Everything Fixer said in the above post, plus my 2¢.
The day I reported into this lash-up changed my life. Whichever story you choose to believe, that I was left on Fixer's doorstep in a basket with money pinned to my chest (ouch!) (Fixer's version), or that he tracked me down with dogs and chained me up in his basement (my version), doesn't matter. Fixer gave me the best opportunity I have ever had to do a little writing, a little reporting, and hopefully a lot of communicating. As the red & yellow banner on the wall of 1st Bn/8th Marines' comm shack said, "Communications* lends dignity to what would otherwise be considered a brawl".
As much as I would love to mix it up up close and personal with some of the jackholes in this country and its maladministration, this is as close to a great bottle'n chain swingin' brawl with 'em as I'm likely to get, so thank you F-Man.
*Yes, there's an 's'. Refers to the Military Occupational Specialties that tie the battlefield together.
When I got here, I could barely spell 'blog'. I didn't know shit from shinola. Fixer taught me everything. He has given me free rein to do whatever I want to. A brave man! The only - I say again only - editorial direction he has ever given me came when I discovered how to post pictures and consisted of "try to hold down the porn a little", with which direction I have generally complied, mostly.
I absolutely love our masthead and the mortarman waiting for a fire mission metaphor. Thank you to our dear departed friend Lurch, who is still the only blogger I've met in person.
So to continue the metaphor, we lob 'em high, we lob 'em low, max range and danger close, sometimes we get a hit (mortars are 'area fire' weapons, so close is OK), and sometimes we drop one right on our foot. Sometimes the tube gets red-hot and we have to piss on it to cool it off, sometimes we sit and wait. Not often enough. We fire as much High Explosive as we can, but we try to fire a lot of Illume as well.
I could go on and on, but I'll let YouTube provide the visual. Picture one mortar pit in Lawn Guyland and the other in the High Sierra.
Of course, there's a lighter side to this blogging shit, and thank God for it! When I signed on, Mrs. F said it scared her a little how alike me'n Fixer are, which extends to our slightly offbeat senses of humor. Sometimes it goes more like this:
I feel like I've found a home here, and I hope it goes on for a long, long time.
To all our wonderful readers and friends, have a fine Independence Day.
Fixer, try not to blow off the finger ya pick yer nose with...
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