The picture in my profile is no longer an accurate depiction of me. I took it all off. Its dead sexy. I should be a model. In fact, I'm starting to fall in love with myself. I'm my own fantasy man, you should see me have sex with myself!

Link probably nsfw, as it contains a massive man.

I'm always seeing the drum rolls,
I'm always listening as the bell tolls.
Roses are red and caskets are cold,
Life is great, that's what I was told.
But nothing could be so very far from true
Other than life, there is nothing more blue.
The sun is always hidden by clouds,
My path is always blocked by crowds.
The noise is always too damn loud,
And the fools are always too damn proud.
But for me this all is nothing new,
I'm a synic, and I know death is waiting for you.

My resolution is not to make one. It will also mark 4 months till my birthday. And the year we get a new President. It also means the Illinois smoking ban will be put into action. Fucking nazis. But then again, I can't drink in a bar anyway. Oh well. Courtesy of 4chan, I present the many moods of Putin, Time's man of the year.

Seriously, I'm tired of hearing people bitching about my habits. Let's take a look at what I think of what other people think of me.

DRINKING:
Yeah, I can down a bottle of hard liqour like an Irishman. "Oh, that's so bad for you, you're going to kill your brain and liver!"

Shut the fuck up. I said I am capable of doing it, not that I do on a daily basis and am totally clueless to the long term effects, you dipshit. I admit when I was 15 I was a heavier drinker than some rednecks, but I wisened up to that. Now I just go to a party every now and then and get bombed like everyone else there, do something insane with my friends, go home and pass out, deal with the sunday morning hangover, and not even touch a bottle the rest of the month or more. I am entirely capable of controlling myself.

SMOKING:
My preference is good quality cigars, which nobody else my age seems to know how to smoke. Hey dumbass, this ain't a blunt, don't inhale. For me, those are a special occasion thing. The rest of the time I have a pack of Marlboro smooth 100's in my pocket. Your Newports can suck my balls. However, unlike some people, a pack lasts me 2-3 weeks. I'm not a heavy smoker, and I'm concious of others. I don't smoke indoors, near pregnant women, or near whiny ass children. Again, I know the risks. Don't tell me what I can and can't do to my lungs you fascist!

DRUGS:
Marijuana is always good. I'm not an out of control stoner, I do just fine in school, and I do not speak as if retarded. Cocaine at a party is okay too. 1 or 2 lines is enough. I never by powder myself though. Yeah, I mainly stick to weed.

"Its illegal."

Really? How did you figure that one out? I beat the shit of those who deserve it too, and they call that battery. Oh shit call the FBI, I smoke pot at parties and sometimes on weekends! I'm sure a teenager who doesn't even use it heavily will be on the top of their most wanted list.

The one other thing I can't stand is categorizing any of those things as cool or uncool. I'll slug anyone who speaks from either side of the fence. I could care less about my popularity or if somebody thinks I'm awesome or not. I don't do this shit so you can judge me, I do it because I'm having a good time. In conclusion I urge anyone reading this stupid rant toplease think, If I call this person out on substance use, am I making a point, having any effect, or do I just look like an idiot for pretending to be some random guy's mother? If they do it to excess, fine, let them kill themselves. Just stop thinking that telling somebody what you think of them makes any difference, because chances are, they don't need or want your acceptance and simply do not give a shit. Learn to put up with it like they put up with your whining about it. You think I'm a scumbag huh? Blow me. You can't live forever you know, and I'm certainly having a great time just doing what I want to do. I've honestly never been happier. Relax guys, before you give yourselves an ulcer.

To all friends: I hope you don't take any of this personnaly or as an insult. I mean it as an eye opener. Thanks for chillin' with me and being good friends, as there is nothing like good company, no matter how sober or intoxicated. Keep warm and don't forget all the things I've told you. Sawke, you did have a point with the guy in the train station, all my friends on LIVE I can still play well if I'm not like I was the other night. Mods, whether you support or disagree with my opinions, I don't want to see any unfair shit on the BBS (i.e. being too lax, or being to strict simply based on opinion).

Merry mother fucking Christmas (or whatever),
Matt D.

I never thought crocs would be talked about online, even when they were popular in some places. Cellardoor6 has proved me wrong. I thought it was kind of funny that they were brought up again. I haven't heard of them once in over a year. Once they faded out (or were never popular to begin with, as is my area's case) they practically stopped existing. Why people completely ignored how comfortable they are when they went out of style is beyond me. Did anyone else wear these things when they were popular? Do you still wear them? The bandwagon is almost totally empty, and its really comfortable. I'm staying on forever. I need a new pair though, these are getting small.

First off, The Secession Guards has been stopped. Didn't get enough exposure to be worth my time.

Speaking of worth my time, I think I've found someone who really is. I don't know for sure, the last (and what I swore was the final) time I thought that, it was one big sack of horse shit.

Anyway, its September and the trees are turning and the weather is perfect. Get the fuck out of my profile and get out there man! Time's wasting! This also means the 6th anniversery of 9/11 is here. I'm not doing anything that day, I am staying home purely to honor the victims. This isn't a party excuse for me. And I swear, the next person that tries to tell me it was an inside job is going to get their skull bashed the fuck in. You people should be fucking ashamed of yourselves. On a happier note, I get my license in a few months, so I might actually be able to chill with some of the more respected users in my area. I might TP BBR's house too, I don't know. :P Just kidding man, your house is safe.

School, while boring, is easy as hell. However I need to spice up the atmosphere, so I need some prank ideas. Post them if you have them.

Later masturbators, I'm out.

PM me if you'd like to be in the story. This chapter should give you an idea of what is happening, and what kind of story this will be. Story is copyrighted. This story is a mix of fact and fiction. The battles, and many important people, really existed, and really were in the situations described. If you have questions on what is real or you don't get something, please feel free to PM me about that as well. If this first chapter seems a bit dull, its because I have no volunteers for the story. The battles will be as intense as I can make them and you may also learn something about this bloodfest in the process.

Chapter 1:
Join Up

It was 1861. The bloodiest and most brutal war America ever faced, the war that pitted brother against brother, had begun. The new nation, the Confederate States of America, believed that their states rights were being oppresssed. As a result 11 states seceded from the union to form this short lived nation. One of them being Tennessee. It shielded three other states from the military forces of the US.

From that state came many regiments of Confederate infantry. One of those was the 13 Tennesee Infantry Regiment, the seventh one in western Tennessee. Company C, the Secession Guards, hailed from Shelby County, the land on which my family lived. It was rather small, not even big enough to need slave labor, like many around the area. We were simple farmers, and I would have been too, had I not joined the fight when the call went out.

One day, I left my father's farm with nothing but the clothes on my back. I joined the 13th, eager to defend the rights of my state. To become someone to be proud of. Little did I know I had just walked into the gates of hell. When I finally got to the camp, I was awe struck. I had never seen so many people in one place in my life. There had to be almost 900 men there, though only about a fifth of them would be company C. The rest were other companies. A man named John Wright greeted me with a smile. At his side was a Lt. Colonel known as Alfred Vaughan. He didn't say anything.

"Come to fight for your country son? How old are ya?" Colonel Wright lit a pipe and began to smoke, and the sun gleamed on his golden chicken guts. His grey uniform was clean and pressed, his sabre sharp. God how I wanted to be like him.

"I'm seventeen sir."

"Seventeen? Are you married? Do you really want to fight with a wife left behind?"

At that period of time, it was uncommon to be single past 15. "No sir, I haven't the time or the money to have a family of my own. I've always been too busy on the farm, my father is quite weaker at his old age you see."

"Understandable. Though, when you get back from this war, I advise you get on that. Do you know how to shoot son?"

"Yes sir, I hunt pheasant, turkey, and deer often."

"Well kid, let's see it. Load a round and shoot that blue scarecrow there." He handed me a shiny blued 1853 Enfield,a cartridge, and a cap. I rammed the cartridge, put the cap on the nipple, cocked the hammer and took aim at the dummy. It was about 30 yards out. There was a loud crack and a good deal of smoke and flame as the minie ball tore through the straw skull of the fake yankee.

"Good shot my boy! Not too many can do like yourself, even here. Be damned proud of that shooting." He paused to look over me. "You seem well enough, welcometo the Confederate Army son." He handed me a set of grey trousers, a grey shell jacket with polished brass buttons, a set of new brogans (soldier's shoe's), and a new grey kepi.

"Thank you sir." I changed quickly. Looking good in the new uniform, I got in line with several other guys to get equipment...

Chapter 2:
Form Company

In front of me was a slightly older guy. When he finally was issued his equipment, he was asked to sign the proper enlistment papers. He picked up the pen and stared blankly at the papers for a moment.

"I can't read that. Can't write neither."

The sergeant snatched the pen from his hands. He was a slightly overweight Irishman with a large beard and a bottle of whiskey.

"What is yer blasted name? Where do ya live? And do ya swear on all that is holy to defend the confederacy to yer last damned breath?"

"Sir" He started off but the sergeant quickly interrupted.

"I ain't no sir, I work for a living, you address me as Seargent got it?"

"Yes sir- I mean sergeant. My name is John President, I'm from here, Shelby, and yes I do. Sergeant."

"Mr. President... Is that some kind o' joke you sorry sack o' shit?"

"No sir- fuck, I meant sergeant. No sergeant. President's really my name."

"Okay then, mista prezident, I've signed yer papers, now take yer shit and report to one of the corporals." President walked away, still shaken by the sergeant. The sergeant turned towards me and handed me my gear:

A tin canteen with CSA imprinted on it.
A haversack with tin plate and cup, and a cheap set of silverware plus a mucket.
A standard issue undyed wool blanket.
A poncho, which could also act as a ground cloth.
Half of a dog tent. (Another soldier would connect his half and the two would share the space)
A cartridge box without a shoulder strap.
A cap box.
A belt with a simple buckle for the two above mentioned items.
Finally, an 1854 Lorenz musket. (Possibly the most underrepresented firearm of the war.

"Sorry kid, we're out of sholder straps for the cartridge boxes. You can make do with just the belt. As for that rifle, its a Lorenz. Austrian made, lighter than them Springfields and Enfields. Here's yer papers boy. Sign 'em 'n get outta me face."

I signed the papers and made my way to the nearest corporal. A man no different than me except for the chevrons on his jacket, two blue upside-down chevrons.

"Another recruit. Welcome to company C soldier. You will be with Pvt. President there. Set your tent up and fall in for drill.

We did as ordered, fearing he would become like the sergeant if we milled about too long. The drill was tough. We started with weapons positions, went to marching, learned loading techniques, and all in the mid day sun. Dinner was nothing like home. Just bread mostly. Some booze, a little meat, nothing filling. Sleep was easy. Too bad we were forced to wake at 5:00 AM.

A captain began to shout orders. "Fall in by height on the corporal!"
Everyon slowly walked like cattle to the corporal. Two ranks of men were created. I was one of the taller men. In front of me was my now good friend, Mr. President. Once that was done another command was given.

"Company, count twos!"

The corporal and man behind him started by bellowing out a "one." Then it was us. "TWO!" The two guys next to us sounded as one, the men next to them twos, and so on. This was so the company could form more easily to a column.

"Company! Right, face!"

The corporal yelled "Two's step up!" and we did so, going from two to four people in a line. Because it is slightly confusinng I've created a diagram of how it works.

All at once the company turned. The captain and his Lieutenants got in there positions, Captain in front.

"Forward , march!"

Right foot first, we started in motion. I got up the courage to ask the corporal where we were going.

"Fort Randolph."

Chapter 3:
First Fight

We marched miles after miles, our first true march. We didn't see anything between Shelby and Ft. Randolph. When we got there we kicked off our shoes as soon as we had set up. Everyone's feet were sore, nobody felt like walking to do anything. Even after working a farm, it still hurt to march that far. One man's foot even bled some. Once there we were greeted by a general named Gideon Pillow. Pillow informed us that our unit would be falling into Colonel McCown's brigade. We rested a while here, but shortly the overall commander of western Tennessee's army, General Leonidas Polk, ordered us to move once again.

Upon this order we packed up, fell into McCown's brigade, and started marching. The march took us through New Madrid, and on through Benton Missouri. From Benton, we were supposed to head up to Columbus, Kentucky, but we ran into a problem on the way. In Hickman, Ky, we encountered our first federal unit. It was a small infantry unit. What they were doing there, we weren't sure.

They opened fire on us with their 1861 Springfield muskets. I had never heard anything so loud in my life. Not many of us went down though. A few men down the line took some hits. I was never sure if they lived. I do know that I never saw them again. There was an order from down the line. Col. Wright ordered a volley. Our captain stepped up and yelled the orders.

"Company, Ready!" Everyone T'd their feet and brought their guns up to their hips.

"Aim!" The front brought their rifles up as we in the rear stepped over with our right feet, bringing our muskets over the right shoulders of the men in front of us. I looked at the blue belly directly in front of me and Pvt. President.

"FIRE!!!" The muskets roared and smoke clouded our front. When it cleared, almost 90% of the yanks were on the ground. Many of them were screaming bloody murder, crying for their mothers, and praying. It was rather disturbing. I hoped that would never be my fate.

Being my first experience in real combat, my combat high was great enough that I don't remember anything after that point. I'm not sure whether we continued to fight until they all died or if we took the remaining men prisoner. The next thing I remember, we were on the road again heading to Columbus. I had also lost track of time. Days and months and such. I didn't know how much time had gone by since I had first joined.

When we were finally reorganized, it was November of 1861. We were taken and thrown into Col. J.K. Walker's brigade. Still in General Pillow's division. At that point we were regularly marching from Belmont to Columbus and back. We weren't bothered at first, but on one of our trips, things turned deadly...

Okay, background info: Signed army papers, and have roughly ten months till I go to boot camp, and from there, probably Iraq. I have been thinking this through for years before I made up my mind. I don't mind dying, I don't mind being away.

However, something changed recently in my thought pattern. I always said I hated love. I thought I had found it, but cut it off because I wanted to give her time to move on, should I be killed, I didn't want to hurt her. I was happy with that decision until recently. Within the past week, I have begun to think it was wrong. I keep thinking about dying in Iraq alone, and it has started to scare me. It's really weird becuase I'm not actually depressed or anything. In fact I'm just as carefree and happy as I have always been, it's just that one thought that keeps occuring. Kind of screwed up, huh?

End emo moment.

That's a cool new feature. I wouldn't have thought of it. So far the redesign looks awesome. Like the new staff page especially. Why exactly were animated .gif sigs discontinued? Life goes on, sure I miss my speedytaank, but the sigs are cool nonetheless. There are still some kinks to be worked out but once that's done, I think this place will kick more ass than ever before. Thanks for the cool new shit guys!