Monthly Archives: January 2015

Holed Up


Fuck, dude, where are you?
We have work to do.
And by werk, I mean Mobbin’.
I don’t leave this place
but I can’t stand this place.

It sucks dealing with the fact that
I have more in common with Smedley Butler
than the bitch standing next to me at the Gym.
And that I wouldn’t want to hang out with that bitch anyway,
but they’re the only things around here.

The life behind these eyes
shows that of strife, hardship,
and a yearning for companionship.
I miss you
and I wish you were here.
I’m losing my mind, motherfucker.

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Wastin’ Time


Sometimes Athena and Poseidon
would spend “too much” Time
Smoking tobacco (made from THC)
and drinking Wine (made from grapefruits).
But that too much time was in accordance to Zeus
who really just got jealous that his woman was spending a lot of time with Poseidon.
So he was like, “Athena, you’re gonna have some daughters.”
And Athena was like, “So that’s what the master plan is!”
“Yes it is, cupcake,” replied Zeus.
Then Athena said, “Well, I’ll go make some daughters with Poseidon then.”
So Poseidon and Athena got it on
to BTO!
And then Zeus got jealous again so he played Funkadelic instead
’cause he made Poseidon go to Funkadelic concerts so he could hear
Shit! Goddamn! Get off your ass and JAM!

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So there I was…..


I woke up about 30 minutes before the Packer game this morning and almost shit my pants ’cause I thought I was gonna miss kick off. So, I got up and got dressed real quick to run downstairs and see if I could catch any fucking weird shit during the pre-game NFL Network. I’m pretty sure Michael Irvin snorted up some cocaine before he made his picks and Jimmy Johnson looked like he was thinking about killing himself after choosing his. I mean, after fucking 10 billion years of being attached to the NFL, I’d probably feel the same way as Jimmy. Michael probably just snorted the cocaine to keep from killing himself. Time to grow some balls and quit, boys, there’s more than just football out there in the world. Arm yourself to the teeth.

Then kickoff happens and I’m scanning. Of course, Dallas doesn’t even make a first down and now I know why Irvin was the only one who didn’t choose the Packers as the winning team…. Oh wait, it’s because he was a wide receiver for the Cowboys and has this gang mentality ingrained into his mind — can’t function in normal society, so becomes sports analyst. Of course he’s gonna pick the Cowboys every time, even if he doesn’t want to.

So, Packers gets the ball and the lovely, talented, and sexy Aaron Rodgers just hands the ball to the 2nd year rookie, Devante (that’s how you actually spell it) Adams and the ball just slides down the field. And my dearest dear makes the touchdown pass to hand the ball off to the Cowboys again. It didn’t even seem like Rodgers really cared about getting the ball down the field because he knew Dallas would underestimate his wittle wide receiver, and Donald Driver protege, Adams. It’s all a mind game, isn’t it?

I noticed that penalties were called on the Cowboys for holding three times in the first quarter and it wasn’t until the last 2 minutes that a pass interference was called on Packers’ Tramon Williams. The dude was literally just running forward and the flag was thrown; the ball wasn’t even headed for the defensive player who they claimed was interfered. I couldn’t help but think that Jason Garrett handed the ref a few hundreds before the play started to call any penalty on the Packers he could. It’s like tipping the waitress. Man, Cowboys, you need to put the reigns on your coach ’cause he’s making you guys look like you can’t win a game unless it’s paid off.

Then the second quarter starts and I’m thinkin’, “How come I haven’t caught any of those facemask calls on the Packers who I know have had some penalties that weren’t called?” and as I’m thinking that, another flag is thrown on the Cowboys for offside. Jesus, McCarthy must have made more investments than Garrett, or maybe he does less heroin. Now, I’m trying real hard to pay attention to the Packers’ defense (no point in trying to pay attention to offense, too busy thinking about Aaron in his spandex), and I can’t help but notice that the cameras aren’t showing any of the players except for the ones who are in the direct vicinity of the ball. So then I’m like, “Alright, gotta pay attention to offense now. Hmph.” Same shit. NFL must have gotten pretty pissed that we noticed that Dallas facemask penalty against the Lions last week. “Adjust the cameras! We can’t have our games called by anyone else except for our NFL henchmen! Give ’em more dope!” — NY Bozos

Packers get the ball again and Aaron misses the snap. Wat? Dude, he didn’t even say “hike,” what kind of long snapper ARE YOU, GOODE?! Did McCarthy hand you a bonus check or did he threaten to kill you if you didn’t make the snap too soon? Probably threatened to kill you if you didn’t take the bonus check; that’s how it works, isn’t it? Aaron looked pretty upset about this whole snap-too-soon, sack-to-fumble fiasco so I was thinkin’, “It’s ok, darling, just remember that one time we met at the beach in San Diego and you told me I was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen. Hehe.” We grew up in Wisconsin together. 😉

Anyway, I’m sending him all of this positive energy to make up for that shit, ready to look for some more weird shit then I get a phone call from one of my buddies. I drop everything and answer, but I scold him for taking my attention away from the Packers. He laughs and tells me that what he has to tell me is more important than Aaron Rodgers in spandex. I’m like, “Dude, what’s more important than that?” Then he goes on to tell me that some females are lighting me up for the seventh chapter of Heroin Disbursement and the War on Society, saying that what I said happened couldn’t have possibly happened and that there’s no way I survived that kind of torture — that the story was made up and what-have-you. Thanks man, that is more important than Aaron Rodgers in spandex. (No offense, dear. ❤ Pun intended. ❤ )

Now I’m not paying attention to the rest of my beloved Packers game to make this message totally and completely clear: if you have not served in the military, you do not know the first thing as to what goes on in that institution. You cannot even begin to fathom the amount of abuse that active duty and veterans suffer… Especially if you’re a female. So, go on your pathetic little life and keep on thinking you know it all. You go ahead, get your hair, nails, and botox did while sitting around like a little fucking shit waiting for what the next thing your network tells you to spew out of your pretty little mouth. I got a few things I’d like to stick in it too.

In fact, I’d love for you to send your thugs to threaten me so I can turn the camera on and show Cpl Kerkman kill mode ’cause God only knows that you’re too fucking scared to even show your own goddamned face…. That’s if you can even find me, and you won’t, but even if you did, you still wouldn’t show your face ’cause that’s how much of a coward you are. Like I’m the only Marine who suffered that shit.

Shit, if you were a real journalist, you would try to find other Marines who suffered the same abuse and write a fucking magnificent masterpiece about it. But you’re not a real journalist, and you can’t write. Even if you were ambitious and courageous enough to do something like that (like Jesse Ventura: Navy SEAL ❤ ), the Marines wouldn’t talk to you ’cause you’re a fucking nasty, insolent bitch. My Marines love the shit out of me, and you’ll find that out soon. Go worship Satan some more and maybe he’ll give you some more advice on how to be a complete and utter goddamned failure. I hope you get what’s coming to you, and I hope you suffer the same abuse that I did ’cause you deserve it and you wouldn’t survive it, whore.

Also, in case you didn’t notice, I made your ass chewing into a Gonzo sports piece. That’s what real writers are able to do. Plus, I know you didn’t notice ’cause you’re a fucking retarded female who doesn’t think that the NFL matters in society. So much for what you know. Haha, absolutely fucking nothing.

PS: I’m not concerned about Chair Force talking shit. You guys gotta torture Marines ’cause your own fucking nasty selves can’t handle torture ’cause you all look like steamrollers. Lol. Fuck you.

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Heroin Disbursement and the War on Society (Chp VII: Flashbacks)

It is hard for me to remember everything that happened to me after I got kidnapped from my barracks room. The rest of the time I spent with PJ in our hideout was used to figure it out, and to help him fight the addiction and corruption that was forced upon him at a young age.

SSgt Jimenez pulled me out of the van we were in when we got to Quantico, and I asked him what in the hell was going on.

“Julio, what are you doing? Why are you acting like this? Where the hell are we?”
“Woah…” it looked like he snapped out of a daze, “Kerkman, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Shut the fuck up Kerkman! They’ll hear you. Fuck….”

He looked up at the sky then got down on his knees to say a prayer, not being a religious person at the time, this set me off. I stood there with my arms crossed, getting fucking pissed as I watched more vans pull up with members of different branches pouring out of the backs looking like zombies. One van pulled up and I saw Captain Billy McDonal fall out with some guys in Air Force BDUs but he was still in his cammies.

“SSgt, look. It’s Captain McDonal I’m sure he’ll know what’s going on.”

SSgt was still praying, so I just walked over to my Captain as these Air Force fucks pushed and yelled at him to fall into formation.

“What the fuck do you guys think you’re doing to my fucking Captain of Marines? He’s not falling into your formation, he’s falling into MY formation.”

I was shaking Capt. McDonal, trying to snap him out of the daze he was in. Then they all started mumbling and hush hushing to eachother wondering what rank I was and if I was going to kill them or not. I looked down and I was wearing Master Sergeant rank, which felt nice as I was yelling at those “airmen.”

“If you don’t get the FUCK away from my Captain, I will fucking kill you.”
“Aye Master Sergeant!” they yelled as they ran away to their nasty formation.

Then my Captain snapped out of it.

“Kerkman, why are you wearing MSgt rank?”
“I don’t fucking know, sir. I don’t even know where the fuck we’re at or what we’re fucking doing.”
“Where are we?”
“Probably somewhere northeast judging by the weather and the smell in the air.”
He looked around and started to recognize the area, “You’re right. We’re in Quantico or Maryland, probably Maryland. How did you know that? It doesn’t matter. Look Kerkman, go back over to SSgt and take that rank off. We’re about to be tortured, but we’re gonna get through it together. I need you to go to position of attention, parade rest, say ‘aye sir,’ and run over there.”
“DO IT NOW! Before THEY,” he pointed at the formation of Air Force BDUs staring creepily at us, “fucking kill you.”

As I realized what was going on, I looked straight forward, popped into position of attention, then went to parade rest and yelled “AYE SIR!” at the top of my lungs. It kind of freaked him out, so I winked at him and ran back over to SSgt Jimenez who came out of prayer.

“Kerkman, your mission is to save your Captain,” he grabbed my shoulders, “That’s it. Don’t fucking forget that. What is your mission, Marine?”
“To save my Captain, SSgt!”
“Good. Now, I have to do this shit to you and you’re going to go through a lot of shit. The key to stopping the torture is to say that you’re in the Air Force. It is very important.”
“Why do they make us say we’re in the Air Force?”
“Because, Kerkman, we’re fucking Marines and we have honor. They don’t know what that fucking means.”

I stood up straight with my chest out as he put my LCpl chevrons back on; I’d just gotten promoted the day before I was kidnapped.

“I am a Lance Corporal of Marines, SSgt.”
“No you’re not,” he smiled at me.
“Oh, that’s right. I mean. I’m an airman, SSgt.”
“Don’t forget that, Kerkman.”
“Do your shit before you get killed, SSgt.”

He looked behind him and there were Air Force BDUs staring at us again. He yelled at me to lay down on the ground, I acted scared and started crying as he hit me with another needle.

The next thing I remember is being forced to take off all of my clothes in front of every man and woman in the room, and getting pictures taken of my entire body. Next was blood tests, and being injected with all kinds of needles in all kinds of places. I fought it hard, but the more you fight it, the more you get raped and the shit kicked out of you. They make the other military members in the room do it so they don’t have to do it themselves.

The whole time I was wondering who the controllers were, trying to hear names and identify faces, but mostly trying to find out where the fuck Capt McDonal was. I recognized some Marines I’d helped out with pay problems from different units and I would ask them if they’d seen or heard the name Capt McDonal, but none of them would answer me. They just stared forward and didn’t say anything, then before I knew it, I’d have a gang of troops on top of me. One of the controllers got sick and tired of watching me fight the troops off of me, beating the shit out of them:

“Your Captain isn’t here. He’s not in this unit.”
“Where is he?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Then I’m going to keep on asking.”
“What are you?”
“An airman. Who are you?”
He stared at me stone cold, “It doesn’t matter to you. Are you sure you’re an airman because you’re acting like a Marine.”
“Nope, I’m an airman.”
“Ok, you’re an airman,” he smiled, “let me ask you a question, then. What’s the Air Force motto?”

Now I’m nervous ’cause I had no fucking clue, and he knew he had me cornered. So now I know I’m in for some deep fucking trouble:

I smirked, “Sit down in a chair, Marine.”

I’d lost my bearing and couldn’t stop laughing. He was pissed and the controllers in the other room were yelling at him to subdue me.

“You are a fucking Marine, and now you’re going to pay for that.”
“Now you sound like a Marine. Are you a Marine?”

Then he stuck me with another needle.

“Libertatem Defendimus,” he said.
“Semper Fidelis, motherfucker,” I mumbled as he punched me and knocked me out.

When I woke up, I was in a separate room from the rest of the troops on a chair with stirrups and no clothes on. I opened up my eyes and could hear a conversation between two unknown people in the other room, so I closed them again.

“She’s just gonna keep on asking where he is.”
“Then we’re just gonna have to be harder on her.”
“But she beats the shit out of all of the troops that we use to try to subdue her.”
“She’s gonna need more drugs then. She won’t be trying to do that when she’s all doped up.”
“We don’t have any extra injections, and she’s already done all that shit with the regular amount. She almost fucking killed all of them.”
“How was she recruited?”

Then they realize I’m awake and start talking in a hushed tone. I recognized the voice of the person arguing to drug me up some more, but I was in denial as to who it was. Then that particular voice shows his face to me; it was who I thought it was: my Platoon Commander, Major Pog.

“Sir!” I yelled, “Sir, get me out of here! Please! We need to get Captain McDonal!”
“Shut the fuck up, airman, you’re not getting your Captain and we will rape and torture you until you submit,” he snapped.
Then he looked like he snapped out of a daze, looked around, and mouthed to me, “Don’t worry, Kerkman. I got it.”

He injected me with another needle, then when I came to, my eyes were glued open and I was watching videos of women getting tortured and raped with industrial musicians in the background that were saying words I couldn’t understand. But, they weren’t just women, they were women who were photoshopped with creepy special effects that made them look like me. They had all of my tattoos, and they even picked ones who had the same-ish body type as me. But, I knew that it wasn’t me. They would ask me all the time who that was and I would say that I didn’t know. They were getting pissed. The only thing that got me through this was trying to remember my favorite punk rock songs and thinking about my mission: save my Captain.

I don’t know how long they did this to me, but Maj. Pog helped me figure out that I had to admit that the women were me in order to get them to stop. As I was starting to submit, my conciousness would go in and out. Before I knew it, I was another zombie in the room.

But not for long. All of a sudden I’m standing in a formation and I see Capt. McDonal asking people in the formation what the Air Force motto was. The ones who couldn’t answer were beaten, and if they still couldn’t answer, they were executed. Capt. McDonal came up to me and asked me what my motto was.

“Libertatem Defendimus, Billy,” I said in a monotonous voice, eyes straight forward.
“Oh shit. It’s Libertatem Defendimus, Kerkman,” he whispered to me.
“Libertatem Defendimus!”

Then he moved onto the next candidate and figured out that he had to kill the people who couldn’t answer the questions. He ended up killing a lot of people, and that really fucked him up. I kept on thinking, “Grab their rank, grab their rank, be objective, grab their rank, get into our formation.” Before the survivors were moved off into the next round of torture, he grabbed the rank of one of the people he killed and got into formation with me. My mind was more at ease, but I fell back out of conciousness again as we filed it off into a large theater which reminded me of the theaters they had us file it in to in boot camp.

I’m not aware of what they made us watch, but there were about 100 survivors and I have no idea how many were killed. I can only assume we were watching videos of combat and/or the way we were supposed to pass our next test. I came back to conciousness as I heard a man talking in front of all of us say one name:

“I’m… You don’t need to know my first name, last name is good: Rockefeller, or Rothschild, whichever you prefer. It doesn’t matter,” he continued, “hopefully you paid attention to what you just watched or else you’re gonna die.”

I started to get nervous because I didn’t know what we watched and he sensed it.

“Oh, looks like someone’s awake. Hm. Well, maybe I should give you a brief about what you’re going to endure coming up here next so you’ll at least have a chance of surviving.”
I thought, “Is he talking directly to me?”
“Yes, I am talking directly to you,” he responded.
I’m still thinking in my head, “Well, I am going to survive, motherfucker. I’m a fucking Marine.”
Then he started laughing, “And you’re the only one that’s going to. You’re the only one who passed the test.”
“We are all Marines?” I’m STILL thinking in my head.
“Nope, you’re the only Marine in here. Everyone else has been turned into airmen.”

Now I’m looking around for Capt. McDonal and he’s sitting right in front of me, staring straight forward and I don’t give a shit about what’s going to happen to me next. I grabbed his shoulder and yelled at him to wake up. All of a sudden I’m standing out of my chair and Capt. McDonal is yelling at me to stare straight forward and not to think anything.

“I guess I was wrong,” Rockefeller said, “two of you are going to survive. Looks like your mission was accomplished. Now you don’t need a brief. Get all of them in the chamber.”

We filed it off into a room with what looked like sprinklers on the ceilings. All of a sudden the troops started choking and dropping to the ground with blood coming out of their noses. As this was happening, I remembered what we watched so I told Capt. McDonal to get down, but he fell back out of conciousness and started to choke. I ran at him and tackled him to the ground. He wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t able to move. Everyone died except for the two of us, then the chamber door opened to another room with three doors. I dragged my Captain to the room and remembered which door to open to get to the next room of doors. It was a fucking mouse test.

This door test took the longest, each door had an intense obstacle you had to pass in order to get to the next set of doors. I stopped at what I thought was the middle to rest because I forgot the door I was supposed to open and I almost killed both of us from opening the wrong door. I was losing it.


I slapped him and shook him, but he wasn’t waking up. I was so exhausted from carrying him through the doors that I started to fall asleep next to him as I was crying. I wasn’t going anywhere without him; I felt like I failed as a Marine. I’d lost all hope. Right before I fell asleep, Rockefeller came into the room.

“I guess it is only one of you who survived. This was your last room. It’s time for you to come with me. He is staying here.”
I woke up real fast, “No. I will fucking kill myself without him. You will not take me anywhere without him. He is still alive.”
“We can’t allow him to come. It is impossible.”
“Ok, I’ll kill myself then.”
“Oh really, and just how will you kill yourself? You don’t have a weapon.”
“I’ll just open up the wrong fucking door,” then I got up, ran to one of the doors, and put my hand on the door knob.
“He’s coming with.”
He was getting frantic, “We can’t do that. He’s brain dead. Please don’t open that door. It’s a bomb.”
“Well, good. We’ll all die then. You’re talking to someone who already thinks she’s dead,” I twisted the handle.
“And you’re gonna cure everyone else who’s brain dead then.”

Then a bunch of people stormed into the room and I don’t remember a lot that happened after that besides being tranquilized and yelling that I would do whatever it took to keep my Captain alive. There were a lot of strange things that happened post-mouse test that I cannot even begin to describe; things that are beyond my comprehension at the highest level of control in the world. That’s all you need to know about it. I’m still dealing with the processing of those memories and am not at liberty to expose them. (Lady Bug)

The next thing I really remember, though, was being on a fucking cargo plane with a bunch of people in Air Force BDUs, not knowing where we were going or what was happening. The first thing I did was look around for Capt. McDonal and, to my fucking amazement, he was sitting there with his rifle, but still staring forward like everyone else: a fucking zombie. I got up and ran to him, started saying his name, singing our favorite punk rock songs. Nothing was working, so I kissed him.

“Woah… Kerkman? What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping you could tell me, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir, it’s Billy.”
“Don’t call me Kerkman, it’s Cassandra.”
“Deal. Hold on a second, let me figure this out. You gotta go back to your seat and stare straight forward.”

So, I did what I was told and sat there waiting for a response.

“We’re being deployed, Cassie.”
“To where?”

I put my head in my lap, fucking tired as fuck and he yelled at me that I needed to sit up and stare straight forward or else I was going to die.

“I don’t care,” I started, “You’re alive. That’s all I care about.”
“I’m not going to be if you’re not, motherfucker.”

I sat up and stared straight forward.

“Fuck it,” he said, “I don’t care if I die either.”

So he came over to me, kissed me, and we held eachother until we landed in Somalia.

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Good morning Sgt,

Hope you had a good PT session, I’m sure you killed them out there. Anyway, just wanted to let you know that when I go on leave, I rob banks. I know you might be pretty pissed about this, but just so you know, I put it as an activity on my HAARP form…. So, that releases me of any liability as far as the Marine Corps is concerned. Double jeopardy still applies, so you’re good on the paperwork. I took care of that for you. I also take enough leave to give me time to get the pigs their cut, so don’t gotta worry about court either. Got that paperwork taken care of as well. But, you might wanna run it up the chain just in caseys.

Hope you’re having a good day!

Cpl Kerkman

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Where You At?


Never been there before.

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Let’s Talk About Sex and Love


In being a very sexual person, Gemini, you know, represent, it’s easy for me to talk about sex in a way that may make others uncomfortable due to my freely sexual nature. When you’re surrounded by a bunch of men for four years, the tendency is to act in the same way as your brothers, it just be like that sometimes. You know, when you’re cleaning weapons and you’re talking about finger fucking them, the subject of sex comes up a lot. (Pun intended.)

This isn’t to say it’s easy to get in the sack with Cpl Kerkman ’cause it’s not unless I’m planning a hit it n quit it, you know. But even with quit its, I always find something endearing about that man through intelligent conversation that makes him special in my eyes before we get to that point. You gotta be a right combination of things: intelligent, awkwardly charming and geeky, fucking crazy as hell, treat me like a lady and be an asshole to everyone else. I like that shit, mostly because I’m all of those things. If you have all of those attributes, you’re handsome as fuck to me.

I had this long term relationship in high school which went sour pretty quickly, he was in a band and cheated on me the entire time we were together. I had fun with him, you know, I went to band practice, was at all the shows, and got to beat the shit out of everyone in the pit. It was a good time ’til they started touring and all of a sudden he didn’t want me at the shows anymore. I have this bad habit of staying in those shitty relationships until I find an exit plan, and I’ll treat him like shit until that exit plan happens. What comes around goes around, I guess.

Anyway, the one reason why I stayed with him after he started getting all shitty with me about the shows was because he was friends with this guy who had a brother that I was madly in love with. His name was Giovanni, a Marine Corps veteran and personal trainer. The boyfriend’s friend, Silvano, would invite us over all the time to parties where we would get high and drunk as shit. Every time the boyfriend got a text from Silvano inviting him over, I always hoped to God that Giovanni was there.

The first time I met Giovanni, I wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. He was a dick. He told the boyfriend and Silvano to go get some party supplies and I stayed back, wanting to know who this man was. I asked him what he did and he told me about his time in the Marine Corps, that he was going to college and working as a personal trainer at a gym near by. “Well, that explains a lot,” I thought. He started laughing and I was wondering if I had said that outloud or not. I ignored it.

“What are you majoring in?” I asked.
“Mass Media and Communications.”
I sat there and pondered what in the hell that was, “What?”
“Oh! I should have known that,” now I’m blushing, “Why do they call it that? Why don’t they just call it journalism?”
“Because journalism is… Mass media, and you’re…. communicating.”
“True… So, since you’re majoring in journalism, you must know who Hunter S. Thompson is.”
“Ah….. Shit… What did he write?”
“Hell’s Angels, The Rum Diary, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas…..”
“Oh! Yeah, I’ve seen the movie but never read the book. I’ll have to do that now,” now his face started turning red, “I’ve been reading Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls.”
“I’ve been meaning to read that book, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
“You should, it’s a great military story.”
“Well, you should read The Rum Diary, it’s a great journalism story… You know, since you’re majoring in journalism and all.” I smirked.
He laughed, “What are you reading that’s so much more important than Hemingway?”
“Well, it just so happens that I’m reading Shakespeare. He’s pretty important.”
Now he’s starting to get frustrated at my Gemini mind games, “What, Romeo and Juliet or some shit?”
“Ah, no. I’m reading As You Like It.”
“You should read Romeo and Juliet.”
“I already read it, and I didn’t like it much. Like, it’s a good story, but I just didn’t like it.”
Now he’s pissed off but still curious, “What kind of girl doesn’t like the greatest love story ever written?”
“The kind of girl that doesn’t think that the greatest love story ever written ends with the two lovers dying at the end. I mean, they could have just waited and been together forever in life rather than death.”
That set off a special nerve in his bones, “How old are you?”
“16,” I laughed.
“Fuck,” he mumbled.

I went outside to smoke a cigarette as Silvano and the boyfriend returned with the party supplies. That was the start of an awkward but awesome relationship in which I would think things to him in my head and he would respond to me outloud. We were never alone, always with a group of people around, and everyone would wonder how in the hell we were having a conversation. I loved it, and so did he. He treated everyone around like shit and treated me like a princess. The age difference made things weird, but I was just biding my time, waiting until I could leave the boyfriend for him. Then I got some devastating news right before I turned 18: Giovanni had to move out of state and I wasn’t able to talk to him. I was very upset due to the fact that I couldn’t say good bye and it was almost FUCKING TIME I could be with him, so I joined the Marine Corps. I was always looking for the mental stimulation we had together in other men, but I could never find it. The balance was off, and I suffered a lot trying to find it.

Time went by, and I stuffed the friendship we had in the back of my head, it hurt to much for me to talk about him or even think about him because I missed him all the time and was always wondering what he was doing and how he was doing. I came home on leave and had some sacred and special to-myself leave time. I called my buddy Joseph, another Marine Corps veteran who ran in the same crew as me in the punk rock scene. I got all the way to his fucking apartment and he got called into work, some other weird shit happened with some people that we knew that made me upset, and I was about to drive home when I got a phone call from a number I didn’t recognize:

“Hello Juliet,” the voice said.
“Um, this is Cassandra.”
“I know!”
I’m starting to recognize the voice, “Who is this?”
“Giovanni, silly.”
“Holy shit! Giovanni! How are you?! How did you get my number?”
“I got it from your exboyfriend,” then we both started laughing ’cause he used to beat the shit out of the exboyfriend whenever he went over to hang out with Silvano and didn’t bring me with, “How are you doing?”
“I’m doing ok, I’m home on leave and have some extra time. Are you busy? Or are you even in the state?”
“Oh, I joined the Marine Corps.”
“Fuck no, I’m not busy, come over. I moved back.”
“Ok, I don’t remember how to get to your house.”
I could hear his smile, “I just saw your exboyfriend’s truck outside of his house. Just ask him.”
“Haha, my pleasure.”

Now I’m fucking excited as fuck. So, I head over to the ex’s house and ring the doorbell. He wasn’t expecting to see me all covered in tattoos and 20lbs heavier from PT n shit. I start shooting the shit with him, asking him how he’s doing: still unemployed, still living with parents, not leaving any time soon. I thought that was pretty funny.

“So, you still talk to Silvano?”
“Yeah, I hang out with Silvano all the time.”
“Hear from Giovanni recently?”
“Nope,” now he’s fucking pissed and I’m loving it.
“Oh, he just called me and told me that you could tell me how to get to his house. You know, we’re both Marines and everything.”
“Yeah, I don’t remember how to get to his house.”
“Haha! I know that’s a lie. Oh!” I started looking down the street and remembering where to go, “Nevermind, I remember. It’s about time I get going.”
“Um…. Whatever, good to see you.”
“You too!” I smile and get in the car as he stomps back into his house.

Oh, Giovanni, I thought, I fucking love you. So, I drive on over to his house and there’s like three cars parked outside, so I’m thinkin’ he’s having a party. Great. I’m not in to the parties at this point in my life, but I wanted to see him so I roll up to the house and knock on the door like duty would. Unfortunately for me, the others at his house thought I was the po, and I was greeted with a multitude of weapons. I almost got shot, and Giovanni was pissed but amused at the same time.

“Don’t fucking knock on the door like that!”
“Dude, I was just trying to freak you out like it was duty.”
“I’m the only fucking person in this house who understands that shiiiiiit,” he looked up at the sky like, why is this woman so fucking sexy? “Hold on a second.”

Then he shuts the door in my face starts yelling at the guys ’cause he told them that he was having me over and he had a feeling I was going to do something like that and they almost got killed. Then they started arguing with him calling me “just a bitch” and that I don’t mean anything. Then I hear, “SHE’S A FUCKING MARINE!” preceded by a bunch of “ows,” “shits,” and “oh fucks.” Jesus, I’m thinkin’, What in the hell is he doing in there? Did he really just beat the shit out of all those dudes? Then all these guys walk out sayin’ they’re sorry and everything as he tells them to get the fuck out of his house, then he says, “Yes, I really did just beat the shit outta all those dudes.” That made me smile, so we go inside and sit on the couch, he asks me about the Marine Corps and now we’re smokin’ and jokin’.

“Giovanni, I have to tell you something.”
“I already know what you’re going to say.”
“I fucking missed you,” my eyes start to water, “How come I haven’t heard from you in so long?”
“I know, I’m sorry but there are a lot of things about my life that I have a hard time explaining to you, but just know that I fucking love you, Cassandra,” then we kiss and he has an idea to make me feel better as I start to get more upset, “Wanna go shoot shit in the back yard?”
I smile and he wipes the tears from my eyes, “I thought you’d never ask!”

So, he grabs his pistols and shows me how to shoot them; I had only shot my rifle at this point, and I really sucked at shooting the pistol which was getting me really fucking pissed.
“Sight alignment, sight picture,” he says, “that’s all you gotta know to shoot any weapon.”
Then I got it, “How come you didn’t tell me that before?!”
He giggled, “I thought you already knew,” I sighed, “Plus I thought it was pretty hot that you were getting so pissed off.”
Now I’m thinkin’, let’s get this fun over with so we can go have some more fun inside, and he says, “But let’s have this fun first. It’s like the bestest foreplay ever.”
We both start laughing, then I look into his eyes and he and says, “I think we’ve had enough of that foreplay for now though.” He picks me up, and brings me inside as we start taking eachothers clothes off. As we get inside, though, the door opens in the front of the house.

“Oh fuck,” he says, “this wasn’t supposed to happen today.”
“Well, at least we have these pistols ready,” I said.
“And at least you know how to shoot them now.”
I laughed, “You’re a dick.”

The state we were in had a Stand Your Ground Law, so we were ready to kill. Before the guys that entered even had a chance, we were shooting rounds. Long story short, they died, we lived, cops were called by neighbors, SYG was claimed, bodies get carried off, Giovanni deals with the rest. THEN I finally got to FUCK the man I’d been wanting to FUCK since I was fucking 16 years old. I spent the rest of my leave time with him, and I was hoping that we could be together, but my way of life and his way of life did not coincide at the time. He’s always in my heart and I know I’m always in his. Right before I got on the plane back to San Diego, I received a text message:

“Even though we are apart, we will always be together.”
Tears rolled down my face as I stood in line to board, “Stop being a drama queen.”
“Haha. You’re a dick. But I love you.”
“I love you too, Romeo.”
“Stop being a drama queen.”

That was the last time I heard from him. But I don’t mind, I’ll always love him and this doesn’t mean that I love anybody else any less. It is fully possible to be in love with more than one person and to show more than one person that love. To me, sex is about love, and loving someone comes in many different shapes and forms. To love someone as who they are as an individual is the greatest kind of love anyone can ask for. Any man that can make this woman fall in love with him and treat me as the woman I should be treated as will be loved for eternity. That’s just how I roll, so you better be ok with me sharing that love or else it ain’t gonna work. I ain’t a one man woman, and any man I love knows that. 😉

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Just a Reminder…..


As I have mentioned before, the content of this blog is created with my Marines, other veterans, and close friends in mind. If you have stumbled across it and you do not fall into either of those categories, you’d probably have a hard time understanding the language and you may have to do some research……. and frankly, I don’t give a shit if you don’t like it.

Hunter S. Thompson has always been and will always be my hero and inspiration throughout many aspects of my life; he is my spirit guide, the man of my dreams. (PJ has some big shoes to fill. 😉 ) In case you couldn’t tell, my style of writing is fucking Gonzo. I don’t know how to write any other way besides writing counselings and fucking military endorsements…. I’m working on that though, not quite sure how to write fiction. I’m working on an ancient military romance novel, and by that I mean I’m trying to figure out how to write it. Haha. I’ve always written from experience, so I guess I just gotta live in Ancient Rome for a while.

I fucking just shit out articles and fucking chapters like Jack fucking Kerouac shits out On the Road. The Kerouacian way of protesting is through poetry and literature, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed this or not, but this website is a modern version of that. I know fully well that my experiences are hard to believe, but I’m sure yours are too. Maybe you should write about them. 🙂

My goal in writing so bluntly about these experiences, thoughts, and knowledge is to lead by example and inspire other veterans and other victims of the established corporate control to do the same. Our voices need to be heard; everyone else only get one side — the State propaganda story. So here it is: this blog is hardXcorps veteran propaganda from the front lines, uncensored, holding nothing back…. The shit no one wants to hear except for those who have experienced the same and/or similar things. Muckraking at its finest, bitches.

First to fight, first to write. That’s my motto. All I want is for it to be read by those who need to hear it, nothing more, nothing less.

“Don’t thank me, thank the Marine Corps for letting me join!” – Sgt DG

Semper Fidelis, 34th!

^—- This is HST’s favorite ass song and mines too. ^_^

PS: If my “stack” on my picture doesn’t piss you off, you really don’t understand anything about the military. LOL! It’s art. 🙂 ❤

PPS: If you think you have an idea as to why that stack should piss you off, but you don’t know why I put stack in quotations above, you still need to do some research. LMAO!

PPPS: I just urban dictionaried “boots:”

“In Jamican dialect, it is used to refer to a condom.
no boots, no ride!”

I just died. LOL

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In Realizing You’re a “Disabled” Veteran…

It was a sunny California Friday, I was off of school and out of my apartment to go get some coffee, sit down in my ganja dungeon and get to writing. I decided I was going to wear my cutez California skirt ’cause my butt looked nice in it, and I wore a tank top with a nice bra that showed off the girls nicely, but not too much. I was feeling sexy that day, you know, doing my thang. I didn’t live in the best neighborhood but I didn’t mind it, actually, I enjoyed living with all of those crazies, plus there were a lot of veterans that lived there which made me feel safe. Everybody kept to themselves anyway, and I never had any problems until this particular Friday.

I walked out to the mailbox, expecting a book I had ordered online, when I noticed a man about 6’0″, 250 – 300lbs of nasty fat stomping his way towards me in my peripherals. “What’s this guy’s deal?” I thought. He started to blame me for some mishap that happened with his niece who lived across from me. She went around sleeping with the wrong dudes and all I did was share my internet with her, for fuckin’ free at that. She probably used it to be a whore, but anyway, he starts blabbling his mouth and now I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna have to defend myself against this fucker. He grabs my shoulder, and I black out.

When I came to, this sorry excuse for a man was laid out on the ground, I was choking him and slamming his head into the concrete. A fellow veteran and neighbor had to get two other dudes to get me off of him so I didn’t kill the fucker. Now, I stand at 5’7″ 145 – 155lbs of muscle and this dude was twice – 3x my size, yet it took three guys about the same size as the attacker to get me off of him before I got charged with fucking manslaughter. Then, I went about my day and forgot about it completely.

My neighbor knocks on my door later that evening and tells me not to worry about the cops, that he saw the whole thing and the veteran police officers were on my side, especially after seeing the camera footage. They didn’t even believe the guy’s story. I had no idea what he was talking about. Then he laughs goes on to explain what happened earlier that day and I didn’t even believe him. “I know,” he said, “I didn’t believe it when I fucking saw it. You’ll remember it someday though, it happens to all of us.” Turns out that fucking guy also had the gal and the audacity to try to file a police report and try to sue me for medical expenses. They had to take him away in a fucking ambulance and he had permanent brain damage. I didn’t see a day in court because no lawyer would take the case, and all of the police were going to testify in my name.

I mean, he shouldn’t have fucked with Cpl. Kerkman.

It’s been hard these last couple months as I’m out of an abusive relationship and am able to accurately assess what I’ve been doing for the past five years — realizing that I have a “mental handicap” which puts me into an unstoppable kill mode any time I’m threatened. It makes me reflect on what it means to actually be a disabled veteran. I almost killed that guy, and if I did, I wouldn’t have even known what happened.

That’s called a Traumatic Brain Injury, and here I thought that TBI’s were caused by being blown up with some kind of blunt force trauma to the head. Part of me thinks that that definition is just some subpar science that keeps veterans from realizing that they may have a serious issue. It’s taken a lot for me to come to the conclusion that I have this serious issue, but it feels good to be able to finally admit it.

The source of this problem stems from the NATO deployment I was assigned to in Africa in 2011. The only Marine from my unit who was also on this assignment was a Captain I’d known since high school. I won’t go into all of the gory details of this deployment (just yet, but I will), but the extremely abridged version is that we (as in, he and I, the only ones who survived the first fire fight) trekked through the fucking African terrain, took heavy fire, defended against wild animals, were taken as Prisoners of War by an unfriendly tribe and had to escape, saw children of this tribe being tortured, tried to save them with no avail, ended up killing everyone at the site, and still had to go on to complete the mission which was saving a high profile target from an impending attack. The only thing that was keeping us alive was a local tribesman we saved who taught us how to survive in the African wilderness.

I didn’t remember doing any of that, but my Captain did. We couldn’t talk about it because we had to be separated by UCMJ law which forbids officers and enlisted from “hanging out” and even fucking having a casual conversation. This was hard for both of us before the deployment, but it was even worse afterward from being surrounded by fucking POGs who didn’t understand the first thing of what we fucking went through. Nobody believed him when he told people what happened, not even me, his fucking Lance Corporal who saved his fucking life and he saved mine. One day he fucking snapped, took off his ribbons, gave them to me, and yelled at me to go put them on. I put them on even though I didn’t want to because, to me, I didn’t deploy and I wasn’t a POW, but he was my Captain and I was his Corporal.

Then about an hour later, this fucking boot Comm Corporal comes into the office and tells me that I’m a disgrace to the Marine Corps, I look down and forgot that my Captain told me to put them on and I start freaking out and crying. My Sergeant said, “KERKMAN! YOU DID DEPLOY KERKMAN! YOU FUCKING WENT TAD!! Go the fuck in the head Kerkman, I got this.” I went to the head to put on my two ribbons, then he started screaming at this fucker about what happened to me in Africa; the guy was scared ’cause you know, Sgt Lucas gives the best ass chewings.

“No Sgt,” the Boot whimpered
“No Sgt.”

Then he goes on to explain how we were taken as prisoners of war, and everything else I’d mentioned above. My Captain heard my Sgt yelling at this guy, and calls everyone in our company outside, to include all of the officers. Then he chews everyone out for about two hours, explaining what our mission was and what we went through as I sat in oblivion as to what was going on outside. He was a Mustang: a First Sergeant who went commissioned, and former infantryman, so they were really getting it handed to them. I was just doing my Disbo work, that’s what I liked to do. Then everyone came inside looking like hurt Devil Dogs, and I was wondering what everyone was so upset about. Then my Captain calls me outside to the courtyard and I’m thinkin’, “Oh shit, what did I do?”

He grabs my shoulders and says, “We were kidnapped and deployed, Kerkman, I need you to remember, Kerkman…. I really need you to remember.” Then only a portion of the deployment came back: all of the children that died, and the lion that followed us. I started to really weep, yelling about the children, he hugged me, held me, and told me he loved me. I told him I loved him too but then this fucking shit came out of my fucking mouth: “But we can’t be doing this, sir, we’re going to get in trouble.”

“I don’t give a flying FUCK about these fucking POGs Cassandra!”
“Um…. But…. I’m a POG, sir?”
Then I started talking in a hushed tone, “Billy, you’re fucking freaking me out. Are you ok?”
His eyes started to water, “No, no I’m not. Nobody believes us, Cassandra. Our deployment was illegal. Regiment doesn’t even have record of it, and if they do, they’re not releasing it. They made fake orders for recruiter’s assistance for you and put me on ‘leave.’ THEY EVEN CHARGED MY LEAVE ACCOUNT!”
“I’m sorry this happened to us… but… Why doesn’t this surprise me?”

He really started to cry and I’d never seen him like that before, not even when we were surrounded by the enemy, about to fucking die. So I touched his face, told him everything was going to be ok, then he kissed me, you know, with the touching and the feeling (in our Charlies, mind you). Haha. Then another part of the deployment came back:

“We didn’t just kill people in Africa, sir.” I smiled.
He started laughing, “Well, at least you remember that!
“Maybe we should just think about that part.”**

Then he was just thinking about that part, and started to feel better. The Platoon Commander, a Major Pog saw us and yelled at Billy to get inside. I went back in to finish my work and everyone was looking at me like a stranger. My Sgt put up a sign on the door saying that there was a POW who didn’t remember she was a POW and that all Marines should be treated with caution. Then I forgot everything…. again. This drove Billy to a breaking point, he beat the shit out of Maj Pog, got demoted, and was PCS’d to a different duty station. They didn’t charge me with fraternization because they claimed he was taking advantage of me, which was farthest from the truth. Now I’m thinking about all of this and can’t help but feel this guilt I shouldn’t feel from not being able to remember and not being able to console my best fucking friend in the way I feel like I should have. I would have stood up for him and taken the demotion too, but unfortunately, I have a TBI which makes me forget…. a lot of important things. I didn’t even know where the bullet wound scars came from…..

But, the longer amount of time I spend away from a war institution, the more I remember, and the better able I am to deal with these issues. I’ve figured out that being in an extreme survival situation where you’re there in the fucking heat of it with nothing but your Captain and a shitty NATO M-16 with no 3-round burst, coupled with torture as training for this event creates a survival mechanism in the brain which is literally impossible for me to shut off when being threatened. You know, being a small woman, this can work to my advantage, but if another small woman threatened me vice a 300lb man, she would be fucking annihilated and I would have no idea what I did.

And what am I to do about this? Take meds? Well, fuck no. We all know what happens to veterans who take medication for this kill mode: they go crazy and shoot VA doctors, then kill themselves. The only thing that helps with the flashbacks, pain, and anxiety is smoking weed — a sativa dominant hybrid strain. But sometimes that makes me forget too much, and I stuff it all in the back of my brain which makes it all come out in one big burst of panic and anger if I don’t medicate. I never take it out on my loved ones, I always take it out on myself by destroying my possessions, or, my favorite, punching a hole in the wall. I have random bursts of anger when I’m treated a certain way, especially being a woman who endured so much time in a combat zone, in the fucking rough of it.

You can see those blues in my eyes, but it often gets misinterpreted as narcotic drug abuse which pisses me off even more (read the beginning of my fucking book). Just give me coffee, weed, mushrooms, and LSD, I’m good. Speaking of LSD, this is also something that has helped me assess my past in an objective way and helps to ease the vivid and uncontrollable emotions that the traumatic experiences inhibit. I never take too much though, that’s just asking for trouble and strange nights. Haha. Just one tab is good. That’s it. Don’t let your nasty friends convince you otherwise either.

In any case, if you’re a civilian reading this, just know that the scars of combat are not always visible and before you go ahead and judge the person to the left and right of you, just know that behind every pretty face could be a stone cold killer just like Cpl Kerkman: pretty skirt, nice boobies, fucking smash your face in. Stay the fuck out of peripheral vision, and stay the fuck back when someone looks over their shoulder because you never know who the fuck you’re messing with. But, only veterans notice these kinds of things, so you’re gonna go on and be complacent, and you’re gonna regret that one day, maybe you already have.

The best thing though is for me to talk to fellow veterans about the shit, especially the men in my unit and the Division. I don’t mean fucking Facebook or text message, I mean a real fucking phone call or a real fucking dinner date. Don’t put off conversations with your buddies because you never know what they’re going through and you might just save their lives just by shooting the shit about the “glory days.” I know MY Marines saved my ass since I’ve been out so many times I can’t even count. They even fucking made me give them the key to my apartment AND my car so they could make duplicates. They call me their Little Liza Jane. All in all, I love you, Grunties. 😉 You don’t gotta worry about that memory loss no more, I got it.

** Side Note: When Billy and I were surrounded by the enemy and they were closing in, we decided to fuck right then and there in the thick of it. We were heavily outnumbered. The sex noises distracted the enemy, and we were able to kill them off one by one as they came to witness the show. Sex makes them complacent. Just remember that. Lol. U no wat i meanz. 🙂


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Dear PJ,


First and foremost, I would like to extend my sincerest apologies for biting the shit out of you like a fucking sabre tooth tiger or something like that… Although I’m sure you loved it in some weird way, you sexy bastard.

I haven’t seen you in quite some time… or rather, I haven’t actually seen you since you wore that letterman jacket as if you were the one in high school when we hit it off in Hollywood a few years back. By the way, where’s that video at? Oh! Haha, I know where it is. Had to leave it in that hotel room. Sorry about killing your “friend,” but he pissed me off and that’s what happens when I get pissed off. That helped you out though.

Anyway, the reason why I’m bringing this up is because I wanted to tell you that I fucking wish you would have just said, “Fuck it.” and came and kidnapped me in those sexy high school clothes and made me your naughty government and economics teacher… even though I already am. Hehe. I was thinkin that perhaps you would tie me up to me writing desk (AKA my bed) and tell me what a naughty filthy girl I’ve been. Even though you already know I’m a fuckin killing machine sent from the stars above. You like that though, just like I love you.

So, after you tell me how sexy it is that I will kill in cold blood using anything (to include a pencil, tomahawk, and my own fucking jowls), I’ll tell you that I love it when your arms are around me and your loving embrace is what keeps me goin at the end of the day. I miss dancing and cuddling with you while I roll us up a blunt.

I miss everything about being with you ( except for the heroin) but even with that, I wish I could be there to take care of you because that’s all I want to do…. on top of being on top. 😉

I guess all I wanted to say was I love you.

❤ Your Sweetpea

P.S. I’m still fucking waiting! fo dat ass. I miss you, and frankly, I need you to take care of me too.

P.P.S.S. There are a lot of different things you can use a torch for, to include creating a cigarette case out of a sugar scrub bottle………. and then melting it onto someone’s ass.

P.P.S.S.S. Let’s have sex in public again. I like that shit.

P.P.S.S.S.S. Even if you were a fucking Lion, I’d animorph into a goddamned aqua cat for you.

P.P.S.S.S.S.S. Post script? I’m sure you’re done with scripts. 😉 You’re a post script.

P.P.S.S.S.S.S.S. No, you’re a post script.

And I love you the mostest already.

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