Liquid Wisdom

THIS MONTH’S TOPIC: SUPPORTING OUR TROOPS

Badass. That’s what this month’s Stuff is all about. Well, I got the chance to hang out with the real deal: the U.S. military. A few months ago, my comic friend Scott Kennedy and I went on a USO tour through Afghanistan and some countries in the Middle East. It was cool seeing our men and women in action. It’s a rough life. Besides the constant threat of bombs and bullets, our guys have to fight the extreme cold and heat, sand, scorpions and the loneliness of being thousands of miles away from their loved ones, which for me would be porn and booze.

The Middle East is dry in more ways than one. Due to Islamic law, drinking is forbidden. That means no beer, no tequila—not even NyQuil is allowed. I think it’s pretty hypocritical, considering that more than half of the world’s heroin is grown in Afghanistan. After a few days of no drinking, I was getting the shakes. I tried everything to get buzzed: holding my breath, spinning till I was dizzy, sniffing my friend’s socks—no dice. I was staring into the face of sobriety, and I didn’t like it. So I did what any red-blooded American would do: I made my own booze. I don’t remember exactly what it was, but it tasted like a cross between camel piss and helicopter fuel. All I know is I got shit-faced and almost went blind.

Speaking of going blind, the porn situation there is also pretty bleak. Nudie mags are contraband, and the local ladies are completely covered from head to toe. It’s hard to masturbate when your only stimulus is a woman’s eyeballs. I did get off, though. I built my own woman out of sandbags and old MRE packets. I used a camouflage net as hair and two smoke grenades as breasts. Hey, she was no Jessica Alba, but she looked pretty hot through my night-vision goggles.

Masturbating in a combat zone is a lot like being in a horror movie: It’s like [rub, rub] “Did you hear something?” [rub, rub] “Holy shit! That was close!” [rub, rub]. It was intense, like surfing or banging a transvestite hooker with a cough. I’ve never felt so alive.

But I don’t want you to think that all I did over there was party. I also got to see democracy in action. I was in Afghanistan right before the elections, and with the help of the U.S. troops, people got the chance to choose their own government for the first time in decades. The Afghan election campaign was a lot different from ours. There were fewer commercials and debates and more posters of dudes in beards who looked exactly like me.

A beard has a different meaning in that part of the world. It signifies religious reverence and manhood, whereas in my case, a beard signifies laziness and hiding from credit card companies. If you ask me, that’s what this war is really about: facial hair. We need to learn that not all people with beards are evil fanatics. Sure, there are a few bad beards—bin Laden, Hussein and the crazy guy who lives in the doorway of my apartment building—but if you look back through history, there have been way more good beards than bad. There’s Abe Lincoln, Ernest Hemingway, Jerry Garcia, George Clooney, Santa Claus and Uncle Jesse from The Dukes of Hazzard—great bearded men who tried to make a difference and help the Duke boys get away from Boss Hogg. Yeee-haaaw!

So, learn to love the beard, America, and give all the support you can to our men and women overseas. To the troops reading this, thanks again for taking care of my drunk ass while I was over there, and I wish you all a safe trip and that you all get home soon. God bless.