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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Why did we major in Mass Media and communications anyway?
The American Dream is Dead
That’s what Fear and Loathing is all about.
It is.
How do I know all that?
Because I know things. =)
Inspect what you Expect.
I always do that, I know you do too. ❤
So hurry the fuck up, SIR
and we can play Russian Roulette
Slow. 😉

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NFL: A Corrupt Racketeering Scheme (Just like Hollywood)


Having listened to an all day Sergeant-Staff Sergeant Half Time Report every day during football season for four years, I’ve come to learn a lot about the NFL corporation. I like watching football, but I often have to look past the fact that every game has some kind of payoff to some official which makes the individual players suffer even more than they do when they’re not on the field. I’ve come to notice little things that affect the players on the field psychologically that football fans look past due to the intensity of the sport.

I took it upon myself to watch the Lions @ Cowboys game yesterday, but the amount of corruption just in the first half pissed me off so much that I couldn’t watch it anymore. I thought, “Lions got this, they’re already protesting.” Then I come to find out this morning that the obviously paid-off refs make a controversial pass interference call which gave Dallas the ball and lead their “win.” I couldn’t help but laugh as I read NFL officials defending the league against Lions fans saying that they’re “sorry for the ‘incompetence'” of the refs. Yeah, sure, incompetence. We all know the shit was rigged. It’s kind of like when the Green Bay Packers had 8 points of contact on the ball against the Seahawks in 2012 but somehow the Seahawks got an interception. It was at that point in time that I stopped watching football for a while.

Now, I have a soft spot for the Lions because the Lion is King and He reigns; this is a team embedded with rookies who play as if they’ve been in the league for 10 years. They take the shit and throw it back in the other team’s face with no regrets. I noticed after the first penalty was called on the LIONS (receiving) after #WHOGIVESASHIT on the Cowboys had a grossly apparent facemask penalty which allowed for the tackle of the punt receiver that wasn’t called because it happened before the receiver caught the ball and Dallas would have to re-kick. Now that I think about it, that call would have made the clock run out before Dallas could have made that “winning” play. This was in like the first 5 minutes of the game. I almost stopped watching, but then I noticed some things that made me keep the TV on:

The first thing was the change of the home-away jerseys. This kind of psychological mind game inhibited by the “controllers” in New York is a little detail which changes the entirety of the game. You have players that have been wearing their home jerseys at home for years, then you change it around and you have a different mindset of both the home and the away teams. Not to mention the fans who come to their home stadium to see the away jerseys on their favorite team’s backs and cheer twice as hard. I could tell after not watching the game for a few years the change in dynamic of the whole stadium. Fans were cheering harder, getting more pissed off, and I even noticed more fighting in the stands.

After the facemask penalty was not called, the Lions started doing something interesting which made me laugh and love the Lions and Matthew Stafford’s pretty face even more: they stopped caring about penalties. I noticed the influx of penalties which changed the numbers on the clocks and their field position which they overcame. In case you didn’t notice, the Lions were playing for their own player stats vice the stats of the entire team — as they should. Their coach was fucking pissed but that didn’t seem to phase them. Stafford threw the ball out of bounds when he didn’t have any guys open rather than getting sacked and risking an injury; his receivers and linebackers improvised the plays rather than running in their straight NFL 2K3 lines which gave them a better field position and made up for their penalties. I was like, “Damn, this is my favorite team.” I’d never seen anything like it before. Anyone with the Lions on their fantasy teams must be pretty happy.

Then I started thinking about the amount of fines these players and/or the team was going to have to pay in these penalties, and NFL sponsor commercials came on. It all comes back to the money and contracts. The controllers in New York distribute the contracts, the players sign them, and now they’re under control of NFL corporation conglomerates and their corrupt corporate sponsors. But they make it seem like they have some control over the money that they’re getting from their sponsors except for the fact that you see Peyton Manning in every fucking NFL commercial known to man. It reminds me of my lovely Brett Favre being used as an NFL martyr for corporations during the time that his wife had breast cancer. I always thought, “Man, do they give this man any time to see his wife?” Nope. How are any of these players supposed to have anything close to a decent home life when they’re always on the road and always being told to go here or there for some press conference, appearance, interview, etc.?

And THEN, Joe “Buttfuck” Buck has the gal and the audacity to call out Matt Prater (Lions field goal kicker) for “violating” the NFL substance abuse policy which got him suspended for 4 games. He probably incurred a lot of fines and had to deal with the suffering of the abuse that he got from the sports media. Let me just make a wild guess here, based off of real life rather than sports media-propagated facts: Prater smoked weed. So, the players can take Armstrong-esque steroid shots, but if you smoke a joint to calm the pain of years of football playing stemmed from early childhood — you get punished. We can’t have our football players smoking weed and being belligerent! If I were the Lions’ coach, I’d tell ’em all to go out and get a pound each, chief on that all week til the next game. I’d say, “If you haven’t smoked a pound of some sticky icky by next week’s game, your fine will be an out-right SPANKING! And 21 Marine Corps push-ups.” I wonder what would happen if all of the Detroit Lions got suspended for 4 games! O=)

But, don’t worry about the players. They love football and get paid millions of dollars to play it, all you gotta do is sit in front of your TV, root for your favorite team, and laugh as Manning hums the “Nation Wide” jingle as he’s eating a fucking sandwich. I think that commercial says a lot more about the life of a pro football player than any other commercial out there. Here’s some advice: if you love your NFL teams, stop buying the apparel and stop showing up at the games. I think it’s about time for a fan-protest due to the way these guys get treated. They get treated like prostitutes: traded, used, and abused. Time to say “Fuck you, NFL.” Let’s get back to the basics.

Evil Conduct = my favoritest Oi! band of allllllll time, Cock Sparrer a close tie for 2nd. 🙂

Fun Fact — Take it or Leave it:
I saw Buttfuck Buck outside of Barnes and Noble right after I got out of the Corps. He came up to me, a whole 5’3″, MAYBE 160lbs, he said, “You’re a sports writer.”
“What in the hell are you talking about? Who the fuck are you?” I responded, and now my senses were tingling.
“I’m Joe Buck.”
“So, I’m a famous sports broadcaster.”
“What the fuck do you want?”
“I just wanted to come to tell you that the Lions are going to lose, and they’re going to continue to lose.”
“Good for them, why should I care?”
He smiled a creepy smile, “‘Cause if you write about it, I’m gonna….” then he frowned with a scared look on his face as I reached into my purse for my knife, “Wait, I shouldn’t say that.”
“Shouldn’t say what? Did you really come here to threaten a Marine, not just a Marine, a fucking CORPORAL in a fucking Marine Corps town?”
He walked away hurriedly as some Marines started to crowd around the scene I was making. I yelled at him, “That’s what I thought. Go back to fucking Los Angeles or wherever the fuck you came from you nasty little fuck.”

And that’s when we named him Joe “Buttfuck” Buck as I walked to my car with a handful of fellow Marines staying back, waiting… =) I’m sure he had a rough day that day before he went back to the nasty little rock he climbed out from.

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Post Traumatic Sickness

We all got it.

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Dear Publishers,


Fuck off and stop trying to run into me at the liquor store. I majored in Mass Media and Communications, and I know your games. No amount of money can buy my shit. It’s all here for everyone to read so fuck you. I’ll just Xerox copy the shit at fucking Office Depot. It’s more distributable that way. I know from experience.

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Fuck Your MACs


And your goddamned FLACs.
What kind of fucking file is FLAC
that only works on a MAC?
“You cahn’t get ah vahruss,” you say.
But it already COMES with a virus
Before you even get it off the shelf
iPod, iTunes, iGoFuckYourself
iLluminati surveillance
You dumb iFucks.

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A Call to IRR Marines being called to Active Duty and Division Marines Gearing Up:


All Marines in the IRR are being called back to active duty for a massive build up. The war we are supposed to be fighting is not in another country, but in our own. The first targets in case of martial law is always the veterans, obviously because we already know what their attack plan is going to be and how to out smart them. The ones knocking down your doors are not going to be POGs, but the buddies you just fought next to in all countries across the world. They’re going to be the ones who saved your life and the ones who you saved. All Division Marines need to stand up against these orders with moral fortitude for it is actually the Law of Honor, Courage, and Commitment that we swore to protect and defend. There is no HCC in hunting down, attacking, and arresting your Marines.

I’ve already received orders to active duty, and I am standing in defiance against these orders. Let them send the Chasers, I’ll be ready. They won’t take me alive. Ain’t no fucking way I’m going back to Africa while all Division Marines are knocking down our own doors… or whatever fucking sinister plan the Others have planned for us Divine Warriors. Plus, pull-ups? PFT? CFT? Fuck no. Heh, I go on WALKS, not RUNS. My body and mind can’t handle it anymore, and neither can yours.

LCpls make up 90% of the Division, if all you LCpls grab your battle buddies and refuse to train, what are your NCO’s gonna do? What is the brass gonna do? Especially if the IRR Marines aren’t coming back. This kind of defiance takes BALLS, the kind of balls only United States Marine Corps Infantrymen have. Refuse field training, refuse deployment. Chill in your barracks room and play CoD. This kind of protest will not be taken lightly, and most of you will receive violent punishments from the Fear you will instill in your superiors, but that violence will not be nearly as horrible as the violence that will be bestowed upon America when Marines are patrolling the streets. We all know that for sure. You need to stay strong and convicted. We can beat these bastards.

IRR Marines: I know it’s lonely not having your unit to go to every day. I know it sucks having to deal with civilians at shitty jobs and at school, but you cannot let these orders get you excited. When you go back to active duty, you will be replacing the Marines that are protesting and you will be making their lives even more miserable. You will be dragged back into the politics: calling the Marines protesting shit bags, treating them like shit, when really they’re trying to save the lives of YOU fucks and the lives of others. It’s going to be hard to secure your position due to all of the “benefits” the VA has bestowed upon veterans in order to keep track of where you are. If you haven’t gotten orders yet, you will. If you have gotten orders, you need to move twice.

Here’s what you gotta do:

1. Be prepared.  Before you make a move of residence, you need to make transactions using these benefits. These transactions will be used to get the gear you have been missing. You will be needing enough gear to keep you holed up in your residence for 2 years. MRE’s, water, ammunition, and the like. You know what you’ll need based on your individual situations. DON’T FORGET RIP ITS and WEED! Most of you probably already have this gear cuz u no we Marinez n stuff.

2. Don’t worry about debt. As military members, we have been scorned with hundreds, up to thousands of dollars of debt. As I mentioned in Money In War, the debt that we incur is used to control us in multiple ways. Do not be afraid of what will happen if you do not pay your credit cards, mortgage, or government debt. Your credit score does not matter. Your life matters. In fact, when you stop caring about it, you will find a sense of freedom that you would have thought you could never feel unless you paid it off. See it as this: most of you got fucked into debt. Now you’re fucking them by not paying it back. Use your credit cards to get the gear you need. If you have money saved up from deployments and/or other investments, take it all out in cash. If you’re responsible with your monies, be ready and willing to support your fellow Marines if they do not have the financial means to support themselves.

3. Move. Once you have everything you need, the last thing you need to do is move to a place where you know you will  not be found and DO NOT report it to the VA. This will be in a low-income area where the people who already live there are already running from the law and are already armed. You will need a battle buddy, and you all should already know who that is. You and your battle buddy will need to introduce yourselves to your neighbors as U.S. Marines. Move in with eachother.

4. STAY AWAY from living situations with civilians…….. You know why.

5. Get ahold of your Corpsmen. You know why.

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