"Tell me the pleasantries of your hometown."

           I always got a kick out of hearing stories from my guys about their hometowns.  Even Mango’s imaginary friend Gunner Nelson and Lover’s girlfriend stories made me laugh a few times.  Then again, maybe it was just their thick accents talking about it.  If you’re going to make it a long period of time with the same group of people in small quarters, you better understand where they come from or you’re going to end up killing each other.

            Espinal, or Easy E as we called him, was from Queens and when he told me about growing up in his neighborhood I always convulsed with laughter.  If we ever had a bad day we would sit on the ramp of a Stryker between missions, light a cigarette and ask him to tell us about “Crazy Ivan.”  His story goes like this… oh and keep in mind he has a New York City accent while telling this tale… so again, it goes like this…

“Ok, growing up in Queens was a good time with all my crazy Irish friends that corrupted me and taught me how to play street hockey.  Everyday after school we would play street hockey or tag football.  After the games we would hang out on my friend Pat Parsley’s front stoop and chill, get drinks, etcetera.  Well everyday of the week this crazy old junky named Ivan would pass by and harass us and tell us to, ‘Get the fuck out of the way,’ or, ‘Move your fuckin’ hockey equipment you shmucks!’ 

“Wait. Shmucks? People actually use that word?” I interrupted.

“Hell yeah, man. I mean, We called him ‘Crazy Ivan’ for a reason.”

“Touché.”

“So we got fed up with this crazy old bum.  We noticed that on some days he would

walk home with his mom and she would complain about him not having a job.  We used this against him on days he would pass by talking shit and complaining to us.

‘Hey Ivan, go get a fuckin’ job you bum! Quit spending your mom’s money on crack! Crack is wack!’ we’d yell and mind you this guy was in his 40’s.

‘Fuck you, you little shits! I have a job! It’s to fuck your mothers you little spic, mic bastards! ALL OF YA! I have a job! I don’t smoke crack! I smoke your moms pussy!’ Crazy Ivan would reply, spilling his beer out of his 40 oz bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag.

Ahhh, the good ole days.”

“Hahahawwww ‘crack is wack?’ Really dude?” I’d ask. “Spic, mic bastards? That’s not even offensive coming from a crack head!”

E’s hometown story never got old.  There’s just something about teasing a crazy bum with a potty mouth that makes my day and it sure cheered the entire platoon up.  From time to time, all E would have to do is yell, “I fawked ya mothers ya shmucks!” and an eruption of laughter followed. 

This is how we looked before missions. That's D.J. with a cig and the paper chillin.