That's it, I'm Not Breeding. Ever.

An eighteen-year-old New Jersey girl is trying to sue her parents for tuition after she moved out. Not just for tuition to continue her 3.5 GPA at a private school (that's it? 3.5? I beat that and I skipped most of my Junior year), but also to support her financially while she attends the college of her choice.
Even the Commie News Network has a field day with this... relatively speaking. The only therapy the parents need is someone explaining to them that being a "liberal, liberal parent" (quote from the father, find the source yourself) isn't exactly a good thing.

Holy heavenly monkey-fuck, how do you go that wrong in raising a child?

If I have to explain to you what's wrong with her lawsuit, we're going to be here all day. Instead, let's focus on how truly and deeply the parents have failed. Let's compare her and her upbringing to me and mine, because I feel like pointing out how awesome I am compared to this miserable waste of carbon whose greatest contribution to society is and shall ever remain the mockery we make of her.

The first time I was kicked out of my father's house, I was twelve years old (give or take; it was the end of fourth grade). Vague allegations of abuse like this girl's making? Nope - I can rattle off a list of abusive things my step-mother did. Damn shame I never mentioned it at school when I was getting into fights, suspended, and eventually expelled. Actual events, though by this point I don't remember the dates - nor do I care to. That's a lot more than this girl's got, apparently. I moved in with my mother in Bowling Green, OH, and my father pulled me back after she moved to Chicago. The second time I moved out, it was all on me and it was my decision. I was fifteen-sixteenish (look, eight years is a long time if you've been in the Army for seven of them and if I was good at math I'd never have re-upped), and wanted to move out because my father was remarrying and I saw a lot of similarities between that woman and my first stepmother. I didn't wait to give her the benefit of the doubt, which it turns out I should have 'cause my mother was a verbally and emotionally abusive alcoholic. The fallout from that is still playing out; our relationship hasn't quite recovered from it. That lasted about a year and a half before I moved back in with my father and new stepmother. That lasted about a year and a half (until I was nineteen) before it became apparent to all involved that I really should get out on my own.

Compared to my backstory, this girl - cheerleader, honors student, attends private schools, has lived in a liberal household where her parents tried to be her friends - has been living a goddamned fairytale dream life. It's time for her to wake up.

While I was living with my father and stepmother, especially after I turned eighteen, there was a contract of sorts - much like, I imagine, these parents provided for their precious little snowflake crotch-fruit daughter. I was expected to (shock! horror!) do the chores in exchange for room and board. Not a bad deal, really; I was pretty much just a live-in housekeeper with no pay but all the amenities you could ask for. Hell, they even helped me with college tuition in exchange for my labor - which I suppose balances out when you compare my story with this girl's, because I never got to attend a fancy private school.
... Well, except for the one I got kicked out of in the first grade. It was a Catholic school, and the nuns thought I was the Anti-Christ.
I got kicked out of a lot of schools growing up.

It never once occurred to me, despite my upbringing being a whole lot less privileged and pleasant than this girl's, to sue my parents. The fact that this case made it as far as it has (the judge didn't throw all of it out, more's the pity) is a disgrace not only for her and her parents, but the New Jersey legal system. Here's the fun thing about being an adult, kids: You are independent. Your parents owe you nothing. They brought you into this world and spent a hell of a lot of money raising you. They don't owe you a goddamn dime after you turn eighteen and become a legal adult. The fact that these parents failed to instill this value in their daughter, the fact that they were incapable of drilling through her mildly-intelligent brain the nature of 'independence' and 'adulthood' disgusts me.

Getting Out

First and foremost, I am not getting out because the deployment and operations tempo was too much. I'm not getting out because I couldn't stand going to foreign countries with absolutely miserable weather and even more miserable people. I'm not getting out because the pay's too low or because the sergeants were mean to me or any of that pissy shit. I joined because I was a believer, and I'm leaving because I am not. Not anymore.

I'm getting out because I've realized something. Something important, something crucial, a fundamental flaw in what I was trying to do. I joined the Army to serve my country and defend liberty, but the only means the military force can serve that end is through coercive force (whether it be violence or merely the threat) - and it can only do so in the final extremity. The military cannot protect freedom, it can only - through coercion - create an environment wherein free men might institute a government that safeguards and fosters their natural rights. That oft-repeated and cherished myth that the military fights for your freedom is... just that. It's a myth. It's fallacious. The military can no more create freedom than can that thug on the corner with the pistol (commonly referred to as a 'police officer'). The threat of force does not and cannot make someone free. The only thing we can do is intimidate and kill those who threaten freedoms. Unfortunately, while we pursue those who threaten American liberty with all the eager grace of a hippopotamus, Americans have been steadily losing the struggle for liberty on the home front.

I'm getting out because of Americans. I'm getting out because they are unworthy. I'm getting out because America would rather be coddled, taken care of, looked after, and feel safe than live in the dangerous, risky, real world. I'm getting out of the Army because Americans no longer want to be free men, because the most fervent desire, the secret hope of the majority of this country is that they no longer need suffer the burdens of freedom. I understand - I really do. I understand their cowardice, their complacence, their short-sighted, narrow-minded, desperate and burning need to feel safe in this scary, scary world.

I do, after all, recall being a small child.

I am no longer a child. Neither is anyone in this country with the right to the vote, at least not physically or legally. However, I am neither the parent nor legal guardian of the American people. I will not accept the responsibility of their protection whilst also being beholden to their insane whims. I will not fight for them, will not put my life on the line for their liberties while they vote again and again to put into power those whose sole objective is the subversion of the Constitution, which James Madison wrote to limit the powers of the government, and in so voting they subvert my every endeavor. I will not fight for a country which has betrayed me time and again, and betrayed everything which I have fought for time and again.

I will not.

At Least it's a Post!

So I saw something that gave me an idea, and I concocted the following recipe:

2 lb. of stewing beef (y'know, the stuff that's chopped up)
4-5 slices of bacon (fried and chopped to pieces)1 diced onion
1 bottle of Blue Moon
4 cups of water
5 cubes of beef bouillon
1/4 cup of flour
1 can of diced tomato
1 teaspoon of brown sugar (to neutralize the acid of the tomato)
1 tablespoon of worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon of salt
1 tablespoon of garlic powder

Brown the meat in oil and butter with the salt and one of the spoons of garlic powder. If you have the bacon fat, it'll substitute nicely for the oil and/or butter. Once the meat's done, throw everything in a pot together and simmer for about two, two and a half hours to reduce the fluid to being about the thickness of gravy and the meat to being tender. Serve atop egg noodles. It'll provide about four-five bowls.

Yeah, I know. Not the sort of rant you expect on this blog, but I have an apartment with a stove and have taken to experimenting in the kitchen.

There's been some new things in my life, too. I'm dating a wonderful girl, have moved out of the barracks, and am in the process of leaving the military. I'm sure I'll go into the leaving-the-military later in another post - and trust me, it's a good-sized rant - but for now, just an awesome stew recipe.

Pun Time!

What do an impotent Japanese man and the Democratic party have in common? Electile disfunction.

This horrible joke brought to you by the historic sweep. Don't worry, though, I'm sure the new boss is pretty much the same as the old boss. Optimism and I are not well acquainted.

Schneppy's List

I found this thing a few days ago. I made it while I was in Iraq.

This is a compilation of the standing orders I've been given during my deployment with C-Btry 2-8 FA. They're all things I've done, things I've plotted to do (but was forbidden from doing before I could carry it out), and things I've seen other people do (but they forbade me from doing it anyhow!).

1. Not allowed to play mind-games with the LT.

2. Not even for science.

3. Not allowed to drive an armored vehicle halfway across Iraq without a driver's license, civilian or otherwise.

4. The squirrel does not go to guard mount.

5. It does not "Help to give the voices a face."

6. The squirrel does not countermand any orders from the Sergeant of the Guard.

7. When the SoG calls for the hourly radio check, the proper response is "Tower Two, lima charlie," not "Tower Two, just as loud and clear as it was twenty minutes ago." Even if the last one was only twenty minutes ago.

8. I shouldn't complain about that pesky SoG keeping me awake all the time.

9. That goes double if the First Sergeant is within earshot.

10. If I find a camel spider in my tower, I should kill it dead.

11. I shouldn't call my battle buddy over to rescue me from the Spanglish-spouting drunken camel spider that has me trapped by hanging out near the ladder.

12. If a buddy does the above to me, I'm not supposed to sit there and laugh before telling the arachnid where the buddy's bunk is.

13. Using my weapon to kill a camel spider is not a good idea. It'll probably die, but the chain of command gets cranky.

14. Using my weapon and not killing the camel spider is a worse idea. Now I have both the chain of command and a camel spider cranky at me.

15. If at any time I show up for mission with tinfoil in my ACH, I stay home today.

16. When the Brigade psychiatrist stops by, I'm to give Chief all my tinfoil.

17. Not allowed to lie to the Brigade psychiatrist to pretend to be 'five different flavors of crazy'.

18. Not allowed to lie to the Brigade psychiatrist to pretend to be sane. Even Automatic Six knows I'm not.

19. Each of my personalities does not get an interview with the Brigade psychiatrist. We have to share the one I get.

20. Even if she's the only female I've seen in two months.

21. Getting "Steel on Steel" with the RQ-11B Raven on the instructor's vehicle is a bad thing. That means I should stop bragging about it.

22. Even if it was my first time flying that $40,000 lawn dart and the look on his face was really funny.

23. Don't refer to the row of parked personal vehicles as a "Landing strip."

24. I'm to hand the controls over to my Mission Operator when it comes landing time. It's just better that way.

25. I need to eventually run out of new and interesting mistakes to make. The creativity and energy I put into them has much more constructive outlets that I should look into.

26. When anyone above the rank of O-7 visits the COP, I'm to go out by Tower Four and do my ninja impression until he leaves.

27. During an air-assault mission, not allowed to threaten to "Spew my guts all over this bird and everyone in it - even the pilot!" when the ride gets a little choppy.

28. Don't carry out the above threat again.

29. Think about it for thirty seconds, then say it.

30. "Thingie" is not a technical term.

31. Don't paint sillhouettes of animals I've run over on the door of my truck (Simpson, not me - they don't let me drive).

32. If the thought of something makes me giggle for longer than 10 seconds, I am to assume that I'm not allowed to do it. (Apparently, the LT's read Skippy's List).

33. During a room inspection, I really shouldn't have porn playing on my computer with the sound turned up.

34. My collection of miniatures does not need to be on display for a room inspection.

35. Especially not in formations.

36. I am the "Designated Alibi." That means I should stay out of trouble at least more often than the other savages.

37. Sunlight does not burn my skin like acid.

38. I shouldn't write "All work and no play make Schnepp a dull boy" all over my walls again just because it's the fourth month of night and I'm starting to get cabin fever.

39. When they put out the call for a new name for C-Battery, don't volunteer things like "Cannibals," "Criminals," "Cavemen," or "Convicts" no matter how accurate a descriptor it is.

40. Don't ask about that "Cannibals" thing. What happens in the field, stays in the field.

41. I shouldn't threaten people with "You're on the List now".

42. By now, they're all on it at least twice.

43. Circled and underlined for McWilliams.

44. When another soldier asks if he's on the List, I shouldn't reply with, "Are you in the phone book?"

45. Not supposed to announce who's made the "Top Five" on the List. That's the kind of thing people are happier not knowing.

46. I shouldn't complain about having never been "killed" during wargames.

47. When someone says that C-Btry's the best, not supposed to laugh out loud. It's actually true. *Sighs*

48. Think about it for a minute, then say it.

49. When I capture a radio off of OPFOR, don't call up "I'm in ur base, killin ur manz!" over it. That's just in bad taste.

50. Don't yell "Blood for the Blood God!" during a firefight.

51. Don't get kicked off the range and subsequently banned from coming near the Signal Company just because "The bullet missed, so I sent a few of his buddies to investigate."

52. Don't call them pansies just because they get scared of someone shooting an M16A2 at its cyclic rate of fire at a target at point-blank range.

53. Not allowed to make the new privates sleep outside, just because "I don't like that little shit." It's freezing cold and he's soft and weak.

54. The fact that I can sleep out there with no trouble at all has nothing to do with this. They're soft and weak, remember?

55. I shouldn't refer to Basic Training as Daycare. I'm New Army, it's kinda like making fun of myself.

56. When Alaska Governor and then-Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin says "Hooyah!" (as opposed to "HUA") during our deployment ceremony, do a better job of stifling the giggles.

57. During our mandatory Suicide Prevention classes, I'm not allowed to utter the words "Natural Selection."

58. During our mandatory Equal Opportunity classes, we really shouldn't spend a half-hour swapping politically incorrect jokes.

59. I am not allowed to sing "Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall" to completion over the radio during a 36-hour overwatch.
Again.

60. Talking priveledges are revoked.

61. When the LT asks follow-up questions to the briefing to make sure we know what we're doing, respond with anything other than "I don't know."

62. When we train with paintball rounds, don't aim for the head.

63. I *know* it doesn't have as much body armor, that's why I'm not allowed to aim for it.

64. When we train with paintball rounds, don't aim for the cojones, either.

65. When we train with paintball rounds and find out that FDC's guys playing OPFOR aren't going down until they run out of ammo, aim for the cojones.

66. Don't "Put two in a dead guy, just to make sure" when it's paintballs. At point-blank, those things really hurt... the cojones.

67. Try not to antagonize FDC anymore. They have a purpose in life other than "Cheap slave labor," and a bruised testicle really isn't all that funny.

68. Take less than four hours to zero my weapon. If I can hit a running target in the nuts from across the room, I can hit a stationary sillhouette 300 meters away with at least five out of thirty shots.

69. Being the best with a bayonet doesn't make up for being the second-worst shot in the battery.

70. When everyone else has daggers and hatchets as their backup melee weapon, I shouldn't take a hammer just because "I can tenderize them more" with it.

71. Don't use the hammer on OPFOR.

72. When we're playing OPFOR, don't capture any of the following and turn them on the other battery: A gun truck, their FDC, the chow hall, a platoon sergeant, a crew-served weapon, or a howitzer.
Again.

73. We don't take prisoners, so don't shoot them in a less-than-lethal area and then beat them with the hammer.

74. If we do, it's not for tonight's chow (see #40), even if they are really tender and juicy now.

75. Don't speculate about how he'd taste roasted over a heating stove in front of the captured OPFOR. I have a reputation, he'll believe it. This is somehow a bad thing.

76. Hazing is illegal in today's Army. That means we should at least wait for the new guys to screw up before giving them "blanket parties."

77. Don't force my superiors to check the limits of their sanity more than once a week.

78. It is not the "Moustache of Power."

79. When I figure out that the Iraqi Army guys who operate in our AO know about it, it is not the "Internationally-Renowned Moustache of Power."

80. The Moustache is not the source of my Samson-like strength.

81. When reporting, it's "Specialist Schnepp, reporting as ordered," not "Schnepp and the 'Stache, reporting as ordered!"

82. When I say something rude, insubordinate, or inappropriate, not allowed to blame it on the Moustache.

83. There are limits to the amount of bloodlust I'm allowed to show.

84. My mix of naivete, rage, and bloodlust is not endearing. It's frightening to the other soldiers. This means I shouldn't ask "Can I shoot it?" so much.

85. If a SERE graduate won't eat it, that's a sign I probably shouldn't.

86. The mess tent is not the "Tomb of Horrors." Don't volunteer a battle-buddy to take point when going into it.
We'll all die anyways.

87. My alter ego is not masked superhero "Moustache Man." I do not have theme music. Take that cape off.

88. Don't ask the Captain if he's gotten into Smoke's 'stash'. That's just a good mood. They happen in sane people every once in a while.

89. Never tell an IA "Mako coswa." He speaks Arabc, he knows what it means.

90. Try not to start, join, or finish a firefight with allied ISF. LT doesn't like paperwork.

91. The 10-second rule of food doesn't apply in Iraq.

92. When taking a psych-eval, don't say "It's not like I can get any crazier since getting to Iraq." Again, paperwork.

93. Never tell my NCO that "Fiki-fiki?" means "How are you?" He's dumb enough to say it to ISF, they speak Arabic, they know what it really means. This gets awkward fast.

94. Don't replace my nametape with "US Terp" just to mess with the new soldiers.

95. The fat kid who paints his toenails doesn't need a sports bra. He's inactive enough that a regular one will do just fine.

96. Accusing fellow soldiers of witchcraft stops being funny about the time I start seriously talking about "Cleansing with fire."

97. When asked to demonstrate "Escalation of Force Procedure" to the new guys, don't just raise my rifle and set it to burst. There are steps to be taken before that; take them. "Escalation of Force" is not "Raise my rifle to give that guy his Darwin Award."

98. "Rules of Engagement" for C-Btry is not "Whatever we can get away with."

99. Detainees are not "Ablative Meat-Shields," nor are they "Polish Mine Detectors." We have to pretend to follow the Geneva Conventions around here.

100. Don't get air with the 5-ton truck. Don't yell "YEE-HAW!" Don't pause in mid-jump to do a commentary on the situation.

101. Must file all requests to communicate with voices outside my head in paperwork to my first-line supervisor twenty-four hours in advance.

SST: Morgan's Mavericks

I picked up one of my orders from eBay, hand-delivered 'cause the seller and I live in the same general area. They were already basecoated a desert brown with a brick red/forest green/black tigerstripe camouflage pattern on one of them.


By spschnepp2 at 2010-10-30

As you can tell, I haven't done a whole lot to 'em yet. I touched up the visors, making them a paler blue (I'll probably wind up redoing them in an attempt at doing that jewel painting technique I've never gotten down, and like as not I'll get some gloss varnish in there just to see how it works out) and drybrushed Bleached Bone over 'em. Painting the corporal's stripes on went surprisingly well, but the sergeant's stripes, not so much. I'm either going to do 'em up in the chocolate chip desert pattern or have 'em all be in the same camouflage as the sergeant, not sure which. They're also going to get some 'battle damage' painted on, mostly in the form of scratched paint (mithril silver for the shiny). I'll get around to writing up some fluff for their squad eventually.