Hawk is like a box of of Meals Ready to Eat (MRE); you never know what you are going to get, but you are pretty confident it will make you shit your pants. Eleanor Roosevelt once said, "Learn from the mistakes of others. You can't live long enough to make them all yourself." Kudos to Mrs. Roosevelt for that well articulated adage. She clearly never met Hawk though, because that fucker said, "Hold my beer!"
We are about to embark on another journey with Hawk. The typical paths for mankind are either the straight and narrow or wide and crooked. This does not apply to Hawk though; Hawk is a trailblazer. Hawk came to that proverbial fork in the road, and instead of taking the clearly marked routes, Hawk decided to break brush, butt naked, through thorny vines and poison ivy. Some of you have arrived here and are likely wondering, "What the fuck is OP talking about?" I could tell you to go back and read the Hawk prequels, but I don't think you will. Therefore, I might as well briefly explain Hawk.
Imaging three Service Members are conducting a mounted patrol through Death Valley. They are hours into their trip through Satan's grundle-region, but the vehicle breaks down. They have to abandoned the vehicle and continue on foot. They are exhausted and understand the desert sun is going to rape their souls. They each decided to take one item to assist with surviving the blistering heat. The breakdown is below.

1. Marine: Water
2. Sailor: Food
3. Hawk: Car Door

The three men travel for hours before deciding to take a much needed break; it's Death Valley people! The break was the first opportunity they had to discuss the item each person brought, and elaborate on why they chose said item.

1. Marine: I brought water in the event we get thirsty.
2. Sailor: I brought food in the event we needed energy.
3. Hawk: I brought the car door. We can roll down the windows when it gets hot outside.

Hey OP, did this really happen? No. I repurposed a Polish joke. I don't mean to be rude, but my intent was not to make you laugh. I am merely doing my best to explain how unbelievably oblivious Hawk is to commonsense or a rational thought process. It may have been a joke, but shit like this is perfectly feasible for Hawk. Still not convinced? I will assume the majority of us have played at least one video game in our life in which were able to create a character. The game is irrelevant. Imagine you have a total of 100 points to allocate between Attack, Speed, Confidence, Power, and Stupidity. Now imagine allocating all 100 points to Stupidity. Trust me when I say the character you created is at least 100 points smarter than Hawk on an Intelligence Quotient (IQ) test. Still don't believe me? Read the other stories. If you don't believe me after that, I simply want to say I am sorry. I am sorry you now know I am posting about you on Reddit Hawk.
The setting is Iraq. I was a leader at war with the terrorist that inhabited Iraq, and the nearly constant stupidity Hawk continually displayed. Hawk has just informed me that he had lost his Identification card (ID). Nobody that has lost and ID enjoys it, but please understand that the process is different between civilians and Soldiers. I have never lost one, so I am not entirely certain, but I know they are different. I had to counsel (wrist-slap/discussion) Hawk regarding his lost ID. I needed the Company Commander to counsel Hawk, and sign documentation in order for Hawk to receive a new ID card. We can't simply go to the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) and replace it. The military process requires a couple wrist-slaps and a fuck-ton of paperwork.
The fact that we were deployed made this process more difficult. We did not have the ability to reissue ID cards within our Battalion. We had to venture to a larger Forward Operating Base (FOB) that had an ID card facility. The process was not complicated, but it was certainly a pain in the ass. Our particular Operations Tempo (OPTEMP) did not allow me to send an underpaid babysitter; Hawk was going solo. This would not be a problem with any other Soldier, but this is Hawk. I would feel more comfortable sending my preteen to Michael Jackson's Neverland Ranch for a sleepover than I do sending Hawk anywhere without adult supervision. I was forced to allow Hawk to spread his wings, and pray he didn't fly into a fucking window.
OP: Hawk. You are manifested to leave with Battalion Headquarters (HQ) tomorrow. You will be departing at 1000 hours, but need to report to Battalion HQ tomorrow at 0930. Any questions?
Hawk: No.
It was fucking cut-and-dry. There was no room for subjective mental retardation on behalf of Hawk. I was not requesting a dissertation in thermonuclear astrophysics. I just needed Hawk to exit the rear of the barracks, walk 50 feet, and stand there before 0930. Still, that doesn't mean Hawk wont fuck it up. Hawk was a football-bat in a soccer game. Hawk fucked it up. Hawk mentally computed, "Go to the chow hall at 0900 and eat. Then go to port-a-john at make an underwater sculpture, and then report to the wrong side of the battalion headquarters building around 1000. Cool. Hawk did not maliciously miss the trip, but his potato-brain outwitted himself. I had a Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO) escort Hawk back over to Battalion an manifest him for a for the dinner trip.
This time I had a Team Leader ensure Hawk was properly nestled inside a departing vehicle. All Hawk needed to do was report to the ID card facility and get a new ID card. Too easy. Right? Hawk made it though. I called the ID card facility to ensure Hawk received a new ID card. He did! I was happy, but my confidence in Hawk was short lived. Any confidence in Hawk has an incredibly short shelf-life. The 30-minute trip between Hawk getting a new ID card and arriving back to our FOB was too much.
Hawk enters Team Room
OP: Hawk! Great to have you back brother. Show me your new ID card.
Hawk: Okay Sergeant.
Hawk is rifling through his wallet. No worries. He must have misplaced his new ID card. It's brand-fucking-new. He must have accidentally stowed it in a different spot in his wallet. We waited, and then we waited some more for Hawk to produce a less than one-hour old ID card. No dice though! Hawk lost it. Again.
Hawk: I am going to run back to the vehicles Sergeant. It must have fell out.
I knew better though. I was fairly certain it didn't fall out. I didn't know where it was, but I was fairly certain the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) had better odds of finding the boogieman, than Hawk had of finding his ID car. The race was on! I don't know how the FBI fared, but Hawk failed. I wasn't even mad anymore. Hawk was now just living up to my very low expectations. Still, what the fuck was I going to do as a leader to rectify this situation? We have to repeat the counseling process, and have the Company Commander sign more documents in order to get another ID card. I know it was not purposely lost, but I still have to punish the kid.
I decided to walk in the footsteps of those before me. Hawk was going to make a new ID card. It was not going to be as precise as a real Army ID card, but it would suffice for me. Hawk was going to make his own ID card. The template for his design was going to be the side of an MRE box. His ID card was about to be at least eight inches wide and sixteen inches long. I placed the materials on Hawks bed and instructed him to make a new ID card, loop 550 cord (cordage) through it, and wear it around his neck.
Hawk looked like an idiot walking around the FOB with a billboard sized ID card. It was working though. The door-checker at the chow hall thought it was funny, and Hawk didn't leave his new ID card at the phone-tent or internet-tent either. He went a full two-days until there was an issue. The Regimental Command Sergeant Major (CSM) was at our FOB that day. He wanted to greet the Soldiers and get a general sense of our morale levels. He was not happy when he seen Hawk wearing his giant ID card in the chow hall. I typically spend my days providing very, very detailed guidance to Hawk, and typically expect him to fuck it up anyways. It was a giant kick in the nuts when Hawk pulled a reverse card and gave me instructions.
Hawk: Sergeant OP.
OP: Yes Hawk?
Hawk: I have some guidance for you.
OP: (This is going to be good.) Really? You're going to give me guidance?!? Hit me with it then!
Hawk: The Regimental CSM wants to see you tonight at 2000 hours in the Battalion CSM's office.
OP: Why? (Fuck my tits! I didn't think I did anything wrong, but I was going to find out.)
Hawk: He was mad about my ID card and...
OP: (Cool. We agree on something!) Me too. Seeing how you can't keep track of something that was less than an hour old.
Hawk: The Regimental CSM said my punishment was demeaning and humiliating.
OP: Roger. Thanks for the information.
What the fuck? I understood where the Regimental CSM was coming from, but he was wrong. Hawk is too stupid to be humiliated. Hawk lacks the mental wherewithal to understand he was actively being humiliated. I understand this sounds rude as fuck, but Hawk is just too oblivious to understand when he is the butt of a joke. He is a goldfish brain trapped inside a human body. Making matters worse, Uncle Sam, issued this troglodyte an assault rifle outfitted with a grenade launcher. Fuck. The more I think about it, the more I believe I should be mad at the Regimental CSM for humiliating me by assigning me Hawk, type one each! However, informing the Regimental CSM of this would have gone over like a fart in church.
I immediately informed First Sergeant to ensure he was aware of the situation. First Sergeant had a smile on his face and told me, "I can't wait to go to Battalion with you and see how this plays out." I walked over to Battalion at 1950, and just waited outside the CSM's door. I could hear my Battalion and Regimental CSM bullshitting back-and-forth. It was better than overhearing angry-talk. I knocked on the door at 2000, and was told to come in. First Sergeant accompanied me inside the office as well. I was "on the carpet" in front of "the man" and I was about to have a sizeable chunk of my ass chewed-off without any anesthetic.
OP: Sergeants Majors. How are you doing this evening?
RCSM: Well, I was good until I seen one my Soldiers wearing THE SIDE OF A MRE BOX AS AN ID CARD. That's just humiliating and uncalled for. What made you think this was an acceptable recourse?
OP: He lost his ID card Sergeant Major.
RCSM: (Now a bit more irritated.) Then why didn't you just get him a new ID card then? WHY DID YOU FIND IT ACCEPTABLE TO EMBARRASS HIM?
OP: I did Sergeant Major. He went a couple days ago to get a new card. He had it for less than an hour and lost that one as well. That's why he is walking around with the MRE box ID card.
RCSM: Oh!
BCSM: Hawk is a little different Sergeant Major. (Said with a big grin and a chuckle.)
First Sergeant: That is an understatement Sergeant Major!
RCSM: What do you mean?
BCSM: Why don't you elaborate OP NICKNAME.
OP: He is an idiot Sergeant Major!
BCSM: (Laughing.) I said elaborate. Why don't you tell him what you told me at the Promotion Board!
OP: Okay Sergeant Major. Please be cognizant that I a merely trying to explain Hawk the best way I know how. Sergeant Major, picture a room with no windows and only one door. Hawk is in that room, with one cat and one dog. I give Hawk very explicit and simple instructions. "Hawk, I will be back in five minutes. Make sure the dog doesn't eat the cat". Sergeant Major, you could go back in that room 30 seconds later and there would be no cat, no dog, a dead fucking elephant and Hawk is clueless about how the fuck it happened. That is Hawk Sergeant Major.
Now 75% of the occupants in the room are laughing hysterically. Guess who is not happy with that analogy? Wrong. The Regimental CSM is laughing. OP. OP is not laughing. The analogy is no longer funny to me at this point. It is a said reality of my life. Hawk is my Soldier. I deal with this heavy mouth-breathing Simple Jack human every single day. I was deployed and there was no reprieve from Hawk.
This is the shit I deal with on a nearly daily basis:
OP: Hawk. Why are you wearing DIFFERENT SOLDIER NAME uniform top?
Hawk: The laundry place fucked up.
OP: What?
Hawk: The laundry facility accidentally gave me DIFFERENT SOLDIERS clothes.
OP: So, rather than take it back and get your shit (LONG "I AM FUCKING DUMBFOUNDED" PAUSE) you decided to just wear another persons clothes?
)YES! Yes, these are the type answers I get in return.)
Hawk: I am not wearing his underwear Sergeant OP. (Hawk smile. The "I am mentally deficient" smile) I am free-balling Sergeant.
OP: Goddamn it Hawk. I bet DIFFERENT SOLDIER will be happy to hear that your dick-meat is funking up his uniform bottoms. Take off his uniform and put on YOUR PT (Physical Training) shorts. Then take his fucking clothes back to the laundry facility and get your shit.
Shit like this is a constant. He fucks up Promotion Boards. He can't keep track of newly printed ID cards for more than an hour. He is now wearing another Soldiers uniform. My god, I have accidentally interrupted him milking his snake while on guard duty. Scratched that, interrupted would imply he stopped. He didn't he continued without missing a stroke. THIS. THIS IS WHY I WAS NOT AMUSED OR LAUGHING!
RCSM: Is it he really that bad Sergeant OP?
OP: Oh No! Sometimes it's worse. We take our dose of Hawk one day at a time Sergeant Major.
BCSM: (Phone Call.) SSG OPERATIONS NCO. Call over to OP's Operations Center (OPCEN). Tell them to send Specialist Hawk over to my office.
The Operations NCO calls back and informs the Battalion CSM that Hawk has arrived at Battalion. The Battalion CSM instructs the Operations NCO to, "send him to my office."
The door to the office is still closed. We can hear the shuffling of feet in the hallway. We are all waiting for Hawk to knock on the door. Who knows, he might even be wearing his own uniform. We wait, and then we wait some more. We finally hear knocking. The knocking was not on Sergeant Majors door though. The knocking echoed from an office down the hall. I am about to excuse myself and go retrieve my "special" Soldier, but the phone rings. It was the Battalion Commander. He is wondering why someone knocked on his door and let himself into his office while he was on a conference call with the Regimental Commander and other Battalion Commanders. It was Hawk! The door sign that said "Command Sergeant Major NAME" must have confused him.
I can see the Regimental CSM now coming to the slow realization that the dead elephant analogy was not intended to be funny at all. It truly, and accurately, described what 5'9 and 150 pounds of stupidity looks like. We again hear the shuffle of feet down the hall, and finally there is a knock at the correct door.
BCSM: Enter!
Hawk just walks in. Then he sees the amount of rank in the room and pauses. He opened his mouth as if he was about to utter something ridiculous stupid, but his brain was smart enough to know better. I personally think he needed to let the abundance of drool escape his mouth.
RCSM: Hawk good to see you again. Glad you are not wearing the largest ID card I have ever seen. Hawk! I have had a conversation with your leadership, and I see why they are irritated with your lack of situational awareness. Son, you need to get your shit together or I will find you a job I am certain you won't like. You understand where I am coming from?
I heard it. He heard it. The Regimental CSM gave a pretty simple warning. "Stop fucking up or else!" All Hawk had to say was "Roger" or "Understood Sergeant Major." Something the Regimental Sergeant Major said must have peaked his interest though. I was about to gently rest my face inside the palm of my hand and wonder what I did in life to deserve this creature. What poor choices led me to this moment in time in which I am truly wondering, "What the fuck are you doing with your life OP?"
Hawk: What's the other job Sergeant Major? (Goddamn it Hawk. Fuck my tits. Why? Fucking why Hawk?)
RCSM: I was implying that you would not want the "other" job. It was a threat Hawk. I will have you sweeping the Regimental headquarters building and pulling Kitchen Patrol (KP) duty for the remainder of the deployment. Get your shit together Hawk. You tracking?
OP BRAIN: Please. Please only utter one word or the name Roger. PLEASE. I beg you.
Hawk: Yes Sergeant Major. (YES. It was a small victory in an otherwise long day.)
RCSM: Hawk. I am going to personally take you over to LARGE FOB tomorrow to get an ID card, and then return you, WITH THE ID CARD, to Sergeant OP.
Hawk: Roger Sergeant Major.
RCSM: Hawk. What happened to the MRE box ID card?
I look at Hawk and I think I see a little turd-nugget exit his wrinkle-grommet (asshole) and tumble down the leg of his trousers and come to rest above his boot. It was either that or his peanut size brain had finally managed to dislodge itself and roll down his neck-hole. It was probably the brain.
Hawk: (Drum roll. The anticipation in the air was as thick as a surgically enhanced Kardashian butt.) Um. Ah. I think I lost it Sergeant Major. I set it on my bed, and when I came back it was gone.
Well, would you look at that. Hawk managed to lose an ID card that was larger than an eight-by-ten sheet of paper. Wow. Just fucking wow.
We were eventually dismissed from the meeting, and returned to the Team Room. I needed to ensure Hawk was prepared to get another ID card while the Regimental CSM babysit. On-the-other-hand, I prayed Hawk acted Hawk-like. I wanted the Regimental CSM to return Hawk back to me, scratching his head, and apologizing for verbally reprimanding me.
Regarding the billboard-sized ID card; Hawk lost it. He said he set it on his bed before walking over to Battalion, and taking a pit-stop in the Battalion Commanders office. I suspect he threw it in the trash and forgot. Maybe the Regimental CSM took it, or trashed it while in the chow hall? Maybe aliens stole it? I don't know. I just know it was never found again. I was not mad though. I just laughed it off. Nothing, and I mean nothing, surprised me if Hawk was involved.
UPDATE: Hawk is still dumb. Hawk will forever be a brainless shell of a human. He is a genuinely a kind and caring person though. He will give you the shirt of his back if you need it. However, you will need to provide step-by-step instructions, and have a bucket-load of patience in order for him to put it back on, inside-out and backwards. Even that would be a small victory though.
Some of you may be happy to know that I reached out to a handful of people I am still in contact with. I currently have 17 stories on-deck. They are not all about Hawk, but he does make retarded cameos in some of the stories. I also have not-funny stories, like my first Improvised Explosive Device (IED) encounter or the time I took a fair amount of mortar shrapnel to the face. Fear not though. I have my own unique way of conveying stories and I assure you there will be at least one chuckle hidden within.
I appreciate all the kind comments, and really enjoy the back-and-forth conversations and story-sharing with you, the Reader. I hope you got a laugh. Be safe, drink beer, take a knee, and face out!
I will continue to spread-out the Hawk stories weekly. The title may change, but there at least three on deck!
07 SEP 20: Hawk's Hot Tub Excursion
14 SEP 20: Hawk Walks Home, IN IRAQ
21 SEP 20: Hawk Drives; We Shoot
​
Cheers!

Going through old issues of the Wrestling Observer Newsletter and posting highlights in my own words, continuing in the footsteps of daprice82. For anyone interested, I highly recommend signing up for the actual site at f4wonline and checking out the full archives.
• PREVIOUS •
1987
FUTURE YEARS ARCHIVE:
The Complete Observer Rewind Archive by daprice82

1-4-1988	1-11-1988	1-18-1988	1-25-1988
2-1-1988	2-8-1988	2-15-1988	2-22-1988
2-29-1988	3-7-1988	3-14-1988	3-21-1988
3-28-1988	*	*	*

• ”This is horrible, Gorilla.” These words open the issue this week, because Wrestlemania IV is in the books and, well, it was not pretty. Dave is flabbergasted by how bad a show it was, wondering if this was a dream or a nightmare that he hasn’t woken up from. Wrestlemania III was the best wrestling production of all time. It may not have had the best card, but it was entertaining all around and the fans loved it. It set Vince up as the king of wrestling, all-powerful over the business. He’s still the king, but he’s definitely not all-powerful, and Crockett absolutely kicked Vince’s ass on March 27. Financials will take time to come in, and of course McMahon will win that measure, but we can flash back to January 24 for an analogue: The Royal Rumble won even though the Bunkhouse Finals made more money.
  
• Preliminary info Dave has gotten from phoning cable companies and hearing from fans at closed-circuit site is that Wrestlemania interest was down by nearly half of last year’s. The buyrate for ppv could be as low as 6 percent, half of WWF’s expected 12% and still way down from last year’s 10.3%. Even so, the PPV gross would be $10.8 million, of which WWF can expect no more than $3.5 million, plus an estimated $2.3 million from a minimum 175,000 (last year had 375,000) at closed-circuit and a live gate of about $ million and an undisclosed site fee from Donald Trump for putting on the show. The early (and I mean early, don’t get attached to these numbers) overall estimate is a total gross of $14 million, with WWF netting maybe $6.5 million, a far cry from the $18 million they were predicting their take would be. How much was because Crockett ran the Clash? How much was because WWF just has been less interesting? It’s hard to say, but Crockett hurt McMahon way more than anyone could have anticipated.
  
• As for the shows themselves, just absolute night and day between them. Crockett’s Clash was a really solid show. It wasn’t as polished a production and only had 30 minutes of wrestling in the first 90 minutes of the show, though this was to allow Sting/Flair to work without commercial breaks so it was an overall benefit. The matches, minus the barbed wire one, were all good. The crowd was into it. Two excellent matches. Probably best to never let Steve Williams talk again, though. The Jim Cornette and Eddie Haskel bit was great and made Bob Uecker and Gene Okerlund look worse than they were. Meanwhile, Wrestlemania made Starrcade 1987 look like Starrcade 1985, and that’s too nice to say even. WWF’s guys, rather than working harder because it was Wrestlemania, opted to phone it in instead because Wrestlemania itself would carry the day. Even Jesse Ventura had no good lines and coasted while Gorilla was like soundbites of his Wrestling Challenge commentary.
  
• Anyway, Dave breaks down the major problems for WWF, as he sees them. 1) Hogan - he’s too over, to the point he overshadows everything else and by booking him as just one of the guys in the field, they completely devalued their star attraction. And instead of putting Randy over at the end, which they need to do if they’re going to try and have him be even close to as over as Hulk has been, they put Liz and Hulk over. “It’s like Randy can’t even order a taxi cab unless Liz tells Hulk to flag down the cab.” 2) Hindsight is always 20/20, but Trump Plaza was a terrible venue for a Wrestlemania, and the crowd just wasn’t a wrestling crowd, so they were not invested at all. 3) Steroids. Dave supposes he’s probably the most hated person in the world among the heavy steroid users in the business because of all the nicknames he gives them, but in all seriousness it was embarrassing to watch so many guys get blown up in a minute or two to where they couldn’t even pace out a five minute match. Like, take out the health issues, take out any sense of blame on the guys, Dave says. The tournament was embarrassing. It wasn’t funny to see the guys fail like this. It was just sad. 4) The tournament as a concept flopped. It gave fans no specific issue to focus on because belts in modern wrestling just don’t mean anything to fans - the real draw is the big personalities, and WWF proved it with this show: the only matches anyone cared about were the ones with Hogan and, to a lesser extent, DiBiase and Savage. 5) Spoilers. Too many people knew the outcome, and giving Savage the title is almost a mistake after you’ve given so many spoilers of your own show. ABC News did a report the morning after, saying “Randy Savage was the winner at Wrestlemania, but of course everyone knew it since the WWF magazine had printed the result three weeks ago. The WWF claims the magazine report was simply a typographical error.” Anyway, Dave is sick of people blaming him for their wrestling promotions not being able to draw fans at live shows when they aren’t interesting enough. Newsletter subscribers are maybe 0.002% of the viewing audience - if all Dave’s subscribers quit watching nobody would notice in the viewing numbers. Meanwhile, the fans who read newsletters are probably the most dedicated and put more money into the business than the “marks” do and will be the ones stubbornly holding on to the end if the business somehow were to die. So don’t blame Dave if your show sucks and your creative is bad and you give away your finish weeks ahead of time and don’t even bother changing it.
  
• Anyway, Wrestlemania preliminary numbers time. About 540,000 homes on PPV, plus 195,000 through closed-circuit, as far as the U.S. goes. They did just 95 closed-circuit sites in the U.S., 39 of which had less than 2,000 capacity. No word on Crockett’s ratings, but if they hit a 5 on TBS that’s about 2 million homes.
  
• So all that said, time to look at the Wrestlemania card. Good production, particularly the opening graphics, but not as far ahead of Crockett as last year now that they’ve upped their game. Battle royal started hot and quickly became your standard boring battle royal. The Hart/Badnews angle at the end saves the match from a dud and gets it half a star. DiBiase vs. Duggan was real slow for a five minute match, and Duggan no longer resembles the worker he was in UWF/Mid-South just a couple years ago. Very little heat. 1.5 stars. Muraco vs. Bravo gets half a star, and both were blown up by the double clothesline like they’d wrestled a hard 20 minutes, but the whole match was under 5. Valentine vs. Steamboat saw Valentine look tired and old, and just not have his famed longevity anymore. Good finish, solid work even with the timing issues. Steamboat coming out with his son and being able to be lost in the moment of just being a proud father was “a tremendous sight” for Dave. 2.25 stars. Savage vs. Reed got a pop for the finish but nothing else, really. 1 star. One Man Gang vs. Bam Bam Bigelow wasn’t good. It was obvious how bad Bigelow’s knee was, and that takes away his agility, which is the thing that sets him apart. Dave says this is a -1.5 star match in a vacuum, but considering Bam Bam’s condition he’s not going to rate it that low and calls it a dud instead. Rick Rude vs. Jake Roberts was a 15 minute draw and Dave hated it. He hated Rude’s tights, the many long rest holds, the fact that there just weren’t any moves in there to pop the crowd, and the fact that the crowd chanted boring. Worst match of the year candidate. -2 stars. Ultimate Warrior blew up before he entered the ring for his match with Hercules and the match was bad. -1.5 stars, and Dave says it was worse than Rude vs. Roberts, but gets a better rating for knowing when to be done quick and not overstaying its welcome like the other match did.
  

Watch: Cleanse your palate with Hogan’s weird promo from Wrestlemania about faultlines and Donald Trump caring about his family

• Wrestlemania continued, because holy shit that was a really long paragraph and we needed an intermission. Round two saw Hogan and Andre go to a double disqualification to start off. Andre could barely stand by two and a half minutes in. Lots of shenanigans, Virgil took a nasty suplex on the floor where Hulk didn’t protect him at all, but there’s a glimmer of a future face push for him at least. Maybe his father’s a plumber, Dave quips. Half a star if you ignore the posing at the end (dud if you count the posing). But really, the crowd came to see Hogan pose. DiBiase vs. Muraco had no heat but decent action for its short stay. 1.5 stars. Savage vs. Valentine was good, well-paced with good action. 2.5 stars. Beefer vs. Honkytonk Man amazed Dave since neither was over at all when both usually are decently over. Sherri Martel made more noise than the entire audience. Loads of shenanigans, Beefer’s new haircut makes him look like a Davey Boy Smith with less wrestling ability, dud. Islanders and Heenan vs. Koko and the Bulldogs had some decent comedy and started okay, but got boring quick. 1.25 stars. Savage vs. One Man Gang was watchable but the finish sucked. Half a star. Demolition vs. Santana and Martel was solid throughout, although the crowd seemed on Demolition’s side. If the crowd had been responsive this would have been a really good match rather than just pretty good at 2.5 stars. DiBiase vs. Savage saw the crowd missing “two top-flight guys trying to work a good match” because they were watching the entrance waiting for Hogan. Savage sends Liz to get Hogan, Hogan evens the odds, Savage wins, Hogan must pose. 2.25 stars. Once round two started, the show was pretty decent, Dave thinks, just the first half of the show wasn’t RestholdMania, but Rigor Mortis Mania.
  
• Over in Crockett Country, it’s a whole different story. They drew 6,000 fans to the Greensboro Coliseum, and all six thousand were champing at the bit for the show, which created a great energy that the wrestlers fed on for their matches. Rotunda retained the TV Title against Jimmy Garvin in the amateur rules match with a one-count pin, pinning Garvin a minute into the second round. 2.5 stars. The Midnight Express beat the Fantastics by DQ to retain the U.S. Tag Titles in a classic Memphis style brawl that was so action packed the cameras missed a lot of it. Dave gives them 4.25 stars, saying the action earned it 4.5, but the overused finish with the over the top rope throw and the referee reversing the decision lost it half a star, but then the post-match action with Corette lashing Bobby Fulton’s back with a belt got it back a quarter star. Dusty and the Road Warriors (the Rhode Warriors, I almost typed) beat Warlord and Barbarian and Ivan Koloff in a real short barbed wire match, and Dave notes the resemblance between Dudty wearing facepaint and a black t-shirt and Dump Matsumoto (with the notable difference that Dump is prettier). Ivan was bleeding after 20 seconds and Dusty after 90. Dave hates these matches - everyone gets all cautious and careful and stays in the center of the ring, so nothing really happens. 1 star. Luger and Barry Windham beat Arn and Tully for the NWA Tag Titles. Good match all around, 3.5 stars. Flair and Sting had a 45 minute draw for the NWA Title in a match of the year candidate. Slow pace to start, but the heat kept up and they weren’t dull and Flair sold the hell out of every rest hold. Jim Ross and Tony Schiavone did fantastic work on this, particularly Ross who sold the intensity and importance of the match, which was critical for the first half (if only he were still able to do that today). There were supposed to be three judges, but there were five people at the table, only two of them didn’t vote, so no idea what the point there was. Anyway, Patty Mullen (Penthouse Pet of the year and who had been on Ric’s arm the night before on tv) picked Flair. Gary Juster, former NWA promoter, voted for Sting. Sandy Scott then ruled it a draw, and nothing came of the judging gimmick which made it utterly pointless. 4.75 stars
  

Watch: Clash of the Champions. I’ve set it to start with the Steve Williams promo because it needs to be heard to be believed

• During Clash of the Champions, after the first match, there was an ad on TBS for the WWF 900 number advertising play-by-play for Wrestlemania. WWF managed to get an ad on TBS during Crockett’s big special, and that’s hilarious. They also ran the first ad for the new Four Horsemen vitamins, which was hilarious but unintentionally so, and Dave thinks they aren’t going to sell a lot of those vitamins.
  
• Last week Dave teased a big story, and it’s that Crockett has been negotiating with Ken Mantell of World Class Dave didn’t give any details beyond the tease last week because he was hoping to get more before press time. He promises to never note a major story the way he did again without giving more details up front, because he expected more details to break before he had to print copy but it didn’t. Anyway, negotiations have been ongoing for ten days and there are conflicting reports. Crockett’s goal is taking over World Class the way they did Florida, getting the valuable channel 11 time slot on Saturday nights in Dallas. They’re going to need Fritz on board to complete the deal, though. If it does go through, Kerry and Kevin will have guaranteed work and a push in the NWA, but neither really seems to want the travel, so they’d likely get a deal for local stuff and maybe occasional work in St. Louis. The bottom line everyone needs to consider, though, is that Mantell and Michael Hayes may be the most creative bookers anywhere right now, but they aren’t turning WCCW’s business around and it just may not work out that they can. Dave doesn’t expect a deal done now, but he thinks Mantell and Hayes may give themselves until May to see if their hard work will pay off before considering any offers.
  
• An example of that creative booking is the WCCW title change on March 25 in Dallas. Hayes was at ringside with Kerry while Black Bart and Buddy Roberts were for Parsons. Iceman King Parsons is one of the least likely champions in wrestling history, and the match wasn’t particularly good, but the finish saw the lights go out after Terry Gordy came down, at which point Bart and Roberts used flashlights to blind the fans in the front row so nobody could see what happened. When the lights came back on, Kerry was knocked out in the ring, Hayes was bleeding on the floor, nobody knew who hit whom, and Parsons pinned Kerry to win the belt. They even had Kerry carted out on a stretcher. Dave doesn’t think (and actively prays against) Parsons will hold it for long. Hayes looks like the best prospect (nope. It’s going back to Kerry in May at the Von Erich Memorial Parade of Champions). Also, I just learned that King Parsons is his real legal name. I always thought combining Iceman and King was a weird combo of gimmicks, so that solves a mystery for me.
  

Watch: Iceman King Parsons wins the WCWA World Title

• Eddie Gilbert is leaving Memphis to book for Continental beginning April 10. Continental’s business is bottoming out and it’ll be interesting to see if Gilbert and Missy can get things going there again like they did in Memphis. This also puts Memphis in some dire straits, since the Gilberts were basically all their storylines and they were drawing triple what they had been by giving the Gilberts such big spotlight, so they’re in trouble.
  
• Lanny Poffo, brother of WWF Champion Randy Savage, has a book coming out called Wrestling with Rhyme. It’s a book of poetry coming out in late April and will be available at Walden Books. Man, I remember when Walden went out of business. It was a sad day for me.
  
• The only news Dave has from Japan right now is that Bruiser Brody beat Jumbo Tsuruta for the International Title at Budokan Hall on March 27. Tenryu also retained his PWF Title against Hansen.
  
• Roddy Piper’s latest project is a new film going into production called They Live.
  

Watch: They Live trailer

• A correction on the Bruno Sammartino stuff. WWF isn’t trying to ban Bruno from using his name. They’re trying to ban him from using the trademarked nickname “The Living Legend” in contexts outside WWF. There’s a lot of talk about his radio interview , and some excerpts in the mail section of this issue.
  
• There’s a film in the works about former Olympic and pro wrestler Chris Taylor. Taylor was a 450 lb wrestler from Iowa who won bronze in the 1972 Olympics and died in 1979. A book about him called “The Gentle Giant” is being adapted into a film, currently called “Lean On Me.” That does not wind up being the title, and I can’t find a movie based on him so this might have gotten scrapped. In other biopic news, no word from Hollywood on any upcoming Hulk Hogan movie.
  
• WWF went up to the number 4 slot in the syndicated ratings for the week ending Feb. 28. They had a 10.6 rating, an increase on the previous week. Crockett’s network fell to number 9 with a 7.6.
  
• Paul E. Dangerously firing Joe Pedicino, Gordon Solie, and Boni Blackstone on Pro Wrestling this Week aired this past weekend. It was fantastic stuff, and Paul has cemented himself as one of the top managers in the business. This is all part of a reformatting of the show to a 30 minute format with Pedicino and Patrick Schaeffer (who was the mastermind behind Global doing an IPO to build up a million dollars of operating capital) at the helm, with Schaeffer as the heel commentator.
  
• Crockett had a big angle taped on March 21 that they aired this past Saturday, involving Magnum T.A. Magnum was doing an interview when Tully and J.J. came out, then Barry Windham came out and Tully popped Windham with a hit, then hit Magnum. J.J. was behind Magnum and helped Magnum gently go to ground, then Dusty barged in with a baseball bat and swung for the fences on Tully, then knocks out Jim Crockett without realizing who he’s swinging at when Jim and David Crockett and Rob Garner try to restore order. Jim Cornette did a tearful interview about his “good friend Jim Crockett” and Magnum even bladed, though that last didn’t make it to tv. Later on, Magnum came out and hit Tully with a bat in a match to cause a disqualification. Dave loved the concept here at first because you have to imagine Magnum hates being on the sidelines and wants to be involved to some extent and this gives him something to sink his teeth into. At the same time, “the idea of beating up a cripple, which unfortunately is the reality of the situation” is just kind of pathetic. That said, it’ll draw, and it’ll let Dusty (with Magnum in his corner) push himself as top star once again, and it may even be enough to put heat back on Dusty vs. Tully. Dusty will be suspended for 120 days come Saturday’s tv (taking us into July - will we see the Midnight Rider face Flair at the Bash, Dave wonders), Dusty will return as the Midnight Rider with Magnum at his side, and he’ll likely get the U.S. title in the tournament they’re going to hold in May.
  

Watch: Tully suckerpunches Magnum

• The Oregon State Athletic Commission held a public hearing on March 18. Topics mostly stuck to safety concerns such as cleaning the mats, barriers at ringside, security, mats on the floor by ringside, etc. A lot of wrestlers were there, along with Billy Jack Haynes and Don and Barry Owen. Most of the wrestlers were negative about the Owens’ promotion, with only Tony Borne and Art Crews saying anything positive. Borne testified against the idea of using mats outside the ring, saying it’s not going to help as much as it hurts the visual effect of a spill to the floor. He also said the commission’s drug testing proposal went too far by including painkillers and marijuana on top of cocaine. The commission indicated they’ll be looking at action like the use of chairs in the future and potentially issuing fines. They also clarified their stance on blood: hardway is good, blading is bad. It’s pretty absurd to say that the more dangerous way of getting color is good but blading is bad, but this whole blood thing has become a thing for commissions around the country because blading sounds absolutely insane to people outside the industry, and even Dave has mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, blading is a minor safety issue at best, especially compared to rampant steroid and drug use and nasty bumps. On the other, Dave’s not sure fans are really drawn by excessive bleeding either, and probably actually turns off a large number of potential casual viewers. It doesn’t hurt if kept rare, but it doesn’t help if half the matches have it. And more dangerous to the wrestlers in a blood match than AIDS (they’re more likely to get that from outside activities) is scabies, which Owen’s wrestlers had an outbreak of not too far back. Rip Oliver said he’s gotten scabies four times since July and wound up giving it to his wife and kids on top of it. The outbreak led the Commission to pass a ruling against wrestlers working while they have communicable diseases and that they must notify promoters.
  
• Eddie Gilbert vs. Jerry Lawler on March 21 drew 6,000 fans for Memphis. Gilbert won in what’s being hailed as a great match (and Dave’s heard their match the week before was even better). On tv on March 26 Gilbert acted like he was going to throw fire at Lance Russell, which got Lawler out from backstage in his first tv appearance in a month. They wound up brawling into the parking lot and Gilbert slammed Lawler on the hood of a car, shattering the windshield.
  
• Scott Rechsteiner, using the ring name Scott Steiner, debuted as a babyface in Memphis recently. No mention of peaks or freaks yet.
  
• Some random trivia about AWA Tag champ Paul Diamond. His real name is Tom Boric, and he was born in Winnipeg, you idiots, on May 11, 1961. He played soccer for the Tampa Bay Rowdies in the old North American Soccer League and was drafted sixth in the 1980 collegiate draft by the Calgary Boomers, before getting traded to Tampa in 1982. He stayed until the NASL folded, which is when he got into wrestling.
  
• Anyway, Diamond and Tanaka won the belts because the Midnight Rockers wanted $500 a week guaranteed to stay and Verne doesn’t believe in guaranteed money. They don’t appear to have left yet.
  
• [Continental] Looks like Eddie Gilbert is replacing Robert Fuller and going to be sole booker.
  
• [USA] The other spinoff from the old Continental promotion ran its first big show in Knoxville, drawing a $10,000 gate. Previous sellouts there hit $27,000, to give an indication of relative value there. Not a lot to report about this. Moondog Spot is there as “The Dog.” He’s not a big dog. He’s not a little dog. He’s The Dog.
  
• WCCW drew 1,700 on March 25 for their Dallas show, where Kerry dropped the title to Parsons. The other main event had Michael Hayes vs. Buddy Roberts, and Roberts kept trying to apologize for hitting Hayes, but Hayes wasn’t going to let it slide. Terry Gordy did a run in and broke things up, and told Hayes they sold Angel of Death’s contract so they can all be friends again. Hayes walked out on Gordy, though.
  
• [WCCW] Fabulous Lance keeps getting booked for shows but hasn’t returned. His agent still doesn’t want him to be a heel because it’ll cut down his opportunities for tv and modeling work.
  
• To illustrate how bad business is for World Class, here’s the biggest gate they drew out of three shows last week in Mississippi: $783.
  
• A man named David Peschel of Washington, New Jersey is suing Randy Savage for a million dollars. He alleges that Savage punched and bodyslammed him when he got out of his car at a light to ask Savage for his autograph. He describes Savage as 6’4” and 280 lbs, prompting Dave to ask if this was maybe a different Randy Savage.
  
• Rumor has it that Angelo Poffo put a $1 bet on the Wrestlemania tournament. Apparently, his bet was on Ted DiBiase.
  
• According to a sumo journal in Japan, Futuhaguro is 99% certain he won’t go into pro wrestling. Koji Kitao will debut near the end of 1989 in the AWA, so I’ll put my dollar bet on the 1% chance.
  
• Reader Mike Rodgers attended the Oregon commission hearing on March 18 and writes about his take. The commission is making big improvements to safety that he thinks are great, but thinks they’re overstepping by wanting to legitimately fine wrestlers who use foreign objects or chairs, and says they don’t understand “that promoters do what they can to fill up arenas.” Banning the blade but not blood is just going to increase the chance of legitimate injury, and it’s part of the proof that the commission really isn’t smart to what wrestling really is about.
  
• We get a really long letter on Bruno’s radio interview. The writer taped the second hour and is hoping to get tape of the first hour. But before getting to the good stuff, he first wants to note that lying and silly gimmicks didn’t start in 1984 (was Gorilla Monsoon really from Manchuria? Didn’t Bruno employ gimmick wrestlers when he booked Pittsburgh? How about when he’d blade and claim to have spent the night hospitalized receiving transfusions) and that Bruno’s not really got a leg to stand on for “wrestling must be credible and it is an insult to the fans’ intelligence to lie to them.” Fans knew then just as they know now that it’s a work, but that doesn’t matter - you watch the show because it’s entertaining and you want to see the magician do their tricks. Also, the writer weighs in that the real story with the Main Event will be told by the demographic breakdown rather than the overall rating. In other words, is Hulk Hogan the Demo God? Anyway, after all this preamble, we finally get some quotes from the interview:
  
• Bruno denies blading happened in his day but says “today, nothing would surprise me.”
  
• Says he’ll never work for the NWA. “I wouldn’t touch it with a 50-foot pole.”
  
• He breaks kayfabe on George Steele and says he’s been a teacher for years.
  
• He thinks Bobby Heenan is a “dud and a disgrace” to wrestling.
  
• He compliments Ric Flair as a guy who can give you an exciting 30 or 40 minute match, but the NWA “have an awful lot of bizarre nonsense in there that, to me, is no good.”
  
• He says David wanted to be like him and he tried to warn David that these days they aren’t interested in “guys who just want to wrestle” but he’ll be going to Japan where they appreciate that better.
  
• He didn’t like doing commentary. He just clocked in, did his job, and left as soon as he was done. He was very uncomfortable and unhappy doing it.
  
• Bruno says WWF didn’t really have anything great to generate interest in the tournament for Wrestlemania.
  
• A caller asks if his wrestling was all real, and Bruno says “Well, it was in my day, at least I thought it was.
  
• We get a letter that feels so much like it could have been a post here on /SquaredCircle when Dave rated Omega/Okada 6 stars that I’m posting it in its entirety. Be warned, it is long, kind of racist, and absolutely bonkers, but that’s not unfamiliar around these parts. It gets the headline “Sick of praise for Japan.”
  

I get so sick of the way that people talk about Japanese wrestling. There’s no question it should be covered extensively in the Observer because it is a significant part of the wrestling world. However, when you start printing letters that criticize the American society and the jazz scene, then you are going way too far.
Anyone who thinks the Japanese never forsake quality for showmanship is full of it. The rock group KISS has enjoyed phenomenal success there because of their wild appearence [sic] and stage show. In fact, when they stopped wearing their makeup in the United States, they waited almost two years to do the same in Japan because they knew they wouldn’t be accepted there without it. And what about the movie industry? Do you think Godzilla movies are popular because of great acting?
As a student, I find teachers constantly comparing the American intelligence with that of the Japanese. I’m sure that the wrestlers love being compared to Japanese wrestlers as much as I love being compared to Japanese students. The Japanese do well at everything because they become obsessed with it. For them, it’s a matter of pride. If they screw up, it’s not only a mark on themselves but also on their entire family. You may think that’s great, but it puts a lot of pressure on everyone. They spend hours studying and I’m certain spend hours learning wrestling skills and have no time for themselves. Cut the North American wrestlers some slack. They’re just trying to make a living and preserve their bodies in the process. Look at what trying to wrestle like the Japanese did to Tommy Billington. Everyone would love matches filled with nothing but high spots, but working them is a great way to destroy yourself in a hurry. Now there is no excuse for total duds like Hulk Hogan and Andre the Giant either, but there are many non-Japanese who can hold their own without going crazy about it. I wonder how many Observer readers can honestly say that they work as hard at their own jobs as the Japanese in the same profession do. If they do, then I think they would quality [sic] as workaholics.
If there is anything wrong with our society, it’s the lack of national pride, which is so evident in the pages of the Observer. You seem to hate everything that wasn’t imported from the other side of the world. I have absolutely nothing against the country of Japan or Japanese wrestling, but I don’t think it’s up to a bunch of wrestling fans to dictate what’s wrong with our country just because they prefer the Oriental style of wrestling. I think the Observer is great, but I’d like to see you stick to writing about wrestling instead of how rotten our way of life is. I’m sure that’s what a Japanese journalist would do.

• Anyway, Dave responds to that letter, giving the writer only 4 stars because it’s not in the literally-only-opened-a-couple-weeks-ago Tokyo Dome:

DM: Have I ever written about how rotten our quality of life is or done any cultural comparisons between the U.S. and Japan except to where it pertains to the wrestling business? If I lived in Japan and made a comparison of the quality of the football product and wrote the U.S. product was superior, I hope people wouldn’t take it as an indictment against an entire society.

• Lastly, it’s about that time of year, I guess, because we have letters arguing about whether Dave should include GLOW coverage or not. Two letters this week on that theme, the first noting what the writer calls a progression in the letters calling for more coverage of women’s wrestling. First were the calls for more coverage of “conventional” women’s wrestling. Then the calls for GLOW coverage. Then POWW. Guess the next will be coverage of the apartment house wrestling scene, the writer supposes. The other writer claims to speak for 90% of subscribers and says Dave would offend that much of his readership if he covers GLOW and POWW and says that if you even consider GLOW to be pro wrestling, you’re incapable of understanding what makes a match good or not. This one asks if Dave’s going to be asked to cover mud wrestling next. There’s no misogyny problem in wrestling fandom. Move along. Nothing to see here.
  
• Back to news, the Kentucky Athletic Commission has put up some new rules. There are to be guard rails around the ring now. Throwing an opponent over the top rope will result in a fine or suspension. Ditto for any referee who doesn’t immediately stop the match for it. The top rope rule is now state law, as insane as that sounds.
  
• Dave should have national numbers next week, but in Atlanta Clash of the Champions drew an 11.7 rating, with the FlaiSting match hitting 14.5 National numbers will not be nearly that high, but hitting that 5 Dave mentioned earlier that would mean 2 million viewers doesn’t seem so far fetched anymore. Clash beat the NCAA tournament on the networks in Atlanta. TBS is reportedly looking to do another in prime time on a Wednesday early in the summer.
  
• Stampede set up an angle where Johnny Smith (kayfabe Davey Boy’s cousin or brother or something) argued with Diana Hart Smith, which got Owen out to defend his sister. Davey Boy was supposed to come in after Wrestlemania to work with Johnny, but Vince put the kibosh on that. There were also considerations for some Stampede guys to participate in the Crockett Cup, but politics (Vince) made that a no-go. So it’s probably no coincidence that when Owen did the job for Hercules it was just outside Greensboro. Anyway, the real takeaway is that Owen is probably coming over to WWF by the end of the year.
  

NEXT WEEK: Clash vs. Wrestlemania poll results, Clash ratings and Wrestlemania buyrate, an assload of mini headlines because news is apparently thin next week, and more

Originally posted to MilitaryStories. Was well received, and I posted another one yesterday. It is long, but I promise you may laugh once. Cheers.
Hawk is like a box of of Meals Ready to Eat (MRE); you never know what you are going to get, but you are pretty confident it will make you shit your pants. Eleanor Roosevelt once said, "Learn from the mistakes of others. You can't live long enough to make them all yourself." Kudos to Mrs. Roosevelt for that well articulated adage. She clearly never met Hawk though, because that fucker said, "Hold my beer!"
We are about to embark on another journey with Hawk. The typical paths for mankind are either the straight and narrow or wide and crooked. This does not apply to Hawk though; Hawk is a trailblazer. Hawk came to that proverbial fork in the road, and instead of taking the clearly marked routes, Hawk decided to break brush, butt naked, through thorny vines and poison ivy. Some of you have arrived here and are likely wondering, "What the fuck is OP talking about?" I could tell you to go back and read the Hawk prequels, but I don't think you will. Therefore, I might as well briefly explain Hawk.
Imaging three Service Members are conducting a mounted patrol through Death Valley. They are hours into their trip through Satan's grundle-region, but the vehicle breaks down. They have to abandoned the vehicle and continue on foot. They are exhausted and understand the desert sun is going to rape their souls. They each decided to take one item to assist with surviving the blistering heat. The breakdown is below.

1. Marine: Water
2. Sailor: Food
3. Hawk: Car Door

The three men travel for hours before deciding to take a much needed break; it's Death Valley people! The break was the first opportunity they had to discuss the item each person brought, and elaborate on why they chose said item.

1. Marine: I brought water in the event we get thirsty.
2. Sailor: I brought food in the event we needed energy.
3. Hawk: I brought the car door. We can roll down the windows when it gets hot outside.

Hey OP, did this really happen? No. I repurposed a Polish joke. I don't mean to be rude, but my intent was not to make you laugh. I am merely doing my best to explain how unbelievably oblivious Hawk is to commonsense or a rational thought process. It may have been a joke, but shit like this is perfectly feasible for Hawk. Still not convinced? I will assume the majority of us have played at least one video game in our life in which were able to create a character. The game is irrelevant. Imagine you have a total of 100 points to allocate between Attack, Speed, Confidence, Power, and Stupidity. Now imagine allocating all 100 points to Stupidity. Trust me when I say the character you created is at least 100 points smarter than Hawk on an Intelligence Quotient (IQ) test. Still don't believe me? Read the other stories. If you don't believe me after that, I simply want to say I am sorry. I am sorry you now know I am posting about you on Reddit Hawk.
The setting is Iraq. I was a leader at war with the terrorist that inhabited Iraq, and the nearly constant stupidity Hawk continually displayed. Hawk has just informed me that he had lost his Identification card (ID). Nobody that has lost and ID enjoys it, but please understand that the process is different between civilians and Soldiers. I have never lost one, so I am not entirely certain, but I know they are different. I had to counsel (wrist-slap/discussion) Hawk regarding his lost ID. I needed the Company Commander to counsel Hawk, and sign documentation in order for Hawk to receive a new ID card. We can't simply go to the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) and replace it. The military process requires a couple wrist-slaps and a fuck-ton of paperwork.
The fact that we were deployed made this process more difficult. We did not have the ability to reissue ID cards within our Battalion. We had to venture to a larger Forward Operating Base (FOB) that had an ID card facility. The process was not complicated, but it was certainly a pain in the ass. Our particular Operations Tempo (OPTEMP) did not allow me to send an underpaid babysitter; Hawk was going solo. This would not be a problem with any other Soldier, but this is Hawk. I would feel more comfortable sending my preteen to Michael Jackson's Neverland Ranch for a sleepover than I do sending Hawk anywhere without adult supervision. I was forced to allow Hawk to spread his wings, and pray he didn't fly into a fucking window.
OP: Hawk. You are manifested to leave with Battalion Headquarters (HQ) tomorrow. You will be departing at 1000 hours, but need to report to Battalion HQ tomorrow at 0930. Any questions?
Hawk: No.
It was fucking cut-and-dry. There was no room for subjective mental retardation on behalf of Hawk. I was not requesting a dissertation in thermonuclear astrophysics. I just needed Hawk to exit the rear of the barracks, walk 50 feet, and stand there before 0930. Still, that doesn't mean Hawk wont fuck it up. Hawk was a football-bat in a soccer game. Hawk fucked it up. Hawk mentally computed, "Go to the chow hall at 0900 and eat. Then go to port-a-john at make an underwater sculpture, and then report to the wrong side of the battalion headquarters building around 1000. Cool. Hawk did not maliciously miss the trip, but his potato-brain outwitted himself. I had a Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO) escort Hawk back over to Battalion an manifest him for a for the dinner trip.
This time I had a Team Leader ensure Hawk was properly nestled inside a departing vehicle. All Hawk needed to do was report to the ID card facility and get a new ID card. Too easy. Right? Hawk made it though. I called the ID card facility to ensure Hawk received a new ID card. He did! I was happy, but my confidence in Hawk was short lived. Any confidence in Hawk has an incredibly short shelf-life. The 30-minute trip between Hawk getting a new ID card and arriving back to our FOB was too much.
Hawk enters Team Room
OP: Hawk! Great to have you back brother. Show me your new ID card.
Hawk: Okay Sergeant.
Hawk is rifling through his wallet. No worries. He must have misplaced his new ID card. It's brand-fucking-new. He must have accidentally stowed it in a different spot in his wallet. We waited, and then we waited some more for Hawk to produce a less than one-hour old ID card. No dice though! Hawk lost it. Again.
Hawk: I am going to run back to the vehicles Sergeant. It must have fell out.
I knew better though. I was fairly certain it didn't fall out. I didn't know where it was, but I was fairly certain the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) had better odds of finding the boogieman, than Hawk had of finding his ID car. The race was on! I don't know how the FBI fared, but Hawk failed. I wasn't even mad anymore. Hawk was now just living up to my very low expectations. Still, what the fuck was I going to do as a leader to rectify this situation? We have to repeat the counseling process, and have the Company Commander sign more documents in order to get another ID card. I know it was not purposely lost, but I still have to punish the kid.
I decided to walk in the footsteps of those before me. Hawk was going to make a new ID card. It was not going to be as precise as a real Army ID card, but it would suffice for me. Hawk was going to make his own ID card. The template for his design was going to be the side of an MRE box. His ID card was about to be at least eight inches wide and sixteen inches long. I placed the materials on Hawks bed and instructed him to make a new ID card, loop 550 cord (cordage) through it, and wear it around his neck.
Hawk looked like an idiot walking around the FOB with a billboard sized ID card. It was working though. The door-checker at the chow hall thought it was funny, and Hawk didn't leave his new ID card at the phone-tent or internet-tent either. He went a full two-days until there was an issue. The Regimental Command Sergeant Major (CSM) was at our FOB that day. He wanted to greet the Soldiers and get a general sense of our morale levels. He was not happy when he seen Hawk wearing his giant ID card in the chow hall. I typically spend my days providing very, very detailed guidance to Hawk, and typically expect him to fuck it up anyways. It was a giant kick in the nuts when Hawk pulled a reverse card and gave me instructions.
Hawk: Sergeant OP.
OP: Yes Hawk?
Hawk: I have some guidance for you.
OP: (This is going to be good.) Really? You're going to give me guidance?!? Hit me with it then!
Hawk: The Regimental CSM wants to see you tonight at 2000 hours in the Battalion CSM's office.
OP: Why? (Fuck my tits! I didn't think I did anything wrong, but I was going to find out.)
Hawk: He was mad about my ID card and...
OP: (Cool. We agree on something!) Me too. Seeing how you can't keep track of something that was less than an hour old.
Hawk: The Regimental CSM said my punishment was demeaning and humiliating.
OP: Roger. Thanks for the information.
What the fuck? I understood where the Regimental CSM was coming from, but he was wrong. Hawk is too stupid to be humiliated. Hawk lacks the mental wherewithal to understand he was actively being humiliated. I understand this sounds rude as fuck, but Hawk is just too oblivious to understand when he is the butt of a joke. He is a goldfish brain trapped inside a human body. Making matters worse, Uncle Sam, issued this troglodyte an assault rifle outfitted with a grenade launcher. Fuck. The more I think about it, the more I believe I should be mad at the Regimental CSM for humiliating me by assigning me Hawk, type one each! However, informing the Regimental CSM of this would have gone over like a fart in church.
I immediately informed First Sergeant to ensure he was aware of the situation. First Sergeant had a smile on his face and told me, "I can't wait to go to Battalion with you and see how this plays out." I walked over to Battalion at 1950, and just waited outside the CSM's door. I could hear my Battalion and Regimental CSM bullshitting back-and-forth. It was better than overhearing angry-talk. I knocked on the door at 2000, and was told to come in. First Sergeant accompanied me inside the office as well. I was "on the carpet" in front of "the man" and I was about to have a sizeable chunk of my ass chewed-off without any anesthetic.
OP: Sergeants Majors. How are you doing this evening?
RCSM: Well, I was good until I seen one my Soldiers wearing THE SIDE OF A MRE BOX AS AN ID CARD. That's just humiliating and uncalled for. What made you think this was an acceptable recourse?
OP: He lost his ID card Sergeant Major.
RCSM: (Now a bit more irritated.) Then why didn't you just get him a new ID card then? WHY DID YOU FIND IT ACCEPTABLE TO EMBARRASS HIM?
OP: I did Sergeant Major. He went a couple days ago to get a new card. He had it for less than an hour and lost that one as well. That's why he is walking around with the MRE box ID card.
RCSM: Oh!
BCSM: Hawk is a little different Sergeant Major. (Said with a big grin and a chuckle.)
First Sergeant: That is an understatement Sergeant Major!
RCSM: What do you mean?
BCSM: Why don't you elaborate OP NICKNAME.
OP: He is an idiot Sergeant Major!
BCSM: (Laughing.) I said elaborate. Why don't you tell him what you told me at the Promotion Board!
OP: Okay Sergeant Major. Please be cognizant that I a merely trying to explain Hawk the best way I know how. Sergeant Major, picture a room with no windows and only one door. Hawk is in that room, with one cat and one dog. I give Hawk very explicit and simple instructions. "Hawk, I will be back in five minutes. Make sure the dog doesn't eat the cat". Sergeant Major, you could go back in that room 30 seconds later and there would be no cat, no dog, a dead fucking elephant and Hawk is clueless about how the fuck it happened. That is Hawk Sergeant Major.
Now 75% of the occupants in the room are laughing hysterically. Guess who is not happy with that analogy? Wrong. The Regimental CSM is laughing. OP. OP is not laughing. The analogy is no longer funny to me at this point. It is a said reality of my life. Hawk is my Soldier. I deal with this heavy mouth-breathing Simple Jack human every single day. I was deployed and there was no reprieve from Hawk.
This is the shit I deal with on a nearly daily basis:
OP: Hawk. Why are you wearing DIFFERENT SOLDIER NAME uniform top?
Hawk: The laundry place fucked up.
OP: What?
Hawk: The laundry facility accidentally gave me DIFFERENT SOLDIERS clothes.
OP: So, rather than take it back and get your shit (LONG "I AM FUCKING DUMBFOUNDED" PAUSE) you decided to just wear another persons clothes?
)YES! Yes, these are the type answers I get in return.)
Hawk: I am not wearing his underwear Sergeant OP. (Hawk smile. The "I am mentally deficient" smile) I am free-balling Sergeant.
OP: Goddamn it Hawk. I bet DIFFERENT SOLDIER will be happy to hear that your dick-meat is funking up his uniform bottoms. Take off his uniform and put on YOUR PT (Physical Training) shorts. Then take his fucking clothes back to the laundry facility and get your shit.
Shit like this is a constant. He fucks up Promotion Boards. He can't keep track of newly printed ID cards for more than an hour. He is now wearing another Soldiers uniform. My god, I have accidentally interrupted him milking his snake while on guard duty. Scratched that, interrupted would imply he stopped. He didn't he continued without missing a stroke. THIS. THIS IS WHY I WAS NOT AMUSED OR LAUGHING!
RCSM: Is it he really that bad Sergeant OP?
OP: Oh No! Sometimes it's worse. We take our dose of Hawk one day at a time Sergeant Major.
BCSM: (Phone Call.) SSG OPERATIONS NCO. Call over to OP's Operations Center (OPCEN). Tell them to send Specialist Hawk over to my office.
The Operations NCO calls back and informs the Battalion CSM that Hawk has arrived at Battalion. The Battalion CSM instructs the Operations NCO to, "send him to my office."
The door to the office is still closed. We can hear the shuffling of feet in the hallway. We are all waiting for Hawk to knock on the door. Who knows, he might even be wearing his own uniform. We wait, and then we wait some more. We finally hear knocking. The knocking was not on Sergeant Majors door though. The knocking echoed from an office down the hall. I am about to excuse myself and go retrieve my "special" Soldier, but the phone rings. It was the Battalion Commander. He is wondering why someone knocked on his door and let himself into his office while he was on a conference call with the Regimental Commander and other Battalion Commanders. It was Hawk! The door sign that said "Command Sergeant Major NAME" must have confused him.
I can see the Regimental CSM now coming to the slow realization that the dead elephant analogy was not intended to be funny at all. It truly, and accurately, described what 5'9 and 150 pounds of stupidity looks like. We again hear the shuffle of feet down the hall, and finally there is a knock at the correct door.
BCSM: Enter!
Hawk just walks in. Then he sees the amount of rank in the room and pauses. He opened his mouth as if he was about to utter something ridiculous stupid, but his brain was smart enough to know better. I personally think he needed to let the abundance of drool escape his mouth.
RCSM: Hawk good to see you again. Glad you are not wearing the largest ID card I have ever seen. Hawk! I have had a conversation with your leadership, and I see why they are irritated with your lack of situational awareness. Son, you need to get your shit together or I will find you a job I am certain you won't like. You understand where I am coming from?
I heard it. He heard it. The Regimental CSM gave a pretty simple warning. "Stop fucking up or else!" All Hawk had to say was "Roger" or "Understood Sergeant Major." Something the Regimental Sergeant Major said must have peaked his interest though. I was about to gently rest my face inside the palm of my hand and wonder what I did in life to deserve this creature. What poor choices led me to this moment in time in which I am truly wondering, "What the fuck are you doing with your life OP?"
Hawk: What's the other job Sergeant Major? (Goddamn it Hawk. Fuck my tits. Why? Fucking why Hawk?)
RCSM: I was implying that you would not want the "other" job. It was a threat Hawk. I will have you sweeping the Regimental headquarters building and pulling Kitchen Patrol (KP) duty for the remainder of the deployment. Get your shit together Hawk. You tracking?
OP BRAIN: Please. Please only utter one word or the name Roger. PLEASE. I beg you.
Hawk: Yes Sergeant Major. (YES. It was a small victory in an otherwise long day.)
RCSM: Hawk. I am going to personally take you over to LARGE FOB tomorrow to get an ID card, and then return you, WITH THE ID CARD, to Sergeant OP.
Hawk: Roger Sergeant Major.
RCSM: Hawk. What happened to the MRE box ID card?
I look at Hawk and I think I see a little turd-nugget exit his wrinkle-grommet (asshole) and tumble down the leg of his trousers and come to rest above his boot. It was either that or his peanut size brain had finally managed to dislodge itself and roll down his neck-hole. It was probably the brain.
Hawk: (Drum roll. The anticipation in the air was as thick as a surgically enhanced Kardashian butt.) Um. Ah. I think I lost it Sergeant Major. I set it on my bed, and when I came back it was gone.
Well, would you look at that. Hawk managed to lose an ID card that was larger than an eight-by-ten sheet of paper. Wow. Just fucking wow.
We were eventually dismissed from the meeting, and returned to the Team Room. I needed to ensure Hawk was prepared to get another ID card while the Regimental CSM babysit. On-the-other-hand, I prayed Hawk acted Hawk-like. I wanted the Regimental CSM to return Hawk back to me, scratching his head, and apologizing for verbally reprimanding me.
Regarding the billboard-sized ID card; Hawk lost it. He said he set it on his bed before walking over to Battalion, and taking a pit-stop in the Battalion Commanders office. I suspect he threw it in the trash and forgot. Maybe the Regimental CSM took it, or trashed it while in the chow hall? Maybe aliens stole it? I don't know. I just know it was never found again. I was not mad though. I just laughed it off. Nothing, and I mean nothing, surprised me if Hawk was involved.
UPDATE: Hawk is still dumb. Hawk will forever be a brainless shell of a human. He is a genuinely a kind and caring person though. He will give you the shirt of his back if you need it. However, you will need to provide step-by-step instructions, and have a bucket-load of patience in order for him to put it back on, inside-out and backwards. Even that would be a small victory though.
Some of you may be happy to know that I reached out to a handful of people I am still in contact with. I currently have 17 stories on-deck. They are not all about Hawk, but he does make retarded cameos in some of the stories. I also have not-funny stories, like my first Improvised Explosive Device (IED) encounter or the time I took a fair amount of mortar shrapnel to the face. Fear not though. I have my own unique way of conveying stories and I assure you there will be at least one chuckle hidden within.
I appreciate all the kind comments, and really enjoy the back-and-forth conversations and story-sharing with you, the Reader. I hope you got a laugh. Be safe, drink beer, take a knee, and face out!
I will continue to spread-out the Hawk stories weekly. The title may change, but there at least three on deck!
07 SEP 20: Hawk's Hot Tub Excursion
14 SEP 20: Hawk Walks Home, IN IRAQ
21 SEP 20: Hawk Drives; We Shoot

Kogo felt awkward sitting at the little round table in the banquet hall. Or, more accurately, she felt awkward through the entire formal, including when she was introduced in front of the entirety of the United Nations, when she issued her prepared speech, had to spend an indiscernible amount of time making smalltalk until she almost couldn’t see straight, and finally now, sitting at a small round table unto herself.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t having fun, but it had been a very, very long day, and at this point the only thing that was staving off her exhaustion was the promise of some top-end human gourmet.
“You’re looking rather rough, ma’am. How are you holding up?” Kristiansen whispered low enough that only she could hear it.
“I’m doing well, thank you.”
“Ma’am. You’ve been staring at the empty plate for the last 5 minutes. If you’re not feeling well, it’s completely acceptable to duck out so you can rest. These things can wipe out career politicians, let alone someone doing it for the first time.”
Kogo raised her head slightly and looked to her side where Kristiansen flanked her at the table.
“I’m just… I’m hungry.” Kogo managed before her view drooped back to the empty plate.
She wasn’t sure how long it normally took to make human food, but it had to take a while. Not only because of the intricate flavors of her quick, on-the-go meals were any indication, but also because they had been sitting here in the banquet hall with everyone continuing to make small talk for the last hour.
The people were nice - well most of them. All of them were certainly pleasant and amicable when speaking to her, but some of them were appreciably more blunt and less kind when they thought she was out of earshot. Humans clearly weren’t really aware of just how good Lour hearing could be. But even if the passive conversations filling the banquet hall with a dull murmur were all of the pleasant sort, it was ultimately a persistent, suffocating noise that wouldn’t go away at this point.
Life on the city-ship could be claustrophobic, certainly, and the military also afforded little in the way of personal time and quiet, but at least in those cases she could busy herself with something. Or fight it, depending.
But here it was all about appearances, putting the best presentation forward to ensure no one could form a negative view on the aliens that had until just recently been at war with them. She knew there’d be a lot of work and stress in her future, and she had certainly been coached and briefed on decorum and what to expect. But to experience it in such a regular barrage of public relations, travelling and meetings was taking its toll.
This was supposed to be the ‘end of the gauntlet’, as Hills had said, with her speech in front of the UN, but she hadn’t been able to wind down yet.
She noted movement on both sides of her, but didn’t put together what was happening consciously until Hills placed his hand on her shoulder.
Kogo roused from her fugue and looked at him.
“Come on, ma’am. Let’s go.”
“Wha?” Kogo rasped in Common.
“You don’t have to worry. We’ve already passed along you were feeling unwell, and the Chairman has been informed. Kristiansen is in the kitchen getting your food to go. Come on.” Hills said softly, but then firmly reached under her forward left shoulder and helped hoist her onto her feet.
Once she reached her feet, everything felt like it moved slowly, yet somehow entirely too fast. Hills made sure she was steady then with a hand guided her towards the door, cutting around the outside of the banquet hall’s layout. Her supporting entourage followed behind them and they silently cut their way through. Kristiansen appeared by the door holding a black bag of some sort and pushed through the door just ahead of them allowing a perfectly seamless exit.
A few moments later they had traversed the halls and were loading into their vans and taking off down the road.
She distantly heard her driver ask something but all Kogo could manage was to stare out the vehicle’s window as the lights all over the cityscape whisked by in the dark.
A short trip later and they had offloaded into the restricted parking garage of the hotel she was staying at to dodge the media, and ascended to the floor they had secured for her. Kogo managed to walk herself into the room before collapsing onto the floor.
​
Kogo awoke, and blinked, bleary eyed. Her head was still swimming a little, but she at least had the energy to lift it and look around the room. What she found was Hills, Kristiansen and a few people she didn’t recognize around the front of the hotel room, idly talking.
Hills and Kirstiansen had shed their coats and ties, and looked rather relaxed. Kogo mused it may have been the first time since being groundside she had actually seen them like that.
Kogo tried to say something, and while all she managed was a pitiful little squeak, it was loud enough to immediately draw their attention. The people she didn’t recognize were on her immediately.
“Hello Kogo, how are we feeling?” the one lady said as she knelt down by her.
‘We’, the lady had said. After a moment, Kogo recognized the inclusive speaking pattern.
“Doctors?”
“That’s right. I’m Doctor Addy and that’s Doctor Wilts. These gentlemen called us up while you were in transit. We got here just after you lost consciousness and have been keeping an eye on you since.”
“Lost consciousness? Wha- how long- I” Kogo stammered before the Doctor placed a gentle hand on the side of her head.
“Easy, Kogo. Easy. We’ve been vetted by the Coalition as the doctors to be on-call for your stay here on Earth, and got your medical history directly from Doctor Aven himself. We don’t think you’re sick or anything, but signs did indicate you were massively overstressed. We’ve got you on an IV and your schedule is cleared for at least the next few days while we keep an eye on you. Your only job right now is to rest. Is that clear?”
Kogo nodded before turning her head to look. Sure enough, she had a clear tube running off a bandaged area of her front leg, to a small stand with a digital administration system. She recognized the equipment from her stay on the Neptune forward station.
“You gave us quite a scare, ma’am. I’ve seen people overwork themselves into way worse states and don’t want to see it happen again. Hills and I will be passing along that you need a lighter itinerary. At least for now.” Kristiansen said.
Kogo couldn’t help but feel there was a little bit of a rebuke in his voice.
“I’m sorry. It was the first time I’ve ever really had to do anything like this, and… and,” Kogo began.
“Hey, hey. Easy,” Hills interjected, kneeling down next to her, “He’s not blaming you. None of us are. We’ve never had to escort an alien before, so we’ve all got a bit to learn about this, right? You don’t need to work yourself up into a tizzy over something you couldn’t control.”
Kristiansen quietly nodded in affirmation.
“For now, you can stay here and relax. Mr. Kristiansen here had informed us you hadn’t eaten last night and we think that may have been a contributing factor. From what we know of Lour, your metabolic process is fairly aggressive, so it no doubt going a long while without food wasn’t helping matters. We’ll make sure they more rigidly schedule meals to prevent similar incidents in the future,” Doctor Wilts said as he stood, eyeballing the readout on the bio monitor.
“On that note, Ma’am, your food from last night’s in the fridge, but it’s obviously cold. Now that you’re awake, I’ll order up something so you can eat. Think you’re up for eating anything?”
Kogo nodded aggressively, whacking her chin on the floor.
Hills and Kristiansen chuckled, while the two doctors kept it to a professional smile.
“Think The Wall would work?” Hills said after a moment.
“Oh damn, yeah that’d be good. She needs to get a taste of that at some point while she’s here anyways,” Kristiansen said before politely distancing himself so he could make a call.
“The wall?” Kogo asked.
“Awesome little pizza place a few blocks away. Ever had pizza?”
“No?”
“Then you’re in for a treat.” Hills gave her a knowing smirk.
​
It was a short wait compared to the night before, but given that she hadn’t eaten anything at all, her stomach was turning into knots at this point.
“How long does it take to cook pizza?” Kogo asked.
“Something like 15-20 minutes. Then they have to drive over to deliver it, but that’s not exactly a long trip. Should be here any minute now.”
Kogo nodded, but ‘any minute’ was still excruciating. Hills had offered her something to tide her over while they waited, but she had politely refused. She wanted to try this ‘treat’ and enjoy it fully.
It was about 10 minutes after she had last asked when she heard the distant, muffled sound of the elevator ding onto their floor. Kogo’s head shot up from the floor and her ears perked up.
“I hear someone coming,” she whispered, as if she didn’t want to give their ambush away.
Kristiansen nodded and moved towards the door, waited a beat and then opened it, leaving the delivery guy with his arm awkwardly in the air.
Kogo heard them begin to exchange details about payment but before she could really parse the specifics, the faintest scent of hot food hit her nose and her stomach redoubled it’s efforts to protest the lack of anything in it.
As the door clicked closed, Kristiansen and Hills carried over several wide and flat white boxes onto the nearby table before laying them flat and lifting the lids.
Kogo immediately saw a wide, flat disk. Brown on the edges and white with various meats and vegetables in the center. She rose to her feet and managed a full step forward before Kristiansen held up his hand.
“One moment, ma’am. We have to check it.”
Kogo watched painfully as he cut off a small piece of it and dropped it into a little container on a machine they kept in the room. It hummed to life and made various clicking and whirring noises for a full minute while it went to work.
Meanwhile, Kogo had begun to openly drool.
The machine chirped, and Kristiansen pressed a button on the display on the device a few times before nodding.
“Alright, all clear. No discernable toxins or harmful chemicals.”
Kristiansen plated a wedge of the food for himself, Hills and the doctors before sliding forward a plate with a slice on it for Kogo. Everyone waited for her to take the first bite.
The little slice was covered in ‘cheese’, which she was passingly familiar with on some sort of breaded crust, topped with little meat slices and pieces of cut vegetables. She could make out bits of wafting steam, but how hot it was no longer mattered. There was only the singular, driven motive in her mind. To consume that slice of pizza.
She snapped her head down and managed to close off almost the entire slice in her mouth in one go. A few ungraceful chomps later and she stopped. The heat was a distant sensation to the melody of flavors that hit her all at once. As Kogo soaked it in her eyes snapped shut and even then she could swear she saw stars.
A moment passed and she finished chewing and swallowed and stood there quiet in the afterglow.
“How was it?”
“I remember reading how there are humans that make it a primary task in their lives to go to various places and just eat food.” Kogo whispered in an odd reverence.
“Foodies, yeah.”
“I get it. I really do, now.”
Hills chuckled, “So you want another slice?”
“No,” Kogo said as she opened her eyes, filled with fire, “That entire one is mine. You can share the others.”
​
After eating, everyone was relaxing and watching the hotel’s complementary TV. Kristensen ended up making the right call to order 5 extra large pizzas, because Kogo managed to polish off 2 of them on her own.
“So there’s different flavors?” Kogo asked after letting out an impressively long burp.
“Yep. Sky’s the limit, really. You have different types of crust, different sauces, cheeses and toppings. How thick the crust is, if anything is stuffed inside it, and so on.”
“We have different foods to ensure a balanced diet, primarily based on what Lour ate back on our home planet, but we don’t really have any sort of huge history of cooking or the like. Meats we ate were often uncooked - hard to cook things without hands like you humans or the Zus - though we had a wide variety of bugs, fish, vegetables and fruits.”
“Not that different from humans then, by the sounds of it. Historically, anyways.” Doctor Addy offered.
“Wait, so do you still hunt your food on the ships?” Hills asked.
Kogo shook her head.
“No. It’s done in a controlled way for certain seasonal celebrations based on our cultural holidays, but usually the food is provided pre-made and processed. It’s good, and certainly nutritious, but it lacks the same heart as something like this.” Kogo licked the last few crumbs off her plate.
“Man, I remember when I was stuck eating nothing but MREs before getting selected out. Some of those were OK, but the others were free trips to gastrointestinal nightmares.”
“Yeah, but they’re easy and give you what you need to keep going,” Kristiansen offered.
“I’m sad that I didn’t get to try whatever was for dinner last night, but I think whatever it was would’ve been lacking compared to pizza,” Kogo sighed wistfully.
“I believe it was some sort of chicken dish. I’m sure it was great, but yeah, it’s hard to top pizza after a long day. Or several days.”
Kogo watched the TV as 2 large teams of humans were chasing after a ball while some announcer excitedly relayed everything that was happening, and chuckled.
“There really isn’t anything quite like this in the Coalition.”
“What, soccer?”
“No, well, yes. But I meant just sitting and watching entertainment on something like this with everyone.”
“What do you usually do?” Hills asked.
“I suppose at its core it’s not that dissimilar, but we don’t have an entertainment device like this. We entertain each other with stories or activities. The Zus from other districts would often come by and perform shows and plays from their culture, which were always great fun. We even once had a group of Hanuu shamans come through on a mock pilgrimage and they would sing the entire time. They had to detour on the outskirts of the residential areas because their voices were so loud,” Kogo laughed quietly to herself.
“But individuals whose job was purely to entertain are rare. There’s so much to do to keep the 3 city-ships running that downtime isn’t quite as freely available as it is for humans. I know you all work hard, of course, but I understand compared to decades ago, you all worked much longer hours each day,” she continued.
“Yeah. Cultural shifts, automation and a lot of other stuff sorta all came together and clipped how many hours the average person tends to work. There’s lots of time for sitting back and relaxing, and so there’s lots of demand for people to provide entertainment.” Kristiansen nodded sagely.
“When I was flying down to Earth, my digital assistant told me there’s an incalculable amount of music in human history. I’d imagine that focus on entertainment is part of why.”
Everyone sat in an easy silence for a bit, watching the sport unfold on TV before Kogo broke the silence again.
“Doctor Addy. I know I was supposed to rest for the next several days to recover.”
“Yes…” Doctor Addy warily answered.
“Would it be against that if I were to try playing something like this?” She directed her nose towards the screen.
The doctor thought about it for a moment, glancing to her partner. After a moment, she nodded.
“Yes, I think as long as you don’t push yourself too hard, some recreational activities like a sport would likely be a good idea. You’re only just beginning to properly adjust to Earth’s gravity, so some physical exercise would be a good idea to help bolster that. So long as these gentlemen feel it’s safe, and your condition allows it,” she answered, waving a hand towards Hills and Kirstiansen.
“I can make a call in the morning and we can get a stadium locked off, I bet. It’s off season for the local teams anyways, so… yeah, that’d probably work.” Hills answered after a moment of thought.
“It reminds me of one sport we used to play when I was young, so I want to see how different it is,” Kogo excitedly replied.
“Oh? How was it played? Did you kick it? Or..” Doctor Wilts asked.
“No. There was a central pole or column in the play area. And one would try and headbutt the ball at the top. Others would attempt to intercept the ball, often jumping off of one another to gain enough height. The most skilled could spin the ball as it was struck, causing its path to be erratic. It was intense to play, but was always fun when we had a large group. Even the adults would join in.”
“That sounds pretty awesome, actually. You’ll have to teach us some time,” Hills said.
“Deal.” Kogo smiled.
​
After the game ended, the two doctors gave Kogo another checkup, and passed along some necessary supplies and instructions to her two guards before excusing themselves to nearby rooms on the same floor.
After Kristiansen clicked the door closed and walked back over to one of the beds and sat down on it.
“Erik. Samuel.” Kogo asked.
“Ma’am?” they both responded at once.
“I’m sorry.”
“Ma’am, yo-” Kristiansen began, before being cut off.
“No. I put an undue burden on both of you, and Doctor Addy and Doctor Wilts. I should have spoken up when I was breaking down, but didn’t want to look weak in front of the other delegates. In the end, I just ended up pushing myself too hard and made it worse. It isn’t the first time,” Kogo said, as she nodded her nose towards her prosthesis that was leaned up against the wall.
“I’ll try to be more mindful of how I’m feeling in the future and let you know if something is wrong. I’ve learned a lot about humans so far, and one thing that continues to shine through is their terrifying stamina and resilience. Starting today, I’ll strive to work at a healthier pace, even if it isn’t quite as fast. And I hope I can continue to rely on you to help me out if I push too far again. No doubt our days together going forward will be busy,” Kogo said, looking back and forth between them.
“You didn’t need to ask, ma’am. We’re both behind you. But we both also appreciate you thinking about yourself. I said it before. Stuff like that can wipe out career politicians. There’s no shame in taking some time to ensure your health,” Kristiansen said while Hills sat nearby, nodding in agreement.
Kogo had been holding a little bit of guilt in since she awoke, but didn’t want to further worry the doctors who had already been called out of their way to help. But with that affirmation, she let it go. She was in good hands.
“Thank you. So, honest opinion. How was my speech?” Kogo asked.
“Honestly, pretty good. I didn’t ask before, but did you write it yourself?” Hills answered.
“Mostly. I’d been working on a draft back on the lunar base, but your local government lent some professional writer expertise to help me finalize it. I liked it, but I’ve never done public speaking before, let alone represented the entire Coalition, so I’ve been… stressing out a little in how it was received.” Kogo said.
“Well, we liked it, and I certainly saw a number of the other reps quite taken with it. If you’re really curious I’m sure there’ll be news coverage and analysis of it for the next week at least, so we can catch up on how the public is taking it tomorrow. But for now, I think it’s best if you turn in and rest.” Kristiansen said as he stood and walked over to the nearby lamp to click it off.
Kogo snorted in amusement.
“Yes, that sounds like a good plan to me.”
Kogo laid her head down on the cushy pad they laid out for her on the floor, and after only a few moments, she was asleep.
​
Previous | Next

Hawk is like a box of of Meals Ready to Eat (MRE); you never know what you are going to get, but you are pretty confident it will make you shit your pants. Eleanor Roosevelt once said, "Learn from the mistakes of others. You can't live long enough to make them all yourself." Kudos to Mrs. Roosevelt for that well articulated adage. She clearly never met Hawk though, because that fucker said, "Hold my beer!"
We are about to embark on another journey with Hawk. The typical paths for mankind are either the straight and narrow or wide and crooked. This does not apply to Hawk though; Hawk is a trailblazer. Hawk came to that proverbial fork in the road, and instead of taking the clearly marked routes, Hawk decided to break brush, butt naked, through thorny vines and poison ivy. Some of you have arrived here and are likely wondering, "What the fuck is OP talking about?" I could tell you to go back and read the Hawk prequels, but I don't think you will. Therefore, I might as well briefly explain Hawk.
Imaging three Service Members are conducting a mounted patrol through Death Valley. They are hours into their trip through Satan's grundle-region, but the vehicle breaks down. They have to abandoned the vehicle and continue on foot. They are exhausted and understand the desert sun is going to rape their souls. They each decided to take one item to assist with surviving the blistering heat. The breakdown is below.

1. Marine: Water
2. Sailor: Food
3. Hawk: Car Door

The three men travel for hours before deciding to take a much needed break; it's Death Valley people! The break was the first opportunity they had to discuss the item each person brought, and elaborate on why they chose said item.

1. Marine: I brought water in the event we get thirsty.
2. Sailor: I brought food in the event we needed energy.
3. Hawk: I brought the car door. We can roll down the windows when it gets hot outside.

Hey OP, did this really happen? No. I repurposed a Polish joke. I don't mean to be rude, but my intent was not to make you laugh. I am merely doing my best to explain how unbelievably oblivious Hawk is to commonsense or a rational thought process. It may have been a joke, but shit like this is perfectly feasible for Hawk. Still not convinced? I will assume the majority of us have played at least one video game in our life in which were able to create a character. The game is irrelevant. Imagine you have a total of 100 points to allocate between Attack, Speed, Confidence, Power, and Stupidity. Now imagine allocating all 100 points to Stupidity. Trust me when I say the character you created is at least 100 points smarter than Hawk on an Intelligence Quotient (IQ) test. Still don't believe me? Read the other stories. If you don't believe me after that, I simply want to say I am sorry. I am sorry you now know I am posting about you on Reddit Hawk.
The setting is Iraq. I was a leader at war with the terrorist that inhabited Iraq, and the nearly constant stupidity Hawk continually displayed. Hawk has just informed me that he had lost his Identification card (ID). Nobody that has lost and ID enjoys it, but please understand that the process is different between civilians and Soldiers. I have never lost one, so I am not entirely certain, but I know they are different. I had to counsel (wrist-slap/discussion) Hawk regarding his lost ID. I needed the Company Commander to counsel Hawk, and sign documentation in order for Hawk to receive a new ID card. We can't simply go to the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) and replace it. The military process requires a couple wrist-slaps and a fuck-ton of paperwork.
The fact that we were deployed made this process more difficult. We did not have the ability to reissue ID cards within our Battalion. We had to venture to a larger Forward Operating Base (FOB) that had an ID card facility. The process was not complicated, but it was certainly a pain in the ass. Our particular Operations Tempo (OPTEMP) did not allow me to send an underpaid babysitter; Hawk was going solo. This would not be a problem with any other Soldier, but this is Hawk. I would feel more comfortable sending my preteen to Michael Jackson's Neverland Ranch for a sleepover than I do sending Hawk anywhere without adult supervision. I was forced to allow Hawk to spread his wings, and pray he didn't fly into a fucking window.
OP: Hawk. You are manifested to leave with Battalion Headquarters (HQ) tomorrow. You will be departing at 1000 hours, but need to report to Battalion HQ tomorrow at 0930. Any questions?
Hawk: No.
It was fucking cut-and-dry. There was no room for subjective mental retardation on behalf of Hawk. I was not requesting a dissertation in thermonuclear astrophysics. I just needed Hawk to exit the rear of the barracks, walk 50 feet, and stand there before 0930. Still, that doesn't mean Hawk wont fuck it up. Hawk was a football-bat in a soccer game. Hawk fucked it up. Hawk mentally computed, "Go to the chow hall at 0900 and eat. Then go to port-a-john at make an underwater sculpture, and then report to the wrong side of the battalion headquarters building around 1000. Cool. Hawk did not maliciously miss the trip, but his potato-brain outwitted himself. I had a Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO) escort Hawk back over to Battalion an manifest him for a for the dinner trip.
This time I had a Team Leader ensure Hawk was properly nestled inside a departing vehicle. All Hawk needed to do was report to the ID card facility and get a new ID card. Too easy. Right? Hawk made it though. I called the ID card facility to ensure Hawk received a new ID card. He did! I was happy, but my confidence in Hawk was short lived. Any confidence in Hawk has an incredibly short shelf-life. The 30-minute trip between Hawk getting a new ID card and arriving back to our FOB was too much.
Hawk enters Team Room
OP: Hawk! Great to have you back brother. Show me your new ID card.
Hawk: Okay Sergeant.
Hawk is rifling through his wallet. No worries. He must have misplaced his new ID card. It's brand-fucking-new. He must have accidentally stowed it in a different spot in his wallet. We waited, and then we waited some more for Hawk to produce a less than one-hour old ID card. No dice though! Hawk lost it. Again.
Hawk: I am going to run back to the vehicles Sergeant. It must have fell out.
I knew better though. I was fairly certain it didn't fall out. I didn't know where it was, but I was fairly certain the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) had better odds of finding the boogieman, than Hawk had of finding his ID car. The race was on! I don't know how the FBI fared, but Hawk failed. I wasn't even mad anymore. Hawk was now just living up to my very low expectations. Still, what the fuck was I going to do as a leader to rectify this situation? We have to repeat the counseling process, and have the Company Commander sign more documents in order to get another ID card. I know it was not purposely lost, but I still have to punish the kid.
I decided to walk in the footsteps of those before me. Hawk was going to make a new ID card. It was not going to be as precise as a real Army ID card, but it would suffice for me. Hawk was going to make his own ID card. The template for his design was going to be the side of an MRE box. His ID card was about to be at least eight inches wide and sixteen inches long. I placed the materials on Hawks bed and instructed him to make a new ID card, loop 550 cord (cordage) through it, and wear it around his neck.
Hawk looked like an idiot walking around the FOB with a billboard sized ID card. It was working though. The door-checker at the chow hall thought it was funny, and Hawk didn't leave his new ID card at the phone-tent or internet-tent either. He went a full two-days until there was an issue. The Regimental Command Sergeant Major (CSM) was at our FOB that day. He wanted to greet the Soldiers and get a general sense of our morale levels. He was not happy when he seen Hawk wearing his giant ID card in the chow hall. I typically spend my days providing very, very detailed guidance to Hawk, and typically expect him to fuck it up anyways. It was a giant kick in the nuts when Hawk pulled a reverse card and gave me instructions.
Hawk: Sergeant OP.
OP: Yes Hawk?
Hawk: I have some guidance for you.
OP: (This is going to be good.) Really? You're going to give me guidance?!? Hit me with it then!
Hawk: The Regimental CSM wants to see you tonight at 2000 hours in the Battalion CSM's office.
OP: Why? (Fuck my tits! I didn't think I did anything wrong, but I was going to find out.)
Hawk: He was mad about my ID card and...
OP: (Cool. We agree on something!) Me too. Seeing how you can't keep track of something that was less than an hour old.
Hawk: The Regimental CSM said my punishment was demeaning and humiliating.
OP: Roger. Thanks for the information.
What the fuck? I understood where the Regimental CSM was coming from, but he was wrong. Hawk is too stupid to be humiliated. Hawk lacks the mental wherewithal to understand he was actively being humiliated. I understand this sounds rude as fuck, but Hawk is just too oblivious to understand when he is the butt of a joke. He is a goldfish brain trapped inside a human body. Making matters worse, Uncle Sam, issued this troglodyte an assault rifle outfitted with a grenade launcher. Fuck. The more I think about it, the more I believe I should be mad at the Regimental CSM for humiliating me by assigning me Hawk, type one each! However, informing the Regimental CSM of this would have gone over like a fart in church.
I immediately informed First Sergeant to ensure he was aware of the situation. First Sergeant had a smile on his face and told me, "I can't wait to go to Battalion with you and see how this plays out." I walked over to Battalion at 1950, and just waited outside the CSM's door. I could hear my Battalion and Regimental CSM bullshitting back-and-forth. It was better than overhearing angry-talk. I knocked on the door at 2000, and was told to come in. First Sergeant accompanied me inside the office as well. I was "on the carpet" in front of "the man" and I was about to have a sizeable chunk of my ass chewed-off without any anesthetic.
OP: Sergeants Majors. How are you doing this evening?
RCSM: Well, I was good until I seen one my Soldiers wearing THE SIDE OF A MRE BOX AS AN ID CARD. That's just humiliating and uncalled for. What made you think this was an acceptable recourse?
OP: He lost his ID card Sergeant Major.
RCSM: (Now a bit more irritated.) Then why didn't you just get him a new ID card then? WHY DID YOU FIND IT ACCEPTABLE TO EMBARRASS HIM?
OP: I did Sergeant Major. He went a couple days ago to get a new card. He had it for less than an hour and lost that one as well. That's why he is walking around with the MRE box ID card.
RCSM: Oh!
BCSM: Hawk is a little different Sergeant Major. (Said with a big grin and a chuckle.)
First Sergeant: That is an understatement Sergeant Major!
RCSM: What do you mean?
BCSM: Why don't you elaborate OP NICKNAME.
OP: He is an idiot Sergeant Major!
BCSM: (Laughing.) I said elaborate. Why don't you tell him what you told me at the Promotion Board!
OP: Okay Sergeant Major. Please be cognizant that I a merely trying to explain Hawk the best way I know how. Sergeant Major, picture a room with no windows and only one door. Hawk is in that room, with one cat and one dog. I give Hawk very explicit and simple instructions. "Hawk, I will be back in five minutes. Make sure the dog doesn't eat the cat". Sergeant Major, you could go back in that room 30 seconds later and there would be no cat, no dog, a dead fucking elephant and Hawk is clueless about how the fuck it happened. That is Hawk Sergeant Major.
Now 75% of the occupants in the room are laughing hysterically. Guess who is not happy with that analogy? Wrong. The Regimental CSM is laughing. OP. OP is not laughing. The analogy is no longer funny to me at this point. It is a said reality of my life. Hawk is my Soldier. I deal with this heavy mouth-breathing Simple Jack human every single day. I was deployed and there was no reprieve from Hawk.
This is the shit I deal with on a nearly daily basis:
OP: Hawk. Why are you wearing DIFFERENT SOLDIER NAME uniform top?
Hawk: The laundry place fucked up.
OP: What?
Hawk: The laundry facility accidentally gave me DIFFERENT SOLDIERS clothes.
OP: So, rather than take it back and get your shit (LONG "I AM FUCKING DUMBFOUNDED" PAUSE) you decided to just wear another persons clothes?
)YES! Yes, these are the type answers I get in return.)
Hawk: I am not wearing his underwear Sergeant OP. (Hawk smile. The "I am mentally deficient" smile) I am free-balling Sergeant.
OP: Goddamn it Hawk. I bet DIFFERENT SOLDIER will be happy to hear that your dick-meat is funking up his uniform bottoms. Take off his uniform and put on YOUR PT (Physical Training) shorts. Then take his fucking clothes back to the laundry facility and get your shit.
Shit like this is a constant. He fucks up Promotion Boards. He can't keep track of newly printed ID cards for more than an hour. He is now wearing another Soldiers uniform. My god, I have accidentally interrupted him milking his snake while on guard duty. Scratched that, interrupted would imply he stopped. He didn't he continued without missing a stroke. THIS. THIS IS WHY I WAS NOT AMUSED OR LAUGHING!
RCSM: Is it he really that bad Sergeant OP?
OP: Oh No! Sometimes it's worse. We take our dose of Hawk one day at a time Sergeant Major.
BCSM: (Phone Call.) SSG OPERATIONS NCO. Call over to OP's Operations Center (OPCEN). Tell them to send Specialist Hawk over to my office.
The Operations NCO calls back and informs the Battalion CSM that Hawk has arrived at Battalion. The Battalion CSM instructs the Operations NCO to, "send him to my office."
The door to the office is still closed. We can hear the shuffling of feet in the hallway. We are all waiting for Hawk to knock on the door. Who knows, he might even be wearing his own uniform. We wait, and then we wait some more. We finally hear knocking. The knocking was not on Sergeant Majors door though. The knocking echoed from an office down the hall. I am about to excuse myself and go retrieve my "special" Soldier, but the phone rings. It was the Battalion Commander. He is wondering why someone knocked on his door and let himself into his office while he was on a conference call with the Regimental Commander and other Battalion Commanders. It was Hawk! The door sign that said "Command Sergeant Major NAME" must have confused him.
I can see the Regimental CSM now coming to the slow realization that the dead elephant analogy was not intended to be funny at all. It truly, and accurately, described what 5'9 and 150 pounds of stupidity looks like. We again hear the shuffle of feet down the hall, and finally there is a knock at the correct door.
BCSM: Enter!
Hawk just walks in. Then he sees the amount of rank in the room and pauses. He opened his mouth as if he was about to utter something ridiculous stupid, but his brain was smart enough to know better. I personally think he needed to let the abundance of drool escape his mouth.
RCSM: Hawk good to see you again. Glad you are not wearing the largest ID card I have ever seen. Hawk! I have had a conversation with your leadership, and I see why they are irritated with your lack of situational awareness. Son, you need to get your shit together or I will find you a job I am certain you won't like. You understand where I am coming from?
I heard it. He heard it. The Regimental CSM gave a pretty simple warning. "Stop fucking up or else!" All Hawk had to say was "Roger" or "Understood Sergeant Major." Something the Regimental Sergeant Major said must have peaked his interest though. I was about to gently rest my face inside the palm of my hand and wonder what I did in life to deserve this creature. What poor choices led me to this moment in time in which I am truly wondering, "What the fuck are you doing with your life OP?"
Hawk: What's the other job Sergeant Major? (Goddamn it Hawk. Fuck my tits. Why? Fucking why Hawk?)
RCSM: I was implying that you would not want the "other" job. It was a threat Hawk. I will have you sweeping the Regimental headquarters building and pulling Kitchen Patrol (KP) duty for the remainder of the deployment. Get your shit together Hawk. You tracking?
OP BRAIN: Please. Please only utter one word or the name Roger. PLEASE. I beg you.
Hawk: Yes Sergeant Major. (YES. It was a small victory in an otherwise long day.)
RCSM: Hawk. I am going to personally take you over to LARGE FOB tomorrow to get an ID card, and then return you, WITH THE ID CARD, to Sergeant OP.
Hawk: Roger Sergeant Major.
RCSM: Hawk. What happened to the MRE box ID card?
I look at Hawk and I think I see a little turd-nugget exit his wrinkle-grommet (asshole) and tumble down the leg of his trousers and come to rest above his boot. It was either that or his peanut size brain had finally managed to dislodge itself and roll down his neck-hole. It was probably the brain.
Hawk: (Drum roll. The anticipation in the air was as thick as a surgically enhanced Kardashian butt.) Um. Ah. I think I lost it Sergeant Major. I set it on my bed, and when I came back it was gone.
Well, would you look at that. Hawk managed to lose an ID card that was larger than an eight-by-ten sheet of paper. Wow. Just fucking wow.
We were eventually dismissed from the meeting, and returned to the Team Room. I needed to ensure Hawk was prepared to get another ID card while the Regimental CSM babysit. On-the-other-hand, I prayed Hawk acted Hawk-like. I wanted the Regimental CSM to return Hawk back to me, scratching his head, and apologizing for verbally reprimanding me.
Regarding the billboard-sized ID card; Hawk lost it. He said he set it on his bed before walking over to Battalion, and taking a pit-stop in the Battalion Commanders office. I suspect he threw it in the trash and forgot. Maybe the Regimental CSM took it, or trashed it while in the chow hall? Maybe aliens stole it? I don't know. I just know it was never found again. I was not mad though. I just laughed it off. Nothing, and I mean nothing, surprised me if Hawk was involved.
UPDATE: Hawk is still dumb. Hawk will forever be a brainless shell of a human. He is a genuinely a kind and caring person though. He will give you the shirt of his back if you need it. However, you will need to provide step-by-step instructions, and have a bucket-load of patience in order for him to put it back on, inside-out and backwards. Even that would be a small victory though.
Some of you may be happy to know that I reached out to a handful of people I am still in contact with. I currently have 17 stories on-deck. They are not all about Hawk, but he does make retarded cameos in some of the stories. I also have not-funny stories, like my first Improvised Explosive Device (IED) encounter or the time I took a fair amount of mortar shrapnel to the face. Fear not though. I have my own unique way of conveying stories and I assure you there will be at least one chuckle hidden within.
I appreciate all the kind comments, and really enjoy the back-and-forth conversations and story-sharing with you, the Reader. I hope you got a laugh. Be safe, drink beer, take a knee, and face out!
I will continue to spread-out the Hawk stories weekly. The title may change, but there at least three on deck!
07 SEP 20: Hawk's Hot Tub Excursion
14 SEP 20: Hawk Walks Home, IN IRAQ
21 SEP 20: Hawk Drives; We Shoot

Dragons are real, not just creatures of myth and imagination. I’ve seen them. I know. I had close association with one, once upon a time, and barely escaped intact.
They are among us, mostly hidden from our daily sight, in hidden shadowed places, and venture rarely to the light.
They once were great in number, ugly wonders to behold, aiding in the keeping of misers’ greedy gold.
Squat, ungainly, beastly, creatures better seen at night, natural hideous enemies of all that’s good and right.
And if you’ve ever ridden one, St. Peter you can tell “Dragon rider reporting, Sir! I’ve spent my time in Hell!”
And if this loathsome beasty swallows you within, you’ll know the daily torments of those who live in sin.
And never think to trust them, for hatred blacks their hearts, and they’ll do their best to render from you your important parts.
If you try to turn them quickly, quite soon you will see them break control and gallop toward the nearest tree.
If you try to stop one quickly, you will surely flip ass over teakettle, and wind up in the ditch.
Never think that one will love you, or you will come to harm, and next thing that you’re knowin’ you’ve went and bought the farm.
And there’s no need to pamper as you would a lass. They ‘ll take all your love for granted and bite you in the ass.
For dragons have no loyalty, no honor, and no shame, and all will one day sink into the earth from which they came.
So, people, watch for dragons, this of you I beg. They’ll attack you as you cross the street, and run right up your leg.
We must slay these dragons, for our children’s’ sake. We must catch them all and crush them, and burn them at the stake.
I stood glaring at the bitch, and she stared right back, her cloudy yellow eyes unblinking. I despised her with a passion, which she knew, and she loathed me back.
We’d had a rocky relationship, she and I. I had done my best to win her heart, but she had spurned me, and now I wished her dead. I’d like to put a .45 round right between those big round orbs, with their sarcastic expression, and watch the whore bleed out in front of me. That’d wipe that sneer off her face.
Hell, I might just be able to get away with it, if I took her out to some back road somewhere. Yes, sir, one right between the eyes, and maybe another a little higher up, just for good measure. Then I’d never have to see or deal with her sorry ass again. God, how I’d come to hate her! And I knew she felt the same.
Hell, I might just do it! Who would know? Roll her leaking carcass in a weedy ditch, or sink her in a canal.
I took another pull from the bottle of whiskey in my hand, screwed the cap back on, and stuck it back in my pocket.
I’d had high hopes for the relationship in the beginning, and I’d put a hell of a lot of effort into it, and gotten shit for my trouble. I had thought that there might be some slight chance that we would make it.
But she had never cared. What a fool I’d been! She’d taken every damn thing I’d given her, and all I’d ever done for her, and pissed all over it.
I knew I wouldn’t. But, oh, how I wished!
Fuck it! I took the whiskey out, unscrewed the cap, and took a good,healthy slug, enjoying the burn, and the spreading warmth. I thought back to how it had begun:
Charlie was in the jungle, getting stronger. I could feel him there, watching, waiting, patient.
I was in between assignments, restless, in a kind of holding pattern, restless and hungry. I could feel myself getting weaker day by day.
All I wanted was another mission, and for my sins, they gave me one. When it was over, I’d never want another.
I got there before she did, if only by a couple of weeks. We were a small crew in my new billet, just the six of us, gathered from different far-flung units, tasked with special assignment.
I had recently been promoted to Sgt. The junior man in the outfit, I was the designated driver.
Then She came. I would come to know her well, and would regret it for the rest of my life. She was where it all began to fall apart. Her name is not important, but I would come to think of her as The Dragon, for that was what she was.
She had come from another unit, in answer to a call we had put out for assistance. What we soon came to realize was that she was not here by choice, and that she had been someone else’s problem that had been pushed on down the road to us.
We soon came to understand why. We all did, and we didn’t like it. We didn’t like Her. Me, especially. I came to loathe her with a deadly passion that would bring me to the brink of a decision to get rid of her for good.
As things turned out, I should have done it. If I had it to do over again, I would.
When she first came to us, she was an ugly little bitch. There was no getting around that. But we were all outcasts in that crew, of one kind or another. It took a certain kind of mindset for the type of assignment we’d been brought here for, and we sensed that she might just fit right in. Brother, how wrong we were!
I pampered that bitch. I took her places. I bought her everything I thought she might need or want, and all I asked for in return, was loyalty. But the bitch betrayed us at every turn. She shit all over everything we did for her, and laughed in our faces while she was doing it.
We finally gave up in disgust. We couldn’t fix what was wrong inside of her. By that time, I think we all began to realize that nobody could. She was just broken, that’s all, and in a way that can’t be healed.
Until we could find a replacement, she was assigned to me. It had been made clear that she was my responsibility now.
I resented it, and resented it more with each passing day, until I came to hate her with an unending passion.
She just stood there looking at me steadily, those big eyes unblinking, that same obnoxious, mocking smile. I staggered a step, and threw the bottle with all my might. It caught her in the grill, and broke. She just stood there, staring, and took it.
That infuriated me more. I ran toward her. She didn’t move, just stood there, waiting. She didn’t scare for shit, I’d give her that!
I ripped her windshield wipers off, and threw them across the parking lot, into the far shadows, out of reach of the sodium vapor lights. The fucking things had never worked, anyway.
I slid down her side to sit leaning against her on the ground. She was a shit green beat-up AMC Gremlin, and she was the most Godawful piece of shit ever made. And I had to drive a fucking General around in this disgrace. It was our official government vehicle, and the only one we had.
She was sentient. I knew she was. The bitch had a soul, and it was dark, and black, and evil. She was probably a constipated nun in a previous life. I called her The Dragon.
We had a hell of a time getting the place up and running. There had been a lot of work to be done, but when many of the local tradesmen heard the phrase “ Government Purchase Order”, they ran for the door, citing a Klan rally they had to attend at the local synagogue, or some such, and warding us off with crucifixes as they ran out the gate. I didn’t blame them. You could watch your grandchildren’s hair turn gray waiting for payment.
The Dragon had come to us from LeJeune after we had put in a request for a vehicle to use for official transportation, and someone had taken the opportunity to clear their inventory of this albatross. I’ll bet they’re still laughing, the sons of bitches.
Everything that could be wrong with it was. We had fixed what we could, but some of it was beyond repair.
My biggest gripe, since I was the only one who spent time in it, was the radio. The channel selector knob has broken off before it got to us, and it was stuck on some golden oldies 50’s station. I couldn’t stand that bobby socks bebop bullshit. Boss didn’t want to spring for the cost of getting it fixed.
The Division Commander was in town, and I was to ferry him, as one of four distinguished guests, to a to do here in town. I wasn’t looking forward to it. He was going to shit when he saw what he would be riding in.
I fucking hate it here! I thought. I could drive us into a light pole, get myself fired. Hell, drive into a cement truck, put us both out of our misery. Ten minutes in this mustard olive drab horror show monstrosity and he’ll want to die, from embarrassment if nothing else.
There was no way this was going to end well, and I was going to get blamed. The others just don’t Know her, man! Not like I do!
I was feeling sorry for myself, and I don’t care who knows it.
She waits until just the worst time, and then she springs shit on you. She’s an evil fuck! She is! She knows! Oh, this is gonna’ be bad!
She was behind me, quietly listening to my thoughts, thinking, planning.
I could leave. If I took off right now, I could be out of state by morning. They wouldn’t know which way I’d gone. I could go north - Wyoming, maybe. Nothin’ there but bears an’ rabbits an’ gay cowboys.........ok, maybe not Wyoming.
I was in my best pressed Charlie’s, looking natty, if I do say so myself. My trusty steed was looking like the ill conceived automotive abortion that it was.
His Royal Highnessness was waiting outside when I put-putted up, looking snappy. He was a big’un! The man was tall, and it was quite obvious that he hadn’t passed a PFT probably since I was in little boy britches. I gave him my best snappy salute, which was returned, and watched him for a moment as he kept looking behind us for the limo that he obviously was expecting to have followed me.
My day had just gotten better, or worse. I was about to see how the laws of physics would apply when trying to fit this walrus into a back seat compartment barely big enough for an anorexic midget.
He did a surprised little half stutter step when I opened the postage stamp-sized door to reveal the dog coffin of a back seat space. General Officers,of course, don’t sit up front.
He was game, I’ll give him that. I guess one does not reach such elevations of godly power without some determination. It took some maneuvering, and some twisting and turning, and some turning kind of sideways and sticking one’s head and shoulders in and kind of wriggling forward and contorting oneself into an up right position, but damned if he didn’t get it done! I’d have given good odds that he wouldn’t have.
I had had a pleasant vision of giving an able assist with a gentle foot against the at one point presented ample ass, but protocol forbade. He might take it wrong, and fraternization is frowned upon.
I closed the door of the puke green piece of shit and walked around to the driver’s side. I had left the door only slightly cracked so that it would not latch, as I had the a/c on for his Royal Largeness. For what good it would do. Like most everything else on this shit green hatful of tinfoil, it didn’t work very well when it worked at all.
The slime green truncated chunk of low grade scrap metal was riding low, not being used to having a polar bear confined in its back seat. We were going to scrape on the speed bumps.
I tried the door. I’d pushed it closed too far. The latch had engaged. Closing it the rest of the way, I raised my foot, bent my knee, and gave it a solid heel kick in the sweet spot. I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy abusing the rolling bucket full of loose parts, but it was the only way I could get the door open. If King Kong Bundy in the back seat noticed, he didn’t say anything.
I climbed in and tossed the loose seat belt out of the way. There was no way to tighten it.
I glanced in the rear view mirror. The yeti crouched there in the shadows, his knees beside his ears, looked like he was having a hard time breathing.
“You good to go there, Sir?”
“Yes” he squeeked. He sounded like Mickey Mouse with alligator clips on his nuts.
I put us in gear, and off we went, the little snot green pile of reconstituted toaster ovens groaning and whimpering at the weight of the water buffalo behind me.
We arrived at the soccer field; bunting-hung dais with a row of chairs behind a beribboned podium. Local dignitaries with their wives or girlfriends, or sometimes both.
There would be a formal ceremony out here, and then a less formal reception at an adjacent inside venue.
I left Yogi the Bear and went to confer with the smiling pant-suited mental patient holding a clipboard about our role in the production.
We were to be third in line.
I went back, kicked the door, and climbed back inside. The seat belt was in the way again. I took out my pocket knife and cut it off.
I looked at the Pillsbury Doughboy to see how he was doing. He was getting kind of red in the face, whether from the heat almost untouched by the inadequate a/c (they got an interior the size of a fuckin’ shoe box on these motherfuckers an’ they can’t even get that right?) or because he couldn’t breath right, I don’t know, and I didn’t think it my place to ask. His eyes are still open. He’s all right.
“Well, shit” I thought. “So far, so good. Maybe the bitch is asleep. We did stay up pretty late last night, talkin’. Mebbe this’ll be all right.”
The first car in the parade was a bright white Caddie that I knew cost more than I’d make in the next 5 years. It drive slowly onto the field, and rolled to a dignified stop opposite the dais. A driver in matching white suit and white tie walked around and opened the right rear passenger door and stood at a civilian version of attention as his passenger climbed out, to polite applause from the reviewing stand, and walked to the dais to find his chair. That would be the WWII Vet.
The second car, a shiny black limo, followed the same procedure, disgorging two Korea Veterans before continuing on its way.
Looks like we’re up, I thought nervously, but kind of pleased, too. So far....... maybe she’s gonna’ behave herself. She keeps this up, I’ll take the rattling bag of recycled soda cans for a wash.
I checked on Chewbaca. He hadn’t moved. He couldn’t be dead, could he? I’d heard ‘bout that, folks just sittin’ there their eyes open, but out to lunch with Elvis . No, he blinked. He’s all right.
It briefly occurred to me how we were gonna’ get Paul Bunyon Out of the back seat when we had so much trouble gettin’ him In. We didn’t have Babe we could harness him to, and I didn’t bring no WD40.
I was shocked and surprised. So far so good. Maybe the booger green scrapyard reject was gonna’ treat me right, for once. Maybe the whore was gonna show me some love! Maybe she’d tuck it back in for me. I’ll take ‘er get ‘er waxed , too - some o’ that pink shit, smells like bubble gum.
We had been moving forward, slowly, out onto the greensward. Maybe I’d survive this after all!
What’s that? Do I smell.......
Oh, no no no no no, don’t do this to me, please, Honey, I’ll change your oil every week! Just don’t don’t don’t don’t I’ll buy you new tires - Bridgestones, Baby, I swear! Please, don’t you do this to me, you Bitch!
..............Dragon’s Breath!
“Cocksucker!!” I screamed. The Jolly Green Giant jumped about a foot in the air. I didn’t know he had that much room. I felt one of the rear shocks give way, and that corner sank down a little.
“Not you, Sir!”
Fuck me! It was an ambush the whole time!
Steam was starting to come out from under the hood, and the hissing, sizzling sound was getting louder. The tin can on go-cart wheels shuddered, hesitated, and moved on.
Oh, no no no no no! The damn Tonka Toy lawn mower engine in this piece of shit’s overheatin’ already? Well, we did have Andre the Giant back there, an’ it ain’t used to that kinda’ haul.
A whining started up under the hood, quickly and steadily beginning to rise in pitch and volume.
“Are you shittin’ me?!!” “Sorry, Sir!”
Smoke and steam were coming from the beast’s nostrils, a shrieking cry rose in its throat! Run, all you people! Run for the hills! Dig fast ! Dig deep!
I grabbed the a/c knob. It came off in my fingers.
The dragon is awake! Walk in fear and trembling!
The tramp lurched forward , once, twice, and and shook and nearly stalled.
“Blatttttttt!!”
Hulk Hogan got nearly two foot that time ( there went that other one). He wasn’t expectin’ it. Neither was I. Scared one outa’ me, too. I think mine was better, musicality-wise. More base, and on a rising note. First time I’d ever heard a car fart before.
I stopped with a lurch across from the dais, shouldered open the door hard enough for it to hit the stops, and was out of there before it had a chance to bounce back again, moving faster than a sharecropper runnin’ from a televangelist he owes money to.
I dashed through the hissing steam around the hood of the Dragon and yanked open G’s door, helping him crawl out. I came to attention and gave my best salute. The full bleachers and the various spectators and participants stared in open-mouthed shock as G straightened himself and strode lock-jawed toward the dais. He did not return my salute or acknowledge me in any way. That’s when I knew I was in trouble.
I ran back around the front of the car. The door was shut. I gave it a kick to open it, jumped in, slapped it in gear, and hit the gas. It lurched once, and then, relieved of its load, I guess, settled down to a smoother run, with just the occasional hiccup. Steam was still billowing from under the hood, and the damaged belt was screaming like a banshee in an ever-steepening, ear-splitting howl.
The piece of shit was moving slower than a dead hooker walking to church. We were making about two miles an hour. It was the best that we could do. I could have pushed it faster. People were turning to watch us pass.
Is that smoke? Oh, shit! Somethin’s burnin’! I smell it!
I had just completely humiliated and embarrassed the Division Commander( CG)in front of the Mayor, the City Council, two Veterans of Korea, the last surviving member of the group of Marines who were there when the first, smaller flag was raised on Suribachi (I got his autograph, and got to shake his hand),two dogcatchers, a Baptist preacher, and assorted other dignitaries.
I was in deep shit! I knew it! I knew the Dragon would get me!
What would it be? Slow hanging? Would I be permitted the dignity of a firing squad, go out like a man?
I could steal something with some balls, make a run for the border. They had extradition, but it would be a fighting chance!
Would they take my stripes before or after I was dead?
Could they take more than one at a time?
Maybe I could throw myself on the Mercy of the Court, request banishment, and promise never to come back. We got a research station in Antarctica, don’t we? I could teach the fuckin’ penguins to close order drill!
Author’s note:
The above events occurred as above described at a Marine Corps Birthday ceremony.
I, unfortunately, was the driver.
The Dragon was in even worse condition than described. She died behind the bleachers, just before we reached the street, and was never resurrected, but was assigned, instead, to legend, and to the scrap heap of history. There was a small fire under the hood, but I had an extinguisher.
A week after the incident described above, we recieved, by special delivery, a new vehicle.
I was relieved of my duties shortly thereafter, and reassigned. For other reasons.
I still have the autograph.

Apparently, no one in SGI realizes that the Quan Yin chapter of the Lotus Sutra recommends a practice - repeating this bodhisattva's name! ["Nam gwan shi yin pu sa"] Nowhere in the Lotus Sutra will you find any recommendation to simply repeat the title of the sutra like a brain-dead dumbass.
But thanks to a very kind contributor who sent me some "Wisdom of the Lotus Sutra" books (I'm still looking for that reincarnation reference, BTW), I found the section where Ikeda and his goons give Chapter 25 the business.
Let's take a look, shall we?
First of all, the Engrish translation of "Quan Yin", "Guan Yin", "Kuanyin", "Kannon" - all this Boddhisattva's names - is "Perceiver of the World's Sounds". The Sanskrit is "Avalokiteśvara", translated as "Hearer of the Sounds of the World", according to this translation. I'm going to be working off the Burton Watson translation and cross referencing his (somewhat garbled) translation with this translation.
Did any of YOU realize this? Does anyone in SGI? My sources say NO.
By using an unfamiliar name for this bodhisattva, the Soka Gakkai's Deception Department Study Department is apparently hoping that the reader will simply lump this bodhisattva in with all the other irrelevant bodhisattvas in the Lotus Sutra ("Inexhaustible Intent", for gods sake, and "Wonderful Sound", for example) and kinda bleep right over it. Using her REAL name might arouse a seeking spirit that asks questions and we can't have THAT, culties, CAN WE?
This bodhisattva is VERY well known, perhaps the best known of any of the bodhisattvas. Quan Yin started out as a dude, but gradually transitioned to a woman (yay trans!) and is now regarded as something of a "mother goddess" figure along the lines of Christianity's Virgin Mary, as she hears the laments of the world's suffering masses.

There are numerous legends that recount the miracles which Quan Yin performs to help those who call on Her.
The Goddess of Mercy is unique among the heavenly hierarchy in that She is so utterly free from pride or vengefulness that She remains reluctant to punish even those to whom a severe lesson might be appropriate. Individuals who could be sentenced to dreadful penance in other systems can attain rebirth and renewal by simply calling upon Her graces with utter and absolute sincerity. It is said that, even for one kneeling beneath the executioner's sword already raised to strike, a single heartfelt cry to Bodhisattva Quan Yin will cause the blade to fall shattered to the ground. Source

There are many beautiful depictions of this bodhisattva, as here and here, and to my knowledge, she is NEVER referred to as "Perceiver of the World's Sounds". By using that translation instead of one of her popular names, these Soka Gakkai spin doctors Study Department minions could acknowledge this chapter while giving it the "Nothing to see here - move along" treatment. If they skipped over it altogether, surely some eagle-eyed intellectually-inclined SGI member (who was actually reading this dreck) would say, "Hey wait a minnit! WHERE'S CHAPTER 25???" So they had to manipulate it so it didn't take away from their Ikeda-centric message or raise any questions.
Thus far, everyone who claims familiarity with the Lotus Sutra has expressed surprise at the contents of Chapter 25, because it's exactly as I say. I suspect that what happens while one is a devout SGI member is that one kinda mentally "skips over" the problematic content, the way so many former Christians realize they did with so much of the nasty stuff about the jeez. It's right there in black and white, but the devout have their antiprocess shields locked down and can't see it.
But WE can.
This comes from "The Wisdom of the Lotus Sutra: A Discussion", Volume VI: Examining Chapters 23-28, Part III, pp. 71-98. The authors credited are, of course, Daisakoober Ikeduhhhh, and, in a fascinating twist, Katsuji Saito, Takanori Endo, and Haruo Suda. There are abundant references such as I'm describing; I'll just pull out a few.
First of all, the title should raise an eyebrow or two: "Universal Gateway". "Universal" means "for EVERYONE" and a "gateway" is what one passes through. That means ALL CAN ENTER. Alternatively:

Why is this chapter (Chapter 25 of the Lotus Sutra) called the Universal Door? Because this practice is so easy, it can be done by anyone – so it is universal:

Is this starting to sound familiar?? It should O_O

You don’t have to be intelligent enough to understand the Sutras and all the subtle, deep, profound meanings within them to practice this. Source

See? Even complete dummyheads can play!! EVEN IDIOTS LIKE YOU!
I love it when the religious talk down to me :D
So, starting on p. 71, Our Heroes begin by obfuscating:

Ikeda: Compassion is the basic prerequisite of a leader. This is all that really matters. To be a leader is to cherish and protect each person. The "Universal Gateway of the Bodhisattva Perceiver of the World's Sounds" chapter calls to mind the image of such a compassionate leader.

"Like MEEEE! Everyone should now be thinking about MEEEE just like I am!! Always thinking about MEEEE!!"
Note: This chapter is NOT about "leadership".

Saito: Indeed, Perceiver of the World's Sounds displays a kindness that resembles motherly love.
Endo: This bodhisattva is also sometimes referred to as the "merciful mother Perceiver of the World's Sounds".
Ikeda: We all think fondly of our mothers.

SUBJECT: **CHANGED*
Two pages in, despite linking this bodhisattva to mothers, they ALL refer to QuanYin as "him" despite this bodhisattva being widely acknowledged as female throughout the world:

Endo: I think this quality of motherly compassion explains why Bodhisattva Perceiver of the World's Sounds has enjoyed such popularity.
Suda: The SGI treasures each member with a kindness that is, in a sense, even greater than that of a parent. No matter what a person going through, SGI members support one another, sharing another's worries and offering encouragement.

GREAT one, Mr. Suda! 🤣🤣🤣🤣 That's HILAROUS! But can we get back to what we're actually TALKING ABOUT???

Ikeda: Bodhisattva Perceiver of the World's Sounds is so named because he listens with great compassion to all sounds and voices in the world, to the voices of suffering people, and he embraces and responds to them. He listens, understands and takes action in response to the true feelings of each person.

Notice how Ikeda so often describes himself using those exact terms... He's making this all about himself.

Ikeda: Isn't this boundless kindness exactly what identifies Bodhisattva Perceiver of the World's Sounds? This is why he is so widely revered.
Saito: This bodhisattva is so well known that, in the East, even people who have never heard of the Lotus Sutra are familiar with Perceiver of the World's Sounds.

Not by that name they aren't!

Suda: In India, China, Korea, Japan and many other Asian countries, no bodhisattva is better known. The number of shrines built to him also far exceeds those built to any other bodhisattva. People have continually entrusted their hopes to Perceiver of the World's Sounds.
In that lost email I spoke about peace in the Mideast. How could people there have dialogue when it's clear there's that immovable object colliding with the unstoppable force. How do even whispers get heard in all the cacaphony?

Oops - sorry. Continuing:

Endo: That's because he is said to save people from all dangers and difficulties at all times and in all places.

Oh, how silly those Orientals are! Look how irrational they are!
They're making this out like it's some sort of cultural lore or mythology instead of being EXACTLY what the Lotus Sutra STATES!
Have a look - this is a translation by Burton Watson, and he's feeding into the confusion:

Chapter Twenty-five: The Universal Gate of Bodhisattva Kanzeon

He uses one of Bodhisattva QuanYin's less-common names in the title, but the rest of the chapter, he uses "Perceiver of the World's Sounds" - which is supposedly the same thing - but nowhere does he correlate the two.

"Suppose, in a place filled with all the evil-hearted bandits of the thousand-million-fold world, there is a merchant leader who is guiding a band of merchants carrying valuable treasures over a steep and dangerous road, and that one man shouts out these words: 'Good men, do not be afraid! You must single-mindedly call on the name of Bodhisattva Perceiver of the World's Sounds. This bodhisattva can grant fearlessness to living beings. If you call his name, you will be delivered from these evil-hearted bandits!' When the band if merchants hear this, they all together raise their voices, saying, 'Hail to the Bodhisattva Perceiver of the World's Sounds!'

Note that one translation of "Nam myoho renge kyo" is "Hail, Glorious Sutra of the Wonderful Law and another is "to devote oneself to the Wonderful Law of the Lotus Sutra".

And because they call his name, they are at once able to gain deliverance. Inexhaustible Intent, the authority and supernatural power of the Bodhisattva and mahasattva Perceiver of the World's Sounds are as mighty as this!

Here is the other translation:

When a caravan leader travels on a dangerous road together with his fellow merchants, carrying precious treasures in a great manifold cosmos filled with evil robbers, if there be a single person who says:

O sons of a virtuous family! Do not fear! You should wholeheartedly chant the name of Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara. This bodhisattva bestows fearlessness upon sentient beings. If you chant his name, you will be free from these evil robbers.

“Now, if those merchants chant loudly in unison, saying: Homage to Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara!
“Then, by chanting his name, the caravan will immediately gain deliverance. O Akṣayamati! The transcendent power of Bodhisattva Mahāsattva Avalokiteśvara is as great and mighty as this.

Hm. Back to Burton Watson:

"Suppose there were a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand, a million living beings who, seeking for gold, silver, lapis lazuli, seashell, agate, coral, amber, pearls, and other treasures, set out on the great sea. and suppose a fierce wind should blow their ship off course and it drifted to the land of rakshasas demons. If among those people there is even just one who calls the name of Bodhisattva [Quan Yin], then all those people will be delivered from their troubles with the rakshasas. This is why he is called [Quan Yin]."

Notice how similar in wording and intent that is to this from an earlier Ikeda "guidance":

When I think of the hellish picture of the sinking Titanic, I wish there could have been some who chanted daimoku. Source

psshhhh As if that would have changed anything at all... But let's proceed:
Here's another translation:

If they were adrift on the great waters, by chanting his name they would reach the shallows. There are hundreds of thousands of myriads of koṭis of sentient beings who enter the great ocean to seek such treasures as gold, silver, lapis lazuli, mother-of-pearl, agate, coral, amber, and pearl. Even if a cyclone were to blow the ship of one of these toward the land of rākṣasa demons, they would all become free from the danger of those rākṣasa demons if there were even a single person among them who chanted the name of Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara. For this reason he is called Avalokiteśvara.

That's pretty clear, isn't it? HOW did Nichiren miss this?? WHY did SGI-paid Burton Watson choose the wording he did?

"If a person who faces imminent threat of attack should call the name of Bodhisattva [Quan Yin], then the swords and staves wielded by his attackers would instantly shatter into so many pieces and he would be delivered."
"Though enough yakshas and rakshasas to fill all the thousand-million-fold world should try to come and torment a person, if they hear him calling the name of Bodhisattva [Quan Yin], then these evil demons will not even be able to look at him with their evil eyes, much less do him harm." Lotus Sutra Chapter 25

It goes on like that for, basically, the entire chapter. "Call on Bodhisattva Quan Yin!"
Yet in the Soka Gakkai treatment of this chapter, they do not acknowledge the "calling on Bodhisattva QuanYin's name" aspect AT ALL! Not even ONCE! This is what the Lotus Sutra ITSELF says that everyone is supposed to do, and Ikeda and his duplicitous cronies IGNORE it!
Imagine if I text my husband, saying, "On your way home from the kids' soccer game, please stop at the store and pick up a gallon of milk" and he tells them, "Mom says we can stop for ice cream on the way home!"

Saito: He is so famous that in China he is revered as a Taoist deity. It seems that the attraction people have toward this bodhisattva transcends even the boundaries of religion.

"But WE want nothing whatsoever to do with evil Taoism, do we, SGI members? Of course not! Look away...look away..."
You're going to love this next part:

Endo: It must be his kindness that people are drawn to.
Suda: His face definitely displays warmth and gentleness.

AND femininity! O.O

Ikeda: Nothing is as powerful as kindness. Nothing can better win over a person's heart. No eternal flame is as strong or as bright. Its brilliance illuminates people's hearts. It ignites the light of hope. Kindness is true soft power.

Oh brother. So why hasn't a single person you've paid for held a dialogue with converted and become your "disciple", Daisucky? The eternal flame at your monument to yourself, the Sho-Hondo at Taiseki-ji has been snuffed out. And the SGI, which is exactly as authoritarian as you have specified, is hemorrhaging members.
Note that this "discussion" happened some time before 1995; the Sho-Hondo wasn't torn down until 1998, so Ikeda may have been alluding to that with his "eternal flame" comment, about how the Sho-Hondo was to be the place where all peoples of the world would make a pilgrimage to pay homage to the Dai-Gohonzon.
And that "soft power" bullshit is what Ikeda's infamous "Harvard (non)speech" was all about. Kinda think I need to revisit that - perhaps tomorrow.
Carrying on:

Suda: Yes. Hard power clearly does not attract people.

Oh, that mirror needs a polishin', I'm thinking!

Ikeda: Soft means compassion, power is force. It is the force of compassion.

OH PLEASE!!

BARF!

Ikeda: The foundation of culture, peace and education is compassion - kindness toward human beings. The soft of soft power implies limitless kindness, which gives rise to limitless strength.

uh...NO - it means having RESPECT for others and their rights and their CONSENT!

Ikeda: Also, underlying kindness is strength; without strength, we cannot be kind to others. Behind the beautiful kindness of Perceiver of the World's Sounds is his courage to seek and spread the Mystic Law without begrudging his life.

NO! It's NOT! It doesn't say that ANYWHERE IN THE CHAPTER! This bodhisattva has supernatural powers and is IMMORTAL! There's no "life" to "begrudge"!
From the Lotus Sutra:

"If there should be living beings beset by numerous lusts and cravings, let them think with constant reverence of Bodhisattva Perceiver of the World's Sounds and then they can shed their desires. If they have great wrath and ire, let them think with constant reverence of Bodhisattva Perceiver of the World's Sounds and then they can shed their ire. If they have great ignorance and stupidity, let them think with constant reverence of Bodhisattva Perceiver of the World's Sounds and they can rid themselves of stupidity.

Yet NONE of these stupids refer to this very clear instruction about reverence!

"Inexhaustible Intent, this Bodhisattva Perceiver of the World's Sounds has succeeded in acquiring benefits such as these and. Taking on a variety of different forms, goes about among the lands saving living beings. For this reason you and the others should single-mindedly offer alms to Bodhisattva Perceiver of the World's Sounds can bestow fearlessness on those who are in fearful, pressing or difficult circumstances [sic]. That is why in this saha world everyone calls him Bestower of Fearlessness."

That [sic] sentence translates this way in the other translation:

“O Akṣayamati! This Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara displays such qualities, wanders through many lands in various forms, and saves sentient beings. For this reason you should wholeheartedly pay homage to Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara. This Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara bestows fearlessness in times of fearful calamity. For this reason everybody in this sahā world calls him Abhayaṃdada (Giver of Fearlessness).
The Bodhisattva Akṣayamati addressed the Buddha, saying: “O Bhagavat! I shall now pay homage to Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara.”

Hm. REALLY odd that Nichiren completely missed this, isn't it?
But there's no excuse for Ikeda et. al. to be glossing over it to the point that they don't even MENTION it. It's the whole point of the chapter!

Enso: To pray to Perceiver of the World's Sounds without believing in and accepting the Mystic Law would be putting the cart before the horse.

Except that that's what the Lotus Sutra says to do. No other requirements; that's why it's called "UNIVERSAL Door"!

Ikeda: Bodhisattva Perceiver of the World's Sounds is encompassed in the life of the original Buddha from the remote past; that is to say, in the Gohonzon. The function of Perceiver of the World's Sounds is just a small aspect of the beneficial power of the Gohonzon - of the Mystic Law.

"Which means you should all just not worry your silly little heads about any of this."

Ikeda: There is even a history of people placing their faith in this chapter as an independent sutra.

Perhaps it was:

Nothing is known about the authors of the Lotus Sutra. Given the content of the text, however, scholars assume that they were monks associated with the Mahayana Buddhist movement. The Lotus Sutra as it is known today is a pastiche of several distinct works, written at different times by different people for different purposes over a period of several centuries. Source, p. 374.
These texts insist that they are the word of the Buddha. That insistence (along with a host of other factors) has led scholars to conclude that they are not. The Lotus is particularly famous in this regard, constantly exhorting its devotees to copy it and preserve it, with the Buddha offering all manner of future rewards—including buddhahood—for those who do and threatening horrible fates in hell for those who don’t.
Still, you have to sympathize with the authors of these sutras. The Buddha’s enlightenment is said to encompass all knowledge, and he is said to have taught everything that was necessary to reach enlightenment. He left no successor, and it will be billions of years before Maitreya, the next Buddha, comes. From that perspective, when he passed into nirvana the canon was closed. Yet religions change and innovations occur. How can those who seek change, who have a new vision of the path, articulate that vision without placing it in the mouth of the Buddha? Source
The 25th chapter, which describes the glory and special powers of the great bodhisattva of compassion, Avalokitiśvara (Chinese Kuan-yin; Japanese Kannon), has had an important separate life under the name of Kuan-yin Ching (Japanese Kannon-gyō). Source
5.1 The position of the Lotus Sutra in the history of Mahayana Buddhism
As I have written elsewhere, I assume that the Lotus Sutra was shaped gradually to its present form. Based on results of the research of our predecessors as well as my own, I have tentatively divided the process of formation of the Sutra into four stages as follows:
(1) Tristubh-Jagati verses, found in chapters from the Upayakausalya- (II) to the Vyakarana-parivarta (IX)
(2) Sloka verses and prose, found in those chapters
(3) Chpaters from the Dharmabhanaka0 (X) to the Tathagatarddhyabhasamskara-parivarta (XX), as well as Nidana- (I) and Anuparindana-parivarta (XXVII)
(4) The other chapters (XXI-XXVI) and the latter half of the Stupasamdarsana-parivarta(XI), i.e. the so-called Devadatta-parivarta
While exact dates of formation are impossible to determine, I assume that the Sutra came into existence in this order, apart from some exceptions such as the verse portion of the Samantamukha-parivarta(XXIV) which probably existed as an independent text but was later incorporated into the Lotus Sutra. Source, p. 171.

Continuing on:

Endo: Shakyamuni replies that if there are beings experiencing suffering of any kind and they hear of this bodhisattva and single-mindedly clal his name, "then at once he will perceive the sound of their voices and they will all gain deliverance from their trials." In other words, they will be saved just by intoning his name. The fact that his help can be gained so easily would seem to be one reason for the spread of belief in him.

Endo, you're such a pill! Sensei has to constantly clean up after you!
The book then quotes from the Burton Watson translation; note that "Think on the power of that Perceiver of Sounds" is translated as "contemplate the power of Avalokiteśvara", which suggests meditation in a way that "think on" does not, in my opinion.

Ikeda: Of course, from the standpoint of Nichiren Buddhism, calling the name of Perceiver of the World's Sounds means chanting the name of the "Nam-myoho-renge-kyo Thus Come One," the original Buddha of the remote past who is the source of Perceiver of the World's Sounds' power. It is the practice of chanting daimoku.

If that were the case, why did the Lotus Sutra not say that? What Ikeda's explaining is that you can go to McDonald's wanting a Big Mac sandwich, and if you order, say, "a Filet-o-Fish", you'll get a Big Mac!

Ikeda: Nichiren Daishonin says, "Those who attained enlightenment by listening to the six chapters from the 'Medicine King' chapter on are merely those who had remained unenlightened after gaining blessings from the verse section of the 'Life Span' chapter." Citing this passage, President Toda would often say, "The 'Perceiver of the World's Sounds' chapter is really nothing but the leftovers from the 'Life Span' chapter."

That's ONE way to steer people away from it, isn't it?

Ikeda: Nam-myoho-renge-kyo is the source from which Perceiver of the World's Sounds derives his strength.

Evidence? Didn't think so. Saying it's so doesn't make it so, you know.

Ikeda: Therefore, the Daishonin declares, "Now that we have entered the Latter Day of the Law, the benefits Nichiren and his followers enjoy in their chanting of Nam-myoho-renge-kyo are as far above those conferred by Perceiver of the World's Sounds as heaven is above earth or clouds are above mud."
Suda: The Daishonin is saying that even though the benefits enumerated in the "Perceiver of the World's Sounds" chapter are vast beyond belief, they cannot compare with the benefit of chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo. This is quite a statement.

Yes, indeed - it is quite a statement. But notice that Nichiren started with garbage - nothing but his own opinion. Why should anyone take him seriously? Nichiren even admitted at the end of his life that he had been wrong all along. And we can look at the "actual proof" of the people who chant Nam-myoho-renge-kyo and see that they're typically doing worse in life than those who don't chant anything at all! The practice of worshiping the Bodhisattva Guanyin remains widespread; the Nichiren practice has never come anywhere close to its popularity, despite Nichiren's promise of more and better benefits. Chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo simply does not deliver - that's why most people quit. They simply don't want to waste any more of their time.
And they don't go back.

Ikeda: All of these could be summed up as the benefit of achieving an accident-free and tranquil life. This is why the "Perceiver of the World's Sounds" chapter is also referred to as the "Chapter for Removing Misfortune and Prolonging Life."
President Toda described these benefits in terms that we can easily understand, saying:

1) If you are running a business and trying to earn a profit, some calamity may befall you. At such a time, if you place your trust in the Gohonzon, you can avert disaster.
Yet Toda's "credit cooperative" failed and he was indicted on criminal charges, leading to his quitting his leadership position within the Soka Gakkai!
2) If someone decides to cause you trouble or you experience a major loss, trouble will instead befall that person and your loss will turn into gain.
Nope. That's never a guaranteed outcome and more often than not doesn't occur.
3) When you are suffering due to earthly desires or illness, if you place your faith in the Gohonzon, earthly desires will turn into enlightenment and the devil of illness will be powerless.
Tell us again about your favorite son's untimely death from a stomach ailment that is rarely fatal, Ikeda SCAMSEI.
4) Should you fall from a cliff or have a car accident, if you believe in the Gohonzon, you will not be injured.
What a load of crap! I knew someone in the SGI while I was still "in" who had lost her leg in a car accident! She claimed her "benefit" was that the doctors were able to save her other leg O_O
5) If someone tries to get you fired from your job, if you believe in the Gohonzon, that person will instead be forced to quit and you will keep your job.
Bullshit.
6) If someone hates you or tries to harm you, if you have strong faith, he or she will have a change of heart.
I wouldn't count on that!
7) Even if you face execution, if you have strong faith, you will be let off. This is what is meant by "the executioner's sword will be broken to bits." This is the principle that the Daishonin himself demonstrated.
Is this sort of "get out of consequences free" card good for society, though? Do YOU want the murderer next door getting off instead of being placed safely behind bars where they can't get YOU the next time they get a hankerin' for some murderin'? And that reference to the Daishonin is a pile of baloney. Nichiren never said that the executioner's sword broke, but that's what all the artwork about the incident shows. Liars and their lying lies.
8) Even if you face imprisonment, if you have strong faith, you will be exonerated and sent home.
Tell that to all the Soka Gakkai members who took the fall for Ikeda for election fraud - they didn't get off:

The Komeito succeeded in reducing to eight the number of Soka Gakkai members who were indicted by the public prosecutor. All of these were convicted; Takashi Miyamoto and Akio Sunagawa (both chapter level Soka Gakkai leaders) served time in jail, and the remaining six received suspended sentences. The Soka Gakkai claimed officially that those members convicted were acting out of their own volition and were not carrying out organization policy. Source

9) If someone tries to poison you or if you are vilified, the perpetrator will find himself in the exact same situation. This is what is meant by the principle that the injury rebounds upon the originator.
Oh, you mean how Ikeda claimed that someone's child's DEATH was a "punishment for sin" (that and another child's death are described here), and then Ikeda's OWN son died young?
10) Even in a powerful storm, those who have strong faith will not be harmed.
Ha. Riiiiiight...

Endo: Mr. Toda's explanation is very clear.

ALSO very wrong!

Ikeda: Though this wonderful state of life is available to all, many people don't seem to want it! Instead, they seem desirous of anything else and content themselves with pursuing immediate gain! And then if they are subjected to the slightest insult, they begin to doubt the Gohonzon!

No! Say it isn't so!!

Praying with doubt is like trying to keep water in a bathtub with the plug pulled. Your good fortune and benefit will drain away. A passage from the "Perceiver of the World's Sounds" chapter reads, "from thought to thought never entertaining doubt!" A confident prayer will reverberate powerfully throughout the entire universe.

Easy to say, of course. But what of Chapter 1 of the Lotus Sutra, in which we find THIS?

 Having rained the Dharma, The Buddha will satisfy those seeking the path. If there is anyone seeking the three vehicles Who still has any doubts, The Buddha will completely remove them, Extinguishing them with none left over. 

So why should we believe it's entirely up to US? "The Buddha" is supposed to convince us! And that isn't our responsibility!

Ikeda: While the "Perceiver of the World's Sounds" chapter speaks of the benefit of offering obeisance and alms to Bodhisattva Perceiver of the World's Sounds, this of course means praying and making offerings to the Gohonzon.

"Of course". Wait - what??
Were you nodding along half asleep by this point? I think that was #GOALZ.
That's probably enough for now - the whole thing is just dumb. But hopefully you can see how Ikeda and his minions twist things so that they can be taken to mean something entirely different from what the words say.