On how the Navy believes milspouses are too feeble-minded to manage their own reproductive health

I find it really obnoxious when I go to a doctor -- any doctor, not just military or Tricare-ified -- for an issue with my finger and am asked before any other medical question when my last period was.

I find it even more obnoxious how little say I have over the function of my girlie bits.

Back in the day, when I was childfree, I asked what it would take to get a tubal ligation during a visit at the Pride of Navy Medicine, Balboa Hospital.

Doc: Your file says you don't have any children.
Me: Nope.
Doc: Typically they want you to have two before you make that decision.
Me: Kids are the spawn of Satan. I do not like kids.
Doc: No kids?
Me: That's right. What will it take to get a tubal?
Doc: Therapy.

The doc explained that I'd have to see a psychiatrist first, and then they'd consider allowing me to nuke the possibility I could pollute the gene pool. But, said the doc, with my list of medical issues, there was nil possibility I could become pregnant anyway, and since the issues were persistent, I really didn't even need a referral to the psychiatrist (unless, I inferred, I fell into a deep depression that I would never conceive*).

I never did understand this strange fascination the medical community has with my ability to procreate**. I'm downright confused by the military medical community's seeming insistence than I be a human incubator as often as my uterus and ovaries will allow.

This really became an issue for me when the assurances I received as to my infertility were proved horribly, terribly wrong. Turns out my list of medical issues was actually just one issue, and that one issue is resolved with exercise and a low-GI diet. Imagine my shock when, after hiring a personal trainer and strictly following her ungodly diet, two--count them! two!--pregnancy pee sticks turned positive on me.

I eventually got over my shock, sometime around his fifth birthday.

Not a year after my elder sprog came bleating into the world (literally, as he was a preemie, and his cry sounded like a baby goat, which was cute and horribly terrifying at the same time), my ovaries decided it would be HIGH-larious if they popped out another viable egg in spite of my lack of exercise and not-so-low-GI Weight Watchers diet***. Luckily for that sprog, he turned out cute enough that I decided not to sell him on eBay.

When I got pregnant with younger sprog, I decided Something Must Be Done. I hadn't wanted any, and here I was about to have my second. This would not stand. So I thought back to that fateful convo with the lying doctor who said I didn't need to worry about a tubal. She said I had to have two. I was about to have number two. I went through all the paperwork I'd gotten from Bethesda and saw something about opting for a tubal during a C-section. I didn't want a C-section, but my first pregnancy had ended in one****, and my health was headed in the same direction during that second pregnancy. I had a fair to middling chance that I'd end up on the operating room table with a shaved cookie and my excavated uterus perched on my belly.

I called to ask the doc about this. "You'll have to take a class at Bethesda, but it's just two hours, you sign the paperwork, and then if we do a C-section, we'll do the tubal ligation at the same time," said the doc.

Mother. Fucking. Woot.

I called the designated phone number to sign up for the class. The woman gave me the time, date, and location for that wonderful class, two months away (and--whew!--the last one before my due date). I showed up early, intent on not fucking up my chance to skewer my innards. When I sat in the waiting room, I noted how loud it was. There were a metric fuck ton of preggers and their service members sitting there with me.

The one next to me had a gleeful look. "So this is your first?" she asked.

I thought that was an odd question. "Nope, my second," I said.

She gave me a really weird look, like I had grown a puckered asshole on my forehead, and turned away. She didn't speak to me again.

I thought that was even more strange. Until we were called back for the designated class, for which I was registered.

It wasn't Let's Wrangle Our Fallopian Tubes and Motherfucking Hogtie Those Bitches class.

It was the new parents orientation shit. You know, how to put a fucking diaper on your kid. How to feed them. When to feed them. How not to be a shitbag of a parent.

I was so embarrassed. No wonder that gleeful 'zatch acted like I had motherfucking leprosy.

I left, naturally, and asked on my way out when the Getcher Tubes Tied class actually was.

The week before.

Mother. Fuckers.

Cut to a few weeks later. My health sitch had totally spiraled at this point, and the docs were telling me they'd take the first opportunity to induce labor. Then they got their excuse. The way shit went, I opted to just get the C-section to avoid the complications and issues we'd had during the first sprog's entry into the world. I jokingly said how nice it would be to get the tubal I'd tried to have. The doc gave me a weird look and asked for an explanation. So I provided.

The doc said, "Let me talk to the other surgeons. Since you have another child and have taken all the steps except for the class*****, I'm okay with doing the tubal anyway. But we'll have to make sure everyone else is." She implied it was an ethical concern.

Color me confused. Ethical?? Whatevs. Go corral the motherfuckers and twist some fucking arms. Only one surgeon had concerns, and she came to speak to me personally. I received the following list of questions:

1. Are you sure this is what you want? Absofuckinglutely.
   
2. Are you sure? Absomotherfuckinglutely.
   
3. What if you change your mind? I won't.
   
4. What if you want other children? I'll adopt. 'Cuz, yanno, there are tons of kids out there who need homes.
   
5. What if you want your own children? 1) My genes suck. Why would I want my "own" children? 2) What kind of shitbag mom would I be if I considered adopted sprogs not my "own?"
6. Are you sure? Bitch, do you see me with an exploding eye and a possible stroke on the way? How the hell is this something I'd motherfucking want to repeat?!

She was okay with my responses at that point. But then, the piece de resistance! She basically asked my husband if she had his permission.

YodaMan is intelligent. His response was something along the lines of, "She's an adult. Why are you asking me?"

I got my tubal. Thank the ever-loving gods. I just had to have two sprogs and my husband's permission first.

Apparently, at least in the milspouse world, we have about as much right to our reproductive freedom as Saudi women have to theirs. Which, IMHO, is motherfucking awesome******.

In happier news, our house in VA Beach survived both pieces of evidence that God hates people who hate teh gayz. I got to ride out the hurricane with LAW and Smurfette's husband. And my younger sprog today saw something awesome and said to me, "Shut the front door!" My sprogs fucking rock.

This post brought to you by Smurfette's shock when she heard second-hand about this issue and demanded a post.

*Ha haaaaaa!

**And don't fucking get me started on the ZOMG IF YOU HAVE A UTERUS AND VIABLE EGGS DO NOT EAT ANYTHING BUT LOW-FAT PASTEURIZED MILK PRODUCTS AND APPLES AND DO NOT PARTICIPATE IN ANY POTENTIALLY DANGEROUS ACTIVITIES AND TAKE YOUR VITAMINS AND AVOID VICES AND BE THE EPITOME OF THE WHORE/VIRGIN DICHOTOMY AND BY ALL THAT IS HOLY ENCASE YOURSELF IN A PLASTIC, AIRTIGHT BUBBLE JUST IN CASE!!!

***Ha haaaaaaaaa! So fucking funny.

****My first pregnancy was a clusterfuck beyond all reason, makes for excellent birth control when I tell womenfolk about it, and should have qualified me for a tubal right the fuck there. Alas....

*****YodaMan, to hedge our bets, also signed up for a vasectomy to ensure someone in this marriage would cease to be fertile. In news of high-larity, he was given 30 pain pills for his V. When I left the hospital with my second c-section in eighteen months, I was given 10 pain pills. Same pill, btw. Because major surgery during which your innards are splayed out on your stomach and a new life pulled from within that muck is not as painful and its recovery not as prolonged as a quarter-inch incision for an outpatient procedure. Yeah. This.

******Fuck that noise.

Why NS Mayport, the Officer's Club, and all hands affiliated with weddings there can kiss my gleaming white ass.

ETA: Please forgive the numerous and egregious grammar and spelling errors throughout. I was too riled when I wrote this, didn't edit properly, and now don't have time to fix it. Kthx.

If you're getting married in Jacksonville, FL, and have heard about the beautiful beach-side weddings available through the MWR and the Officer's Club, allow me to warn you away before your very special day is obliterated by dick-swinging, incompetence, inflamed egos, no guests at your wedding, and tears.

My sister-in-law called YodaMan a year and a half ago to announce her long-time boyfriend had proposed. They'd set the wedding for June of this year. We didn't understand why the hell she was waiting a fucking year and a half to get married, but it turns out everyone and their maid of honor wants to get married at NS Mayport. The waiting list is that long.

Having seen how they work, I do not understand why.

YodaMan sponsored my SIL and her fiance so they could have a bit more freedom (and a discount). She purchased a permit so she could access the base without jumping through extra hoops every time she had an appointment or -and this is important- get access to the O club early on the day of the wedding. She paid for an extra security guard to stand at the gate specifically to cover the wedding party's size. She checked and double-checked with the MWR coordinator for weddings to make sure there would be no hiccups.

Here's where shit went south: she didn't take note the nature of a Navy base and, which is often full of suck and cock, especially when you're a civilian who's poured good money into the sailors' MWR fund.

First the coordinator went on vacay the week of SIL's wedding and left her Number One (henceforth referred to as Number Two because of the way that fucking cuntnugget acted). Second, the head of the gate security munches crunchy asshole for breakfast and shits the remains on anyone who comes through his pearly white jizz-stained gate.

Can you tell these two fuckbuckets pissed me off? And trust me when I say Someone Will Get a Letter, probably the base CO.

We show up the day before the wedding, prepared to do the rehearsal with the wedding party, the wedding coordinator, and the photographer, as agreed in writing with the MWR coordinator. SIL even had printed e-mails with all this information because she's very organized and likes to have all ducks ordered and beribboned. She was in the lead car and arrived first at the front gate. My MIL was in the lane behind her. YodaMan and I chose a different lane and were a few cars from entry when we got a frantic phone call from SIL.

The guard told my SIL the he wasn't about to waste his time checking in everyone in the wedding party. He said he never received shitballs for a list from the MWR coordinator, and her wedding rehearsal would have to take place somewhere else. Then he said he would turn away every. Fucking. Wedding. Attendee the next day if they arrived before the appointed wedding time, and she should just prepare for the onslaught.

I am, of course exaggerating the delivery. I am not exaggerating the content of his message. I am also not exaggerating the tone and utter lack of professionalism.

My SIL pulled up, as she had that delicious tag she'd bought, and freaked out. YodaMan told her to stand by, pull ahead out of the way, and we'd take care of it. Then the phone rang again. We were one car from entry at this point. It was his mom.

The shit stain of a Napoleonic weenis-swinging taint muncher had the nerve to insult my MIL and, though my MIL afterward declared she couldn't remember what he said (I think this was an attempt to smooth the waves kicked up in this whole fucking brouhaha), apparently told her he didn't "give a shit" - he wasn't letting anyone else in the wedding party on the base.

And, there you go, he started turning people around and telling them to get the fuck out.

By the time we made it to the gate, DH was confused and not a little upset. He explained to the guard (a different dude than the Sir Weenis of Buggeryfuck, who btw is a motherfucking civilian loaf of asscheese) who we were, that he'd heard there was an issue, and that he wanted to help resolve it.

Our guard, a sailor, acted like he'd seen this song and dance before* and pulled out a list of guests. He showed us they had it, and he assured us there was no problem. Then Sir Weenis headed our way, gave the sailor a look of clear displeasure, and proceeded to start a tussle with YodaMan. It ended with the directive that YodaMan would have to check in the wedding party...by driving up fifty feet, parking on the side of the road, and marking down all the guests after they'd already been let onto base.

Does this make sense to you? Me neither. After all, what the fuck is the gate guard's fucking job if not to vet all entrants and help ensure the security of the base?

One thing YodaMan is good at is politics. He comes from a long line of politicians. He did his best to accommodate the bullshit, for his sister's sake. But after he heard what was said to his mom, and after he was treated like a furry ballsack by Sir Weenis, he decided he was going to speak to the security office. He'd served in Afghanistan with a guy who, last he'd heard, was senior cheese in security at Mayport. Alas, the guy left two weeks prior to this incident.

So when he went into the office to find out what the ever sucking fuck had happened, behold his surprise at finding Sir Weenis in charge.

That. Civilian. Piece of shit. Motherfucker. Is. In. Charge.

Sir Weenis explained nothing to YodaMan, only repeated his threats that tomorrow would be holy hell for SIL. Then, because YodaMan had the audacity to enter his domain in search of explanation (at least and punishment at best), he explained in a very clearly not-so-veiled threat that he'd make sure he was the one manning the official wedding lane. He'd be watching for the early arrivals (which, sayeth he, cannot happen, and fuck your expensive wedding), he'd be watching for guests, and he'd make sure guests could only enter the gate at 3pm. In other words, at the time the invitation said the wedding would start. In other words, folks who arrived at 2:40 in order to make sure they were parked in seat for a 3pm wedding would not even be allowed to approach the High Holy Gate of Mayport-Style Penisry until 3pm. Also, wedding party, baker, photographer, wedding coordinator, etc. would not be allowed entry until 3pm.

YodaMan had gotten the name and number of Number Two, by the way, and during this exchange, he told Sir Weenis that the agreed and contracted schedule and entry and yadda had the approval of Number Two. SIL even spoke to Number Two to ensure all was right with the world.

Number Two told Sir Weenis she had no idea what they were talking about, and he should deny entry to the wedding party and early arrivals if he so chose. Oh, yes she did.

YodaMan also made the point that SIL had paid for another gate guard to be there, and Sir Weenis informed YodaMan that it meant nothing. It was his gate, and all would suffer his wrath.

Keep in mind there are time limits on the rental. We would be kicked out at a certain point, and the timing was critical enough that SIL had even scheduled the reception down to the minute in order to ensure things went smoothly and on MWR's schedule.

I assume the man has crabs, boils on his asshole, a screaming yeast infection in his peenhole, a bladder infection, and a mutant Amazonian wart-covered poison arrow frog/piranha hybrid living in his colon. Nothing else explains why he had such a hard-on for making this wedding miserable**.

So now we had the story from the fuckmunch's mouth. He intended to make her wedding start late, her to ensure her wedding party was unable to access the base until the wedding started, and to evoke as much angst and stress as he could.

The next day, YodaMan showed up in his fucking uniform to make sure he could do whatever task was required of him by Sir Weenis of Let Me Stick My Metaphorical Undersized Cock In Your Puckered Brown Star and I Promise You Won't Feel It Because Have I Mentioned It's Quite Wee. Drama ensued. There were tears. There was angst. And Number Two, who changed her mind about rolling on SIL at some point between meeting with MIL and meeting with YodaMan, ended up standing at the gate to ensure Sir Weenis did not fuck over this wedding.

When she left, the head chef, who was then in charge, let us know that this happens Every. Fucking. Weekend.

You read that right. This. This clusterfuck. This was how shit rolled. And the chef let us know it was always Sir Weenis at the ready to make everyone's lives a living fucking hell for the duration of their pre-wedding.

Needless to say, I was furious. As a side note, I was also furious with the wedding photographer after she was rude, presumptive, and generally unprofessional. Allow me to recommend you *not* employ a Jacksonville photographer with the business initials of AMP***. She was rude to me personally, was rude to my MIL, did not even fucking ask me or YodaMan before she took my younger sprog outside with a cupcake to photograph him (and meanwhile, I'm all OH FUCK WHERE IS YOUNGER SPROG?!), and has not yet produced a photo album or the ability to order photos though it has now been close to three months since the wedding. End side note.

I will be writing a letter to someone at NS Mayport. I'm not yet sure whom I will contact, but I guaran-fucking-tee someone will feel the wrath. After all:

1. People pay into the MWR fund to use Mayport's facilities. They have contracts. And they are regularly fucked over for that pleasure. They are supporting the morale of our sailors, and yet they are shit on .
2. What the FUCK is a menthol-coated porn star's codpiece like Sir Weenis doing heading up gate security? Why the fuck is a civilian given that much power and leeway, especially when he is known to abuse that power and leeway?
3. How the fuck does this treatment help the public's perception of the military? There's already a chasm between civilian and military that would be bottomless but for the piles of excrement that will cushion your fall. Why pull shit like this that only adds to the distance, near-resentment, and lack of empathy the civilian world often feels toward the military world?
   

Weddings are stressful enough without having to deal with cockbiters like Sir Weenis and Number Two. Think twice about inviting that kind of stress and just book elsewhere. In the end, after all, it's a day of celebration, and as long as you're surrounded by people who love and support you and your new spouse, it will be amazing. No matter where it happens.

I think MWR rocks. I love it. But I don't think it's right that sailors' happiness and fun-time is funded by this kind of assmunchery.

And because it's fun to say: Sir Weenis is a douche canoe.

*Probably because he had.
**Though I did wonder at some point if this is his hobby, considering. If I could speak to the man again, I'd recommend he take up some self-love with oil-based lube, as well as yoga so he can learn enough flexibility to self-fellate.
***E-mail me if you have someone with these initials in mind, especially if the first name is Alex, and I will offer a personal warning with further details so you can decide on your own whether her lack of professionalism jives with your desperation for a half-decent photographer.

MOTHERFUCKING RAWR: I'm looking at you, Tricare.

My mother has been diagnosed with breast cancer.

This sucks enough, but we've lost very dear family members and friends to aggressive forms, and my mother is scared to death that she's going to end up like her best friend and sister-in-law. So she's on a mission to fuck cancer's world and make it her bitch. She's getting a double mastectomy, and while they've got her on the table, they want to do reconstructive surgery.

The problem in getting shit moving NOW, before things progress, is......Tricare.

I know you're shocked.

First it was getting a referral for an MRI to determine whether the cancer has spread to the lymph nodes in her chest cavity. Then it was the one, single, only MRI in her area covered by Tricare breaking, with repairs slated for two weeks after her appointment. Then it was getting Tricare to cover another MRI before the other is repaired so she can keep her tentative surgery date at the end of this month.

Then today something really awful happened. Her plastic surgeon, who needs to see her in order to gauge the work that will need to be done (and therefore come up with a mutually viable surgery date for everyone who needs to be in the operating room), decided he won't take Tricare anymore starting next week.

Now, I totally get this decision. I've been handed off to new primary care managers as many as five times in a year because it's just not financially feasible for many of these doctors to accept this notoriously low-paying insurance company. I know costs are high for docs, especially when you consider the price of insurance and the insane school loans that come with the practice. I also know it's getting worse. I totally understand doctors deciding not to take Tricare, and I'm extraordinarily grateful for those who do stick to it - mostly because the docs I've spoken to about this situation say they only take Tricare because they feel obligated not to turn their backs on the military.

My mom spent the bulk of her adult life as a milspouse, and she's earned her shitty Tricare For Life coverage. What she didn't earn was getting a call from her plastic surgeon's office today and listening to the office manager apologize profusely because the doctor has canceled her appointment for tomorrow - her very last wicket before she can get the surgery and start chemo - in light of his decision not to carry Tricare anymore.

This. Is. Unconscionable.

How the fuck can doctors get away with dropping patients already in their care over insurance coverage? How the fuck is it okay for a doctor who has a finite number of interactions due my mother, all within the next two months, to cancel all care the day before her appointment?

My aunt, a nurse who spent most of her career working in military hospitals (as did her neurosurgeon husband), is livid. She's already set in motion some particularly yummy retribution including letters to medical associations and asking around to find out which temple he worships at. Apparently, my Jewish aunt doesn't take kindly to unethical Jewish doctors, and she's going to make sure his religious community knows where he's stuffed his oaths. Which I find kinda fucking funny. And also a little crazy since I see I have an apparent genetic predisposition for diabolical and vindictive behavior. But anyway.

I'm mightily pissed at this doctor (Dr. Cohn in Birmingham, in case anyone is wondering - do NOT let your doctor refer you to him because he is a cuntweasel), but I'm also really fucking done with Tricare.

It's a benefit, yes. But it ain't much of a benefit when you consider it is the epitome of "you get what you pay for." It rubs me absofuckinglutely raw that Tricare's hurdles are mighty, even when you have a time-sensitive medical issue that requires fast attention. My mother called Tricare today, trying to find a new plastic surgeon so she can have reconstruction, and you know what they did? They told her to go on the website because they can't help her.

You know what my experience has been? The website is the biggest fucking waste of electrons, at least since Geocities went tits up. You can search their site all day, and it won't tell you if a doctor is still with Tricare or if s/he is accepting new patients. You have to fucking call Tricare or each individual doctor to figure out that much.

My mother, who's on Xanax right now trying to get through this emotional hurdle, who has been given the runaround since her diagnosis, who has been fucked over three times in the last three weeks by the medical profession c/o Tricare's shitty coverage, was told "sorry, we won't help you" until she trolled the shitty fucking Tricare site first.

This. This is what is wrong with health care in our country. This is why we can trust neither the industry nor the government in health care's current incarnation. Tricare is the fucking cautionary tale we need to listen to before we enact fuck all with national health care. Because if our government looks to that monolithic piece of masticated excrement for direction,

WE

ARE

ALL

FUCKED.

Tricare is the absolute worst combination of government oversight and industry procedure. There is no interest in the well-being of the patient. There is no compassion.

There is only profit.

Fuck you, Tricare. And fuck you, doctor Cohn, you bag of tool and jizz. I hope you both rot.

Lack of Snark: Change of Command

A new CO is incoming to the Enterprise. He's absolutely awesome. Sat next to his wife tonight and convo'd with him a little, too. Very down to earth, very easy-going, very the opposite of the current CO. VERY.

In fact, that was kinda the theme tonight. Easy-going. Down to earth. Everyone I encountered was that way. It was shocking, and I wondered if this was due to the command climate aboard this ship since Captain Honors was rightly booted from command when his videos came to light. Honors' relief was less-than-easy-going. Very much so. And I thought perhaps the very jovial attitude tonight might be a bit of relief by the heads of department as the primary problem they've suffered the last eight months is headed out the door.

I thought I'd have snark when I saw the brooch one spouse wore - a rhinestone (I hope - if it was diamond, I might have something to say) 65. Alas, she was the XO's wife, so it came across more as I Support CVN 65 than Lookit MEEEEEEE I Lurve the Navy GO ENTERPRIIIIIISE. Naturally, I found it fascinating that I had a different reaction to the brooch given who was wearing it. I don't know why I take I would take it differently according to the role of the service member the spouse is attached to, but there it was. A good tidbit about myself to file away!

There was only one incident that got my grrr up, and it wasn't aimed at anyone in particular. The CO's wife was acknowledged and thanked for her work on the FRG and with the OMBUDSMAN. I don't know her particular situation, if she has a career of her own or if she tailors her time in support of her husband's career, but I was irritated that there might be an assumption that the CO's wife will involve herself in the FRG as part of her unpaid labor.

Conversations with YodaMan afterward reminded me of an admiral's wife in Bahrain. She was very intelligent and had a career of her own before her husband made admiral. In the military, for those of you who don't know, every promotion after O-6 (Captain/Colonel) is political. It literally takes Congress to move up the ladder, which means that the job becomes as political as it is military. It's also why you see so many generals and admirals making political careers once they're retired - they've got the chops and possibly the taste based on the tail-end of their military careers.

Anyway, the admiral's wife socialized a bit with the spouses (not that I did - I heard she went to Bunco occasionally, but I can't confirm personally), but she didn't get that involved. I can't say I would have, either, especially given how difficult it can be as a political wife in a foreign country, when you have expectations of the diplomatic sort on top of you. And when you had a career that had nothing to do with your new life, a life that revolves not around your personal goals and achievements, but rather around your husband's.

One thing that always bothered me was the expectation laid at the admiral's wife's feet. She was "honorary president" of the Bahrain Officers Spouse Club. It meant she didn't have to actually get involved, didn't have to actually do anything, but the expectation was there. I'm certain none of the officers of the BOSC considered the designation anything but deference and an honor. But there's a history there, and I can guarantee the job wasn't always honorary--it was de facto.

The admiral's wife was reputed to have a mild drinking problem. I don't blame her. The pressures must have been incredible. The expectations of an "honorary" nature must have made the situation even worse. The disappointment of where she thought she'd be relative to where she was...yeah. Unreal.

I hope for the outgoing CO's wife's sake that she intended to work the civilian side of the command and to volunteer her time. I hope that's fulfilling for her and that she doesn't do it because it's expected and demanded (unofficially, of course). Nothing rubs me more raw than this, the assumption that the spouse will subvert her life and her needs in order to support her husband's career.

I also hope the incoming CO's wife does what's right for her in regards to involvement with the command and the FRG. And I hope, if I'm ever required to do the same, that I don't flip off too many people as I bend over and reveal my super-white ass. That might be gauche.

Dear The Air Force, There's Something Fucking Wrong With You

What. The. Ever. Loving. Fuck?

Seriously, Air Force chaplains? Seriously?

I know I don't need to write a piecemeal take-down of this bullshit, and I don't need to rail. But I'm gonna lose my shit anyway because this bollocks is not okay.

When you have Pagans struggling at the AF Academy to get a simple circle of rocks set aside for their religious purposes, and all the while, you've been using Christian doctrine throughout an ethics course, there's something fucking wrong with you. (And all the "we've supported the Pagans getting their circle the whole time" is a load of bullshit heavier than that created by the combined forces of the Tea Party. Have a wee discussion with TSgt Longcrier, and he'll give you the what what.)

When Jews are called whiners in mass e-mails of the official variety, yet they're being told that Jesus says it's okay to nuke other countries, there's something fucking wrong with you.

When those who disagree with the policies that allow evangelical Christians to pressure others are fired from their positions, there's something fucking wrong with you.

When that douchefuck Breivik extensively quotes folks who've spoken at the AF Academy, there's something fucking wrong with you.

When atheists want equal time at the AF Academy and are flat fucking denied, there's something fucking wrong with you.

When you have Pagans at the AF Academy dealing with open hostility*--and tell me there wouldn't have been a HUGE MOTHERFUCKING RAWR of fundie outrage on Faux News if the Christian chapel there had been decorated with a symbol of our faith--and all the while, this ethics course has existed in this incarnation, there's something fucking wrong with you.

I wish this were only a problem at the Air Force. Fortunately for the rest of the services, the AF gets to take the full shot to the balls on this one. Not that they don't deserve a cock blow (and not the good kind), but when shit like this happens in other services, it ought to be trotted out, so that the world can see the pale, hairy ass of that service.

For example, when I witnessed a Catholic Navy chaplain telling his boss he couldn't deal with me because his religion apparently prohibits him even talking to me (a motherfucking chaplain said this, people - the dude who's responsible for working toward freedom of ALL religion on his base), I knew there was something fucking wrong with the Navy, too. Later, when the head chaplain flat ignored my follow-up e-mails after I met with his temporary replacement (he, apparently, gets to take vacation! and then come back and be a rotten dickbag), I knew once again there was something fucking wrong with the Navy.

These issues are pervasive throughout the services. But for today, I declare to the Air Force that your shit is about as fucky as it gets, especially since it appears that the worst instances are at the Academy, where the future leadership is being indoctrinated.

You are fucked, Air Force. Fix it.

*And I absolutely disagree with Mikey Weinstein saying it would be like painting a swastika on a synagogue. The Xians-as-Nazi-oppressors shit is completely unfair and untrue. That analogy is based largely on the Inquisition, which did not actually oppress any Pagans or Witches, since our religion didn't exist back then, kthxstfu. And also, though we do face a fuckton of prejudice still, we're not being burned at the fucking stake, and we're not being dumped into mass graves, kthxstfubai. A more appropriate analogy would be hanging a pentacle, a Thor's hammer, a goddess figure, etc. by the front door of a church. It's hostile, it's potentially threatening, but it's not anything like a fucking swastika aimed at Jews.

Dance of the Dead: So not made of hilarity and win. SO NOT.

Back in the late '90s, I learned a lot about the Taliban. I received an ezine called WIN, and in each issue, almost without fail, was an article about the Taliban. In one of the last issues I received (I believed the newsletter went kaput, but I'm pretty sure it's still out there), there was even a reader letter blasting the contributors for speaking ill of the Taliban because, as she put it, they had brought order and peace to a lawless and frightening society.

Which made me twitch a little at the time and really makes me twitch now.

One thing I don't recall ever reading in that newsletter is the treatment of women in tribal Afghanistan, even away from the Taliban. I hear about that more frequently nowadays.

A story I heard last night makes me want to personally carpet bomb the whole fucking country. Please note that it's extremely disturbing and could be triggering.

When a tribe's elders gathered with members of our military, they traded funny stories for bonding time. One of the stories the elders shared wasn't funny, not to the Western service members, but the elders thought it was hilarious.

A woman "allowed herself" to be raped twice by her husband's brother. When she fought back the second time, her rapist decided to get back at her by telling the tribe that she had enticed him into her home and lured him into raping her. Twice.

The elders decreed that she was no longer human, which meant the laws of Islam no longer applied to her. And to teach her - and other women - a lesson, they took her into the middle of their town, stripped her naked, and beat her. They strapped her to the roof of a car, still naked and bruised and bleeding, and paraded her around. Then when she was no longer a good lesson for the women of the community, they cut off her head and poured hot oil down her neck. This lit off her nervous system, so her headless body twitched about on the ground, which the men of the community found to be one of the most hilarious things they've ever seen.

This was the dance of the dead.

Stories like this make me wonder if that region will ever respect human rights. The good news is that, with their life span so egregiously short, and with a progressive presence there (even if it's our troops - boo hiss on constant deployments and IAs), it's possible we'll see change within the next couple of generations (~40 years?).

I hope, anyway. I'd hate to have to carpet bomb a whole fucking country* because of a few dickless cuntweasles who use arbitrary religious laws and fundamentalist perspectives to get their sadistic jollies.

* To say nothing of the sack-free cockjunkie religious fundies in our own country. But that's a post for another day.

Death sucks

Yesterday, YodaMan came home with some terrible news.

Remember Shana Hight, the milspouse who was murdered in Virginia Beach last year? Her husband died of a self-inflicted gunshot. His roommate, a sailor aboard YodaMan's ship, witnessed his death. According to the roommate, Scott Dunn was better but still not dealing well with Shana's murder. He was drunk and may not have intended to kill himself, but as the roommate tried to talk him down, Scott pulled the trigger.

It's horrible and sad and awful and unbelievable. I don't know what services Scott got after he was pulled from the ship at sea and brought home to such devastating news. Clearly, the help he had wasn't enough. And you know, since this is how brains tend to work, he blamed himself for not being there when she needed him - never mind the Navy owning his soul and there not being any way anyone could have foreseen that tragedy.

The Navy has a great responsibility to spouses who are underway when tragedy strikes at home. It's no different than being deployed and witnessing tragedy abroad -- in either case, there will be psychological repercussions. Cookie cutter responses, such as the drug-'em-up response we sometimes see toward PTSD sufferers or the you-get-six-sessions-and-then-buh-bye therapy style, are inappropriate and irresponsible. If the military can't do better by their service members, then our politicians need to step in. There have been efforts to de-stigmatize mental health and to stimulate use of services through anonymity, but these efforts are clearly not enough.

Of course, after the bullshit we've seen from our politicians the last several months, I don't suspect we can trust them to wipe the shit off their cheeks after they've nommed corporate asses. Still, in a moment of post-ass-play bliss, they might be amenable to doing something right by the military and ensuring there are numerous, accessible, anonymous, and taboo-free services available to all sailors, Marines, soldiers, and airpeeps, regardless of whether their mental state was fractured by war or by personal tragedy. It's clear, not just from this particular tragedy, that the structure of mental health services for military doesn't work well enough. Not when I personally know two sailors who have considered suicide during PTSD. Not when chaplains kill themselves because they, too, can't get the help they need. Not when you have a sailor who lost his wife violently and needed help he clearly wasn't getting.

And now we have a sailor who was trying to keep tragedy from striking his friend, who has now entered the cycle. I hope he's required to get counseling, and I hope the counseling he gets is appropriate and comprehensive. I hope we don't see even more tragedy spring from Shana Hight's death.

People will slip through cracks. It's unfortunate, it's a tragedy all its own, but it is inevitable in our society. But these aren't cracks we're seeing people fall through. They're fucking crevasses. And they're unacceptable.

Air Force Dig...

Saw this on the Facebook today and giggled. A lot.




Thank gods for the Air Force, right?