Entertainers exist (as their job title implies) to entertain us. They’re supposed to sing and dance and act and make us forget about our woes and in return we pay them money so they can stay off welfare. But at some point along the way, the entertainment community convinced themselves that they are important enough to make policy and change the world (ever seen Martin Sheen cover himself in fake blood outside Fort Benning? Sad). The vast majority are straight up narcissists who love their flawless mirror images and have lost sight of the relationship between entertainer and fan. They exist for us, not the other way around.

So who’s pissed me off this time? Sarah McLachlan. More specifically, Sarah McLachlan’s record label. You see, I invited the Canadian siren to a formal ball honoring the partnership of American and Canadian Special Forces (called Menton Day) because I thought she may be interested in singing the national anthems of each country to mark the event. It was for the troops and since we’re living in an era of abundant military support, it should have been a no-brainer. I followed up the invitation with a polite phone call three weeks after sending it, which I didn’t think an impertinence to anyone. By the time I got through to Alpha Prime records, all I got was voice mail. So I tried again the next day. Another voice message. I waited two more days to call again, thinking myself to be a burden if I kept calling daily. I got the voice mail once again. I knew I was calling busy people, but by now I was feeling a bit blown off. I’m not exactly sitting around with nothing to do all day except call a singer’s errand boys to see if she would play our gig, but it’s important to my organization, so I persisted. I called a fourth time and finally got ahold of a female who claimed to represent Sarah. Elated, I described my situation, asking if Sarah would sing at our function. The response:

“You know you’re calling a record label, right?”

“Excuse me?” I replied.

“This is a recording company you’re calling. You do realize how busy we are and that you’re asking her to sing for soldiers at no cost, right?”

Bruce Banner’s “You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry” echoed in my head. Rambo’s gigantic meaty hand crushed the phone to my ear. Were I an X-Man the phone lines would have melted spontaneously. Before I went 1955 and burned her satanic rock ‘n roll records in the nearest public square, I quickly went through the top five responses in my head:

5. Busy? I’m guessing you’ve got a crock-pot full of moose penis that you have to tend to. My bad.

4. That’s great public relations-ridicule the trained killer in the room. What’s the address of your building again?

3. If you represented those Canadian idols, Bob and Doug Mackenzie, I would feel bad about bothering you, but we’re talking about the chick who coordinated that man-hating Lesbian Fest, Lillith Fair.

2. If it wasn’t for soldiers like us,Canada would be a Soviet Republic full of socialist degenerates eating Borscht, singing Das Kapital, and learning to goosestep on the weekends.

1.The fact that you’ve mastered your opposing thumbs is a triumph of evolution. Now use one of them to turn the “Bitch” dial down a few thousand notches and be productive.

I went with response #1 and was hung up on.

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.

Dear Ranger Up Community,

In 2010, we’ve made the decision to give back more than ever. This week we originally had scheduled a sale, but were hit with a more inspiring idea and one we think you’ll appreciate.

With your help, we will donate 20% of ALL of today’s sales to the fantastic military-support organization, Soldiers’ Angels, through our first ever Charity Day.

We honestly love these guys and what they stand for. And with your help, through your purchase of that Ranger Up gear you’ve been waiting to buy – whether it be Streetwear, MMA or a coffee mug – we’ll go a long way to reinforcing their permanence as an organization.

So, thank you in advance, Ranger Up community! You guys make it all possible.

Sincerely,

The Ranger Up Team

Visit RangerUp.com and Help Give Back>>

I’m a pretty easy going guy.

I don’t tend to get too spooled-up over this-and-that (unless, of course, we’re talking about a ridiculous YouTube video by “Rock the Vote.”). But by and large, I’m not prone to temper tantrums, raising my voice, or spouting off with a long tirade of profanity laced emotional explosions. But even the most even-keeled (self professed anyway), level headed of us are bitten by the freak-out bug now and again.

My most notable “freak-out” occurred recently when I walked into the latrine following one of “those guys.”

You know the guy I’m talking about. He’s the one that believes that the entire stall is his crapping ground, and he has absolutely no regard for the poor schmuck who mistakingly walks up to the latrine post-devastation.

After walking in and having every bodily sense shut down in self-induced defense, I fled the latrine as fast as possible.

What’s a man to do in response? After all, there needs to be SOME latrine etiquette, doesn’t there?

Post an articulate and respectable written response, of course.

Dear Disgusting Pig Who Left This Mess:

If you are not able to clean up your disgusting mess in the future, please refrain from using this public restroom. You are not the only one who uses it, and no one else wants to deal with the horrible smell or sight of your child-like defecation. The fact that there was no toilet paper in the bowl, which was full of brown water and poop, leads me to believe that you are incapable of wiping yourself either. I’m sure you didn’t wash your hands when you were done, and you run the risk of infecting everyone else in the BN. If you are not able to clean up after yourself, then please do not use this bathroom again. If I catch anyone leaving a mess like this in the future, you will be cleaning it up with a toothbrush.

- CPT XXXXX (I would be happy to discuss with you if you wish)

Of course I didn’t leave CPT XXXXX at the bottom. I was happy to give my name for anyone who wanted to “hunt me down.” Reactions from my superiors were swift and varied. I got a few pats on the back, and a few kicks in the ass. After I got a call at home from an angry field grade, my wife pointed out the most obvious flaw of logic in my note. I may not have the authority to make someone “clean it up with a toothbrush,” as the perpetrator could have been a superior, or a civilian.

I suppose we all have our moments of temporary blind rage. Perhaps I should have saved mine for a more appropriate, or more significant moment, but sometimes you just gotta’ tell it like it is.

If you’ve had a temper tantrum you’d like to share, we’d love to hear about it.

Okay, here’s the deal. Ranger Up is bringing a bunch of people out to do the Bataan Death March in New Mexico on 19-21 March. Check it out here.

Essentially it is a marathon over awful terrain. There is a heavy division and a light division. We have some people competing in the light division (meaning no rucksack) and we have four people (Nick, Tom, John Tackett from FighterLink, and Whitney) competing in Heavy Co-Ed. We expect to walk/run this event. We need one more to make a five-person Heavy team.

We want someone from the RUniverse to join us.

Why we’re doing it: Because it’s there and because we’re going to support the Rocky Boots/Warrior Legacy Campaign.

The uniform: Rucksack with 35 pounds, Ranger Panties (we’ll provide), t-shirt (we’ll provide).

How to compete:

Send us a very short essay in the comments area here or on facebook. When we read them, we are considering two things:

1) Will you be able to do it? We don’t need to win and we’re not super-amazing athletes, but we’re not gonna suck either. Take that into account.

2) Are you going to be fun to hang out with for a weekend or are you going to suck us into the misery vortex? We seriously just want to hang out with someone that is cool. It’s gonna suck and if you’re a douche, it’s gonna be a long 26.2 miles. If you’re not sure if you’re a douche, ask your friends. Also, if you’re generally not a douche, but get douchey when you are physically miserable, keep that in mind.

Requirements:

1) You’ve walked 12 miles or more at military standards (55 pounds, under 3 hours). You can do it this week, but you have to have done it by Monday the 8th.

2) You’re not a douche.

Huge Bonus Points:

1) You’ve served in the military or are/were a military spouse or dependent.

2) You’ve run a marathon.

3) You’ve competed in this before.

4) You can turn into pure energey and smite your enemies.

5) You have been the centerfold in either Maxim, Playboy, or Fight!*

*We’re kidding. This will not help you.**

**Yes, it will.

Please start posting ASAP, we’re making our decision Mon, the 8th!

Ranger Up fans will pick the top three, and we’ll finalize it from there!

Ranger Up brings back the Two-Martini Lunch

Who says you have to wait until the sun sets to drink? Getting schnokered in the middle of the day was an executive privilege going back to the days of Romans, Mead, and the always entertaining Coliseum until a bunch of clumsy, tea-totaling Jodies ruined it for all of us by losing too many fingers in wayward heavy machinery accidents. Just when we thought the hell of public bra burnings and pepper spray-laced political conventions was over, America got a conscience, kicked the hard-living Rat Pack to the curb, and mumbled “I’ll never drink again” like a sorority chick on an early morning walk of shame. Overnight, getting buzzed at work was a bad thing.

Well, this is America where unnecessary indulgences are a rite of entrepreneurial passage, so Old Blue Eyes would be proud to know that Ranger Up’s World Headquarters in Raleigh/Durham is a den of gin and vermouth-laced iniquity and profanity between the hours of 1130 and 1300. Wars, laws, and trade routes have been fought over booze, so this small company has tapped into the siren song of libation to get a leg up on the competition. Gird your loins.

“There simply isn’t enough self-righteous egoism in the workplace anymore,” says Ranger Up CEO and Supreme Overlord Nick Palmisciano while killing his first slightly wet, three-olive Hendrix martini. “All these rhinestone and foil wearing, faux hawk coiffed pantyweights don’t know jack about being a revolutionary. Two fingers of your favorite poison was a lunchtime staple for our fathers, but ever since the Carter Administration, everyone’s been uptight about drinking at work…even when we were in the Army. What kind of crap is that?”

Chief Marketing Officer Garrett Schemmel, barely competent after a pair of sugar-rimmed Appletinis, describes the new tactic this way: “One martini is nothing more than an unsatisfying appetizer…like the Minnesota Vikings…and we knew three was too much when a hide-and-seek game didn’t end until we discovered Tommy six days later camping in the rafters like a caveman. Two is just right. It stimulates the creative brain cells, which in turn kill the unproductive ones. So it’s really like brain cell Darwinianism. The weak cells die off leaving the herd stronger…until nap time of course.”

So far the net effect of the two-martini lunch has been limited to a Jackson Pollack wall covered with plans of unrealized world domination, lists of esoteric nonsense like “Kama Sutra uses for peanut butter,” and a collection of crayon drawings depicting RU employees bloodily decimating the greatest MMA fighters. “It’s mostly jibberish with an occasional nugget of stupid,” says Tim Kennedy, who enjoys a vodka martini without vodka. “I don’t know how a fully automated flux capacitor will turn a profit, so I crossed it out and wrote ‘V-necks’ because that shit’s money.”

“We’re still not sure who wrote, ‘I’m a genius surrounded by small vocabularies.’ but I suspect it was our resident curmudgeon, Crigger,” says Tommy Batboy as he polishes off a Tropic-tini and eats the orange, rind and all.

Of course, combining booze and work invariably has its downside. Recently Ranger Up had to let go of their temporary worker, Danielle, because she used the term “inappropriate touching” one too many times. The company also suffered a setback when Tommy donned a Beefeater outfit and trudged the hallways with a giant axe looking for a Queen to behead in order to ‘add realism to the martini coven.’ Thankfully Nick streaking by wearing only fuzzy bunny feet gave Whitney the chance to sweep his leg and put him in a triangle choke before the company’s lawyer woke up.

“It’s not Bacchanalian orgy, at least not a good one,” says Whitney, “but replacing food with intemperance at lunch certainly helps dull the ringing dissonance of Tommy’s apoplexy and dampens Nick’s irritating capriciousness. I mean, it’s cool…as long as they don’t bring back Thighmaster Thursdays. Disturbing.”

Proudly brought to you by the Rhino News Network

Below is the excerpt from the original interview from FighterXFashion.com, which you can find here>>

———–

No other clothing company out there today represents combat culture quite like Ranger Up. Boasting one of the best looking assortments of graphic tees in the business, Ranger Up makes military-inspired gear for the troops, MMA fighters, fight fans, and of course, the men and women of the world who support the Armed Forces. We catch up with Tom Amenta, one part of the Ranger Up crew, for the inside scoop on the world’s most militant Mixed Martial Arts clothing company.

Tell us a bit about Ranger Up, your team and your plans to conquer the world.

Starting off we have El Presidente and the founder of the company, Nick Palmisciano. He is a West Point graduate and served as a US Army Infantry Captain, his last billet being the Operations Officer for the US Army’s elite Ranger School. He started this thing off as a hobby when he was volunteering to teach ROTC kids military MMA and small unit tactics and we’ve just exploded. The company was founded in September 2006 out of an apartment and has grown to the point where we just moved to our second warehouse (complete with an MMA style gym in the back). The design on that is all Nick, except for the Thai heavy bag instead of a boxing heavy bag, which was my call.

As for me, I’m Tom Amenta, I am the Operations guy. I was introduced to Nick through a mutual friend when the company needed writers for the stories we post on our content site RhinoDen.com. I won the first contest while I was a senior at the University of Illinois, after serving 5 years on active duty as a member of the US Army’s 75th Ranger Regiment. As Nick and I got to know each other he invited me out to a fight show, tossed me a cell phone and told me I was going to do sales for the company. I was either doing ok at it or he was really desperate because he called me one day and asked if I could move to North Carolina. I asked how much time I had. He told me four days. I told him four days wasn’t a lot of time to decide if I was going to leave the Midwest, move half way across the country and accept the job. Ever the confident dude, he told me he meant four days to move here. I took the job, moved to Operations, and I haven’t looked back since.

Next is our chief marketing mad genius and Design Director, Garrett Schemmel. G$, as we call him, has been with the company since it started. If you love the designs, notice our ads on line or in Fight! Magazine, you’re seen Garrett’s handiwork. Son of an Army Sniper, awesome dude, and a two time graduate from Georgia Tech. He brings a sense of calm professionalism to the company as the rest of us are basically testosterone-filled orangutans.

Our most famous team member is Tim Kennedy, who is an Army Special Forces sniper and Strikeforce 185lb fighter. Tim met Nick when Ranger Up did a photo shoot to raise money for the Wounded Warrior Project in early 2007. They hit it off immediately, probably because they’re both sarcastic jack asses. Joking aside, Tim is a very astute businessman and we all share the same values, so after Tim worked with Ranger Up a few times he was invited to become a partner. He now works closely with Garrett on design and focuses our MMA strategy. Tim is also basically the most dangerous man in the world, so we have that going for us, which is nice.

We also have regular Fight! Magazine contributor, author, and Lieutenant Colonel in the Army, Kelly Crigger helping us out. Crigger doesn’t work for the company, but he believes in what we are doing and has been a phenomenal mentor. We’re hoping to rope him in fulltime when he retires, and since he is 107 years old, he should be due any day now.

Finally, although he doesn’t work for us, Lex McMahon, son of the late Ed McMahon, writes for us and does tons of projects with us to support the troops. He basically gets us in trouble all the time and keeps life interesting.

How did you get involved in the MMA apparel scene and what’s your connection to the sport?

Everyone in the company is athletically inclined and are all huge fans of the sport. Nick was nationally ranked in Judo, was a successful amateur boxer, and wrestled in high school and college. I wrestled in high school as well and did Muay Thai all through college. Both Nick and I competed regularly in “Military MMA” while we served. Crigger is one of the bigger authors in MMA. Tim is a top 185 pounder in the world. We definitely have an interest in the sport.

More than that though, and more importantly, we believe MMA saves lives on the battlefield. The fight nowadays in Iraq and Afghanistan is door to door. It’s very up close and personal and sometimes you can’t get the standoff to use your weapon. We wanted to play a bigger part in making MMA a day-to-day part of military life. When Nick met Tim, without sounding cheesy, he just believed in him, so we made a Tim Kennedy t-shirt. It was our first MMA shirt ever. So as the military side of the business started to take off, MMA was such a natural progression for us, and we had a stellar guy we wanted to support. It all just fit together, you know?

There just isn’t another sport more in line with the warrior ethos or that embodies the spirit of all of the people who work here more than MMA. It’s so very similar to what we did in the military. We all train – as I mentioned earlier we have an MMA style gym in our warehouse. So it’s not just a hobby to us or a business or some corporate diversification project like some other companies out there, it’s our passion. We live it, believe in it, and think we can save troops lives by helping to grow MMA in the military community.

Ranger Up has created some amazing T-shirt designs. Where does the inspiration come from?

The company is made up of Army Rangers, Special Forces, and Army Infantry guys (with some Marine help from Lex) so we get a lot of our inspiration from warriors or battles of the past. The Roman Legion, the Spartans, and Sun Tzu have all inspired shirts from us. We have a wall of ideas, ranging from Crazy Horse and the Sioux to British Knights to the Gurkhas (trust us, you want to Wikipedia those bad boys if you don’t know who they are). No matter what though, every shirt has meaning. They aren’t just patterns meant to attract jaeger-bomb-chugging frat boys with frosted tips. We put a lot of time into making sure the details are there, so if you are a student of history you enjoy the shirt even more, and if not, well they still just look cool. Overall though, we are big on the Warrior Spirit and Ethos. We want the military to be proud of what we put out.

Which MMA athletes do you currently sponsor and why?

This is going to sound simplistic and maybe harsh, but we sponsor only great guys who have served in the military, police or fire, or are truly patriotic and pro-military. We will not sponsor douchebags, even if they are popular douchebags. We’re not out trying to prove we’re the most extreme or the toughest or anything. We sponsor people who represent a love of country and a respect for the Armed Forces.

On our roster of athletes first and foremost is our friend, and partner, Tim Kennedy. He fights at 185lbs in Strikeforce. He stands for everything that is right about the American Military Man. When he wins, we all win. We are all looking forward to and hoping Tim gets a shot at the belt soon, he’s an absolute beast.

In the UFC, we sponsor Jorge Rivera, who served in the cavalry, Tim Credeur, a former Navy officer, and Brian Stann, a Marine and Silver Star recipient. All three of these guys are amazing human beings that deserve all the success in the world. Tim and Jorge, in addition to being kick ass fighters, helped us out this October with the Train the Troops Event we did for Marines in Southern California and Yuma, Arizona. Brian wanted to, but let a little thing like a new baby get in the way…we’re sure his wife would have understood!

We also sponsor about thirty up and coming fighters like Dale Hartt (UFC/WEC), Damien Stelly (Bellator), Andrew Chappelle, Kris McCray, Jon Walsh, Todd Vance and a host of other guys you’re going to know very soon.

What can we expect to see next from Ranger Up?

This is going to be a huge year for us. Things have started to tip. For years we were hounding people to give us a shot, and now we are really starting to get a lot of calls – people want to do hats for us, energy drinks, fight shorts, etc. We’re even talking about doing a beer! We’re excited, but we’re taking it slow and doing it right.

The coolest thing to happen recently is that we just got word that we will have 20 or so of our t-shirts featured in the forthcoming EA Sports MMA video game, in addition to being all over Tim Kennedy’s walk out gear. The guys and gals at EA have been awesome and we’re super psyched about it!

We’re also going to continue to do our Train the Troops events. We believe they make a huge difference and the athletes love giving back to the military community. We just got an inquiry from the British Government and we are planning a trip to Afghanistan to bring fighters to some of the remote bases.

Also, one of our good friends, a fighter we sponsor, just got told that he’s going to be on TUF. Since he and his team haven’t officially released it yet I won’t blow him up but we’re really proud of him and super psyched at the opportunity he has. He’s going to kick some major ass on that show.

We’re also partnering with Zac Robinson on a book where the proceeds will go to various military charities. You’d be amazed at the roster of fighters that have volunteered to be involved. You should be seeing that on shelves in April. We’ll keep you posted.

And of course, we are going to, you know…make some shirts and whatnot.

Any final words of wisdom?

I hate to give Nick any credit, because his enormous Italian head really doesn’t need to get any bigger, but the other day he bastardized Robert Frost and now we’re getting that shit put on a sign for the office, because it really is reflective of our personalities, our business, and what we’re trying to accomplish. So here goes:

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I burned down the forest and created my own path, thus pissing everyone off, and that has made all the difference…” – Nick Palmisciano

Yeah, that about sums us up.

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.

Most of us drink, but do we all know why? The most often noted reasons for imbibing in alcohol are to feel good, forget painful moments, or take the edge off a long day of “”What the fuck are you doing ass hat?” But we’re all individuals. We all have our reasons for hitting the bottle, taking a nip, and living life by the drop. Time to confront those demons once and for all.

Now, real quick, I would be lying if I said I came up with this snappy title myself. Comedian David Cross recently penned a book called, “I Drink for a Reason,” so he has to get the credit for coming up with the title or those blood sucking fuckstick lawyers will come after us. Tim Kennedy and Team Rhino are formidable, but they can’t hold a candle to high-powered, rainmaking corporate barristers, so there. Take your fucking royalties and get out, Cross. Now let’s get to it.

I drink because there are things in this life that I will never have no matter how many times I steal them.

I drink because “if you can dream it, you can achieve it” is bullshit unless you have a twenty-inch schlong, an artistic eye for camera angles, and a group of very gullible hotties.

I drink to overcome the guilt of not deploying as many times as all my buddies.

I drink because I lost one of them and had to find out through The Army Times.

I drink because I live in a country where Green Bay, Wisconsin has two Superbowl rings and Los Angeles doesn’t even have a team.

I drink because I still don’t understand what the fuck extra virgin olive oil is and why it turns me on.

I drink because I have a daughter who is not a horse-faced troll with protruding teeth that could eat apples through a picket fence. Life would be easier if she was.

I drink because those who have made the ultimate sacrifice would want me to.

I drink because there are, and always will be, ignorant Americans who simply cannot fathom why those of us in uniform do what we do.

I drink because there are still poor, unfortunate souls who know neither victory nor defeat.

I drink because I am confused and I am confused when I drink. Such is the sweet circle of cereal malt beverage.

I drink because I am a fool who thinks logic dwells in the chambers of the human heart.

I drink because I have a horrible memory. Wait…what was I talking about?

I drink not to silence the voices in my head, but to understand them better. They like to put the lotion on its back.

I drink because society demands that I not festoon my bedchambers with the entrails of my enemies.

I drink because Nancy Pelosi breathes.

I drink to make 3’s look like 7’s (whiskey makes them 8’s-shameless plug!).

I drink when Tommy Batboy’s Ritalin wears off, Garrett rejects my t-shirt designs, RU Nick drags me into an all night beer pong bender, and Tim Kennedy is late for a meeting because he’s primping again. Oh Snap!!