My First Week in Waukesha

Somebody once wrote "Hell is the impossibility of Reason." That's what Waukesha feels like. I hate it already and it's only been a week.

I live with a bunch of right-wing insane Lutheran dildo farmers that all have their hair plastered down in the front, drive suped-up IROCs with manziers, and can't make a decision without first considering what their grandfather would do. We get up at 5 a.m., work on the farm all day, camp around 4 or 5 p.m., dig foxholes, eat, then put out an all-night ambush for mettlesome big-city folk that may are known to wander into our town every once in a while. A few nights ago we came upon a city-slicker from New York city who was attending Grinnell College. He was a long way from Grinnell, and an even longer way from New York City. So we took him out to the main cornfield, tied him to some stalks, and then burned him alive.

Anyway, if you're lucky you get to stay in the perimeter at night and then you pull a 3-hour guard shift, so maybe you sleep 3-4 hours a night, but you don't really sleep ...

It's scary cause nobody tells me what to do because I'm new and nobody cares about the new guys- they don't even want to know your name. The unwritten rule is a new guy's life isn't worth as much because he hasn't put his time in yet - and they say if you're gonna get killed in the Waukesha, it's better to get it in the first few weeks, the logic being: you don't suffer as much...

... the hardest thing I think I've ever done is gone cow-tipping. I don't even know what I'm doing. A cow could be standing 3 feet in front of me and I wouldn't know it, I'm so tired. I don't think I can keep this up for a year, grandma - I
think I've made a big mistake coming here ...

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I tried to talk football with these people, but they are all delusional cheese-dick FudgePacker fans and I can't have a reasonable conversation with them. One told me Don Majkowski ("the Magic Man") was robbed of the league MVP title in 1989, at which point I pointed by BAR right into his gut.
Oh well. It has been a tough fantasy football season for alot of people and I guess emotions get high. I had drafted Ahman Green and Deuce McAllister in one of my leagues, and I can't help but blame the "football gods" for the demise of that team. But the "football gods"... HA! Who would believe in such nonsense?

Leaving the Life

The UN guys, they offered me a deal. They said I'd go free if I'd rat out some of my old acquaintances. So I made up a lot of stuff about them because that's what they wanted to hear- but it was all lies - uh - everything. And they kept saying McGelboim killed this guy, and Ricky Beltran blew-up that guy, and that intoxicated Kick Save Records CEO defrauded his shareholders... And I was like "Sure... Why not?!" The tribunal bought it, so some of my old friends are in alot of trouble.

They had me in an army barracks air-tight for a few days but yesterday they moved me to Waukesha Wisconsin (USA) so I can begin my new life in middle-America as part of the witness protection program.

The hardest thing is to leave the life. I loved the life. We were treated like kings. We had it all. I had bags filled with severed heads stashed in my kitchen. I had a bowl full of ears next to my bed. We controlled everything. We paid off judges. We carpet-bombed a home for the mentally challenged. We strafed the Sacramento Kinko's office every Wednesday at 1pm EST. Everything was for the taking. And when we wanted something- we just took it. We looted Middle Eastern museums. We spit on wheelchair-bound senior citizens. I stole a little girl's bike once (don't worry- I gave it back after I rode around the block once or twice).

And now it's all over. And that's the hardest part. Now everything is different. There's no action in Waukesha. I have to wait around for welfare checks just like everyone else in the town. I can't even get decent food. After I got here I ordered a bratwurst with sauerkraut... ...and I got a penis with relish. I'm an average nobody. I have to ride the bus like an ass-hole. I get to live the rest of my life like a schnook.

Mercenaries are Good

Apparently the International Criminal Court has been building a case on me for a while, and this morning I was put on trial before a joint UN-ICC tribunal. It's quite a spectacle really- there were more people here than at a ball game- political reps from all sorts of countries and NGOs, Willie Cicci, Tyson Chandler, the great American patriot Oliver North, and a whole bunch of other criminal justice and military folk. The tribunal allowed me to make an opening statement, and I have provided a transcript of that statement on the blog...

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"I appreciate you giving me the opportunity to speak, Chairman Cromwell...
...since you are putting me on trial for crimes against humanity... (laughter)

The world...the world has become a mess.
Countries are always bickering, stock-piling weapons. Illicit regimes come and go. Armies lay massed at borders waiting for a spark to start a fire.
In the days of the great dictators, there was order.
Men like Ghengis Khan and Alexander the Great built great empires, controlled everything, and brought order to the world!
Today, there are no great leaders... and there is no order!

So who controls the world now?
You do. That's right, you, the citizens of the world.
And you are all being royally screwed over by the UN and all these other international organizations ...with their oil-for-food scandals, their tolerance of genocide, and their refusal to put an end to international conflicts! There must be 50 different officials in here from 50 different international organizations, and I have no idea what any of them do!

That's where I come in- In the last fourteen deals that I have done, I have deposed four illicit regimes, destroyed 125 tons of enemy equipment and munitions, and slaughtered over 300 armed combatants.
(applause)

I am not a destroyer of nation-states...
I am a liberator of them!
(more applause)

The point is, ladies and gentlemen, that 'mercenaries,' for lack of a better word...
...are good.
Mercenaries are right.
Mercenaries divide, mercenaries unite, mercenaries clarify, and mercenaries cleanse
Mercenaries have marked the upward surge of mankind.
And mercenaries, you mark my words,will save the world.
Thank you very much.
(applause)"
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McStallen Captured!

This is about as bad as it gets folks. I'm still in Chad, and this morning I was meeting in an urban compound with a bunch of mercenaries and some clandestine government officials, mapping out our latest campaign against the subversive indigenous forces. Suddenly several American helicopters appeared overhead and a US ranger squad burst into our compound, yelling that they were going to take us prisoner. Well I can assure you, we're not the type of people you take alive- so naturally everyone started shooting, and the proverbial shit really hit the proverbial fan when Tshimaga Bradley shot down one of the US choppers with his RPG. The chopper crashed in the middle of the square right smack in a crowd of skinnies - Horny Ed and Evan Belgium ran out to try and kill any survivors in the chopper, but they were cut down by a ranger firing a SAW from a rooftop -the whole scene was very surreal- like right out of a Ridley Scott fantasy movie like Bladerunner or Alien or something. Anyway I shot my way out of there with my Thompson, and made it back to the safehouse about a mile away.

About an hour later I was attending to a wound on my arm, when suddenly a lone American government agent dressed in black with a beard and big black 80's sun-glasses appeared outside on a motorcycle. I went to grab my panzerfaust from the weapons cabinet as the American zipped around the house. Before I could get to the weapon, the American burst thru the window of the safehouse on his motorcycle, and floored me with an elbow. Now on the ground, I reached for an AK-47 lying on the floor. But he stepped on my hand and broke a few fingers. Then I reached for my boot-knife but he grabbed the knife from me before I could use it on him, and threw the knife out the window. Then he pulled me up and administered several damaging karate chops. Finally he dragged me outside the house and proceeded to give "high-fives" to the other American agents that had gathered outside. He loaded me onto the motorcycle, and as we sped off he blew up the safehouse with a blast from his rear-firing motorcycle rocket

So anyway he took me back to the US consulate and I am meeting with a US Justice Department official in a few minutes. Now I'll have to resort to making some sort of deal with this American puppet- sell out some old acquaintances thru a plea- you know how it goes

A Guest National Football League Prognosticator!

Friends

Well boy do I have a treat in store for all of you. I went down for a little R&R in Zimbabwe and ran into former Purdue Boilermaker and current Chicago Bear quarterback Kyle Orton who was vacationing there for his bye week. I cornered Mr. Orton and pleaded for him to give me his NFL week 5 picks. Although he was extremely intoxicated, he spewed forth several paragraphs of gridiron wisdom that I will pass along to my loyal beloved readers. Without further ado, I present to you my interview with Mr. Kyle Orton:

McSTALLEN:
Mr. Orton- my name is McStallen and I kill people. I am a fan of American football and would appreciate it if you could handicap some NFL picks for me- specifically your contest this weekend against the Browns of Cleveland Ohio. Fear not- in your intoxicated state you lack the requisite mental capacity to be charged with illicit gambling activities.

ORTON:
You say you kill people old man? Well you don't look so tough McStallen. What are you going to do ...Arrest me?

McSTALLEN:
No no - I simply want your football pick.

ORTON:
My what?
(pointing to a Somali recently killed in a knife fight on the other side of the bar)
Hey is that your friend over there on the floor? You know he died like a pig?

McSTALLEN:
What friend? Where?

ORTON:
I said your friend died like a stuck Irish pig.
(starts to comb his hair and walk away)
-you think about that when I beat the rap.

McSTALLEN:
Did he sound anything like THAT!!!!
(at this point I am infuriated, and do my best Charles Barkley impersonation and toss Mr. Orton out a bar window. Fifteen minutes later Mr. Orton comes to, and we resume the interview- this time he's tied up in a chair and I am standing a few feet away with my Browning Automatic Rifle aimed at his head)


McSTALLEN:
You have to answer for the Bears, Kyle.

ORTON:
McStallen, you got it all wrong...

McSTALLEN:
You fingered Sonny for the Barzini people. Ahhh that little farce you played - you think that could fool a sociopathic mercenary?


ORTON:
Wait- Sonny who? McStallen, I don't know -- I swear on the kids -- Please, McStallen, don't kill me!

McSTALLEN:
I'm not going to kill you- c'mon Kyle- You think I'd kill the Bears only serviceable starting quarterback? Just don't tell me you don't know who's going to win. Because it insults my intelligence -- makes me very angry...
So who's going to win? You or the Browns?

ORTON: (sobbing)
We're going to win...we'll cover- expect big fantasy games from Thomas Jones and newcomer Matt Bradley.


McSTALLEN:
Good. There's a camel waiting for you outside to take you to the airport. I'll call Coach Smith, and tell him you're on your way.

ORTON:
McStallen, please...

McSTALLEN:
Come on -- get outta my sight.