Does anyone else think "Military Justice" is an oxymoron?

Would anyone like to guess what these three items have in common?

A) One week

B) $300

C) Anger Management classes

No?

Why, it's simple! They all play their own little parts in my non-judicial punishment under Article 15 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice:

One week = the amount of time I have to spend on Extra Duty Of Some Yet-To-Be-Determined Nature

$300 = the amount of money which is being deducted from my pay

Anger Management classes = the corrective training I have been assigned

All because some crazy bitch with a little bit of rank decided it would be fun to fuck with the chick on guard duty.

I may have mentioned this before, but ... gee, I love the Army!

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The Mandatory Physcal Fitness Session Of Gayness was really not all that homosexual today, surprisingly enough.

We did some entertaining Mandatory Gay Calisthenics (which I think in all fairness, I should call Mandatory Bisexual Calisthenics) in the gym, and although there is the Ow factor to contend with now, it was much better than the Mandatory Gay Run we've all grown so well-acquainted with.

However.

Have you guys ever heard of a little exercise called The Inchworm?

Apparently, it was invented by reallyreallyreally short, angry dwarves, who were mocked as children and picked last for teams during after-school basketball games.

It is a Tool Of Satan.

If you ever get a chance, watch how an inchworm moves: front stationary, little worm-butt squinches up, front moves forward. Repeat.

The Inchworm's only redeeming quality was that Night Boss -- who is approximately eleventy billion feet tall and .0902349 inches wide -- had to do it too, as I performed the customary Point And Laugh exercise.

There were also the Mandatory Bisexual Lunges. (Just TRY to say/read/think that phrase without horrifying images penetrating your train of thought -- I dare you!) (Gah! I said "train"! In addition to the original phrase! What is wrong with me?? Oh yes -- I need to get laid.)

The Lunges were anti-fun. My thighs, I know, had a terrible time with them, possibly terrible enough to secede from my body. I know I would.

But that's enough of that for now. I have to prepare my brain for all the journal material I'm going to be gleaning from this Anger Management class, which is sure to be full of others who, like myself, are carrying at least 30 rounds of live ammunition on their person at all times.

I'm the luckiest girl in the world!

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So why did none of you tell me what a colossal razor up the ass it is to move a whole damn diary to Blogger? Good LORD!

Andria (of Linked More Than Anybody Ever Has Been Linked From Here fame) has given me the code to make my name still light up on the D'Land buddy list dealie whenever I update -- which I know works, because here you fucking are, yay! -- so you can all rest easy knowing you'll still see my name in red on a regular basis.

I LOVE you crazy fuckers! How could I ever desert you?!? That would be as wrong as going to the New York State Fair and leaving without getting pizza fritte. (Hint: really fucking wrong. Pizza fritte is like the fried dough of the gods, except for the gods would be Italian.)

Or whatever. You know what I mean.

And, um, feel free to give me design pointers, as I have been known to ride the HTML short bus. While wearing a helmet.