Officer training hadn’t begun where I thought it would or should, but I took it and made the best of the situation. My first meetings with representatives of the newly-re-emerging pagan organizations happened somewhere in the middle of that military training. I was amazed at how immature most of the officer candidates were, and how mature and welcoming most of the pagans were; such a night-and-day contrast.
Month Titles
The last year I had my black Honda Accord, I learned a painful lesson about not having only two large bags of the red Flamin’ Hot Cheetohs for a meal. Unable to find a place with a bathroom in time, I screeched into a parking lot and ran up to a random office building, found the only door within view was locked, dropped my pants right at the top of the concrete steps leading up to it, and shit in full view of the 8-land highway a few feet below my eye level. I covered that office employee entry walkway in what looked like bloody chunky vomit, each clump not unlike the general curly form of the Cheetohs I had just eaten. Defeated, I limped and duck-waddled back to my still-unlocked car, not really caring if anyone had seen me, my burning asshole’s throbbing pain being far too great. Reclining the driver’s seat all the way down, I lied there with my only CD playing on the car’s speakers. This is why the Gladiator movie soundtrack will always remind me of red poop vomit and burning assholes. There are few other times in my life I can remember being in so much discomfort, franticness, hopelessness, and pain. Mixing those red Cheetohs with Ocean Spray apple juice by the bottle was an even worse mistake.
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