Subway Slugga (cont.)

My last post ended abruptly. I must apologize.

I had a flashback just being all worked up from that email I got... and I started thinking about the underground tunnels over there.

I am very sorry for ending my post like that. You see as I was writing, I felt myself get light headed and started to black out... i just hit "post" on the blog. I knew I was going to have a backflash.

If you've never had them they are hardcore crazy. It's basically like feeling your stomach drop 10 feet below you. You feel light headed and your vision becomes dark like you're looking down a tunnel. then you start hearing things...

Like I heard the whistle of Staff Sargeant Greig, then an explosion. It was my old memories catchign up to me. The rat-a-tat of machine gun fire. The smell of smoke. The soft drop of grenades. I could hear my buddies yelling for me...

When I came to, I was in the bathroom of my neighbor's RV... Except I realized he doesn't have a bathroom in there... I totally ruined his closet. He said I was shouting, "God damn Cloverfield!" then I started talking in Vietcong.

Like I was two people or something. He said I'd jabber in VC then start screaming in English, "Help, they've got me!"

He said I finally passed out, after evacuating my bowels in his closet in his RV.

I took a damn shower and decided to write again on this topic.

Well Mr. Cloverfield77... you said some pretty mean things to an old Vet. You pushed me into a backflash and now I'm here to finish where I started:

The story I was going to tell you will chill your bones... that is, if you have any soul.

It was in the summer of '68. I was in my 3rd week in 'Nam, when they told me about a secret mission... Mission "Subway Slugger." I had a good 'kill ratio' - so good they called me the 'Slugger' (because I was also a semi-pro ball player)...

Subway referred to the underground tunnels.

To those that don't know, the VC (VietCongo) built elaborate underground cities that were connected by enormous tunnels. These tunnels were carved out of soil, and where at least 15' in Diameter. You could drive a truck down there, no problem.

The VC themselves were actually tiny people. Not much bigger then a house cat, standing on his legs. I'd guess maybe 4' tall... and those were the tall ones. Some VC were 3' tall. Tiny little things.

They dug their tunnels big, i guess to compensate for their height. Now we took our time going into these tunnels... you see... we bomb the hell out of that land, and they'd just go into the earth. You'd see them with their long grey bears, scurrying into the jungle with their fat legs, and short bodies. Then "poof" they're gone. Like magic.

Like Freak'n Magic.

Try and think about that Cloverfield77! Yeah. how'd you like to face an enemy like that?

Two of my buddies got shot with poison darts, from tiny VC hiding in the trees. They died a painful death... screaming their last goodbyes to their moma's who couldn't hear em.

It's sad. I went down those tunnels in a rage one day. I was so gd mad. I killed 500 hundred of them little mf'ers. I used round after round. I even shot my own men a couple times in my rage (only hit their legs.) I walked these dark subways under the earth... in total darkness. I could hear their little breathing... like a dog panting.

I'd shot.

They'd scream.

After awhile I ran out of bullets... in my M60. That's when I switched to my shovel.

They breathe.

I swing

They cry.

I chop off their little VC heads.

They breathe. I swing

I did that all night.

I followed one tunnel to a city underground... it was called... Mordisgal. It was made out gold. I sh** you not. A golden city, under the ground. It was so big I realized I couldn't shovel all 10,000 of em, so I pulled the gold ol' napalm bag out. We had our own napalm put into IV bags. We called it a "Warm Welcome Waggon" or "WWW" for short. You light the plastic line of the IV and throw it... throw it fast.

BAM!

Napalm on their faces!

Their little faces... their long beards... all up in flames!

OH YEAH.

HELL YEAH.

They tried their darts on me. But I was too powerful for them. I towered over their quivering masses, as their VC leaders pleaded with me to let them surrender. Their voices were like the voices of that damn cartoon... Smurfs. Little tiny... LITTLE TINY VOICES.

I can hear them now....

I think I hear them in the kitchen....

brb

The Subway Slugga

I wanted to get off this Vietnam business, but I keep getting mail from people who don't know jack sh**!! They keep telling me I'm wrong. It didn't go down like that. I'm not a real vet.

alsjdfk

not a real vet? Say that to my face Jack.

Cloverfield77 writes: "Jimmy, if that is your real name, you're such a liar and a disgrace to the US. It's people like you that make so many look so bad. There is no way in hell you did those things in Vietnam. If I didn't know this was a 'serious' blog, I would be laughing at your stupid antics. Come on, you made an air strip by having 10 guys with M60's unload into a unknown jungle??? Dude, you need a real big reality check. It turns out you really believe this nonsense. That scares me even more."

Yo! Cloverfield, is that you're real name??? I doubt it. It sounds funky to my nose. So are you real man? Are you for real??

I'll tell you one more thing I did down there in Nam. I don't like to talk about it, cuz it brings back the backflashes. But seriously. This is some crazy ... OMG I'm ....

Reply to D0P3F1end6969

I was checkin' out this new technology called IRC. It stands for Internet Related Chat. I dont know why they call it that though, nothing on there is about the internet. You wouldn't believe what these kid's chat about!!!

So I started my own channel: RealHeros
In the channel a few people dropped by... one asked me a question:

"D0P3F1end6969: Yo! Hero! you say you ate you're own shit to survive in Morocco. BS!"

Well D0P3F1end6969, trust me it was no picnic. I was on a special mission from the US government... at the time Omar Khadaffi was a problem in Morrocco and they called the special forces (me) to go in and take him out.

We landed in a US base in Morocco, in a city called Hummus. Hummus Morocco is a dust bowl of a place. If you've ever seen pictures of Mars, from the Mars land rover (which I performed quality control, btw.) it looks like that. Red rocks and dirt all over the place. The air is brown from the dust flying in the wind. You'll hear the chants in the air... It's straight out of some movie.

We were dropped off in the LBZ, 10 clicks from the Harvard Gate. That's what we called it. It's the main gate to Morocco's Palace. We marched in the tremendous heat, across the desert and hit Harvard gate hard.

We hit during their prayer time. This gave us an advantage to insert our special opps troops into the palace. Once inside we found Omar. He was hiding behind the thrown. It was huge. A gold throne the size of a giant. Omar himself was probably only 4' 3" tall.

I towered over him with my M60 touching his temple... then on the sqwak box (that's what we call CB's) I got the new order, "Do not terminate Omar. Directive from Basecamp repeats, 'Do Not Terminate Omar.'"

So we left. The jog back was hard. It was mid day when we started the jog back to the chopper. Some of us ran out of food. I gave all of my food to one of the soldiers who got his hand blown off. Our medic, "Merk" had sawn off the guy's arm in order to stop the bleeding.

At one point we had to make camp. We kept getting blocked to our goal of Hummus. Omar's men were everywhere. After day 3, we began to be really hungry. I learned a trick in my martial arts training in Cancun, MX. It's called Brown-Black belt. It involves eating your own shit to survive. Most people think that shit is bad for you. But really it's healthy, as long as you have healthy shit. Shit contains all the necessary ingredients to survive: water, vitamins and protein. What's great about eating your own shit, is that you can keep eating it and survive indefinately behind enemy lines.

My company refused to eat their shit. They refused to even eat my own shit. Fuck em. They died. I survived. I lived in the Morocco heat, eating my own shit. I even gained some weight!! Shit is fattening. So you gotta be careful about that shit.

Brown-Black Belt was taught to me by my master in Morocco'n Kung Fu... which I learned in Cancun. My instructor is Master Quan. He taught me up to black belt... then one night he said, "Jimmy... if you want to learn the most elite martial art skill... I will teach you... no one else in N. America knows about this."

I asked how much it would cost... and he said... "Someday I will ask for a favor... on that day, you must obey without question." I agreed.

Master Quan showed me to dojo. But this time there was a white mat in the center. I took my fighting position, but he squatted and shit right there. His belt was smeared with brown gunk. He said, "eat and be strong!"

From there I learned the system of brown-black belt. Not only can you survive on your own, you can gain the strength of 20 men! There is more to the secret martial art, but I can't explain it here... you don't just "eat it." You need to prepare your body for the change in diet. Once you do that... you're all set to become a brown-black belt.

Back to my story... after five days in the Morocco sun, I made it back *alone* to Hummus - Got back in our chopper in Hummus and took off for the UK.

That's a real hero, but I ain't tooting my own horn.

Sure I'm a hero. But I don't brag.

So next time D0P3F1end6969 you feel like mouth'n off... maybe you best come to my pad, and we can work it out mano y mano. Or in this case mano y nino.

Mail Bag: 'Nam

Today gents, we have a treat. I opened my mail bag and saw a email from Moonbeam69. Moonbeam69 rites:
"JK! You are an inspiration to a lot of us soldiers a broad. Can you tell me how you kept your shit together while in Nam?"

Sure thing Moonbeam69.

It all goes back to the Creator. A spiritual man, keeps a clear head. You know what I'm saying? There aren't no Asiatics in Foxholes!!

So to answer your question my friend, how did we keep our shit together? Only one word can suffice that question:

Drugs.

yep. Everyone there was high as a kite.

Let me tell you about a little thing called The Saigon Sling. I was in Nam just two weeks. I went over as a core Engineer. Sometimes I was called Gunnery Sargeant. HOOYAH!

Do you know what a gunnery seargant is? He's a master of weapons. There's only 1 per platoon, and I was it for my company.

I remember when they called us to do a Air Strip. We had to make one. So since *I* was BOTH an engineer and a Gunnery Seargant I was asked to do the stripping of the land. What that meant was I lined a team of master gunners. Picture ten men standing beside me. Five on my left and five on my right. Each with an M60 at waist level. On MY command we emptied thousands of rounds into the jungle where we wanted to build this air strip.

Anything that *might* have been alive was taken out. It was hell. Cleanup was the worst. Sometimes you'd find a dead cow, pigs, villagers, or even a dog. How's a man supposed to handle that? You turn to the great God of mercy... open your Bible... read it every night... and when that don't work...

Drugs.

I thank God every day that he allowed me to keep it together... he guided my footsteps to find ganja in Company A.

That bad thing with having a Company on dope, is the enemy wins. Hands down that's why the Korean's took that war.

Shit. Sometimes I think... if you were sober back then, like you are now, you'd have taken have of Vietnam with your Company alone... Damn straight.

I'm not proud of the loss of that war. Every time I see a Hyundai drive by, I get mad. Mad Dog MAD. It makes me sad to realize our loss was do to our inability to cope with a little bit of blood.

Thank God I was only in Nam 4 weeks. They sent me back early due to my high kill ratio. It was my reward. I got 10 soldiers with one bullet! That earned me the Marksman badge of the Master of Arms Gunnery Sargeant Trophy.

That was the beginning of my illustrious Government carrier. After I got back the doors into the Government sector opened like a honey pot. More on that later!!!

Hope that answers your question, Moonbeam69!!

How I survived Ecoli

I know you are asking yourselves... "wait wasn't the King supposed to talk about Real Kung Fu tonight?" I was. Then it hit me. I saw a CNN article on ecoli and realized there's a far more serious topic to discuss: How I survived Ecoli.

For those of you who don't know Ecoli is a flesh eating sickness. It gets into your blood by inhaling the air of infected rat fleas... or in my case, by eating bad hot dogs.

There I was, so long ago, at one of my old jobs... in a meeting and I had been feeling sick all day. I was pumping out green runs, if you know what I mean son.

Then these guys in the meeting started talking about throwing up. About being sick. It hit me. BAM!!! I ran out of the meeting. I knew then and there I had Ecoli. It was all over the news. Dog food, and hotdogs had been infected. I had just eaten a hotdog... and how I was heaving.

Well I didn't actually heave. But I almost did. Especially as I thought real hard about the vomit stories. Normally I can handle that shit. But now with Ecoli in my body I was weak and broken down.

Outside the meeting room I found a old rag someone left near the printer. I grabed it and held it to my nose. I guess it was covered in printer toner. Someone must have used it to clean the printer. All of a sudden I was able to hold the vomit back. The toner smell must have done the trick.

I muscled up and staggered back into the meeting... "Boss, I got ecoli!" With that I was told to go to a Doctor... But doctors don't know shit, Trust me. I KNOW.

It became evident my situation was DEAD serious. Ecoli is serious shit. So I went to a local Longs Drug store and walked up to the counter at the pharmacy. This white chick was behind the counter and she's talking really fast, and then and there I let loose. I puked. I vomited buckets all over her counter. Ugly chunks of ham, and cheese splattered all over the place. Kernels of corn were stuck everywhere with my stomach juice. The smell was rancid. It smelled like dog shit.

"I got ecoli!"

That's all it took to get some action going. The REAL pharmacist came running out (the REAL pharmacist is the asian guy who hangs out in the back - they only come out when needed, so make a commotion if you don't see an asian pharmacist up front. Don't mess with the white folk) and he handed me some loose change and a bottle of some miracle drug. They were all over the situation. Within half an hour they had me out the door and in my car.

I threw up a few more times. But that miracle bottle he gave me saved my life. I dont know what he put in the bottle of Nyquil but it did the trick... I could barely keep my eyes open to drive to the Fergie concert! But I made it. I also had change from the Pharmasist. I dont know why he gave it to me, but it covered street parking. Damn Straight. You don't get that full service from no hospital.

I've had EKJ's, Brain Scans, Treadmill tests... that shit sucks ass. It tells NOTHING. You need a real worker... someone who's been in the trenches, to really figure out what the fuck is wrong with ya.

The stuff the pharmacist gave me worked wonders, it TOTALLY nuked the Ecoli. The next day I was shit tired. But I got to work. Ecoli had lost! Totally my boss was shocked. So were my co-workers. They were like "Ecoli kills people!" Damn straight. But I'm the King. I had God on my side. One time I died and came back... more on that later, for now let's give reverence to whom it's due... The Pharmasicst... without whom I may not have survived Ecoli.

Let that be a lesson son. Who needs doctors when you have reliable pharmacists that will pick up the slack of a overworked ER!

Jan, isn't that a girl's name??

During my industrious carrier I worked along side a freak named Jan. The first time I saw him I thought, "WTF? Isn't that a girl's name?"

Jan was an old white guy. He looked like the old man from the tv show 'Kung Fu.' He smelled like wet dog. Incidently, in another post I will talk about how I made it to brown-black belt. it's higher then black belt. Form of special Morocon Kung Fu called Hummus Fu. More on that shit later.... back to Jan.

He gave us old timer's a bad name. He was OLD! Older then me... I think.

Where I"m shar[ p like a tak, Jan was old and weak. He couldn't keeps up with the man from nam!

I'm stil here, and he's gone. You see, and let this be a lesson to you sons, life will knock on your door and say "time to put up or shut up." That time came for good ol' Jan the man.

You see, he had to put up. We lost a bunch of people in that old office building - lazy farts went on vacation. VACATION??? There ain't no VACATION in IT! Well I take Vacation, but not them. They're the grunts. And Jan had to be the go-to person, while his whole damn team was on the runs. He couldn't handle it. He worked to midnight most nights. He couldn't manage the LOAD, son. I was ASHAMED. ASHAMED of an old man, acting like an old man. Drink some Ginko Bilboa! Build those mind muscles brotha!

After his team came back, he was gone. They said he asked to retire... but I no's better. HE got the AXE. Grey heads, fall fast! That's why an old man like me, who lasts it in this industry like me... is a special opp of a different color. I last long, because of my intellegence.

you know what really got old Jan in the dump? I heard from reliable sources... he was a satanist! WTF???

I know the rules:
1. FIGHT hard
2. PLAY harder
3. Lie in spoken words, tell truth in print
4. Spend time with the laddies
5. Live by God's word

That's the secret. It keeps you young. It keeps you sharp. I dont know why I'm thinking about old Jan today.. maybe cause I just saw Kung Fu Volume I on DVD at Best Buy. Hell yeah! Stay tuned for my next post on Real Kung Fu..

Thar ya go sons! Live by the 5 codes of King Jimmy... you can' tgo wrong!!1

The King Has Landed...

At his new home... Blogspot.

To all my long time admirers and friends, please bookmark this for frequent updates.

I intend to use this as my tell-all.

I will talk about my time in the military, time in the trenches of Vietnam, my time spent at JPL/NASA. I will also disclose my amazing life, in full detail to those of my fans who wait on every word.

I will allow three emails a day to be read by me, King James. All my fans need do is send me an email (btw. I will disclose how *I* invented Email, before Al Gore even thought about the internet) to: jimmyjameskingiii@gmail.com

But before I get into my amazing and envious life, I want all of you to know that things in life don't come free. If you want any advice, you must pay the Oracle (btw. I helped redesign the Borland's Oracle kernel in 1973) - Me. My paypal account is pending. Till then, I'm offering temporary free advice. Write me... I will answer... FOR FREE, for a limited time.

ABOUT THE MAN
I'm a Harvard Fellow - I gradunated with honors.
Before Harvard I worked in the Blues and Jazz music industries. Out of a disagreement with the establishment I went into the Military (after Harvard.)
The Military taught me a LOT. It showed me how life works. Kid's today just don't know how tough it is...
I fought in Vietnam.
When I returned to the states I was hailed a hero by my hometown. I traveled all over the world... to Korea, Nickelebock, Her Majesty's UK, Germany, Italy all over this crazy planet.
After the military I went to school again. I was working through school when I did some government jobs.... super secret stuff.
After I left college, and rebuilt the Unix Kernel that is in most distro's today, I decided to try my hand at something different... I helped build the B2 bomber. One of my initial designs was the "Auto Pilot Pilot" soon after the B2 project, I began work on the Mars Land Rover... Ha! I got some stories about that!
I helped test some of our ICBM's (Inter-Continental Boom Massles) over Canadian Air Space!! Those Canadians tried to catch our prototypes with nets! Again, more on that later.
In between those periods of my life where I was learning and building, I was also helping people. I assisted a wrongfully incarcerated young black man to get his freedom.

You might be asking yourself by now, this guy's a saint. Hell, mother fuck'n yeah I am. But I wasn't always this clean. There was a time when I had to stand before a congressional hearing... more on that later.

I just wanted to give you an idea of the man behind the legend: King James