Friday, September 22, 2006

U.S. Navy Water Torture Exposed!!!

Dear Gang,
What I’m about to share with you could result in my being arrested or banished from the Military, but I feel that it must be brought out. The U.S. Navy endorses water torture, and has been practicing it for many years. All this is fully funded by the United States Congress with oversight permissions granted by the Senate. It goes way past both parties, and happens every day of the week in our very own country! This water torture isn’t practiced outside of our borders, but right on at least three major installations across the United States. If word of this ever got out to the ACLU there would be all sorts of hell to pay.

Here is how it works. The Navy subjects a person to extreme pressure changes in a large hyperbaric chamber. They take the “prisoner” up around twenty-five thousand feet of altitude without oxygen, which causes him to be light-headed, followed by possible gray-outs, and a euphoric feeling that is enhanced by tingling in their fingertips. The worst part is being overcome by their bodily odiferous odors. See as the pressure increases, the oxygen in the body expands and there are only two ways out, burping it up or out the other end. As the cabin pressure rises, so does the amount of gas that escapes from the body. To put it mildly, if they were to light a match in there, it would cause a giant explosion. Same would happen if your jet airliner were to lose a window and you experienced a rapid decompression, just hope you didn’t eat Mexican the night before!

After they do this to the “prisoners,” they take them over to a large pool complex where they employ various controlled drowning techniques. They tie vast amounts of equipment to their body. This guarantees they will sink in the deep end of this giant pool. Navy personnel are located all around the pool area, watching as they drag the “prisoners” through the water attached to some ropes overhead. If a “prisoner” were to drown in the water, they can retrieve him in a heartbeat, administer CPR and chuck him/her back into the pool.

They have varied ways to drown the “prisoner” in the large pool. While treading water, they spray them in the face with powerful water cannons, causing loss of vision, disorientation and choking on copious amounts of chlorinated water in the mouth. This may last about two hours. The “prisoner” is broken down, very tired and almost out of hope. When this point arrives, they strap the “prisoner” to a seat inside a large barrel shaped device with the other “prisoners” who are suspended about four feet in the air, and then drop them into the deep end of the pool. The device they are strapped into then snap rolls 180°, causing the “prisoner” to be upside down, blindfolded with blackout goggles on, and almost three feet under the surface.

This is what the “prisoner” experience as his/her heart beats faster, anticipating the sound of the release mechanism. A loud “zing” as the cables slide, followed by the plunge into the water, causing a water injector to the brain as the pool water rushes up the nose, where it lodges in the sinus cavities. They are then expected to release themselves to reach the surface of the pool, while being weighted down with 20 pounds of equipment. The second time around being dunked into the pool, the “prisoner” is resigned to the fact that the next round may be his last trip, and will readily admit to killing President Kennedy although they weren’t even born yet.

The Navy is authorized to do this procedure up to six times to achieve the desired and maximum effects. If they deem, they can call this person back to do it again and again. Where is the press on this? Why aren’t the folks clamoring around a bonfire, telling the Government to put an end to this torture? I’ll tell you why. Because the “prisoners” volunteer for this assignment every four years of their careers as Aircrews in the US Military forces. What I have just described is the Water Survival Course that we, as Pilots, Crew Chiefs and Navigators, must undergo in order to keep our ratings. Now, I’m here to tell you that sitting in a cell, while your captors play loud rock music is nothing compared to this, and if I was in charge of the “Al Killya” scumbags down in Cuba, I’d have them strapped to a helo dunker and dropped into a pool everyday until they admitted their wrongs.

While the training I described sounds harsh, (it is) there are many men and women alive today because of the excellent instruction given by the Navy divers. So hats off to them for teaching us how to survive a crash in the ocean and make it back home to our families! This was the best training I’ve ever had. To think--all you guys thought I was just goofing around in Pensacola, Florida, drinking beer and chasing fish--shame on you.
Semper Fi,

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Two Amigos

Hey Guys,
If you are looking for two great guys to support and their units, then here are my picks. I'll give you some background on these two Outstanding Americans. LtCol Jim Adams was stationed with me over in Okinawa back in 94 to 95 and he is a super talented writer whose wit and satire is limited by the standards imposed only by the military. He got out of the Marines for a couple of years but missed it so much and after 9-11, there was no doubt in his mind on what to do. This is his third tour, no I may be wrong; he may be going on his fourth tour there. I was able to be on hand to see him promoted to LtCol in Falluja last Nov and that is my wild Helo ride home, "Redman and rotten eggs" post. He is single so he doesn’t mind being gone. Anyway, Tom is out in the Wild Wild West of Iraq. Hopefully he’ll write you back soon but as the C.O. there, he is working like a mad dog. There is a Gunny, who is the POC for AnySoldier from their unit, but Jim is the Alternate and this address is good for him as well. When you write to him, ask him how his Arabic is going??? Ha ha!!
I have another buddy who also fly’s with me at my Airline. Alex flew the F-18 in the Marines years ago and after I got back in to the Reserves, he too started to express an interest in joining back up. Now his wife had something to say about this and wasn’t happy about it at the time, but I think she has accepted it now. See guys, the Islamic AssClowns will never win this war against the U.S. with guys like Tom and Alex around. The fact that they and all the others like us, will drop what we are doing to go kick butt, puts a damper on the idea that we will run away from a fight. Alex is also a famous Aviation Artist of renowned stature and I’m proud to say that I have one of his giant Oils in my office at home. I just saw one of his Oils on display here at the Naval Aviation Museum in Pensacola Florida. He volunteered to be a combat artist in Iraq and is riding around with a Marine convoy right now somewhere capturing the moment with them.
These Marines are very OUTSTANDING American’s and I’m proud to be able to sponsor them this way to all of you, the best damn supporters in the world!!!! Please email me at for their address. Take care and talk to you soon.
Semper Fi,

Friday, September 15, 2006

"Check Please"

Now picture this, in a Japanese restaurant on Okinawa that is the size of a Burger King. Mind you, this is a really large place to their standards considering how expensive real-estate is there to begin with. My buddy, we’ll call him “Kinsu” because he is taking Japanese and actually doing very well at it is sitting to my right. On my left is a local girl that we hang out with named Akiko. After a great meal of Sushi, followed by a couple of beers, “Kinsu” leans back and tries to make some small talk with Akiko on his observations of the Japanese language. I have to admit that the big hulking “Gaijin” or Foreigner as they call us is doing pretty well at a very difficult language.

“Kinsu” looks at the waiter across the room and in his deep American Marine voice yells over the din of noise as he waves his hand to get his attention and says something like “SemiSan, SemiSan, ConJo O Kudasi,” but the reaction he received was not what they told him it would be in Japanese One Oh Two. Every head in the place is now looking at us, chop sticks frozen in mid-stride, all conversation ceases. I calmly lean over to whisper, “Hey there Kinsu, what the hell did you just say???”
“Kinsu’s” face is flaming red, Akiko has her face covered with both hands, and is slumped down in her chair. He snarls under his breath in a low hiss, “I said, excuse me, excuse me, I’d like my check please.”

Akiko, slumped down whispers, “No, Kinsu, that is not what you ask. What you say was not polite.” I’d have to agree judging from the stares we were receiving. It was like that old broker commercial where the guy says, “My broker is EF Hutton and he says...” and the whole place freezes, which is just what this situation is like.
The waiter who we find out is actually the owner, comes over and says, “Please, in future do this for check, (drawing out on his hand) and I bring check.” We buy Akiko lunch and walk out to the van down the street. “Kinsu” is still reeling from his failure at asking for the check. He is bugging Akiko to tell him what he said to the owner of the newest blacklisted to all Gaijin because of him, restaurant. Finally, she looks up with this serious face and says, “What you say, not polite.”
He replies “Yeah, yeah, I got that already, I asked for the check right???”

Shaking her head back and forth she says “No, Kinsu, what you said across the restaurant was EXCUSE ME, EXCUSE ME, WOULD YOU PLEASE STICK YOUR THUMB UP MY A** and in Japanese that is not polite.” She continues “to ask for the check is OOHHH ConJOO, O Kudasi.”

“Kinsu” just shakes his head as we get into the van, “Happy to Glad, I’m sorry but your language sucks!!!”
Now you know how he got the nickname Kinsu…

Hey Gang, by the way, I have a buddy who is now over in Iraq for his third tour and here is his link on, if you look him up, please adopt him and his Marines for the rest of the year. He isn’t located on a base so there is no PX to get stuff from. Lets just say that they are West of everywhere in the desert and this is like being in the wild wild west!!! Thanks a ton for helping him out. Trust me when I tell you he can write VERY well and you would like to be on his email list. His name is LtCol Tom V

Semper Fi as always,

Sunday, September 10, 2006

Gone West...Mike Horrocks

September 11th marks the fifth anniversary of the day our lives changed. You’ll read piece after piece on what happened and how we were attacked this week. When you back up the microscope, it comes down to the individual families who will never celebrate a birthday or Christmas together ever again. There is grief here that can never properly be put to words so that all can understand.

I just want to write about and dedicate this day to a friend of mine who died five years ago. Mike Horrocks was the First Officer on flight 175 that hit the South Tower at 9:03 that morning. I watched in horror with bowel-shaking earthquakes of emotion as this passenger jet vaporized into the side of the building. In the Airline business, when something like this happens, they lock out the Crew manifest so that the names can’t be released before the next of kin is notified. This time, It didn’t take long before the Marine KC-130 mafia had the names of all the crews involved in the four crashes. There are only about a hundred or so Marine KC-130 pilots out there flying in the system so it didn’t take long to do a tally, and find out if any of our friends were involved.

In this surreal case, unfortunatly it was a pilot I had the privilege of serving with for three years in Cherry Point, North Carolina, while flying with VMGR-252. There are few guys of his caliber; he was one that everyone wishes deep down they could emulate. On the scale of one to ten, he was a 20 in every category!! I mean that in the most sincere expression of deep awe. When you go through life, you meet good people, and then great people, all with faults and certain flaws that don’t allow them to rise above those levels. Then you have the pleasure of knowing men like Mike, who have the ability to be the best at everything and make it look easy, but at the same time humble enough to show you how to improve yourself and not make you look silly while doing it.

Mike, I want you to know that I strive to be the type of man you were. I want to be the father and husband you were, day in and day out. To your family, I say God Bless you. To you, Mike Horrocks, friend to thousands, I say “Semper Fi” and God speed as you fly West.
Semper Fi,

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

A Hero is buried

This is from one of my Crew. A great American who my wife and I were able to meet up in York Neb while on vacation. Her story tells the simple tale of how a hero should be taken care. We need more great Americans like the Patriot Guard Riders as well!!!
Semper Fi,

Today I attended the funeral of SSG Jeffrey H. SSG H. was killed in Iraq when the humvee he was riding in flipped over and went into a canal. He was the only fatality.

This was the first military funeral I attended. Knowing the proximity of the Kansas church group who protests military funerals, I was so glad to hear that the Patriot Guard Riders would also be in attendance. What a phenomenal group of people.

I took water, pop, and munchies to the staging area for the PGR and had the opportunity to talk to several members of the group. One of the riders had left at 3am to drive all the way here for the funeral a 4.5 hours ride. The group assembled at the fairgrounds at 8:30am. It was such an awesome sound to hear them coming down the road. They were surprised that I was there to greet them which really surprised me. I would think that anywhere they went, someone would be there to say thank you to them for taking time off from work to ride for a fallen warrior. Many of them had sons who were in the military. One has a son in the Marines just back from Iraq who will be deploying again in July 2007. One has a son in the Army who just deployed three days ago. Several guys I talked to were Vietnam vets. One is a Marine who is getting ready to retire after 22 years in the service. Again...such a phenomenal group of guys I had the privilege of meeting.

The protestors were here of course. One of the locals and one of the protestors got into a verbal confrontation. I guess it got pretty heated. I couldn't see them, but you could hear them singing their filthy songs. As soon as the PGR heard them, first one, then two, then more came over and started their bikes up. What a beautiful sound! That silenced the protestors...the roar of approximately 100 gorgeous motorcycles.

The church is across from the elementary school and the teachers had lined the schoolyard fence with flags. When the funeral procession left for the cemetery, the kids, who were just finishing up with their lunch recess, stood along the fence with their hands over their hearts. It was really nice to see that.

I would imagine there was over 300 people at the funeral. It wasn't as big as I had thought it would be. The service was decent. I don't care for the minister who gave the service, but it was ok overall. The PGR had their flags at the burial site. As the 21 gun salute and then taps sounded, you could hear the sniffles..not just from me, but from the veterans I was standing with. This was one of the most incredibly touching things I have ever witnessed.

My boss...the idiot....asked me this morning when I stopped into the office...."What's the big deal? What's with all the notoriety? He's not a local kid." Now you know why I really dislike my boss. He just doesn't get it. If you're ever in Nebraska, I'd be more than happy to introduce you to him and let you explain it to him.

Rest in Peace, SSG Jeffrey H. Thank you for your service. May God bless your family, and may He keep safe those in your unit who still fight in Iraq.

God Bless the USA!

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Keep on Truckin' 10-4 GoodBuddy!!

The blinding light was directly in my eyes. Even though the tinted visor was positioned between me and the sun, it was blasting right through my retinas. The Marine KC 130 was flying along at eighteen thousand feet westbound, bucking headwinds, laden with a P19 fire truck in the back cargo bay. It seemed like an eternity since we had departed Cherry Point MCAS on our way to Yuma Marine Air Station, but in reality it had been only four hours prior. The usual chatter was bantered back and forth on the Intercom (ICS). It was my leg and I needed a short break to hit the head.

Looking to my left, I asked "Wedge" (the simplest tool known to man) if he wanted a cup of coffee to accompany the second bag of fried pork rings he had put down. He shook his head, "No," as the crumbs settled on his chest.

I got out of my seat and stretched back. Looking at the Engineer, I mimed "drinking a cup," and pointed to him. He didn't move, so I moved around to his side. The sun was blasting him as well, and his eyes were shut, but you couldn't tell that behind the dark Ray Ban's that he had on. I shook him gently on the shoulder, causing him to spasm somewhat. After he settled down, I again motioned that I was going to fetch a cup of the Loadmasters strong coffee, did he want some? His head nodded up and down with a big smile on his face. Shouting into his uncapped headset, I asked, "How do you like it?" He leaned forward and yelled, "I like it, like I like my women!!!" I knew what he meant, "strong," but I couldn't resist. "Hey Gunny, we don't charge for our coffee in the Marine Corps." He just laughed and motioned for me to move on. Looking behind him, I noticed the Navigator and the Loadmaster playing on the H.F. (High Freq) radio, huddled together. Knowing SSgt. Martin, the Loadmaster, he was talking to his little girlfriend at Base Ops in Rota Spain.

First stop was in the back to get rid of my last couple of cups of "Java Joe." The young Mech was back on the ramp with the first novel in the series of "Lee's Lieutenants." Man, these guys are no dummies with all they read while on the road. After relieving myself of the "Java," I faced the long trek back, sliding sideways against the wall, and the giant fire engine since it took up most of the room in the cargo bay. The noise from the thin-skinned fuselage and the four turbine engines was deafening. Climbing back up to the flight deck, I notice the Navigator, Cpl. Wheeler, slapping Martin on the back and laughing so loud, I could hear it over the racket of the engines.

Stirring the creamer in my coffee, I handed Gunny his "Strong" black coffee and then moved back into my seat. They were talking on the HF radio, pausing, then more talking, followed by deep bellows of laughter. I grabbed my headset and turned the selector switch to H.F. "One," so I could hear what was going on.

Over the radio, there was all sorts of excited chatter back and forth, but as I listened, I realized they were listening to C.B. channel 19 down below us as we were directly over Highway 20. "Breaker, Breaker,” SSgt. Martin, imitating his best "Dukes of Hazzard" country accents, “Hey Big Silver you up good buddy???" SSgt. Martin then releases the microphone switch and waits. It didn't take long until "Big Silver" came up on the radio and he was mad!! I guess a lot had changed since the 70s when the movie "Convoy" was on the big screen, and "Good buddy" was the thing to say; now it's the same as calling the guy GAY!!

"Big Silver" came back over the radio, "Hey, jerkweed, you tell me your twenty and I'll beat you into next week!!"

SSgt. Martin, keys the mic again. "I'm right behind you asswipe, just where you probably like it!!" This really got "Big Silver" on the roll as he described in very vivid terms what he was going to do to Martin when he caught him, but right in the middle of his rant, Martin keys the microphone switch sending like a hundred and twenty one million gigawatts of power back down into his tiny C.B. radio. He releases the switch and then keys it again, "Hey Big Silver, you up.??? No answer, dead silence.

Actually, I think our radio puts out something like 300 watts of power, enough to talk to the other side of the planet, and a C.B. produces maybe 5 watts. Not sure about the mechanics of it all, but I guess that much power coming back into a trucker's CB would fry the fuse in the trucker's radio taking him out of action. After they chuckled again, they would listen for the next victim and pick out the "handle" of the poor trucker who was unaware that he was about to be ambushed.

"Wedge" keyed his mic, "What's going on back there?" motioning over his right shoulder towards the Loadmaster and Navigator.

I reach over with a smile on my face and key the ICS, "Oh, nothing, the kids are just chatting with the locals, making friends as we pass through and weeding rude truckers out of the gene pool."