Ranger Up President Nick Palmisciano announced today that wages will be raised by 1.4% in 2010.

Ranger Up, the premier military apparel company in the United States, announced today that despite massive growth in 2009, wages would only be raised 1.4% in 2010, mirroring the proposed Armed Forces wage increase.

Many employees, including COO Tom Amenta, was shocked at company president Nick Palmisciano’s announcement. “It’s insane,” reports Amenta, “All year Nick was promising that if we buckled down, improved our operations, and stopped taking martini lunches, the company would be in great shape. Well, we did that. We got rid of our Tilt-a-Whirl, Ball Crawl, and Petting Zoo, and created a surplus, and you know what that hooker and blow addict did with the money? He gave it all to the dudes that run Absolutely Incompetent Guys T-shirt Company across the street. Those assholes threw a drunken go-kart party and we didn’t even get invited. What the hell’s up with that?”

Palmisciano, was quick to defend his actions, explaining that Amenta didn’t understand all the intricacies of what was going on, especially because “Tommy” was notorious for spending roughly two hours a day “combing his hair” in the bathroom. “Look, if AIG T-shirt goes under, that could affect our shirt supplier. If they don’t ship as many t-shirts, our costs could go up, and we may have to fire someone. By my count I just saved at least four jobs. Trust me, it may seem like a bad decision given the fact that Ranger Up employees routinely work 80 hour weeks, have four job titles each, and sleep on cots in the boiler room while the AIG guys enjoy gourmet lunches, BMWs, and office parties filled with local college hotties, all while being completely oblivious to the fact that their business continues to fail, but trust me, this time it will work differently.”

“They literally are burning money,” Amenta retorted. “They don’t know how to use the thermostat, so they burn money to stay warm. This is not going to end well for us.”

When pressed further on why it would work differently, Palmisciano clasped this writer’s shoulder and explained “Because I said so.”

Amenta wasn’t the only employee to topple Palmisciano’s straw man logic. Warehouse manager Whitney Post also had concerns with the new development. “Nick bought one of those lists of potential customers from every piece-of-shit, third world country known to man and handed it to me with a big box of money. He told me to just start mailing it out,” exclaimed Post. “When I asked him why, he told me that as a company, we needed to build international good will. I retorted that there might be a contradiction between selling a shirt with ‘Douchebagistan’ on it and sending the denizens of that country $20 bills, but he just responded, ‘I love Lamp’. What the hell do I do with that?”

Amenta agreed, “Whitney is already handling shipping and customer service – now in addition to fighting those two wars, she has to deal with this humanitarian crap! 1.4% just doesn’t cut it for that much work – I don’t care what is happening in other companies!”

But while donations to other companies and countries are serious employee concerns, perhaps the biggest issue Ranger Up is having in the New Year is its new health care plan, which oddly only offers wart removal, fungal inspections, and tourniquets. Garrett Schemmel, the CMO complained, “Nick has decided to “scrap” big names like Blue Cross and United Health Care for Ranger Up Health. The dude seriously just spent thousands of dollars installing a clinic in the back of the warehouse with a Filipino voodoo specialist, a gallon of Robitussin, and a giant box of 800mg Motrin capsules that’s labeled ‘Ranger Candy’. After it was built, we realized that we didn’t have the kind of money to staff, you know, a giant fucking hospital, so we took out a loan, putting what was a profitable company into hock. Even with that, all we could pick up was a couple of retired Candy Stripers, so we’re putting Kelly Crigger through medical school. The company is now stretched thin, our healthcare is at the whims of the incompetent, and Crigger is walking around in a candy striper uniform and heels. Disturbing.”

“I want to introduce him to Helga the five knuckled proctologist,” offered Crigger as he threw his rubber doctor’s hammer at Palmisciano’s command photo. “I’m a professional writer and a Lieutenant Colonel. I’m sure as shit not checking Amenta’s balls once a year!”

Amenta agreed, “No one touches my balls but me!”

“That’s what she said,” offered Post.

So do these recent developments mean the end of Ranger Up? “Nah,”mumbles Amenta, “I love this job too much and I think it’s too important. I mean, yeah, it’d be nice if Nick appreciated how hard we worked, got his nails dirty, and put himself in our shoes every once in a while instead of embracing the limelight and worrying about magazine covers and which UFC star he was hanging out with, but at the end of the day, I don’t do it for him. I do it for the guys we ship to.”

After a quiet pause, Post added, “Yeah, but you know…fuck 1.4%”

Schemmel nodded., “Yeah fuck it right in the ear. That shit won’t even cover my higher tax rate.”

And Ranger Up marches on.

Vets from the Sitter and Barfoot Veterans Care Center

Folks, we just got this great note from Sitter & Barfoot Veterans Care Center, founded by two Medal of Honor Recipients. Just wanted to share the great note and the great picture.

During the height of Colonel Barfoot’s battle with the Sussex County Homeowners Association, the Ranger Up community urged us to send Colonel Barfoot some shirts to show our support. We did…and he marched right to the Veterans Care Center he cofounded and gave them all away.

Just awesome. Thanks to everyone here for getting his address and thanks to Colonel Barfoot for reminding us once again why we love him.

Letter from Sitter & Barfoot Veterans Care Center

The New Year is upon us and it is time for Ranger Up’s New Year’s Resolutions.

While we don’t have them all ironed out yet, Tommy and I have firmly committed to defattifying ourselves.

Now it isn’t that we’re grossly out of shape and except for one drunken moment where we considered gorging ourselves for months in order to qualify, we’ve never considered applying for “The Biggest Loser”. We both can still easily make the Ranger five-mile time of 40 minutes and our combined bench, dead lift, and squat score is still north of 1000 pounds, but time away from active duty and consistent Jits/MMA competition has made us well…a little too squishy for our liking.

And it isn’t just that we’ve let our girlish figures slip (I think I am getting a muffin top). I found myself gassing a little too early when I grappled or running a little slower than I liked and Tommy failed to max the PT test for the first time in ages, coming in at a 286 in his guard unit. His Fran and Cindy records on Crossfit also slipped by 2-3 rotations.

Of course, it didn’t help to have Tim Kennedy walking around with his eight-pack, a constant reminder of what we once were (okay, maybe not, but we at least had the top four to six), but we’re busy dudes and we can’t really work out three times a day like professional athletes or two times a day like we used to in the military.

Tim has too many abs and we hate him for it.

So what’s a couple of chubby military t-shirt makers to do?

Enter P.R. Cole, or “The Pixie” as she is affectionately known, owner of FueltheFighter.com. Cole is the premier nutritionist in MMA, writing for Fight! Magazine each month, supporting such fighters as Tim Kennedy, Frank Trigg, Kenny Florian, Phillipe Nover, and Jorge Gurgel with personalized nutrition programs, and, if the rumors are true may end up with her own TV segment in the near future. As if that isn’t enough, she is also a seasoned gymnast and muay thai practitioner, and holds something like 107 degrees from Columbia University. When she started working with Tim, we wondered “What could she possibly do for him?” Well, he actually grew four additional abs, so he now has a twelve pack, which is just bullshit. In short, she is more than qualified to help the likes of Tommy and I get a little less fat.

Graciously, even though she is the busiest woman alive, she offered to build programs for us. We think she is doing so because of our incredible charm and good looks. Others claim that it is because I went to school with her brother and she pities us. You decide.

They key here is that this isn’t a diet. I was a wrestler. If I wanted to weight 135 tomorrow, I could probably pull that shit off. The plan is to fundamentally and permanently change the way we eat. My theory is that if it works for workaholic/alcoholic freaks like us, you guys ought to try it too.

Progress to Date

So here’s the deal. Tommy has been at it for 9 weeks. At 5’ 6” he has gone from 174 to 159. He wants to hit 155 before he starts building more muscle with an eventual goal of landing at a very solid 170.

I started ten days ago, so there is a lot of work to be done! At 5’8” I weighed in at 209 and as of last Friday (weigh day)was at 204.5. I want to drop down to 185/190 depending on body fat percentage and then add lean muscle and land at 195-200.

We will post updates every week or two because it will shame us into committing.

What’s In it For You? (Other than laughing at us)

1) We work better when we have other goals, so we’d like your help coming up with our other resolutions. Ideas on the table from friends: Run a marathon (time TBD), Actually try to get belted in Jits and get our Blue Belts from Tim Burrill (a tall order at Tim’s), Lift X, Win X Judo Tournament or Y Jits Tournament, Accomplish Random feats of Crossfit Awesomeness, etc. If we pick your resolution (and yes, there will be some voting involved once we vet the top ones) you’ll get a $50 Ranger Up Gift Certificate.

2) We need workouts to keep things interesting, and we’re so busy that we pretty much work out at RU or run and that’s it right now. At our disposal at RU: tons of kettle bells, a sledge hammer and normal-sized tire, a bench press, deadlift area, squat rack, lat pull down machine, pull up bar, dip bar, thai bag, and jits mats. We’ll pick one workout every week from the comments section here, our facebook group, or from email (nick@rangerup.com) to knock out. If we use yours, we’ll mention how it went in our updates, give you credit for life, and send you a free t-shirt.

Nick and Tommy getting their hair done before their PR Cole diet began.

Sometimes things happen and you can’t believe they are really going down. You wonder if you’re on the set of some game show where at the end of you overreacting, the panels come down and everyone laughs at you, then Ryan Seacrest or some other troglodyte pops out and goes, “Hey, you’re on the new MTV show F*ck with Nick until he loses his Shit!”

This was one of those times.

No shit, there I was: the summer of 1999. Star Wars: The Phantom Menace had just come out a few months prior and I had just graduated from Ranger School and was now enjoying my much needed post-suckfest leave before I headed off to my first unit as a 2LT. I hadn’t really been home for any period of time in the last five years having spent four of them locked in the seclusion and wool-lined misery of West Point and the last year graduating from the 237 schools that infantry officers have to go through before they can get their first platoon. I was actually pretty excited to see some of my buddies from high school and decompress.

One of these friends, we’ll call him Qui-jon, or QJ for short, called me up the first day I was back and asked if I wanted to go to a sweet party. Of course, just like every other time anyone has ever asked me this question, I said yes.

Visions of kegs, girls, tomfoolery and hijinks swirled in my freshly minted Ranger head. It was going to be a great time. The party was out in the country, which generally meant it could be louder and more boisterous and no one would give a shit, so all the better.

QJ picked me up and we drove for a small eternity through trees and darkness until we finally arrived at what seemed like a party teeming with life. There was a mid-sized house alongside a barn. Cars filled the field and I could see people everywhere. QJ had outdone himself! I hopped out of the car fired up to have a good time, ignoring the pain in my back from carrying a ruck for 2.5 months and started marching towards my Ranger Objective.

As I got closer to the heart of the party at the barn, however, I felt a disturbance in my personal force. There were a whole lot of dudes here…actually almost all dudes…and many of them were dressed up funny. As I peered closer, I noticed that every one of them, to a man, had a…I can’t believe I am going to say this…light saber.

A. Mother. Fucking. Light. Saber.

I hadn’t been this floored since I found out Darth Vader was Luke’s father. A Star Wars party brought me to, Qui-Jon had. And this wasn’t just a “party”. These guys were deadly serious. Each light saber was different, representing the individual “Jedi’s” personal preferences. Some guys were Sith Lords. Others were righteous Jedi. The light sabers were made of PVC pipe wrapped with a foam exterior and then wrapped again in a special glimmering tape to replicate the blue, green, orange, and red flavors of molten laser from the movie. If the situation wasn’t so catastrophically sad, I would have been very impressed with the construction, but as it stood, I just wanted to get the fuck out of here…NOW. That desire got even stronger when I realized this wasn’t just a party – these dudes were competing in a light saber tournament! I stared in astonishment as loser after pathetic loser lined up to face each other, spinning their little plastic sticks around as if they were seriously fighting for the freedom of the universe. I threw up a little in my mouth.

Me: QJ, let’s get out of here. Let’s go hit a bar or something.

QJ: But Nick, you love Star Wars. You’ll love it man. Give it a shot!

Me: Dude, I love the original Star Wars movies from my childhood. I don’t need to be dressed like a droid to become sexually aroused. There’s a big fucking difference. Let’s get the fuck out of here.

QJ: Come on man, you need to compete. I know you just finished that Ranger shit, so I’m sure you’ve had tons of training.

Me: Oh yeah, dude. We learn this in the Dagobah Phase of Ranger School. Seriously man, I’m gonna start walking. I’m not doing this shit.

QJ(hurt): Dude, come on man. You can use one of my light sabers. I brought three.

Oh my God, I realized. QJ, my longtime friend, was one of them. I had to save him from this and fast.

Me: QJ, I am not going to compete. We need to get out of here right now dude. If you’ve ever trusted me on anything in your life, trust me on this.

Douchey McDoucherston: Sounds like you’re scared to fight!

I look over to see a guy wearing brown pajamas or something. He has a brown cloak on and a hood up. I wish I was making this up. Even through his loose-fitting garments, you could see his complete lack of physique.

Me (ignoring him): QJ, let’s get out of here man. Please.

Douchey McDoucherston: Yeah, you should leave. We wouldn’t want you to get hurt.

Me: What did you just say?

Douchey McDoucherston: We wouldn’t want you to get hurt. Jedi fights are not for the weak of heart.

I know better than this. I really do. This is Psychology 101. I should be the bigger man.

Me: Give me the fucking light saber.

QJ: Yeah! Let’s go Nick! (drops to a whisper) Be careful man, he’s good.

I am given a light saber. I am furious at the world. I am pissed at QJ for bringing me here. I am pissed at these asshats for living in this fantasy world. I’m pissed at myself for giving in to his taunts. Most of all, though, I’m pissed that I haven’t eaten in like an hour.

They explain the rules. They are entirely too complex. I am staring my opponent down. He will not make eye contact. Rage is building inside me. I’ve seen about five matches already and these guys dance around as if they are skilled athletes. I have no interest in that.

The referee says go and I come at this kid like a fucking spider monkey hopped up on PCP. He didn’t know what hit him…wait, actually he did – it was my freakin’ light saber drilling him across the chest, face and back in rapid succession as the ref pulled me off of him. There’s point one in the best out of three, endeavor. He resets us and the kid makes some comment about my needing to control my anger or I’ll end up a Sith Lord. I literally want him dead. The ref told us to go again and I hit him with everything I could across the neck and face and snapped the light saber in half, leaving him with a giant red mark for the rest of the night.

The geekdom looked at me like I was an alien creature. I thought I was done at that point, having proven my point and been the first guy ever to snap a light saber in half on someone else, but I was wrong. Apparently, I had to be taught a lesson, and that lesson was that I could kick all of their asses in gay ass light saber fighting.

All the rage built up in 2.5 months of Ranger School (and let’s not even talk about pre-Ranger) was unleashed on these poor unsuspecting fools. For the better part of an hour, I took on all challengers. I broke one dude’s nose, two of another dude’s fingers, and two more light sabers in the process.

Finally, I was up against some dude that was supposed to be the “best” light saber fighter. He had a double-sided Darth Maul light saber. I bludgeoned him badly for the first point. In the second round, I repeated my beat down, pummeling him so hard that he fell to the ground. The ref, however, claimed that he had brushed my arm with his light saber before I crushed him with mine, and he awarded him the next point. The crowd was happy to hear this news. I might still be taught my lesson.

As the third and final round began, I hurled my light saber at him and hit him in the throat, dropping him to his knees gasping for air.

Ref: I’m not sure that’s fair!

Me: Didn’t Darth Vader throw his light saber and cut the staircase Luke was on and knock him to the ground?

Ref: Well, yes.

Me: Wouldn’t a magma hot laser hitting you in the throat kill you?

Ref: Yes.

Me: Well, then fuck off, and may the force be with you.

Fuck with the wrong Infantryman, they did.

Homeowner’s associations are un-American.

I may not agree with my neighbor, Bob, who thinks that having a plastic deer family in his yard is the height of lawn fashion, but I sure as shit think it is his right to do it. After all, he paid for his home. He pays his taxes. Who cares what I think?

If you really stop and think about it, you have to be an amazingly presumptuous asshat to think that “you know best” when it comes to someone else’s property, especially when it comes to something as subjective as fashion or trends. Don’t believe me? There was a time when most cars were covered in wood, when parachute pants were the norm, and when most everyone you knew had glasses that changed in the sun. In fact, for all I know, Bob is ahead of his time and there is tangible benefit to having a plastic herd out and about.

Now, I live in a neighborhood with a Homeowner’s Association. I pay them dues. They annoy me. But the thing is that the poor slobs that got sucked into the vortex of the organization are decent people trying to do the best they can. They won’t let Bob build his thirty-two foot tall Pink Flamingo out of balsa wood and clothes hangers, but they look the other way for most everything else. In fact, the reason we, as Americans, haven’t yet rebelled against these communist regimes is that for the most part, reasonable heads prevail.

Not so in Henrico County.

The Sussex Square Homeowner’s Association has launched a smug war of douchebaggery against 90-year old Medal of Honor recipient Colonel Van T. Barfoot. Colonel Barfoot’s Medal of Honor citation is incredible. I will summarize it: Machine guns were shooting his guys so he threw himself in front of them and killed everyone without dying. Then tanks charged his men, so he threw himself in front of them drawing their fire and disabling them with a bazooka without dying. When the men in the tanks dismounted and attacked his men, he single-handedly killed them and somehow once again didn’t die. Then he put himself into harm’s way through withering fire and saved two wounded men, Good Lord, still without dying. In short, after reading his citation, and then learning that Barfoot then went on to fight in TWO MORE WARS, if he wants to build a giant phallus shrine or perhaps a paper Mache goat on his front yard, I am the last guy that’s going to get in the man’s way. Society owes him a debt it will never repay.

The Sussex Square HOA, however, is filing suit against Barfoot for violating the HOA’s strict rules and potentially diminishing their home values. His egregious crime? Placing a flagpole in his yard so he can raise the American flag each morning and lower with honors at night.

Seriously you ask?

Seriously.

Somehow, someway, the spoiled, un-American, self-righteous knob jockeys of the Sussex Square HOA wake up every morning, look in the mirror, and say “I’m doing the right thing”. I want someone to punch every last one of them. In fact, just thinking about the situation, makes me want to drink about five red bulls, watch some commie-inspired Hollywood Iraq PTSD film, put “Let the Bodies Hit the Floor” on my iPod and bust through the HOA door, grab the President of the organization and do my best Col. Nathan R. Jessup impression while every vein in my neck seethes red with rage:

“You weep for your lame rules and you curse that flagpole. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: That your existence while tragic, is also meaningless. And Barfoot’s flagpole, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, is righteous as hell. You don’t want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want him on that lawn. You need him there!”

Right about at this point, with my rage at its apex, I’d be waiting, fantasizing even, for some sort of aggressive rebuttal on their part – perhaps even a violent altercation resulting in me standing over their bloody, barely breathing pathetic bodies, Bruce Lee style…content in the knowledge that they had learned a valuable lesson about life and karma.
That would never happen, of course.

They’d simply call their lawyers – Coates & Davenport at (804) 285-7000 and cry about the scary infantryman rambling on in their office. Next thing you know, I’d have to install a flagpole so they could take it away from me. After all, they know best.

Good news, Sussex Square HSA! Douchebagistan just added a sub-division and you’re now running it.

Welcome to Douchebagistan.

Now choke yourselves.

2nd Lieutenant Barfoot’s Medal of Honor Citation:

For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of life above and beyond the call of duty on 23 May 1944, near Carano, Italy. With his platoon heavily engaged during an assault against forces well entrenched on commanding ground, 2d Lt. Barfoot (then Tech. Sgt.) moved off alone upon the enemy left flank. He crawled to the proximity of 1 machinegun nest and made a direct hit on it with a hand grenade, killing 2 and wounding 3 Germans. He continued along the German defense line to another machinegun emplacement, and with his tommygun killed 2 and captured 3 soldiers. Members of another enemy machinegun crew then abandoned their position and gave themselves up to Sgt. Barfoot. Leaving the prisoners for his support squad to pick up, he proceeded to mop up positions in the immediate area, capturing more prisoners and bringing his total count to 17. Later that day, after he had reorganized his men and consolidated the newly captured ground, the enemy launched a fierce armored counterattack directly at his platoon positions. Securing a bazooka, Sgt. Barfoot took up an exposed position directly in front of 3 advancing Mark VI tanks. From a distance of 75 yards his first shot destroyed the track of the leading tank, effectively disabling it, while the other 2 changed direction toward the flank. As the crew of the disabled tank dismounted, Sgt. Barfoot killed 3 of them with his tommygun. He continued onward into enemy terrain and destroyed a recently abandoned German fieldpiece with a demolition charge placed in the breech. While returning to his platoon position, Sgt. Barfoot, though greatly fatigued by his Herculean efforts, assisted 2 of his seriously wounded men 1,700 yards to a position of safety. Sgt. Barfoot’s extraordinary heroism, demonstration of magnificent valor, and aggressive determination in the face of pointblank fire are a perpetual inspiration to his fellow soldiers.

The guys at Ranger Up know stuff, and from time to time we’ll try to pass on our cauldron bucket thumbnail of knowledge to you in the form of a Top 11 list. We’ll all take turns churning these babies out. For example, if you wanted to learn how to be curmudgeonly, then Crigger would take it. If you wanted to learn how to be genetically superior to everyone else and not realize that no matter how hard we try we’ll never touch your crossfit times, then Tim would take it. If you want to learn how to be loud, obnoxious, and did I mention loud, then Tommy Batboy will be all over it. If you want to learn how to work with a bunch of assclowns, then Garrett will write it. Well, you get the idea.

The Topic: How to get into College

Why you care: It’s never a bad idea to get some more school in (unless you’re one of those freaks that can’t do anything in real life and just collects degrees as if that somehow makes you a contributing member of society and/or smart) and with the economy sputtering a little, it’s the perfect time to set yourself up for success. Many of you also have GI Bill benefits. Use them!
Why you should listen to me: I went to two schools conventional wisdom says I should not have gotten into. When I was at Duke, I helped out with admissions conducting tons of interviews of prospective students, so I’ve seen how bad people are at it. Also, being around the selection process gave me a window into know how admissions looks at students and how they rate them. Also, I have helped twelve people apply to top schools. Eleven listened to me. Eleven got in. In short I am undefeated. Finally, I know how to translate military success into academia-speak.

The Top 11 Ways to Get into College

11. Plan ahead big time. Doing an application is not something you should knock out in a day or even a week. You need to complete recommendations, essays, and standardized tests, as well as prepare for interviews. The best thing you can do is target the very first application deadline for the schools you want to attend and plan backwards about three months from that date.

10. Apply to multiple schools. This is really important, no matter where you want to go, but especially if you’re hunting for the high brow, secret society, rich kid schools. Just because you have great grades, think you’re the shit, and really, really, REALLY want to go to Harvard, doesn’t mean they give a rat’s ass. There are thousands of kids just like you, so not only do you have to put together an awesome application, but you have to catch an admissions officer that a) likes what you have to say and b) is in a good mood. Unless you cured cancer or something, you’re not all that cool. Hedge your bets.

9. Test scores and grades aren’t everything. A lot of people were just okay or even bad in high school, then served in the military, found a whole lot of discipline, and are ready for college, but are worried that they can’t get into the schools they want because of grades or SAT scores. A lot of people that have a college degree already have the same concern when thinking about grad school after military service. Here’s the deal: Grades and Test Scores aren’t that important and they aren’t that unimportant.

First the bad news. If you scored only the minimum SAT score allowed by writing your name on the paper and you got everything else wrong, your aspirations for Yale are probably a long shot. Conversely, if you maxed your GMAT with an 800 and had a 4.0 GPA that doesn’t mean you’re money, either. When I applied to business school, there were forums everywhere where losers told everyone how awesome their scores were and how they’d only accept Harvard or Wharton because they were so good. Then they’d be crying because they didn’t get in. That’s because they were giant douchebags and the world generally unfolds as it should.

Now the good news. Every school has a listed average (unimportant) and middle 80% (very important). A school’s average SAT score might be 1400, but their middle 80% is 1500-1050. You want to be as close to the average as you can, but being in the middle 80% is really key. Your military experience is not easy to replicate that and admissions people know that. You just can’t make it too hard for them to say yes by being the 1%. Regardless, no matter how bad your score is, apply. Make them decide, don’t quit on yourself. You’ll often be pleasantly surprised.

8. Understand the premise of peanut butter and jelly. Peanut butter candidates are the people that have the right grades, the right experience, the right jobs (if it is graduate school), etc. Think of them as the sure thing. They are the people the school knows will come in and get good grades and go get a corporate job and climb the ladder and finish out their careers as the VP of whatever and call it a day. Then there’s jelly. Jelly candidates are the guys who have done a lot of crazy shit in their lives and don’t necessarily fit into the mold of the school, but admissions is considering them out of sheer, morbid curiosity. They are the people that will get a great corporate job, climb the ladder, hate it, quit, and start a t-shirt company and hence, give their mom a near heart attack.

You want to be both. The good news is that if you served in the military you already have the jelly (but you can still add interesting hobbies and travel to spruce it up). Hell, if you’re a recent vet, you’re probably hanging on 2-3 deployments already. You don’t need much more jelly. What you need to do is show your job and responsibilities in the service actually took brain power comparable to what your civilian counterparts were doing. If you’re applying for undergrad, too easy, they were getting drunk. If you’re applying for graduate degree, you need to highlight the analytic, problem-solving, and leadership aspects of your jobs. Mortarman? You were using physics to calculate the precise location of high explosive impact. One screw up and people died. Quartermaster? You were engaged in a multi-national logisitics campaign as a key member of the world’s largest supply chain. You had to deal with international regulations, HAZMAT, language barriers, and the fact that the supplies you were delivering directly contributed to the success of the mission. Infantryman? You had to deal with language issues, public works problems, and police issues all while understanding and balancing the needs of the various sects in the area you were patrolling, and by the way, at any point you could be in a firefight. Try topping that stress with a PowerPoint presentation in front of the boss…

7. Understand stereotypes. Everyone carries stereotypes. Some are good and some are bad. You want to reinforce the good and minimize the bad. You are never going to change them (e.g. convince them that the military is not what they think) but you can prove to them that you are an exception to the rule. In the case of the military, the positive stereotypes tend to be: disciplined, calm under pressure, leader, and team player. The bad stereotypes tend to be: automaton droid, not creative, overly aggressive, needs a hierarchy to succeed.

To combat this, tell stories in your essays and interviews that showcase how far from the stereotype you are in the negative department, and reinforce the good stuff with stories that highlight those attributes.

6. Develop themes for your application. Applications work best when you pick themes to build around. Only you know what you want to highlight, but as a blueprint for a military guy or gal, I’d think about things like: leadership, teamwork, initiative, and intelligent risk-taking. Whether you’re writing essays or sitting in an interview, think about these themes as you frame your answers.

5. Write good freakin’ essays. If it wasn’t for the essay, I’d be screwed. Essays are the one chance you have to plan exactly what you want them to hear and make sure you tell them exactly that. You personally may not be a great writer, but every one of you knows at least one that will edit for you. Work on this until they kick ass. Edit the shit out of them. Let other people edit the shit out of them.

I am a big believer in telling first-person stories for at least one or two of your essays. We have the backgrounds that allow those stories to be really cool, and after reading a hundred essays that day about dealing with a challenging coworker at IBM or a mean boss at Morgan Stanley, what admissions officer isn’t going to perk up a little when the essay starts, “The explosion threw me a hundred feet, but I was okay, and more importantly, my rifle still worked”? Okay, a little dramatic, but you get the point.

4. Just because you know Michael Jordan, it doesn’t mean he should write your recommendation. Admissions officers have this weird code of honor. They don’t like to think they are being beaten into accepting someone because they know someone important, and actually “rage against the machine” when this happens. It’s fun to watch them get riled up and bitch about it.
So, if you didn’t work directly for Mr. Jordan, then he shouldn’t be writing your recommendation. Pick people that know you well, that you are CERTAIN really like you, and who you believe will put in the work to make sure they are good. Recommendations are the least important part of your packet, because for fuck’s sake, who out there can’t find someone to right something positive about them, but they can hurt you if you hand them to the wrong person. Ideally, the person should be a competent writer (look at your NCOER or OER as a starting point) but real passion for your success is most important.

3. Kick ass in the interview. When you interview (or write essays for that matter), use the STAR format. STAR stands for situation, task, action, result. What was the situation you were placed in? What task did you get assigned or did you take on for yourself? What actions did you take towards the completion of that task? What were the results of your actions?
Sounds easy, right? I’ve sat through hundreds of interviews at Duke and in corporate America before I started doing Ranger Up fulltime (we just make people pass obstacle courses and hazing rituals for employment). People suck at it. Bad. Real Bad. The funny thing about that is that everyone considers themselves a brilliant interviewer. You’ve all heard it. “If I could only get to the interview, I’ll get the job, because I’m great at interviewing.” You’re not. You suck at it, just like everyone else.
The interview is not about answering the questions or about being friendly. It’s about showing a history of success, showing that you will succeed here at school, showing that you will then graduate and succeed some more, and that you aren’t an asshole that will be miserable to work with. Seriously. Admissions people would outwardly argue with this fact, but it’s the God’s honest truth. That’s all there is to it.

The best way to do that is to use the STAR format and to stick to your themes. Don’t rush to answer the question. You’ll have multiple answers for any question, so think about which answer will best help you.
Example:
Question: Tell me about a time you were placed in a stressful situation and how you reacted.

Bad Answer: I was walking down the street with my squad and we got ambushed. I fought through it and killed everyone, then hung their severed ears from my neck. Later, the guys and I played soccer with the heads of one of the bastards!

Good Answer: I was walking down the street with my squad when an angry mob approached us. We were a little antsy as the day before we had been ambushed, so I was acutely aware that my guys might overreact. I grabbed my terp and walked directly towards the leader of the mob, making sure I pulled my hands off my weapon to seem less aggressive, even as I gave my team leader the order to do what was necessary the second it turned ugly. By doing this, I kept the mob away from my squad so they would have the standoff to engage if necessary while the interpreter and I determined what the problem was. Come to find out, they were simply angry because a tank had knocked in the side of a house. I was able to put a work order in to get it fixed and ended up having a very strong relationship with the village elders as a result, who began trusting us and passing information on the insurgents in the area. Had I not kept my cool, there was the possibility that this situation could have turned very ugly, and we certainly would not have garnered the positive relationship that we did with the village.

2. Make sure the school is right for you. People put a lot of effort into trying to get into the “right schools” but often don’t ask if the school is actually right for them. Research the school. Ask questions in the interview. Odds are that if you hate everyone you’ve met, you will not enjoy your experience. You’re the one that is going to pay these clowns a veritable orgasm of money to go to their institution and get their degree. The application process is not a one-way street! Make sure they are going to give you what you want.

Additionally, researching the schools will help you write better, more school-specific essays, as well as frame intelligent questions that show the admissions folks how much you want to be at THEIR school, not just any school. Schools are businesses just like any other, even though they like to pretend that they really do it all to serve the greater good (Harvard pretty much owns Boston and Brown pretty much owns Providence, but they get tax exemption for serving the greater good. WTF, over?). The only thing they hate more than accepting the wrong candidate is accepting the right candidate and losing them to another school (one of the school ranking criteria is yield which equals number attending divided by the number admitted). In short, be ready to highlight why school X is THE school for you.

1. Show them a history of success. When you think about this one, schools will annoy you. Sorry. Schools want to bring people in who don’t need them at all. They want to take hardworking, smart, successful people, stamp their brand on them, and then ship them out to go continue to be successful, and then have those successful people send them money later. Do you think Harvard teaches different shit than Umass Amherst? Do you think Stanford teaches different shit than UCLA? Same shit, folks, but they have marketed so well over time that all the super successful freaks want to go there so they feel good about themselves. Companies, in turn, want to hire the freaks that came from them so they feel good about themselves. It propagates a vicious cycle. So you want to fight that cycle, right? Fuck no! Convince these people that you’re a huge success and that they need you. Then do the same in industry and get the right corporate job.

Then quit that job and make t-shirts.

Good Luck!

In September of 2006 when we launched Ranger Up, I stumbled upon a little website called Blackfive.net, and I started reading about this guy named Matt Burden and his band of brothers who painstakingly identified, showcased, and attacked those that would harm our nation’s troops. The best part about these guys was that they weren’t just ranting and blowing smoke so that they could be “blog heroes”, but rather they were intelligently making arguments, defending positions, and placing pressure on institutions and the government to act appropriately. I loved it.

I remember thinking, “Who the hell is this guy ?” I mean, everywhere I look, Matt Burden seemed to be there. He was on Fox news. He had a book out. He was doing interviews. He was a high-level executive. He founded a pro-military production company. Now he chairs the Warrior Legacy Foundation and is running for office.

He’s a mutant right? I mean, normal people just don’t do that much stuff, do they?

Four days ago, I was at the charity auction to kick off the new non-profit, American Women Veteran’s. Led by Genevieve Chase, the organization aims to look out for women who are serving or have served to ensure among many other things: that their needs are taken into account on the Hill, that women veterans with PTSD and other combat injuries are provided equitable care, and that women are provided the tools necessary to succeed in the service.

It’s a phenomenal organization that is long overdue and it took countless hours of work on Chase’s part. She did this, mind you, while serving in the National Guard, holding down a Pentagon job, and tolerating Tommy Batboy and me.

At the AWV event, the master of ceremonies was LCDR Andrew Baldwin, M.D. If you’re a woman, you may know him as the Navy Diver on the Bachelor. I did not know him, but in short order, I could tell he was a good guy, and struck up a conversation. He began telling me about an organization that he had just founded called the Got Your Back Network, devoted to helping the children and spouses of service members who have paid the ultimate price for our country. He did this while serving on active duty in the Navy and balancing a growing television career.

Today, I received an email from Mark Derocchi, one of my classmates from West Point and the Chairman of an organization I am a part of that raises money for the families of the fallen in our class, stating that the IRS has filed our paperwork for tax exempt status. It is a small step, but an important one if we are to achieve our goal of ensuring our fallen classmates’ families are provided for.

None of these people started out planning to found organizations or save the world or anything like that. They simply saw problems with the way things were running and decided it was time to try to fix what they could. Matt saw a hero ignored by the media. Genevieve saw a group neglected by the government. Andrew and Mark saw children and families in need. So they did something about it. They used the same drive and determination that they garnered through conquering the adversity of military life and used to give back.

I highlight these people not to pat them on the back (they get plenty of that, especially that Burden character), but rather to showcase what is possible. It’s Veteran’s Day and it is a day when we should all be thankful for those that have served and continue to serve, but it is also a day to reflect on what we have contributed, and more importantly, what we can contribute to our brothers and sisters in arms. You don’t need to start a non-profit, but you can donate your time. You don’t need to blog daily, but you can volunteer a few hours a week to speak with vets coming back from the war. You don’t need to be on Fox news, but you could submit an article to your local paper. In short, you don’t need to do everything, but I hope you decide you need to do something.

There’s a whole lot of veterans out there that really need you.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!” SGT G shouted from behind a tree.

“Bang, Banga-Bang-Bang-Bang!” came the retort from SPC W.

“What the hell are you guys doing? We need to take this seriously!” I shouted. As a brand new second lieutenant of an infantry rifle company, I wanted to make sure we got the most realistic training possible. Yes, blue tip rounds would have been better, but we had MILES, or we affectionately called it, Laser Tag, and I wanted my guys to use it.

“Sir, we’re out of blank rounds, so there’s nothing to set the MILES gear off,” replied SGT G.

“Are you kidding me, Sergeant?” I asked perplexed. After all, we were in the best-funded military in the world and we were in an infantry unit that at the time had deployed twice in two years and was about to deploy again. Surely, there was enough money for blank rounds to practice with.

But there wasn’t. As I was about to find out in a rather depressing way, even an infantry unit gets the bare minimum in the way of essential training tools. Forget about blanks for a second. There were many months that went by where we didn’t even fire a round of real ammunition! Even when we did get to fire rounds, we often had so little to work with that we had to focus on basic rifle marksmanship with minimal opportunity to do team or squad live fire drills and even less time to practice room clearing. Quite honestly, gun hobbyists shot more than we were shooting.

It got so bad that on a quarterly basis, my platoon sergeant and I would pitch in and buy rounds. Technically, we weren’t allowed to fire “civilian rounds” from our M4s, but fuck it, we kind of thought it was important that our guys knew how to shoot given that in our line of work, sometimes people shot back. So, for about $700 a quarter, we got our guys two mags of ball rounds to fire. My first sergeant was able to work some drug deals with the non-combat arms folks (who never shot anything) to get another couple mags per man. In total, in a 90-day period our guys got to fire as many rounds as an avid shooter would knock out in a month, or what Tim Kennedy would go through in a single day at the range.

WE. WERE. AN. INFANTRY. UNIT.

That brings us to our Douche of the Week. Once again, folks, let’s hear it for the United States Congress.
Congress just stole $2.6 Billion dollars (yes with a “B”) from the military’s operating budget to fund super important projects like a Ted Kennedy Institute ($25M), a World War II Museum ($20M), the Maui Space Surveillance System ($20M), and a diamond studded set of chaps for every congressman($5M). Okay, the last one only cost like $4M. For those of you that don’t know, this is the budget that funds all that useless stuff the military wants, like training, food, fuel, parts, and repairs – you know, that crap.

If you haven’t served, you may not fathom that individual units that are asked to routinely go into harm’s way might be so deficient in simple necessities, but if you have served, you likely remember these days:

• You go to the motor pool and half your HMMWVs are deadlined with a missing part or filter.
• You are out of batteries for your GPS, Night Vision Devices, or sites with no conceivable time period for replacement.
• The sites on your Bradley or Abrams are busted and have been for a decade.
• Your tool kits are loaded with shit that you bought at Ace Hardware because the military just didn’t have it handy or your budget for the year got blown in like two months.

In all seriousness, the stark reality is that many young soldiers have fired more rounds in combat than they have in training. I’ve met soldiers, in combat zones, who have somehow managed to jam their magazines into their weapons BACKWARDS. There are a lot of things you can do in life where on the job training is reasonable – cooking French fries, stocking shelves, carrying boxes, and neurosurgery fall into this category. However, figuring out how the fuck you load, aim, and fire your weapon is not a formula you want to solve for the first time when bad guys are trying to kill you.

In the real world, our troops are begging, borrowing, and stealing to supplement the minimal tools they are provided so they can ensure they are combat effective. Meanwhile, back in Doucheville, Congress is working diligently to divert money to projects that will line the pockets of their constituents at home, regardless of whether it has anything to do with the needs of the military.

When questioned by the Washington Times, senators and their mouthpieces opted to scoff at the idea of impropriety and pretend to take the high road. Senator Kerry’s aide somehow managed to argue, while maintaining a straight face, that the expenditure for the Kennedy Institute was justified because the late Senator had voted for improved body armor and up-armored HMMWVs. Senator Landrieau told the Times she was “proud to fight” for the World War II Museum because it would honor the past generation of warriors. And, Appropriations Committee Chairman Daniel K. Inouye of Hawaii offered this little gem: “The operation and maintenance title is fully funded. There is no shortage. … The committee is deeply concerned that the critical operational needs of our soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines are met with the finest equipment available.”

The fact that Mr. Inouye believes it’s all good on the line apparently makes it okay for him to siphon $206M to his state for 35 earmarks. Wow. I wish Mr. Inouye was a North Carolina senator. Ranger Up really needs gold plated toilets, a limitless supply of coffee and Diet Coke, and a wind tunnel. Sometimes we need all three of those things at once (If you’ve never drank Diet Coke while sitting on a golden toilet in a wind tunnel, you should).

Tommy Batboy and Whitney the Ginger make it a routine to mock my desire to do math on a regular basis, so just once I will attempt to use those skills for good rather than evil.

For one moment, forget about the pilots that need to fly (who are not getting enough training time) or the ships that need to sail, or the tanks that need to fire rounds. Let’s just talk bullets.

If we took that “meaningless” $2.6B and bought as many 800 round boxes of 5.56 ball that we could at wholesale price (and somehow I think we’d get a deal if we bought $2.6B worth), we’d have 11.1 billion rounds. If we then split those rounds out evenly across every single soldier and marine on active duty, in the National Guard, or in the Reserves, each troop would receive almost 9000 rounds. That would mean every single month; every troop that might come into harm’s way on the ground would be firing 25 magazines worth of ammunition. Do you think that might help a little?

What if we only gave the rounds to combat arms folks that spend almost all of their time outside of the FOBs – the infantryman, tankers, field artilleryman, and the like? Now, we’re looking at 32,000 rounds per man. We could be firing 85 mags or more per month! Hell, we could drop that to 75 mags per month and hire some ex-special operations guys to teach us to shoot better! You think that would have an impact on success abroad?

But you know what, I’m probably thinking too big. Congress isn’t likely to suddenly find a conscious and the end the absurd and embarrassingly transparent corruption. Maybe we should just target one earmark at a time. If we could get Senator Kerry to drop the Ted Kennedy Institute from the military operating budget, that $25M would give every combat arms soldier one extra magazine per month…then my platoon sergeant and I would only have had to spend $350.