Frosted Flakes of Doom

I hate Jeep Wranglers.

They are the capri pants of vehicles.  

Like capris pants, for some reason girls think they are cute, even though they are awkward looking.  This isn’t a rant about capri pants, but if you really think about it, capris don’t follow any normal model of body flattery, there is no contour that even suggests that pants should be hemmed somewhere below the calf, but above the ankle.  That’s like an anatomical no-man’s land.  Much in the same way Wranglers are the antithesis of aerodynamic, they are bulky and boxy, but still manage to have no room inside them whatsoever.  And don’t even try to point out that they have four-door models, now, that’s like saying they have cargo-capris, it’s a stupid solution to a basic problem.

The oddity of their looks suggest a deeper purpose.  If you’re going to have pants or a vehicle that is both impractical and stupid looking, at least it should do something really cool, right?  Wrong.  When I point out what terrible performance Wranglers have, being slow, awful gas milage, requiring premium gasoline, unreliable, no cornering ability, and the most uncomfortable ride since we stopped using horses, their fans are the first people to start talking about how awesome they are off-road.  But NOBODY takes them off road, they bought these big stupid vehicles with their Rubicon axles that cost ten grand, and never ever take them off the pavement.

Jeep Wranglers are go carts that someone convinced the whole world were worth $25,000.  Well not the whole world, mostly just girls and proud homosexuals.  And they get a pass, they’re the only people that can ignore the complete impractibility of Jeeps, and capris.  If you’re a grown straight man, and you own a Jeep Wrangler, I think you have some life decisions that need serious reevaluation.

I don’t know what circumstances lead to him being thrust into the role of teacher, but everyday I go to Academy and have to listen to my lead Drill Instructor try to get through a disjointed, stuttering, incoherent, and anger-filled tirade, I find myself wondering how did you get this job?  And it makes me scared that someday, even though I’m a fireman, that I could be thrust into an equally inappropriate career role for my personality.  Like maybe dog-sitter, or poetry appreciater.

As he stammers and spits his way through sentences, I drift off and think about what celebrity or character trait I could associate to him that would make his image clear to people who haven’t met him.  Sadly, I’m not good at this.  

I think it’s somehow tied in to my inability to do impressions of people, which in itself is quite the character flaw.  A past love of mine was extremely talented at doing impressions, when telling stories about people we knew she would seamlessly transition into their voices and mannerisms. I can’t think of a more horrifying and self-consciousness inducing moment than the time I caught her doing a spot-on impression of me for her brother.  It was not flattering, but impressive nevertheless.

When teaching, or doing his best approximation of teaching he likes to end his sentences with “…what?” as in “The axe handle is made of what?” or he makes everything a question, as in “the hospital is where?” punctuated by an incredulous look, as if to say “this is so obvious, how can you idiots not know this?”  The problem is, the questions are never as straightforward or clearly worded as my examples here.  Because I am me, I have taken to mumbling nonsense answers every time he does this, the other day he said “And in this county we have what?” Me “um, baseball hats? industrial sized blenders?  C’mon man, help me out, is it an idea?  Something I can eat?”  Then he will inevitably give us the answer that was so obvious to him “Headsets!” Oh yeah, how did I not think of that?

And legs have what? Knees! And we use knees for what?  For jumping! Jumping for what?  For Easter Baskets hidden way up high!

He’s older, gray thinning short-cropped hair, fresh gin-blossoms, he’s probably put on fifty pounds since he was a firefighter recruit, and thirty years living in the DC area hasn’t completely erased the telltale hint of redneck drawl on the rare times he gets through a sentence.  And there is this angry sneer that is never all the way gone.  I know he knows that he sucks at being a teacher, and it would be easier to feel bad for him if it weren’t for that sneer, and I know that he will never miss an opportunity to talk down to us.

The reason I can stay mad at this instead of giving him the pity he probably deserves is because every time we get instructions like this

“Ok, you - y’all, need to be out here - in the bays - in your uniform in ten… be in the classroom with your books in five - fifteen - um, ok, take ten minutes and then you better — just be ready to go! …Am I clear? (angry stare)

It completely screws us over, and we get yelled at later not following his bumblefuck instructions.  Of course, my naive idiot classmates never fail to give him the “YES SIR!,” he is looking for, while I am all alone going “NO! Wait, what? Where are we going? What the fuck is even happening?”  Usually he doesn’t hear me, or just leaves me ignored, but this has lead to me being clearly not his favorite recruit.

This isn’t done, but I am being pressured to post something.  So HERE!

My sister called me a heretic in the nicest way possible the other night.  I think I’m just complimented that she thinks that any one would listen to any of my rants long enough to be swayed by my opinions.  Especially my opinions on god and cheesecake.

Talking to my neice the other day, about being single and stuff.  When we were talking about me finding a girl who could appreciate my facist sense of humor she said “good luck finding a girl who hates animals as much as you do.” I said, oh, I’m a total hypocrite about that.  Of course I’m like “I hate dogs” but if I’m on a date, and the girl goes “Oh me too!” I’m like “What the hell is wrong with you!?”

In class yesterday I got a nice reminder why I’m here, and that this is what I want to do.  It was good, because I am constantly reminding myself why maybe I shouldn’t be here.