The thing I am most upset about concerning Hilary Clinton and the state Department’s lie about why the attack on the Benghazi compound took place is simple. When Americans die I want the truth because I know the men who are at risk and I could be one of them. If I die I want my children to know the truth and not a fabricated story to fit a political narrative. I don’t want misguided fear or hate to influence the coarse of policy or action. Benghazi was a planned organized assault on Americans not a spontaneous protest about a YouTube video. To lie and say that it was because of the video allows for Americans to have misplaced hatred for innocent people within Libya and not direct it to the real enemies not only of America but to any civilized person on the planet. It makes me sick to know that a secondary attack occurred that day and it was perpetrated against the American people by the the Dept. of State and everyone who knew the truth but perpetuated that fucking lie. Fuck You!!! ‪#‎HillaryClinton‬ and fuck anyone who would support you after finding out the truth. The ‪#‎ArabSpring‬ only gave birth to radical fuckheads like ‪#‎ISIS‬ let ‪#‎EricPrince‬ ‪#‎Blackwater‬ raise an army of patriots to eridicate those homophobic, mysoginist, anti-Semitic, pedophiles because lord knows if it’s a government sanctioned strike it will be ineffective not because we can’t but because the powers in charge; won’t. ‪#‎WarIsaRackett‬ … Brought to you by the good people at the Elk Street Soap Company

For those who dont know #BurningTheFlag can actually be a patriotic event because it is the only way to truly retire it. Here is a quick how to guide

Step 1- Cut the stars from the stripes

Step 2- Burn each separately

If given the proper reverence the burning of the flag is more of a funeral then just the discarding of something that is used and worn.

When I look at the American flag it always moves me because under that flag I have been given the freedom to be the man whom I choose to be and whenever I see old glory doing the finest pole dance in the world it takes me back to when I was in Fallujah losing brothers. I went into a Trak vehicle #YutYat and I saw the flag and it reminded me of why I was there and I felt connected to all the men who fought under it. The American flag gave me strength and purpose in that hour of darkness and question.

In contrast of how I choose to revere and treat this symbol of freedom. I choose to view any burning of the flag as an act of Patriotism because even when done in protest that flag gives those people the freedom to disrespect it. Where else in the world can you burn the standard of your nation and not be incarcerated or worse.

So today I morn the flag that has died but it will give birth to a new flag that will fly with #BaldEagles and #FreeMen

#GodBlessAmerica

I need to start getting my shit together. Im over extending myself because I thought the world was going to rotate around me. Timing though I guess was never my thing. Lets look at things simply… Who are the people that matter. How do I pull through for them. Well for starters I matter because if Im not a healthy human being how can I help a single mother fucker. What does that mean? I think it means sobriety. In all forms which is something that make me want to shoot myself because I fucking love to drink…even mouth wash. Its just so easy falling victim to vice everything is literally at my finger tips but the desire to succeed. Im facing 3 months of unemployment talking about ripping the band-aid off and what will my anesthetic be? Poverty and the inability to afford vice? No thats just the cause of my situation. Clarity? Its hard to have a crystal fucking clear image of what I want when Im standing around home depot waiting to be picked up on a contract or bein’ up in da  Hong Kong club wit my titties out trying to make you holla for a dolla to feed my kids. Of course I could always just go work full time for the Elk Street Soap Company studying the fine art of tight rope walking with the HNIC Eric Kocher AKA Big K AKA Arch Enemy of #BallSawNigger.

It seems while deployed in the sensory deprivation tank that is Kabul I become that Phoenix rising from the ashes that is my civilian life only to explode like a glorious #RWR July 4th final finally fireworks display. I feel depriving myself here in America will not have the same effect rather I feel I become the sea gull begging for food waiting for someone to throw me alca-seltser in which case I will explode but there will be no resurrection just a bloated corpse waiting to be cleaned up like all trash from New Jersey.

In sobriety I fear the angry voice of Hyde barking in the backdrop of my mind can only be silenced by White girls, alcohol and of course actual women. Tomorrow on my road to recovery I think I will go back to fighting at my local gym with my POW crew its been a while but I know that if I’m not sharp I will get smacked around a bit. Then I believe going around looking for work maybe a productive outlet. I would say might be healthy but that leads to inner dialogue which allows Hyde to start screaming to be released and not necessarily on the world but on my true arch enemy… David Casserly. Is this all dramatic effect and just a fun storyline to scare and entertain the people I love and hate. Or is this an honest reflection of self that longs to be heard and understood by the only audience I give a fuck about David Casserly and Beaux Engelbert but choose to share with voyeur’s because its the only way to truly come clean to both men. Whatever it is I should stop posing hypotheticals and just start what ever process of which I decide.

A good Marine is his best when his team has a mission because it means they have been entrusted with getting shit down with Victory or Valhalla as their rewards. Its time to get my team physically and mentally prepared to break us out of the prison we choose to constantly cycle in and out of. Sadly though that prison is the place you can check out any time you like but you can never leave. Unless of course your a fucking nerd and move back to the middle of no where. Pho-k You CaRi-fornia and your fake tits, Ferraris, beaches and blondes. Where the forecast is always a blizzard and the 9th ring of hell known as Los Angeles claims the souls of every Prom Queen that steps off the bus. I know that sounds a little hackey’ and cliche but fuck so is everything else in that town. The only thing faker than the people is the disdain I have for the place because I wouldn’t dock my vessel so close to the sirens call if I didn’t want to crash into the rocks of the Hollywood sign.

Believe it or not this what 69 hours of sobriety sounds like from Mr. Hyde because the man who gives into his baser self is a helluva lot nicer. For when he sins he casts the stones upon himself  and if you find this disturbing a brother of mine once told me “If you want to find out who your real friends are be sober” and if you don’t want any friends at all be out of your fucking mind but god damn bluetooth technology makes everyone look crazy. So I guess telling the truth maybe the best form of insanity we have left.

So there I was sitting poolside at the Roosevelt back in July when I overheard someone talking about how their cousin was going somewhere in Guatamala to bring fresh water to a village of about 120 people. I shared my contact info in hopes to impress the 22 year old Brazilian girl I had started dating as well as potentially spread America through the Dove instead of the rifle. Within a week I was contacted by the project lead Cameron who gave me a quick whats what about the organization and their fundraising goals to green light the project. Fundraising aside he told me he needed volunteers and that hard work lied ahead. So I booked a ticket to Guatamala City for the duration of the project leaving 2 days on the back end for a little R&R post project. I was excited to head down to Guatamala to not only bring fresh water but also open up new business relations, networks and McDonalds franchises seemed like the American thing to do.

As the zero hour approached I started to become hesitant about my decision. I asked myself what my physical presence would provide on this expedition. I may have done some concrete work in the past and a bit general construction but Im no engineer and if it was strong backs they needed where were the working age men in the town. Why help people who wouldn’t ostensibly help themselves? Would my money and time have been better spent donating more money towards the project? Regardless of the excuses I started making for myself I had given my word and people were in need so on September 1st I jumped on the red-eye connected in ATL and landed in Guatamala City about a half hour after the main body. I walked out of the airport and realized my C minus in Spanish 101 wasn’t going to get me far. So I went in search of some patchouli smelling Gringos in Obama t-shirts looking to make a difference. What I found was a bunch of young men looking to help others and find something in themselves.

Im not going to lie and say that I was magically swept away by the country or the culture there is a reason why there is only one flag on the moon. I will say there was natural beauty in the landscape but the towns were less than desirable. When we stopped in Antigua (which was the former capital) and had lunch I noticed that there was charm in the cobble stone streets and Spanish architecture but it was a city in decay and part of that maybe due to the fact that the President and VP were caught embezzling money from a country thats primary exports is Coffee and sugarcane. Which in the past has shown to offer a lower return than the CoCo plant not only from the black market but also from US Aid to combat Narcoterrorism but C’est La Vie.

After a quick walk around the block a delicious lunch washed down with a couple Gallo’s #GuatamalanBeer It was off to La Avellana AKA the village but not that shit movie from M Night Shamalan but the place and people we came to help.

When we arrived at the Well site where the water had been tapped we were met with a parade of young and old literally. Treated to the sounds of Obnoxiously loud Music and Spanish mumbling as we paraded down the 1 and a 1/4 miles that we would be running pipe to the homes and town square. Once in town we supported the local economy by buying some ice cold Gallo’s to beat off the warm evening sat through a few speeches and packed up and headed into Taxisco the comparative big city of which La Avellana would consider itself a rural suburb. Taxisco was very much like many cities I had lived in the past #Fallujah #Ramadi where the streets were dirty and filled with skinny, effeminate brown men the only major difference is none of these guys tried to kill me and my friends. In all honesty I felt absolutely safe. Despite the fact that their was concern for our well being do to the recent political turmoil.

Ill some up the work experience throughout the trip by saying it was a world turned upside. It was the Gringos who got picked up at the Home Depot and road in the back of a pick-up to the job site, we were legal and instead of working for pennies on the dollar (in their case the Quetzale or as we would refer to as pretzels) some of us actually paid to be there. Altruistic tourism its a great way to alleviate yourself of that pesky white guilt. The fringe benefits of it are you can out liberal anyone in the states for actually putting “skin in the game” and the pictures you take with impoverished brown kids will guarantee a right swipe on your Tinder profile. One common mistake that many make when people are so in love with the idea of helping others is they forget to look at the reality of the situation they are in and what caused those people to be there. Being bluntly honest with these good intentioned young men I caught initial scorn I referred to the local populace as uneducated, immigrant, day laborers who couldn’t manage something as important as fresh water without outside help. After a statement like that people asked why I even came on the trip if thats how I saw them. My retort was to bring fresh water to those in need regardless of there disposition.  As cold hearted as my comments may have been to give them anything less would be a disservice and to expect anything more would be an equal disservice because you are giving people unearned credit and anything that is unearned is undervalued and unfair expectations of which people will fall short will produce misdirected ire by expecting to much. #HerosAlwaysFallShort

That very first day on the job my young Padawan’s came to learn there was some wisdom that rang true in my words. For we worked for about 6 hours back filling all the pipe that had been laid up until that point and right before we broke for chow showing up hours late was a fucking John Deere BackHoe. Which they had on loan for 4 days and the hourly rate is 60 dollars an hour American. Once that bad Larry arrived on the job to say everyone was a little disheartened would be an understatement. For anyone who is unaware of the capabilities of that machine what literally took us all morning to complete could have been done in less than 5 min. So after the days work was completed I went to our project leader and voiced my grievances and to his credit he weighed what I said and told me the main reason why we were there was to put a face to the money and let the Guatemalans run the show. I was told to stop being such a Marine and to give into the reality of what it was. I was deflated but if I had learned anything from the Marine Corps it was how to #EmbraceTheSuck. There is something liberating about freeing your mind of responsibility my initial misgivings about the operation came to fruition but now I was here and I decided to make the best of it. As the next few days past more villagers and a good amount of children came out and were apart of the project even after we would go back to Taxisco and get some sleep more villagers would toil through the night. Reflecting back maybe there lack of presence during the day was potentially due to other work requirements or maybe it was due to the political upheaval I cant confirm or deny that but on the last day of having the tractor I’ll be god dammed if we as a collective team didn’t accomplish the mission. #MarinesAlwaysAccomplishTheMission. With that said  I understand just giving people a blank check without putting a face to the money the project wouldn’t be respected the same way. My one real criticism was the mission wasn’t completed in the most efficient way and in not doing so I feel we failed to educate them in the proper implementation of resources so that what would appear to be future Herculean tasks could be completed using less man-power and time but fuck it they now have fresh water.

After leaving the village and heading back for our last night in Taxisco which happened to correspond with the night prior to the election. We walked home from a dinner and oddly enough some of  the crew met up with some local doctors and lawyers some of whom had lived in the states and were invited in for some beers. After about 20 min of wondering where they went myself and another from my crew went into the house to say hello and grab the key to get back to the hostel. We were greeted with smiles offered some Gallo’s but something wasn’t sitting right with me. After one gregarious

The thing I found most entertaining about the entire experience is the turn in the men I worked with.