Opinion: The Army Gave Me Drugs And It Was The Best Day Of My Life

So I had surgery this week. Nothing crazy, but enough to put me on some serious medication for a while. Let me tell you, greatest day of my life man. I fucking love the Army. These big old pills for pain, then some others to help me sleep well. I guess those are for when all the vodka shots don’t make me pass out then the pills can finish me off. I decided to take it easy, since First Sergeant says I don’t have to show up to work for the next few days. Convalescent leave or something. Who the hell cares? This morning I rubbed one out in the gang shower of my barracks while all those other poor fuckers were in the motor pool picking up cigarette butts and listening to Sergeant Major justify his existence. I think I must have passed out though. Woke up naked on the tile floor. Probably gonna get hepatitis or some shit. Water was cold as fuck, and there’s a bruise on my head. Good thing the Army gave me all those pain killers. Wash a few down with a beer and I’m good to go. Spent the next two hours dominating Black Ops II online. Yelled at some little fuckers who don’t know what real war is like. This was shaping up to be a great night. The only thing that really worried me was the Percocet. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a soldier in the depths of a ‘Perc binge. And I knew I'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon. Probably after the next round. Later on my buddy Rich and I decided to go on a late night liquor run. At least that’s what it started as. Next thing I know we’re blowing through the main gate at 75 mph in our platoon sergeant’s stolen El Camino, ready for fucking war. We had two M-4's with 320 grenade launchers, coupla’ crates of 5.56, two frag grenades, some psychedelic pyro, a 9mm pistol with three clips, a whole galaxy of multi-colored 40mm rounds: HE, HEDP, smoke, flechette... and for some reason, three 60mm mortar rounds and a bayonet. Not that we needed all that to go score some hooch, but once you get locked into a combat mindset, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. The night air felt fantastic. I hadn’t tripped like that since Kandahar back in ’09. Of course psychedelics were almost irrelevant in a town where you could wander into a marketplace any time in the day or night and witness a six-year old boy wearing makeup and eyeliner. We managed to make it to the liquor store with only a minor fender bender and zero civilian casualties. That’s when Rich started to lose his shit. “You can’t stop here. This is bat country!” Crazy fuck had been stealing my pills. I couldn’t blame him though. Like my recruiter once told me — the infantry wasn’t a profession or a trade. It’s a cheap catch-all for fuckoffs and misfits. A false doorway to the backside of life, a filthy piss-ridden little hole nailed off by the building inspector, but just deep enough for a wino to curl up from the sidewalk and masturbate like a chimp in a zoo-cage. The rest of the night went by in a blur. The last thing I remember before barreling into the front ECP with a trio of flashing lights and wailing sirens behind us was thinking, “You better take care of me Lord, if you don't you're gonna have me on your hands.” Rich’s last words were somewhat less profound. “Turn the goddamn music up! My heart feels like an alligator!” I knew exactly what he meant. I’ve been in the county lock-up for about 18 hours now waiting for the CO to come bail us out. Shameful? Probably. But what can I say? The Army gave me some drugs. Best day of my life. As ArmyJ's attorney, G-Had advised him to rent a very fast car with no top.

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