January 21, 2007 - Sunday

January 21, 2007 - Sunday
military intelligents

Thursday night went out and got shitfaced for a friend's leaving party here in the Crapital. My buddy Rob (wearing the colourful hat next to my long hair in my pics gallery) –bass-player extraordinaire, and heavy user of the word "fuck"– has decided to join the Canadian army. Today he starts basic training with a bunch of 18 to 24 year-olds. Rob is 31. To say that this is ballsy move is putting it deep into the realm of probability.

The way I figured it Rob was put on the planet to play the bass guitar. When I knew him in the band we were in ten-odd years ago he was putting crazy glue in his thumb calluses to harden the pop and thunk of his funky style of playing (perhaps the noxious stuff finally crawled up his blood stream into his brain?). Even in his sleep his fingers were working out positions to slap that F# way up on the fret-board. I fondly remember him in the middle of a gig putting his bass down, calmly walking to the back of the stage where I was drumming and vomiting copiously, before returning to continue playing. Rob even farted bass notes ("bow-pachicka-booow").

Last Thursday he told me that he was put on the planet to join the army. He had sold the bass he had affectionately named "Betty" and was going to pick up an AK-47 instead, citing "A need to fuckin help people."

I asked him what he had to pack for basic training:

-1 pair of white sneakers
-3 pairs of white training socks
("Hang on a second, are you sure you're joining the army? It sound more like an MTV dance competition…"
"Fuck you man.")
-3 Sticks
("What? Three sticks? Don't they have guns or something they can give you?"
"Three sticks of deodorant you fucker")
-3 cans of Kiwi brand shoe-polish
("I find eye-shadow smudges less."
"Fuck you man.")
-3 pairs of track pants
-1 tub of Vaseline
("Anuses get springier the more you use them, I've heard."
"Fuck you man. Can I continue, you fuckin smart-ass?"
"So what's the Vaseline for then?"
"For your weapon man."
"I usually use Nivea Body Milk for my weapon, easier to rinse."
"Fuck you man.")
-1 pair of speedo-style swimming trunks.
("Is that so you can't conceal your weapon?"
"Fuck you man.")
-1 iron
("1 Iron, like for golf?"
"Clothing iron. Fuck you man.")
That night Rob was wearing his extremely white trainers.
"Jesus Rob, those are some white sneakers man." I said
"Yeah, I had to fuckin get them for the army."
"They make you buy extremely white sneakers for basic training –that white?"
"Yes, man."
"You couldn't get something a little more…uh…camouflaged?" I asked
"No man. They have to be white fuckin sneakers."
"Is that so they can easily spot you running around in the bush covered in Vaseline and wearing speedos?"
"Fuck you man. That's not what the Vaseline is for"
"And in basic training will they teach you how to sneak up on someone?"
"That's not in basic training man. That's later on."
"So they won't teach you how to take a man from behind?"
"No man."
"So what's the Vaseline for then?"
"Fuck you man."
"Can i get some advice?" I asked
"Are you going to be an idiot about it?"
"No, it's a serious question."
"All right. What?" he sighed
"So if you're bunkered in a small crawl-space,"
"Yeah?"
"And you discovered the enemy trying to get in..."
"Yeah, what's the fuckin question?"
"Well, what do you think is the best way to repel that person from entering your hole?"
"I'm not talking about this with you anymore."

I'm not a big fan of the military as I think there is something inherently wrong in intentionally learning how to kill somebody. The on-going brain-washing and taking orders from complete fools sounds a little too much like office work for me. I wasn't about to try to discourage Rob though, as he'd already taken a lot of flak (so to speak) about his sudden and wildly insane decision. That being said, if you're going to play the infantry card then I suppose the Canadian Army is the best place to do it. They tend to do the right things.

At the end of the night as we were saying goodbyes:

"People in the army get shot these days, you know." I commented
"I'll fuckin try not to."
"You know, you're going to get a lot of dick-heads screaming orders at you."
"I know man. But I've received a lot worse from nicer people."

And there you have it.