Sgt. Elias's picture

Sgt. Elias

Member since 30 August 2010 | Blog

Helmet Stickers: 755 | Leaderboard

Recent Activity

Comment 11 Feb 2014

I'm one of my company's computer guys and IE8 is the standard but with a little sweet talk you can usually get us to throw Chrome or Firefox on there while bypassing the dreaded Official Request process. Call your help-desk or building IT guy and tell him an external vendor's site runs better in Chrome or FF, both browser's are PCI compliant. Your mileage may vary if your guy is a d-nozzle. 

Comment 04 Jan 2014

If we had an tOSU defense we wouldn't be having this conversation.  Philly was the only consistent receiver all year. He made the passing game go, as you could see when he was out, it didn't go. This loss was a group effort as it was against Sparty. Deal with it Twitter cnts. I hate fake ass Buckeyes worse than arrogant Skunk-Bears. Shameful. 

Comment 18 Oct 2013

We called it "Murder Kroger" back in the day. 

Comment 02 Oct 2013

$1550 now. We done good. Makes me wonder how many other people aboard the USS Reagan were affected, she has a company of almost 6,000 sailors and airmen at any given time. Sheesh :c

Comment 25 Sep 2013

How do you build, let alone maintain continuity if your coaches split after 2 years? Is this not what made Urbz have a sad-time at the end of his Gator tenure? I guess I knew this would happen but I still don't necessarily like it. 


Comment 12 Sep 2013

Jesse lording over soon-to-be defeated axis power representatives like a boss: priceless. 

Comment 03 Jul 2013

This. These slack-jawed harpies feed off of page hits and word of mouth. Don't give them either.

Comment 24 Jun 2013

Not about the Bucks, but if you like the Vietnam War era I highly suggest Matterhorn: A Novel of the Vietnam War by Karl Marlantes.  It's absolutely amazing. It took the author about 25 years to write, the subject matter often too difficult for him to continue as a veteran of that conflict. The result is astonishing. 


"So, this is how it ends. I will die on a jungle hill (“the Matterhorn”) in Vietnam, 1969. My death won’t be cinematic. Before this day is over, flies will prance across my eyeballs. I will return to the mud of this fecund earth, from which springs a riot of green vegetation. In the midst of my death, I am surrounded by life.

I command a rifle platoon, the 40 marines from Bravo Company-1st Battalion-- 24th Regiment-- 5th Marine Division. Because I lead, I am strong. I cannot let the men see my fear, my doubt. An entire NVA regiment prepares to exterminate us. Tonight, they will take a victory-piss over our dead bodies.

Listen to the silence. It is the silence of eternity, intermittently punctured by the squawking of radio chatter and the ancient buzzing of insects. A million years from now, insects will still be here; men will be gone.

With that very radio, I will call down artillery-fire and airstrikes within a whisker of our own flesh. To atomize our enemy with firepower is our only hope of survival. Soon hell’s noise will exterminate the silence--then eternal silence.

I stare at my grime-covered hands that have not touched soap or hot water for 20 days. But my rifle is spotless. My rifle and my attitude are the only things over which I have any control.

I smell creeping death. Though the peace of death would release me from my burdens and sorrow, I must resist fatalism. This is not about me. The Matterhorn and all for which it stands are larger than I.

Today, my every thought, nerve, and sinew must be harnessed for the survival of my tribe. Concentrate. I cannot indulge in the luxury of self-pity. I cannot dwell on the misfortune visited upon me in the prime of life: that I will never marry or have a child; that my mother will collapse when she receives my shattered body in a black bag; that the memory of me will be purged from the face of the earth;... and that my ex-girlfriend is getting high with her hippie lover.

I don’t have the luxury to think about what happens when I die. I hope God forgives me because this day I will die with the stain of the blood of my brothers upon my hands. I don’t hate the Vietnamese, but I will take as many of my killers with me as I can. If by some miracle I survive, I will write a novel so others will know what the brink of personal extinction feels like. I will expose the illusion of the glamour of war which must be annihilated if the human race is to survive."