Chuh-chuh-chuh-Changes

Pakistan was the dry run for my current Extended Practical Exercise. I remembered what I figured I'd need but didn't and *did* need but forgot, so I packed the big-item gotta-haves and figured I'd visit the local BX/PX to pick up anything I'd overlooked. Or which happened to break in transit.

My soap dish was a casualty. No problem, I thought -- what's easier to find in a PX/BX than that quintessential item of military hygienic equipment, the plastic soap dish? Soooo, one month ago, armed with ID and a copy of my LOI declaring me Mission Essential *and* Emergency Essential to the Coalition Effort in Iraq, I proceeded to the FOB PX.

I hadn't considered the changes in military composition over the past five years. In my somewhat bemused wandering 'midst the aisles, I found I could purchase seven different types of hair conditioner, sugarless Power Drinks, five different flavors of beef jerky, Spandex™ running shorts in colors ranging from midnight blue to deep-infrared, caffeine-laced jelly beans, muscle mags, every X-box and Playstation game ever invented, every Danielle Steele bodice-ripper ever published, ankle holsters for protein bars, scalp razors, pregnancy test kits and -- ummmmm -- pregnancy avoidance kits.

But nary a soap dish in sight.

Lots of different soaps, though. All either liquid or gel. *And* in designer scents.

The nice lady who ran the place told me they got shipments of whatever made it up the road whenever it made it up.

I walked back to our office on the Iraqi side of the runway, dropped in on my entrepreneurial bud Sam. I gave him a pack of Big Red gum, we chatted a bit, drank a cup of tea, ate some cookies, watched a ChiCom copy of an Indian opera shot in Pakistan dubbed in Hindi with Arabic subtitles and, after accomplishing the mandatory pleasantries-before-business, I asked him if he could bring me a soap dish from his warehouse (which I suspect is the size of my toolshed, but extends into several additional dimensions).

Next morning, I had my soap dish.

The PX/BX got eight soap dishes in yesterday. Along with two boxes of designer thongs in designer colors [Cassie -- your e-mail about thongs had *nothing* to do with it].

*sigh*

Okay, R. Jewell and Ledger pretty much hit what I hinted at in the Huey II pic, so I might as well show it to everybody. The doorgun is decidedly *not* an M-60D. It's a PKM with the buttstock modified for an aerial gunner. Normally, we saw these things pointed *up* at us, which meant a Bad Day at the Office was just about to begin.

Oh, yeah -- there's one on each side. And, naturally, I got a good shot of the fiddly bits (the feed tray cover was a cinch to open), however, due to some photo-posting changes that took place while I was incommunicado, you guys will have to wait until Der Adjutant waves her magic wand over the Hi-Rez. Which won't happen until she wakes up. Which means you'll have to come *back* (I recommend doing that several times) to check.

[fixit-fixit-fixit -- Bill] Okay, Hi-Rez is here. Go back to work, Brab.

And, since the Huey II Hi-Rez was prolly bollixed, too -- here ya go, R.Jewell. And Ledger can prolly see the gun, now.

And, as for the Whatziss?

Heh. Keep guessing...