Bi-polar no, Bi-cycler absolutely!!

Returning soldiers coming home from theatre are allowed to blow some of their deployment moneys on a ridiculously expensive item. This item must have a high probability of getting yourself killed on, and attract the kind of girl you'd meet at the free clinic. Most soldiers head straight to the BMW store, or Yamaha crotch rocket mart depending on geographical location.





This is what I've decided on.

I know the second caveat was it had to bring the girls a runnin, but I will be wearing shorts that give me moose knuckles.

Fostering foreign relations

First of all I would like all three people who read my blog to wander over to the Viceroy of Kuwait's blog The Battle of Essence vs. Existence and become loyal subjects. Since I am the Viceroy of Qatar you can all consider this a ordained order from god, with consequence for disobedience on a lever rarely seen.

As the Viceroy I feel it's my duty to extend foreign relations to country's that have been generous enough to allow our bases to squat on their territory. Of course we told them we would only inhabit a particular patch of real estate for a few years and give it back, but everyone involved knew the truth.

So in order to keep the pretense of mutual compromise I decided to play in the US/Qatar Volleyball games held at one of their sports complexes. What a jovial time we all had putting a team together three weeks before the tournament, practicing a few times and then showing up to find out they put their semi pro team into the military in order to play us. Again as Viceroy I understand the mental aspect of losing small battles in order to win large ones.

Our record over the course of the tournament is of no importance. Good times were had by all, and the seed of friendship was planted for generations to come.

One sour note of sedition was perpetrated on your beloved ambassador of fun during the last game. The opposing teams 'ringer', a mountain of a man who was at least 17 feet tall, spiked the ball into my face. Let me retell what I remember. I was in the back row playing defense when I saw the Qatar setter get under the ball and place it with a perfect arch four feet above the net. Next came a propeller like sound of an arm cutting through the air on it's way to make contact with the ball. The next thing I know I hear a loud explosion, followed by me questioning why the ceiling in my line of sight. A very important fact was that I hear the hit before I got knocked out, this tells me the ball didn't break the sound barrier, but I'm sure it was close.

Fostering the masses to move

Tomorrow will mark the start of the 'revolution', the beginning of change for all those who've wished for it. The day all is set right and harmony will reign throughout the cosmos. Maybe, or it could just be another Friday.

No longer will I live in the here, live in the now. No, today is the day I release all that ones elders told us to achieve. De-evoloution is on the menu and I'm ordering it Biggie Sized. Mature they said, grow up and learn to become a man, be a productive member of society and make us proud. Nuts to that, life's to short and you only have one. (You know, until someone figures out which religion won and lets me know.)

My plan is to restore meaning while forgetting accountability. Practice efficiency without using the crouch of standards. Set no minimum or maximum, learn adjust, use practicalities except when they are needed most. To become an open book as opposed to an open manual, my 'how to operate' chapter shall be blank. The only rules that have any meaning are my own.

The art of the wordsmith completely escapes me. My higher plan is far below the curve, mostly because of a ridicules idea of enlightened reason. Could I even become a member of 'the middle' if I tried?