up an official date. I want to cry. Korean Local Union of Grannie Witches#13 takes pity on me and we (all 11 of us) hop in a tiny taxi and go to Kim's to make everything okie-dokie and hook me up with a date with Kim. The witches/grandma's tell me they will fix all and to RTB (return to base) before curfew in about 30-35 minutes. I am penniless and a little too far from base to make it there on foot. In desperation, I jump on the back of a bus and hold on for dear life. Bus hits a pot-hole and I get dumped at 40MPH. Shit. I limp towards base after I regain consciousness. It's now after nation-wide curfew in Pusan, R.O.K., March 1975. I am on the run (limp really) with Korean National Policemen Bert & Ernie on my tail, giving chase. I run into a low hanging roof awning. Concussion #2. I come too and I lose the KNP's by climbing up a telephone pole, like my Dad used to do. I gave the cops the slip. They leave the area and I come down the pole to find a bicycle with one wheel (the rear one). I pop a wheelie and continue my trek towards the Army Camp doing a wheel-stand. I am AWESOME! Things are definitely looking up...well, almost...until I crash about 5 feet down into an open banjo ditch (kind of a sewer, really) full of nasty things. Concussion#3. When I come too, I use an orange colored Samyang Ramen bag to staunch the bleeding from my 3rd or 4th head wound. I look like the Creature from the Black Lagoon, except for the orange ramen bag stuck to my forehead. I continued on until I was literally "lit up" by a ROK Army tank, M-60 series with mounted spotlight. I am held by the ROK Army who are friendly, once they put down their M-16's, and are laughing their asses off at me. Ahhh, the things we do for love. Within 30 minutes a US Army M.P. jeep from my company rolls up with it's red light on to take my filthy and battered butt back to base. It's about 0130AM.The Military Police Sergeant in the jeep knows me and is laughing his ass off as I relay my love story to him. When we enter my camp's main gate we are stopped and there is my Platoon Leader, a new-in-country 2nd Lieutenant, who can only gawk at me as I salute him with the Samyang ramen bag still stuck to my head. He mumbles, "Very good". My pass is pulled and I have to see my 1st Sergeant later in the morning. On to medical..... I limp/drag my way out of the jeep to the small Evac Hospital/Dispensary. The medics got the word of my somewhat "funkfied condition" and were waiting for me...outside. Outside? Thus began "Operation Market Garden Hose".
*For those of you familiar with WWII you will know about Operation Market Garden from the book "A Bridge Too Far".
OPERATION MARKET GARDEN HOSE
Just as I am about to say "You're not going to use that hose on me, are you?" I get sprayed with ice cold water. Off comes the crud, the Samyang Ramen bag, and my clothes...boots too. I am given a hospital gown and slippers. In I go, with my ass hanging out of the back of the gown for further cleaning, scrubbing, a few stitches, and X rays. As the Doc was stitching me up I told him of my big night out and my quest for Kim's love. Never again will I tell anyone, with a sharp object in hand, something even remotely funny. The Doctor... who I'm sure was kinda pissed for waking him up at 0130 hours to check out a stupid soldier that fell off the back of a bus at 40MPH, ran into a low hanging roof, crashed a one wheeled bicycle into a banjo-ditch, and who had one hell of a night out on the town...could hardly control his laughter, let alone the needle. I thought he was going to stitch my right eye closed. An AM radio is tuned to Armed Forces Korea Network Radio (AFKN) and the song playing in the background is the Temptations singing "I Can't get Next to You". Somehow he (the Doc) and I, survived it all. I ended up with three stitches, bruised ribs, road rash, a sprained ankle, and one hell of a story to tell my First Sergeant in the morning. I go back to my barracks with my hosed-down clothes and cowboy boots in a plastic bag. I hit the rack. I sleep a deep sleep. A sleep of the dead asses. Believe me, I think mine was the deadest of asses the world has ever seen. It's 3AM... or zero three hundred hours, military time. Soon, I will see my First Sergeant....zzzzzzzZZZZZZZ.
A MEETING WITH BLACK THUNDER
Precisely at 0600 hours the C. Q. Runner, (basically an errand boy for the company at night and on the weekends) I shall call, Private Stupid Ass, wakes me up. "Hey Specialist Jihad Gene! Rise and shine, Dumb Ass! You got a meeting with 'Top' (the First Sergeant) at zero-seven-hundred! You up Gene"? Yeah, I'm up...well, sorta. Ten minutes later our barracks house boy, Mr Park, is pulling me outta my bunk, helping me get into the most heavily starched set of fatigues and the most highly shined pair of jump boots I had ever seen. I always paid him well and was very respectful to Mr Park, especially compared to some of the other American soldiers. It was now paying off 10 fold. House Boys were the best kept secret in the Army and found only in Korea. They took care of all your house cleaning, bed making, uniforms, and boots. Having a House Boy in the Army was heaven on earth! All I had to do was put my gear on and get to work. Where was I? Oh yeah, you see that in going before the First Shirt (1st Sgt) I have to not only look sharp, but I have to come as close to looking like the one and only "US Army Poster Boy of the Year 1975" as I possibly can. May God have mercy on your wretched soul should you set one foot in the office of B. T. (Black Thunder) JOHNSON, my company's First Sergeant, and not be squared away. Head. to. toe. This top NCO has more stripes of rank than I have abrasions, contusions, and concussions. A diamond is set in the middle of his stripes. He wears the patch of a former Drill Sergeant, Airborne Paratroopers Wings, and the Combat Infantryman's Badge for action in Vietnam. He wears the combat patch of the 101st Airborne on his right shoulder. He is no stranger to the bloody A Shau Valley, in the Thua Thien Province of Vietnam. On his left shoulder is the patch of my unit, Eighth Army. I tell you if God Almighty ever took a vacation, Black Thunder could fill in and you wouldn't even know that God had left the building. That was my First Sergeant. Anyone who ever met him just knew that Mohammed Ali and George Foreman were lucky to have never faced the US Army's First Sergeant B. T. Johnson in a fight. On his office wall, painted in Military Police green and gold colors, hung this plaque...
I AM A FIRST SERGEANT
My job is people -- Every One is My Business.
I dedicate my time and energy to their needs;
their health, morale, discipline, and welfare.
I grow in strength by strengthening my people.
My job is done in faith; my people build faith.
My job is people --
EVERY ONE IS MY BUSINESS.
Before I knock on the First Sergeant's door I hear AFKN radio playing the theme from The Good, Bad, and the Ugly....I swallow hard. I knock. A voice booms, "ENTER". I report to the First Sergeant and stand at parade rest. He looks at me closely from head to toe. I swear he still is a Drill Sergeant. I am told to have a seat. I sit up and I mean straight up. You dare not slouch in front of this professional soldier. He asked what happened last night. I tell him all. I hold nothing back... not even my feelings for the lovely Kim, who is my sole motivation/reason for this entire turn of curfew breaking, bus-bumper-ridin', pole-climbing, police-dodging, bicycle-stealing, banjo-ditch scuba-diving events! The big black man just sits behind his desk. He has his elbows on the desk and his huge fists are tucked under his chin, as if holding his head up. He is heavily muscled and I think he must have all his uniforms tailored to fit or he'd do an Incredible Hulk and bust right out of them. Professional athletes would wish they had his bulk...his build. Powerful. His nose is like a GE light bulb and I mean that in a kind way. Big and bulbous, it gives his face a kindness. He knows I've been here 7 months. A voluntary transfer from Hawaii's 25th Infantry Division with no disciplinary problems. No problems till today, anyway. He asks me if I know what an Ambassador is? Sort ah, I say. "Specialist Jihad", he says..."An ambassador is an official representative on the behalf of one country to another.I talk a lot with our Korean (KATUSA) First Sergeant, as you well know". Yes, I reply. "And he tells me you are a good Ambassador...that your rapport with the KATUSA M.P.'S and Korean workers is outstanding. I wish we had more good Ambassador's in Vietnam. It would be a different place but we can make amends right here and now. Are you with me, troop"? Yes, I say. "Jihad, a good Ambassador does not steal. Now get your bicycle larceny comitting butt over to the motor pool, draw a vehicle, get back here with it by 0900, and you... and I.... and the KATUSA First Sergeant, are going out to recover that bicycle, find the owner, and make it right. Make sure the jeep is dispatched for off-post with a trailer and bring a rope in case we need it. Your love is on hold and so is your pass as of right now. Get going, Soldier". I come to the position of attention and loudly reply Yes, First Sergeant! And as I was just leaving his office the First Sergeant said something I thought I'd never hear him ever say... "Hey Jihad", he yells, "Change into an old pair of boots and raggedy uniform". Top? I ask, confused. Top says "I don't want you to piss off your house boy when you go down into that banjo-ditch and screw up the shine on those jump boots and foul up that sharp looking uniform".Yes First Sergeant, I reply. The radio just finished playing Roberta Flack's "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face", now it's playing Bachman Turner Overdrive's "Takin Care of Business". I burn rubber (with a slight limp) out of that Orderly Room. (To be Continued)
Friday, October 17, 2008
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
My Friends (Crap! I sound more like John McCain and not Sponge Bob) - Sorry for the light blogging but it's hard to carry on a life and juggle the time to do this. I know many of you can do it but I can't. Sucks. Sorry I haven't completed another Love American vs Korean Style but I'll have it knocked out in a couple of days and get my rear-end over to visit you who have blogs.Thanks from the Bikini Bottom of my heart! JG
Friday, October 10, 2008
Meanwhile somewhere NORTH of the 38th Parallel in a land once known as "The Land of the Morning Missile Launch" we find Norf Korea's Great Reader, KIM Jong IL with his aide-de-camp, 7 Star General Wang, feeling better and on the docks at Nampo City, DPRK inspecting North Korea's latest Halloween shipments bound for Damascus and Tehran...
KIM- (checking shipping docs) Let's see....16,000 eunuchs of Vampliers Brud...
WANG- That's units of Vampire's Blood, Sir. Not eunuchs.
KIM- I knew that! Where's was I... 16,000 units of Vampliers Brud.
KIM- 70,000 units of X-Ray Spec's.
WANG- Why so many X Ray Spec's, Sir?
KIM- For looking thru burka's, of course! My numba 1 seller in Islamabad.
KIM- Inflatable sheep with thong and veil, the "Ali Baa-Baa" model... 40,000 units.
A sure fire hit with the Taliban!
WANG- No comment....Check.
KIM- 12,000 units of the "Tickle Me Maverick, John McCain VooDoo Economics Doll" which calls US Voters "My Friends" while he simultaneously throws their tax dollars down some rat-hole called Wall Street.
WANG- Oh yeah! Check.
KIM- 12,000 units of "Mega Death Moose-Mauler, Sarah Palin" costume complete with baby seal club, hockey puck, mukluks, AK-47, RPG, high heels, and make up kit w/ fillet knife.
KIM- 120 units of Senator Joe "Plugs" Biden costumes. Comes complete with 1% of the US vote.
WANG- He looks like Sam the Eagle to me....check.
KIM- 12,000 units of the "Barry Bendover Obama" costume including one white flag, prayer mat, a pack of Marlboro's, and a tube of KY motion-lotion anal jell. That's gonna be a big hit in the United Nations!
WANG- I must say you look great, Sir! Ever since George W. Bush has considered taking us off the Axis of Evil list, your health is much improved.
KIM- You knows it! President Bush has gone from being a Lame Duck to a mudder-puckin Wooden Decoy!
KIM & WANG- BWAHAhahahaha!!!
KIM- Okray, back to bid-ness......65 SCUDS...
KIM- 24 Nodong missiles...
WANG- Check. Wow Sir! We sure can get a lot into these used sea vans. Where did you get them?
KIM- I got a good deal on the internet through the U.S. Naval Air Warfare Center in China Lake. Better than Eblay! Let's see....Where was I....2000 kilos of Kim's Mellow Yellow Cake...
(hat tip to Deltabravo for the heads-up ;) Ruv You Looong Time!!!
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Dear Reader, go to parts 1-7 of Love American VS Korean Style, so as to be up to snuff before reading this latest installment of JihadGene's love of his life.
To recap...met future wife in Army snack bar sitting with friends. Made best friend out of friends to get at future wife (KIM). I tried to get to first base with Kim. No good. I take another route and set up mutual friend's birthday party in order to get to be with Kim. Birthday guy get's drunk, pukes on Kim. Kim leaves party. JihadGene feels like one sad G.I. then some Korean Grandma's (Shaman) at the birthday party take pity on me, thanks to my limited Korean language skills, and try to fix things with Kim by going to talk to her. All eleven or more of us, crowd into one tiny taxi and head to Kim's place to patch things up. I never get to see Kim but the Grandma's tell me it's all good in the hood and to kick rocks. At least I now know where Kim lives. It's almost curfew (midnight). I have no overnight US Forces Korea pass, no money, no smokes to barter with, and no luck. I run for my US Army camp which is a good 10km away. I see a bus leaving. I jump onto the rear bumper of the bus and hang on for dear life. This got me a few fast kilometers down the road until the bus hits a bomb-crater of a pot hole in the road and I'm pitched off at 40MPH. I survive. Banged-up, scraped-up, and bleeding slightly, but not in too bad of shape once I shake off the effects of a mild concussion. It's now a few minutes after curfew and two Korean National Policemen (KNP's) spot me. I run/limp quickly and they blow their police whistles at me, giving chase. I lose them for a little while then crack my head open on the low awning of a Korean tiled roof. This is concussion #2 in about 5 minutes time. Here come the cops! So begins "Operation Escape and Evade".
Where I left off... It's now a few minutes after curfew and two Korean National Policemen (KNP's, Bert & Ernie) spot me. I run/limp quickly, while holding my head, and they blow their police whistles at me, giving chase. Now...my Dad was not only a field wire-man in the U.S. Marine Corps but he was also an electrician. I therefore did that which came naturally...I climbed a telephone pole and the cops lost me. Having broken contact with the enemy (Korean Police), I climb down the pole in my cowboy boots, and proceed through the dark South Korean city streets. Then, like a gift pig from the Korean Witches (Grandmothers), I see a bicycle propped up against a wall. It has only a rear tire. The front tire is completely missing. Utilizing skills learned on a Sting Ray bicycle as a kid, I popped a wheelie and was on my merry way, in a pathetic attempt to avoid disciplinary action from my command and get back to base during nationwide curfew. I already told you how it's after midnight, the streets are mostly dark and deserted, except for Korean National Police and the R.O.K. Army who have set up various check points throughout the port city of Pusan, South Korea (pop. 2,000,000 in 1975). Some of the Korean residential streets have these "banjo ditches". The ditches are basically open sewers with trash in them. It was a common sight to see kids and old men peeing in them during daylight hours. On I rode, on one wheel, into the chill of the city night.How I wished it was daylight hours now, but it wasn't. How I wished Kim would fall in love with me, but I doubted it. How I wished there wasn't a curfew in Korea, but I was dreaming. How I wished the Korean cops wouldn't catch me... and so far they hadn't. How I wished I had been paying stricter attention to the edge of the banjo-ditch...and I wasn't. So began "Operation Creature from the Black Lagoon".
WHOOOMPH!!! What the hell?! Where am I? I have ridden into a banjo-ditch! Awww, man. Though the night air is cold, the sewage sludge is kinda warm...it's almost insulating I note as I regain consciousness and pull an empty Samyang Ramen bag off of my head as I lay at the bottom of the ditch. My head begins bleeding again and I place the orange colored bag back on my forehead. The bleeding stops. My ride, the bicycle, is totaled. I'm maybe 2km's away from base. Now my sense of smell is kicking back in....I frickin' reek. Light headed, I stand too quickly and fall back into the sludge. Even Suisun Slough wasn't this bad! I get up again and begin to claw my way up and out of the ditch. Shit. I must look like the Creature from the Black Lagoon, only I smell worse and have an orange Samyang Ramen bag stuck to my forehead. I crawl out, making it up to the main road back to camp. The ankle is sprained or fractured. I don't know. Now I'm draggin' my right foot, covered in muck, with a bright orange ramen bag on my forehead, when an intense light blinds me. Holy shit! I can't see! I start to run but suddenly I hear Korean soldiers shouting and hear the unmistakable sound of maybe a dozen or so M-16 rifles slamming their bolts forward, locking and loading 5.56mm rounds (that's bullets for you civilians) into their weapons. Holy guacamole! I now realize I have zigged and zagged too far. I've passed by my American base and have strayed into a check point in front of the R.O.K. Army compound. I get ready to run when one of the ROK soldiers yells at me...I think he says "Dang sin eun jook eul got ee dah" which means more or less...do it and you WILL die. Awww shit. I put my hands up in the air. With my hands held high in the cold night air, above the ramen bag plastered to my forehead, and slimed from head to cowboy boots, I respond with "Me Kook Hyung Byung" (American M.P.). The soldiers begin to laugh and the spotlight is off now. Once I regain my night vision I see 9 ROK soldiers around me. All with M-16's pointed at me but smiling. The light was mounted on the turrent of an M-60 tank with it's main gun pointed at me. Ohhh shit. A Korean Army Senior Sergeant comes through the crowd and tries to look me in the eye. He can't though because of the orange colored Samyang ramen bag stuck to my forehead. He looks me over, up and down, then says this in english..."You crazy G.I." They all break out in laughter. I smile sheepishly and try out a Korean phrase I learned. I ask " Yo haeng ha ruh oh syutt ssuh yo? Which means, "Are you here on holiday too"? They all bust up and escort the crazy G.I. (me) to the guardhouse where they call my unit to come out and get me. About 30 minutes later a US Army M.P. jeep from my company rolls up with it's red light on to escort me back to base. The Military Police Sergeant in the jeep knows me and is laughing his ass off as I relay my love story to him. He damn near crashes the jeep he is laughing so hard. I tell myself "Kim is worth it"! As we enter my camp's main gate we are stopped and there is my Platoon Leader, a new-in-country 2nd Lieutenant, who can only gawk at me as I salute him with the Samyang ramen bag still stuck to my head. He mumbles, "Very good. Take him to the Dispensary and have him checked out. He'll have a meeting with the First Sergeant in the morning. His pass is pulled as of right now." I salute and say"Thank you Sir" and "Welcome to Korea, Sir". The young LT stares at me in disbelief. Oh well. On to medical..... I limp/drag my way out of the jeep to the small Evac Hospital/Dispensary. The medics got the word of my somewhat "funkfied condition" and were waiting for me...outside. Outside? Thus began "Operation Market Garden Hose". (To Be Continued)
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Friday, October 3, 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
BULLWINKLE- Hey Rocky! Watch me pull a number outta my ass!
ROCKY- I don't know, Bullwinkle. It seems like Voodoo Economics to me.
BULLWINKLE- This time, FOR SURE!
ROCKY- $700 billion? Are you sure that's all the US Government is gonna want to allegedly fix this alleged economy crisis? Ya know, the one most of us have seen coming since 2004, and all the while Hannity and Rush Limbaugh said it was just hummin' right along? That economy?
BULLWINKLE- Rocky, it's a regular Economic Pearl Harbor, I tell ya!
ROCKY- Know your history, Bullwinkle. Pearl Harbor was a sneek attack. This shit has been rollin' downhill for some time. You'd better get another ass.
BULLWINKLE- I hate f&*king squirrels. Where the hell is Mr Know-it-all when you need him?
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
(phone) Ring. Ring. Ring-a-dingie-ding.
PRINCIPAL- Mr JihadGene?
ME- That's me.
PRINCIPAL- This is Principal Highstandards at the Jesus Loves You Christian School and your son has been overheard saying some rather bad words in class. Blah-blah-blah.
ME- He did, huh? 2nd offense? You wanna paddle him?
PRINCIPAL- Uh, yes Sir.
ME- Times a wasting! If ya need a good belt I got one here at the house. Oh, I forgot...you have a wooden paddle for that! Cool. So just light his ass up like the good Lord when he rained down burning sulfur on those heathen bastards of Sodom and Goliath!
PRINCIPAL- That's Sodom and Gomorrah, Mr Jihad.
ME- Gomorrah, Goliath, whatever....they all got their asses kicked by the good Lord, didn't they?!
PRINCIPAL- Yes they all paid a price, Sir. Now about young Jihad's language...
ME- No problem. You just fire his 13 year old heathenistic ass right-up and I'll take care of his butt, or what's left of it, when he gets the hell home.
PRINCIPAL- Mr Jihad, could you come to my office please?
(Now I have to go into the Principal's office. Like father like son...shit)