Ass

Ass. I have it. Literally.

I know what you’re thinking: “Sure, Rants. You always have the ass. About something, someone, nothing or just the need to vent your Neandertal inner rage.” Quite true, I say, you’re correct. This blog is ass-powered, and life keeps on refueling me, often in the form of fucktards who insist on inflicting themselves upon my consciousness.

However, what I’m really getting at here is something that I actually own. A physical possession.

I know what you’re thinking now: “Rants, you’re the fucktard. Only horribly deformed or mangled folks do not have asses. Clearly you’re fit for Active Duty in the Army, ergo you have an ass.” Again, friend, you’re entirely correct. I have an ass, and as I type this I am holding it down with my entire upper body against a chair seat to prevent it from getting out of control and harming itself or – worse – others.

However – again – that’s still not what I’m getting at. Curious yet? Hmmmm? Bigger than an elephant? Smaller than a breadbox? Wait…

Okay, the story is as follows: One bright, sunny day I was walking to work in Afghanistan. I’d just come through the flowery field with puppies and glitter-coated bunnies (actually I walked by the sewage treatment pond right next to the barracks) and was thinking up some choice phrases with which to verbally and / or electronically impale the collection of jackwagons I often hand to interact with. Note here that in both the location setting and my mental setting, I was being prepared.

Just prior to playing Dodge, Dive, Duck, Dodge (or, crossing the street where the contract Indonesian drivers hauled supplies), I noted they were rebuilding a wall demolished by an incoming dud rocket. Of note, Afghans are wizards at making things out of dirt. They are arguably the best stack-stone wall builders on Earth, and have the adobe concept down cold. On this day, we were talking real kiln-fired bricks though.

Five paces from my daily brush with diesel-fueled death, there it was among the pile of bricks waiting to be used. Amazingly, it even looked like it was posed, display-window style. Just another brick in the wall-to-be, perhaps, but this one was clearly special. Afghan brickmakers normaly press their company symbol into the material before firing them, and I’d seen a wide variety of differing logos and initials. Today was my lucky day, apparently, because this gem of a find was made by the Afghanistan Soil Smooshing Company (yeah, I’m guessing here). In other words, I’d found a brick that said, ‘ass.’

The Ass. I have it. It is mine.

I made it mine without hesitation. It sat on my desk the remainder of my tour as a warning. Now it is my favorite doorstop.

I have a brick of solid ass.

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24 Responses to “Ass”

  1. Okay, that’s awesome. You have solidified your place in the awesomeness hall of fame.

  2. Is it a smart Ass? If you call it “Jack,” would it be Jack Ass? And if you get mad, would you kick Ass?

  3. whiteladyinthehood Says:

    What a nice piece of ass you have…(?) That sounds dirty..What a cool ass you have..(?) tsk..tsk…Only you would have a post about ass…but is definitely, kick~ass…

  4. I’m guessing this is the Kandahar sewer treatment area? Lovely! I’ve heard stories… And that is probably the most awesome chunk of ass I’ve seen!

  5. Everyone else already made ass puns, so…rock on!

  6. Whoa. You have some SERIOUS ass there on the desk Rants.
    Care to catch a drink tonight 😉

    As for me personally? I’m so white (Hebe and Irish).. got no junk in my trunk

    Fun post 🙂

  7. Bad ass! Going back to Afghanistan with you?

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