I love my Army job

It's not because I get to interview high-profile musicians who come to post, like John Michael Montgomery and Chris Cagle and Tim McGraw.

It's not because I got to meet Joe Galloway.

It's not because I got to tell the former Abu Ghraib commanding general on my cell phone, "I can't talk right now, I have a ren faire to run."

It's not because I get to rub elbows with commanding generals.

It's not because I get to watch the great PT testosterone fest of masculine hotness every morning as I drive on post.

It's not because gas on post is criminally cheap.

It's not because I work in a building so high-tech we have a bird's eye view of anywhere in Iraq and our toilets flush automatically.

No.

It's because I get to come to work and watch our arrogant, hubris-laden, geekier-than-thou IT twerp from our parent company set his own ass on fire trying to lay phone lines for our fax machine underneath our floor.

Yep. I love my job.

By the by...it is not wise to back your butt up to an open electrical outlet when you have a Gerber tool in your back pocket. I'm just sayin'...