Web sites

I came across a web site that I think is something that Paige would show and Juz would like. I don’t know if you know it but it’s called ‘Texts From Last Night’ and it’s about just that, text messages. Some of them are indeed really funny, some of them not so much… Their humour reminds me of the cheap college humour presented in ‘American Pie’ that sometimes works sometimes doesn’t.
Anyway, I’m giving you some examples:


Literally just stood in the shower and forgot what to do. That hungover.


i got kicked out of Barns and Nobles cuz i put all the bibles in the fiction section


-he said he didn't have a condom.
-and you said?
-that that's fine cause i was ready to be a mom. yeah - he magically had a condom he forgot about after that.

The stoners next door have their couch on the sidewalk again, shirtless, soaking their feet in a baby pool and listening to loud ukulele music. I want their life.


So I think I just got a job offer from the guy I used to blow. See, networking pays off.


-the red head has a bf -just because there's a goalie doesn't mean u can't score


seriously iPhone. stop autocorrecting all my fucks into ducks. you're making all my strong worded texts look harmless and adorable.

So, when he came he screamed MORTAL KOMBAT!!!! at the top of his lungs and all of his roomates yelled back FINISH HER!!!!.....yeah kinda akward


She had a group on her phone called "great fucks". I was in it. It's almost like making the forbes list

-I'm watching CSI, they found semen in the woman's ear. -Guess she heard her killer coming


Dude you can't like a status about me getting hit by a car


-I want to fuck you on the side of the bed tonight.
-babe, don't say it like that!
-I'm sorry, I want to penetrate you on the edge of our sleeping quarters this evening.


Learn some fucking English or leave me alone! "Your" is for something that belongs to you, like 'your herpes'. And "you're" is a contraction for "you are", like "you're not sleeping with me".


We must be getting old. All of our friends are having kids and they aren't illegitimate.


I'm also leaving you with this:

My military service Part 6

So, I was sent back to my first training base to wait for the ‘newbies’ to arrive, train on how to be a sergeant and also train on truck driving. It was quite a busy period then.

Thankfully it was beginning of spring (5 years ago – time does fly quickly) and the weather was constantly improving. For the first week before the first arrivals we were busy cleaning the barracks, painting the outposts, replanting, doing laundry and making beds, clearing the grounds etc. We had a week to make the base look spotless for the newcomers. While that was being done during the day, the night posts were guarded by us as normal. Sleep was a luxury that we didn't have.

The first wave of people that would join the base was the people with some ‘specialties’. That would include immigrants applying for a green card serving for a shorter period of time, gypsies (can I use that term or is it politically incorrect?), people who illegally refused to join the army when properly called (mavericks?) or deserters. These people would stay in the base for a week and would be quickly transferred to proper military bases before the ‘proper’ new privates would arrive.

Greek Army is a fascist, racist constitution who discriminates between people as you can see. They put gypsies in a special category of people and they want to keep a different eye on them. Also, a major part of the immigrants serving are people from the former USSR. They have served a far more serious army of their own country, have families with children and are quite old to join this farce called Greek Army. They can’t afford to be far from their families for 6 months. I met many of these people and I didn’t have answers to this kind of their questions. They could do some social work to ‘prove’ their loyalty to their new adaptive county.

Anyway, the day that that first wave of people joined, I was away in the firing ground, tidying that area up. They placed them in groups (immigrants, gypsies, Greeks etc) in different rooms, far away from one another. The very first night though, there was an incident between a young gypsy and a Russian guy. As I was later told, there was a vendetta between their families and the gypsy stabbed the other man in the chest who was quickly transferred to the military hospital to be treated. The gypsy was also transferred to the military prison in Athens where he would be judged. I never learned what happened with him.

That incident caused us a lot of trouble though. It made everyone more tense and having agitated officers is never a good thing. We were to have extra shifts guarding the newcomers as well to keep an eye on them and also apart. There was a fear for retaliation. Proper sleep or evenings without duties were a luxury we didn’t have that week, which everybody hoped to pass quickly. I don’t know if the new extra guards helped (I doubt it) or the fact that the Colonel allowing that specific group of immigrants some extra freedoms, but there weren’t any other incidences with them.


Needless to say that we were happy to see these people go by the end of that week. Not all of them were creating problems but we hoped that the next bunch would be more obedient and trouble free. The day that new group arrived I was allocated to accompany the new privates from the gate to the building to have their stuff searched. I had been similarly accompanied like that, just three months ago into that same small room to have my stuff searched and it felt kind of weird. I could see the horror of the unknown in most of their faces and the anxiety of their parents dropping them off. I could also see the pride in some of the fathers’ faces seeing their children finally reaching adulthood and becoming a man (don’t get me started on that).

These days with the new privates were happy days. Most of the officers were preoccupied with them and we were left alone. We had fewer things to do, since some of the duties we previously had, were allocated to them. We also had this euphoria about being ‘old’ privates, taking some steps closer to been released.

My military service 5

I know I left this story behind since mid January but I always said I’d continue it.
The rest of the parts: part 4, part 3, part 2, part 1

I left the story when I was informed my military specialty (‘logistics manager of a military warehouse and truck driver’) and the location of my barracks where I’d spend the following months of my service. I had just finished around 45 days of basic training that involved proper military behavior and gun handling. I had no idea about what my specialty would bring or how my life would be in the new base. The only thing I knew was that I would spend a very short period of time in the new base at the beginning, since I had to go back to my training base to train on becoming a truck driver and a sergeant. I would return to that base, after that second period of training.

One of the worse things when it comes to being a soldier is the stories and gossips that circulate among the men amazingly quickly, making the even most insignificant stories sound like the beginning of the third world war. While doing the basic training, I had heard horrendous stories from a ‘friend’ of a ‘friend’ about new privates being tortured by older in the service men. It was said that when it came down to allocating responsibilities and trivia work being done in the base, newbies were the first to pick. It’s like being in jail and the newcomers being the bitches of everybody else.

I’d like to make a small (or not so small) parenthesis here regarding the stories circulating in barracks. I have already mentioned the horrible stories regarding the health checks being done when you first join that of course are not true. Most of these stories circulate among soldiers, but each time a small dramatic element is being added. To give you an idea about how stories circulate, I’ve been to 4 big military bases and other 3 smaller outposts during my service, all of them, had a ghost story related to them. In each base, the same story spreads from generation to generation of soldiers with some changes, but it does stay approximately the same for decades.The one that I most vividly remember from my training barracks had to do with a specific guarding post which was the most remote (it is always the case). There, some years ago a heartbroken soldier who couldn’t stand being in the service took a bullet from his stock, armed his rifle and blew his brains out. If you really look closely inside the post you’ll be able to see the marks of the bullet pieces (yeah, right). His mother couldn’t bear the pain of her son’s loss and died soon after. Now, each Tuesday around 3:30am (the day and time varies according to the story teller) which was the time the young man died, you might hear the mother’s ghost walking around, close to the guard post. Don’t be alarmed if you hear ghastly, frightening screams at night as well. It would be her, calling for her son. Her soul cannot rest. You might even see her briefly yelling and tearing her clothes off, wailing.
When I was first told that story, the guy next to me asked: ‘Are her tits at least nice? If they are, I don’t mind seeing her tearing her clothes off’ gesturing the size of tits, he mostly likes.
That’s a soldier mentality for you. I’m closing the parenthesis now.

The stories of the newbies being tortured, even if I knew that most were unfounded, and the fact that I would yet again change my surroundings and serve under a new captain were putting some stress on me. The day I was supposed to turn up in my new military base I was quite stressed. I was allocated to platoon 1.2 which was in charge of taking care of two huge warehouses as I would soon find out. Apart from a very good friend of mine from my hometown being there but in a different platoon, I didn’t know anyone else in the whole base.

What stroke me at the beginning were two guys who were about to take their last leave in a couple of days before finishing their service. I was in awe, thinking that they were about to go home when I had 10.5 more moths to serve. However, they weren’t the best of examples as people. Knowing that they would be ‘released’ soon, they were wearing very dirty uniforms, not giving a dime about the rest of us, causing various problems to the rest of us. I remember them going about to some of the high ranks begging for some more days off since they couldn’t stand it there and getting drunk almost every night at the canteen.

During each day, after the morning inspection each soldier had a task to do until the night shifts began. Luckily enough I was allocated to serve at helping at the warehouse under a captain called Stavros. I can evens till remember his last name and I really do thank the gods (or whatever that’s out there) for going to work for him. Stavros came from a military family and knew the troubles that we, the privates, were facing. He was treating us as proper human beings, being nice to us as long as the needed daily job was done which was fine by me.

When I first joined that base, Stavros had just taken over a new huge warehouse and was trying to check his supplies. That meant that we had to empty old boxes and go through their contents. Unfortunately, some of the boxes had small uniform parts, like clips of a belt, which we had to count. We’re talking about thousands of them. However, the work environment with Stavros was quite relaxed and I didn’t mind too much. Being busy like that, meant that each day was passing faster and the fact that I was not being yelled at for any reason was a plus. Counting things in old boxes with mold was what I was mostly doing day in and day out then.


I didn’t stay much in the second base then before I was transferred back to my training base. I have some stories to tell about that second base which I really can’t recall whether they occurred on my first or second visit.