Wednesday, October 05, 2005

AAFES Goes All the Way, Baby!

06 October 2005

Well, another Ramadan is upon us here in the humble war-torn country of Iraq. As always this time of year, we are expecting celebratory incoming mortars and rockets and such. The insurgents fast all day from sunup to sundown and then after sundown, once they’ve got a full belly, they are off with the boys and a trunk full of party favors to send our way.

A few days ago, seems like our side started the celebrations a bit early. Some of the “newbies” that weren’t here when we were experiencing all the incoming last year were a bit unnerved at the sound of about three hours of outgoing. It’s easy; if it is booming in fairly regular intervals and no smoke and dirt is rising from anywhere on base, it’s almost a safe bet that it’s outgoing.

Incoming is usually in fits of three or five (this is only an example; your own mortar reception may vary depending upon location and degree of taunting from the locals). Besides, if it was incoming, you would have helos in the air like mosquitoes at some point and time. Since we have had the blimps up, these kinds of attacks are noted quickly and any remaining burning desire of said knuckleheads will be soon extinguished (along with their burning carcasses and get-away vehicles).

Sometimes this explanation still doesn’t settle the questions of the newbies and I have to tell them, “Look, what the hell do I look like, the frickin’ Shell Answer Man?” To which I get a screwed up look back at me if they’re under 40 years old. It’s what my Ma used to say to us when we’d ask too many questions. We just exist here; we don’t know every noise that goes on here…although Eve had the $1,000,000 answer the other night for her roommate.

As you probably know if you’re reading this, General Order #1 strictly forbids anything that might be pleasurable here in Iraq. This might include drink, fraternization and any said activity that might relieve everyday frustration. If the Mayor’s Cell could muster it, I’m sure they would have their very own fleet of Dementors…if only to borrow them from Azkaban for the remainder of this military action. Let’s just suck any happy thoughts completely out of your mind!

Eve’s new roomie having not been here long enough to have heard the whiz-bang sounds of incoming stuff, pulled her headphones off because she thought that she heard booming and such. Well, it was booming and such of a sort, (hopefully, even some rockets red glare if they were lucky), but from the other side of their 2X2 paneled wall-partition in the trailer. Bet *that* was a surprise, huh? Her only remark was something to the effect of that she thought she left those sounds behind in college!

Later, a group of us were contemplating that for such a rabidly forbidden activity, the PX certainly makes sure to provide for those moments when two consenting individuals carnal needs can no longer be chained back. There is probably a better selection of condoms in the PX than selection of hand creams and sanitizers!

Maybe the next trailer they open here on base shouldn’t be another fast food joint, but a “Lover’s Lane” trailer. I’m sure the strawberry or banana flavored edible underwear would provide better nutrition than some of the crap that is passed off for food at the chow hall! Or maybe some chocolate body paints? Mmmmmmm. Then maybe some canned whip cream and maraschino cherries to top the evening off. Beats the hell out of a bad pizza and a case of heartburn topped off with a couple of Tums for dessert!

Besides, they’re the ones that are trying to fill “the needs” of the soldiers here. “We go where you go,” is AAFES motto. Guess maybe they may need to change their banner “We go where you go…All the way, baby!”
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