Ever since Day 1 of Navy boot camp, they pitch you this idea that Australia is the dream port.  The rumors go like this: the girls are amazingly hot, girl-to-guy ratio is 8:1 and they all love Americans, Aussie men treat their women like shit because the get the pick of the litter, women are just waiting for you to get off the boat, Adopt-A-Sailor, guys missing ship movement, blah blah blah.  Well, after my first deployment in 2004 got “extended,” we headed to Perth, Australia.


Perth Western Australia


The names of those in the story are undisclosed (as with all my stories) to protect the innocent.  The only people who know the identities are me, those involved, and probably some of my buddies from the Navy.


I heard rumors of women throwing tennis balls at the boat with their phone numbers in order to get some sailor and chics even eating each other out as the liberty boats would pull into the pier.  (The tennis balls may not be true since these girls would have to have a cannon arm to get to the carrier anchored 2 miles out…as for chics eating each other out, well I dunno…that would be awesome if true.)  Well, when we got to the pier at Freemantle, there were index cards posted up of girls looking for sailors to show around town (mainly, they were looking for fighter pilots, but that can’t be too hard to fake, right?).  Whorehouses handing out business cards with the American flag on them and the quote, “the place the Yanks wore out” or something along those lines (the boat was there the year before during the Shock and Awe campaign and were out to sea for 180 days straight I guess, so I could see that happening.)  My buddies and I took the train to Perth and partied out in town, mainly looking for beers and titty bars, which was a success, and I partied so hard, I lost my voice. We all had to be back on the boat the next day, so we took a cab back to the boat for our mandatory 24 hours of duty.


The next day, a buddy and I got a hotel room of at the Burswood Resort and Casino.  It was $110/night and discounted from 50% so we took it and split the cost.  We planned to meet at the hotel that night and I met up with another friend who I took the train with into Perth.  Sitting on the train, a cute girl walked up to us and asked if we were American, this girl was on her way to work, but she skipped work (at some festival/carnival thing) to show us around, took us back to her boss who asked us, “Are you in Perth to see the kids?” We told her it was our first time, so she became less cynical.  Then, she took us grocery shopping, then back to her place.  My buddy got a piece of that, so I left and headed to the Burswood.


When my buddy and I checked in, we found out that the only thing they had available was a room with only one king-sized bed.  We decided to roll with it and hope we scored tonight.  We proceeded to go to Northbridge to party and pick up chics.  As it came to no surprise, there were a bunch of squids there.  The hot Navy chics who wouldn’t talk to you on the boat, now all of a sudden, they’re all dressed to the nines and trying to talk to you, because they all know about the Aussie girls.  Of course, I just blew the Navy chics by the wayside.  We found a place that was kinda chill and less squids.  After partying and drinking like a sailor the entire night, an Indian girl with a hot Aussie accent (I love accents) came up to me to chat me up.  She asked where I was staying and I told her the Burswood, so she took me by the hand and dragged me out the bar.  We passed my buddy and I pulled him out as well.  We all got into a cab and booked it to the Burswood.


When we got to the lobby, we decided to go into the casino to find my friend a girl.  Just in luck, there was a bachelorette party group right as we walked into the casino floor.  We talked to the girls and my buddy picked up the one with “nice personality.”  She really was a nice girl, but well…..nevermind.  Anyways, we all went up to our room and confronted the dilemma with one bed.  While my buddy and this girl just talked, I was dragged into the bathroom.  I was told, “Listen mate, I have no problem with casual sex or sex without commitment.  If you wanna find another bird in the casino, I got no problem with that and I’ll stay here for the night with no issues.” I told her, “Look, I won tonight.” I don’t need to go into more details…except that my buddy and this girl wouldn’t stop talking on the bed, so we “used” the bed as well right next to them.

The only reason I had to wake up the next morning to walk her out was that you needed a key to run the elevator…

Part 2 is the post-drunk, hungover, and drunk again of our last night in Australia.

And of course,




It was my birthday this past weekend, so I decided to take a little break and spend time with a few friends.  It was a small couple get-togethers with a party at the gym for its second anniversary.  For a person who likes hanging out with tons of people, I’m really enjoying hanging out with the few close friends I have.   Of course, despite having a few small gatherings, it had its share of brief excitement.

Now to my stories (of course, names are withheld to protect the innocent): After we left the Persian Gulf on our deployment, our first stop was Turkey.  By this time, word got around that I was the guy to hang out with, so when we pulled into Mamaris, I was rolling with a crowd that was 10 deep.  When we got to the pier, we rocked up to the first cab we saw and I told the driver, “Look, take us to a place where there are no Americans.”  He tells us to get in and we roll down the streets of Mamaris.  As we go farther into the city, the city becomes shadier and shadier.  I hear from the backseats, “Dude, what is going on?”

I respond, “Chill, it’s gonna be alright.”

“If I die here, I swear to God, I’m kicking your ass.”

Finally the cab drops us off at this little green house.  It looked pretty rundown and the neighborhood was really shady.  As we pile out of the cab and walk toward the house, my buddies are bitching that they will kill me if shit goes wrong.  I admit; I was kinda nervous as well.  But when we walked in, we found this exquisite restaurant that was beautifully decorated and right there on the water.  We were stunned.  There was no one there, so the owner shot up and said, “Americans! Please come in and have a seat.”  After eating shitty boat food for a month, we were pumped to have an awesome meal.  And dinner was awesome.  Steak, lamb, wine, champagne….we just ate and drank like, well, ancient Greek sailors.

After we pigged out, we decided we wanted to talk to some of the local Turkish girls.  I asked the owner, “Hey man, where can we talk to some girls around here?”

The owner responds, “Oh, you want to talk to girls.”


So he picks up the phone and makes a phone call.  10 minutes later, a cab pulls up and a guy in a track suit walks out.  He talks to the owner and then walks over to us.  He asks us, “So you want girls?” We look confused and say yes.  He takes out his cell phone and makes a phone call.  10 minutes later, two cabs pull up and about 12 beautiful Russian girls, dressed to the nines, walk into the restaurant and form a line in front of us.  Mr. Track Suit says, “OK, here are girls.  Choose.”  We figured out what was going on and went with it.  After my exploits in Dubai, I chose to go last.  Almost everyone chose a girl, and the girls that weren’t chosen too a cab back to wherever they came from.  We, then snagged two cabs, drove to some seedy apartment, did our thing and left.

The rest of the night consisted of a Turkish bath, avoiding the squids, and trying to drink at 10 bars in one hour.  We didn’t make it, only because we were completely wasted and we had to get back on the boat.

Part 2 next time.  And it doesn’t involve hookers, sex, or going to jail.  In fact, it’s my favorite travel story and one of my most memorable nights.

Here’s your girl in a bikini for the day.  Obviously, she’s Turkish.

English: Dubai Magyar: Dubaj

So I guess you all love hooker stories.  I’ll share with you another one.  Many of my Navy buddies are familiar with this one.

The first time we pulled into Dubai was during Ramadan in 2005.  Before the Navy, I never heard of Dubai, so I thought to myself, “What the fuck is in Dubai?  And why do we have to pull in there seven times?” Then, I remember seeing the Dubai skyline on the morning we pulled in the first time and I was in complete awe (and this was before the Burj Dubai and whatever else).  I was completely floored.  So we got off the boat and the first day and checked out the Gold Souk.  We were frustrated about not being able to eat and all the pushy vendors every 5 feet trying to sell us fake bags, DVDs, Playstation Games, and of course jewelery.  I’ll never forget hearing every 5 feet, “Prada, Gucci, Chanel, copy watches, Playstation 2, copy DVDs…”  Sometimes, you hear one of the vendors bust out with “Porno DVD.”  Ears would perk up, but I never delved down that road.  Being the testosterone-driven young man, I wanted to fuck.  So I asked a guy where I can get some girls.  Sure enough, he knew of a place.  Some of my buddies rolled with me and we went into a seedy building, took an elevator to some seedy lounge (like KL but way dirtier), picked our girls of the moment, and did our thing and rolled out.  Not to brag, but I went twice, because I had a lot of “tension.”

The next night, we were told about another place – the York International – where there were better girls.  So the next night, I rolled over there with a couple of buddies.  We arrived and went to the hotel bar, which was kinda dark and divey, and found it empty (but mind you, it was probably 7 PM).  Since the sun had already set, we were able to order some drinks, but no music was allowed to be played.  We ordered some drinks and looked around and wondered where the chics were.  Then, all of a sudden, a train of beautifully dressed women entered the bar and made their way around the room.  A couple stopped over at our table to chat us up.  Then, I would feel a hand going up my leg and then grab my balls.  Of course, that was a little shocking.  The girls would say, “$300 for one hour.”  I would respond that that is too expensive and they walked away.  Then, a cute little blonde girl came up to me.  She was Russian and we talked for a little bit.  Then, I got the same spiel and I responded with the same spiel.  She asked in that sexy Russian accent, “Well, how much do you want to pay?”

I said, “$50.”

She responded, “How about $75?” I thought about it for awhile, and went with it.

How it worked there was that you negotiated with the girl, then you took a cab back to her place, paid her, you did your business, and the both of you took a cab back to the York.  However, you had to be a little discreet, because it was still a Muslim society, and they were very conservative about men and women who aren’t married being together, so we had to keep our distances or pretend to be married.  So that’s how it went for my first two nights in Dubai.

Eventually, our nights in Dubai would end at the York.  We would always try to get our shag on before heading back to the boat right before midnight curfew and we always pushed it to the limit.  There was the time, I was freaking out because I couldn’t find one of my buddies at the designated time.  He showed up mad late and we paid the cabbie to just book it back to the boat (I’ll never forget the beep that the cab makes when the driver goes over a certain speed.)  Of course, I had other girls at the York, beautiful girls from Africa, Chinese, Indian, other Russians, but I went back to Svetlana a few more times.  Something intrigued me about her.  One of the times I went back to her place, there was some old Russian guy there, who was there to fuck one of the other Russian hookers.  I got the sense that he was part of the Russian Mafia  I bought a pair of Oakleys and they broke, so he helped me put them back together, then proceeded to offer me a shot of vodka.  Pretty nice guy…I may have been close to death that day as well…Then, there was the time I paid $150 for an hour to have Svetlana and her other dime piece Russian hooker friend at the same time.    We pulled into Dubai numerous times during that deployment and I saw Svetlana at least once a trip.

Our last trip and last night in Dubai, I called Svetlana (she gave me her cell phone number) to visit.  I brought a friend with me and we went to her place to have some vodka (I thought it was gonna be awesome Russian vodka, but it was just Absolut).  Then, it came time to do my thing and my buddy left the room.  I told him I was done, and I let him in and I left so he could have a go.  I came back to the room after awhile, and I found the both of them just sitting there (my buddy on the couch, Svetlana on the bed).  I asked what happened and he just told me he was gonna wait outside.

I talked to Svetlana to see what happened and she was disappointed and angry with me.  She told me how she thought I was nice guy and then she told me her story about how she got trafficked into Dubai and how the Russian Mafia held onto her passport.  She felt stuck and she started to cry.  I felt real shitty.  I didn’t know what to do. We talked some more and before I left she gave me a stuffed Daffy Duck to remember her by.

I never said I was an angel or even a good person.  Maybe, as my friends would try to tell me, that she could be mindfucking me.  Maybe.  I don’t wanna believe that.  It seemed legit and true at the time.  The emotions seemed so strong.  No one else was there, so I don’t let their opinions influence what I felt that day.  Honestly, I do feel bad about that day and even writing about this now, I still feel a little shitty, despite that being six years ago.  I wonder what happened to her.  I hope she is OK or she could’ve played me.  Doesn’t matter.  I’m sure some of my friends reading this now may think I am so punk bitch for being played…but I dunno.  Just another mystery that I’ll have in life…

To be honest, that instance may have been the reason I was interested in Russian culture.  It may be why afterwards I loved Russian women, why I learned the Russian language, and even took a class on Russian literature.  I’ve always been interested in Russia since I was a kid, maybe it took some Russian hooker to entrance me into the culture.

Feel free to call me a chump…..or a pussy.

Oh yeah, you want a girl in a bikini.  Here’s SI Swimsuit Cover Model, Irina Shayk.  I guess it goes along with the theme.



The Modern Man is a pussy

October 10, 2012

So all I have to do is put up a picture of a half-naked woman and you will read my blog? Well, here you go :).

And here is the article that told me that half-naked women will attract readers.

Something else I like to do is social commentary….and of course, being controversial.

When I was in the Navy, after my exploits with foreign women (hookers or not), I told myself I would swear off American women.  For two years, I didn’t give a shit about American women.  I thought they were spoiled, materialistic, and expected every guy to kiss their ass.  I would even publicly shout it out and even told my American female friends my thoughts.  Of course, they didn’t appreciate my opinion, but I still told them.  Despite living in America, when I was in Virginia Beach, there were a lot of Russian women there, and I got to know many of them (some of them…pretty well, to say the least, only to find out that some of them are just as spoiled and materialistic as American chics, if not more).  Also I met a lot of Hispanic girls, so I managed to avoid American chics during my last two years in the Navy.

But dwelling on it, I feel that it’s the modern Western man can be a spineless pussy.  I remember coming home from the Navy and just hanging out with dudes who were trying to either find a one-night stand or their wife at the bar.  And they would put so much care and desperation on nights out, it was pathetic.  And they would act like little girls if you “took” a girl they liked (I’m not saying being a cockblock, just you can’t make the choice of who people should like), even if I did nothing with them.  Guys trying to go out of to please every single girl they see or to act like total Tapout, materialistic douchebags to attract the girls who have very little depth to them.  Mind you, I used to be guilty of this as well.  I was a guy who was really had no confidence with women and maybe I covered that up with the whole douchebag trying to pick up chics as well.  Or dudes who would spend hours getting ready, longer than any ex-girlfriend I used to have.  I used to be a numbers guy (basically, trying to run up the scoreboard with “conquests”).  But I knew guys who thought three dates with a women constitutes being in a committed relationship and the meeting the parents should be done within 7 months of “dating” a girl.  I also knew those “Dude, let’s go pick up some chics” guys (hell, I was one of them).  Whether, it’s being a douchebag or doormat, the modern man is a kiss-ass pussy.

I see this now in Thailand as well.  Pussy-ass dudes trying to kiss ass to women to try to get them into bed, whether it is a drunk tourist chic or bargirls; dudes are fucking weak.  Look at the dudes we have as “role models”; like Justin Bieber, the modern hipster, or Matthew McCounaghey.  The world has no more John Waynes or James Deans.  Maybe it’s whole materialism of modern society that has caused us to be this way.  Honestly, I can’t stand guys who can’t stand to be single or if I hear “Dude, let’s go get some pussy,” I’m bailing out.  These are the same guys who would throw their loyalty towards each other for one another if it came to shagging a better looking girl.

There’s of course the other side…that women are more materialistic and all about this Sex and the City bullshit.  And I’m against that as well.  I cannot stand a materialistic chic.  I’d rather have a woman who likes sports and will stand up to me, but maintain some kind of femininity as well, and not try to outswear me or out drink me.  Basically, try to outman me.

I’m not advocating a modern men’s right movement and I’m not saying this because I’m bitter that Western women don’t like me (they probably don’t, but I don’t care in the first place).  And I don’t consider myself the authority in manliness.  I’m not against love and relationships, despite not being in one for four years (that’s by choice).  But I can’t stand how needy the modern man has become when it comes to women.   Now, I despise what I used to be.  Overall, the true measure of a man should be whether he’ll have your back in a fight (if it isn’t your fault) or bail out like a pussy.  If  you were getting your ass whooped in 10 vs. 1 fight, a true friend would make sure it was 5 on 2.  A man not having courage or any loyalty deserves no respect.  Also, a guy who can’t stand being single deserves none as well.

I still prefer a foreign woman (such as an Eastern European, Latina, or Asian) over an American girl, but I’ve learned to judge on character.  I think I just ran into too many woman that fit the stereotype.  And of course, there’s foreign women that fell into that materialistic bullshit trap.  I’d rather have a tough, down-to-earth American woman than some foreign materialistic chic.

Overall, I just hate clingy people.

Another man who feels the same as me: The Modern Man is a Pussy.

I encourage dialogue…so feel free to state your peace….If you know me and wanna call me out, call me out.  I don’t mind defending myself and if I’m wrong, I’ll make the proper edits.

By the way, that pic of a half-naked woman is a Thai ladyboy…..you’re welcome ;).

Sexy dominicana / Bikini Bash 2009 , Cosmopolitan

Sexy dominicana / Bikini Bash 2009 , Cosmopolitan (Photo credit: Remolacha.net pics)

As I said, the world needs storytellers, so I have a story for you.

In the Navy, being a young 22-year old single guy out to sea, you crave female company every once in awhile.  Porn is passed around on the boat, or in the military in general, like baseball cards.  So that’s why we all (well, most of us) booze and whore it up when we pull in somewhere.  So, we pull into Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, and the first day I had to stand duty (where you stay on the boat for 24 hours, because you know, the Navy doesn’t shut down or whatever).  I sit on the boat and wait for everyone to come back to the ship for curfew (grown men with curfew, I know).  And of course, everyone comes back wasted and I try to get the lowdown on what’s cool out there, so I can go have fun the next day.  I remember this one guy coming back and talking about a bunch of girls.  And this is months into our deployment, so we did Hawaii numerous times, and Sasebo, Japan, but I never got a hooker before.  So I asked him all about it.  He said, “Dude, just find a cab driver and he’ll take you.”  I was all jazzed up for the next day.

The next morning, I do my thing and find a couple of buddies and we head out into town together.  I told them I had some “intel” and they were keen on doing it.  I found a cab and told the cabbie to take me somewhere with a bunch of girls.  He smiled and told us to get in.  I remember he took us to this really fancy looking building.  We paid him his fare and he told the guy at the door to escort us to this place.  We all get into the elevator and take it up a few floors into this really beautifully decorated lounge, complete with bar, big screen TVs, comfy couches.  All as young 20-somethings were in awe and thought it was really sweet.  A guy came up to us and asked us what what we wanted and we told him.  He told us to hang out by the bar and have a few drinks, so we did without hesitation.  The guy comes back with a train full of beautiful exotic girls dressed to the nines….Indian, Chinese, all beautiful.  We were in even more awe.  He said, “Go ahead…choose.” So we chose our ladies and they escorted up these steps to a place that looked really seedy.  I thought to myself, “Now, I feel like I’m in a whorehouse.”

I don’t need to go into details (yet, I’m not good at writing erotica).  But yeah, she basically took me into the bathroom, took off my clothes, led me into the shower, soaped me up, washed me down, and then back to the bed where we got to business.  When it was over, it was another wash down and she sent me on my merry way.

After this, I was hooked.  I never got many girls in high school and it wasn’t like I was a bad looking guy, just lacked a lot of confidence in myself.  I have plenty of stories where this came from and I will share these along the way.  But I’m glad I did all of this while I was young and in the Navy.  If I didn’t get this out of my system, coming to Thailand would be a very expensive trip.

And because I read somewhere pictures of half-naked women may bring more readers, I put one up :).

Victory and Defeat are .001" apart. "...

Victory and Defeat are .001″ apart. “Keep On the Ball” – NARA – 534496 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I know this blogging for self-discovery shit is overdone, but hey, I’m gonna write what I feel like writing about…

Currently, my mind is scattered all over the place.  From teaching, to learning about social media and getting ready to start this internship at Documentary Arts Asia, to preparing to fight, I’m having trouble focusing on one thing.  I was motivated train this morning.  Hell, I even woke up at 4:30 AM to go run, before my visit to Chiang Mai immigration, which is a nightmare.  But I wanted to fight.  Then, after my teaching gig at a Thai high school, I came to the gym to train.  I hurt my right shin last week during kick sparring, but I thought I was OK today.  However, when I kicked the bag, the pain came back.  It sunk my motivation.  I struggled to make it through the rest of my session, which I barely did.  But these nagging injuries defeat me mentally.

I remember when I boxed in the Navy, how much of a gym rat I was.  I used to call the boxing gym my “office.”  I went from 205 lbs to 149 lbs in 7 months.  I loved training.  I only had five fights and only won 2, but I still loved stepping into that ring.  I ate healthy, I didn’t drink, I didn’t smoke for like 8 months.   I ran 4 miles a day and 13 miles on a Sunday.  I remember doing hardcore training with sledgehammers, sprinting with tires, stair runs….I loved running on the beach in the summer because I loved how the girls would stare as I ran by. I was proud of who I was….and hell, I looked good.  Well, not at my skinny point, but I looked good after I put on a little weight.

But then, I got cocky.  I drank a shitload on a St. Patty’s Day one day like I was 205, but actually 150 lbs.  I had a bouncing gig at a club, but since I showed up drunk, they let me go.  So I went out on a bender with my friends that night and it wasn’t pretty.  I barely survived that.  So I fell into the habit of drinking and even smoking again.  Then, I had a falling out with my trainer, and I tried to find the heart again….but I couldn’t.  So I left the Navy and went back to Wisconsin.

For the next few years in Wisconsin, I was unemployed and just drank and smoked almost every damn day.  I did celebrate getting out of the Navy with a buddy by going to the Japan and the Philippines.  I even did an improv acting/writing workshop at Second City in Chicago.  However, I couldn’t find the same heart I had for fitness that I once had before.  I did the whole Wisconsin diet of beer, brats, cheese, etc.  And I gained all the weight back.  I worked odd jobs, but it was working online towards my BA in international relations and getting the GI Bill that kept me afloat.  I studied international relations, but I enjoyed the opportunity of studying other things, such as literature, Russian, French, Spanish, art, etc.  And I was getting paid to do it.

But I didn’t have the balls to leave home for some reason.  As much as I hated Townieville, Wisconsin, (I do like Milwaukee and I still have awesome friends there…I just hate the suburb I lived in), I felt stuck.  Then, I woke up and said, “Fuck this…I’m gonna travel.”  That’s when the opportunity to go to China arose and I decided to go to Thailand first to train muay thai.

I trained and I lost alot of the weight I gained and I fell in love with this place.  I loved muay thai and I loved my gym.  I knew I wanted to come back and fight.  I made a vow to come back.

So I went back home, but fell into my own habits again.  Drank and partied alot, didn’t work out, etc.  I started to hate being stuck in Wisconsin, so I decided to go back to Chiang Mai, with no return date in mind.

I came back, trained, and I missed it.  I loved being back here.  I was happy to even have a few fights.  I shed off the weight and felt alive again.  I pushed my return date to May of this year, but I thought, “Nah…I wanna stay longer.  I’ll leave in September.” Then, I realized I had no money, so I had to find a job.  I found a teaching job that gave me a year contract, so I said fuck it, I’m here til March.  I wanna have a few more fights before I go home.

I haven’t left Chiang Mai.  But now, I’m feeling the burnout.  I haven’t fought since April.  I wanna fight, but today, I just felt that demotivation hit me.  But I was motivated all last week.  I think I’m gonna take a break and hit up Crossfit and I’m excited about this social media internship.  But I miss stepping into that ring and going toe-to-toe in a test of combat.  I miss that fear and adrenaline rush you get before the fight.  But right now, I just feel burnt out and my focus is scattered all over the place.

Anyone out there deal with the same thing?  What did you do to overcome?

I’ve seen and done a lot of cool shit while I was in the Navy. From hanging out at the Colosseum, to the girls in Australia, to Dubai…I’ve done some cool shit. If I had known that I would’ve taken this route of writing about my adventures, I would’ve taken more pictures and actually taken pics on the boat as well.

Definitely one time I regret not having a camera was when we were doing exercises off the coast of Florida aboard the USS Theodore Roosevelt. It was a pitch black night except that one orange light that gave a little bit of light on the flight deck and I was leaning against a helicopter watching the jets land on the flight deck. I thought to myself, “What another boring night.” To normal people, watching jets land on a carrier flight deck might be some awesome shit, but when that is your life day in and day out for six months out of a year, it loses its luster.

When you are aboard the flight deck during flight operations, you have to wear specific flight deck safety gear, like camouflage with the pockets sewn, a long jersey that’s almost like a sweater, an inflatable life vest, and a helmet with ear protection and goggles. For the most part, everyone looks pretty uniform aboard the flight deck. However, on that night as I was watching jets land by myself, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and see two men. One tall guy who was wearing khaki pants and looked kinda clean with his protective equipment (therefore, I assumed he was an officer, also senior enlisted and officers where khaki pants in the Navy) and a short little bearded guy wearing civilian clothes. In the military, everyone is required to be clean-shaven, so I was taken aback. When I saw this guy, I thought to myself, “Who the fuck are you?” He reached his hand out and said to me, “You’re doing a good job, sailor.” I shook his hand and leaned in closer. Then I realized it was Chuck Norris!! I screamed out, “Holy shit!!! You are Chuck Norris.” I basically acted like a little school girl for like 2 minutes until the Public Affairs officer said, “Mr. Norris, we have to go.” I couldn’t believe it until I went down to eat in the mess decks and I saw a big crowd. I walked through the crowd and I saw Chuck Norris in the middle of the group. I came up to him and thanked him for making my night and he smiled and said, “No problem.”

Chuck Norris is surprisingly short. Then, he roundhoused kicked me off the flight deck. I survived making me the most badass person on this Earth (next to Bruce Lee and of course, Chuck Norris).