Wright's-Rite-Write, Right?

Today I learned that I have been immortalized. I learned through word of mouth that I, in my own rite, Wright, have been given what some could consider an ambiguously confusing gift. My name, and title as it's known to my job, has been inscribed in response on a bathroom wall. This is the first time, at least to my knowledge, that I have been mentioned on a bathroom wall.

Some people wouldn't consider this such an honor. Normally the Sirly Sue-Sue's are one's that would write something nasty or haneous, or embarrassing or untrue on the wall. Some would consider what was written about me slander. I don't find it all that much offensive, but alas I am an infantryman, and such insults are welcomed to a warriors ear. If you can't have a sense of humor about oneself, you truly have nothing in this job.

The inscription of course was entirely false in nature, and actually not specifically written about me. However, the mere idea that someone thought of me when they read about the accusatory quote of one's sexual exploits and the rendering of a disease transmitted in some way not entirely disclosed, was to say the least, flattering. The ink was mostly in black, covering the juicy facts of a SSG giving a bump to someone. Another tagger asked who may have been the culprit. The third graffiti-ite, a possible oner as Brad would say, etched my name neatly as possible through the red paint, exposing the white that once was there, with the undeniable lettering spelling SSG WRIGHT. I'm honored.

I of course am not a rule breaker. I bend them occasionally, and smartly, but when it comes to things as juvenile as writing in a bathroom stall, I put it beneath me. This kind of excitement though had me childish. I couldn't not help but add to my legend, small but growing in the fifth stall of a 'shitter-trailer.' So then, for such an amateur as myself what would, what could I write? It had to be poignant, it had to be clever, it had to be both satirical and thought provoking.

The military traditions of jesting one another with somewhat cowardice on a wall only read by the occupant currently taking the king's throne is as similar to the war bush or gallon challenge on a deployment. I for one, enjoy the amniminty of such things. Like a fifth grader I read the inscription over and over, doing my best in my favorite think tank to come up with a great line. As I broke the rules in the sense of adding to my own fallacy now covering the stall wall, I couldn't help but continue the jest at myself, whilst also jesting the perpetrator. The brilliance flowing through the felt of the clickable Sharpie I carved the new punchline to the old joke. I opened the door for my own immortal future.


sleep now in the fire...