by Frank Rodgers

Life in a Ranger Battalion can be demanding, scary, freaky, and generally tough, but it's still the most rewarding times in a person's life. You meet your best friends in the world, and you participate in the best stories in any life I've ever heard of.

Once a year, all the guys get together and have the Ranger Ball. It's a sort of "Prom" for Rangers. We get out our Class A Uniforms and dress up. It's a way of seeing who was what medals/ribbons, and who has been to what schools. The Army, unlike all other branches of service, utilizes little patches for EVERY school you've ever been to. It's kind of like watching two dogs meet each other and sniff ass. In normal BDU's, two soldiers who walk past each other can instantly tell everything about the other's military career.

For instance, if you walked past me and I was in my BDU's, you'd see that I was a Sergeant, that I was with the 75th Ranger Regiment, that I was a graduate of the Ranger School, Airborne School, and successfully completed the Expert Infantryman's Badge course. Other Rangers, you might see that they had a combat jump, went into combat and fired their weapons at the enemy, been shot, been heroic, gone to HALO school, SCUBA school, etc.

Now, you know about all that, but I am now going to tell you about the most IMPORTANT badge, or trophy, a Ranger has. It's a once a year thing, and each Ranger gets a different one each year.

It's called the Hog Contest.

Every Ranger Ball, it never fails. You see Rangers coming in all dressed up. Their jump boots shiny, berets shaved and shaped, sitting on their heads just at the right tilt. Maybe one Ranger is wearing his German jump wings, maybe I have on my Thai jump wings, maybe one guy has his Silver Star on. But accompanying these modern day Spartans are the hogs. Here are the criteria for the hogs:

-She must be more than 300lbs
-She must have acne, or have had acne
-She must eat more than her date at dinner
-Her ass must be wider than her date's shoulders
-She must not know she's in a contest

There are other criteria, but it's sort of made up as we go along. This isn't exactly an event the Army officially endorses.

So my 3rd year of doing the contest, I have this heifer that I am SURE will win. I picked her up at the McDonalds, as she was stuffing food into her mouth, handfuls at a time. She had two Big Macs, 20 piece Chicken Nuggets, and an extra-large strawberry shake to wash it down with. Seriously, her muumu was getting bigger with each passing second. I KNEW I had a winner. She wasn't even skeptical when I asked her to the ball. She just asked, "They got good food?" and came along willingly when I affirmed her question.

As I paraded her by my group of jealous buddies, and she spied the cake and was making mental preparations on how to get as much in her mouth in one take, I saw my nemesis walk in the door.

Harvey.

God DAMN him, that FUCK.

Harvey, on any other day of the year, was my best friend. Literally saved my life one time, and would do it again any minute. On THIS day, however, he was my archenemy. My grinning gargoyle. He was there to try and take my victory, and he had the right tool for it.

She dwarfed my date. I don't know how he got her in the door, but I suspected Crisco and a bulldozer. Harvey's truck probably needed new shocks after that night, and she was sizing up my date the way two male walruses do right before they fight for a mate, only they were gonna pound each other for the food. The Gods were angry that night, and they'd sent two of their fellow titans down amongst us to battle it out for the buffet.

Harvey's date walked up to me, put her size 15 hand on mine, and with a voice worn down from years of cigarettes and raw meat said, "Nice to meet you. Your date looks like she could stand to gain a few pounds."

My date, upon hearing this, decided she'd had enough, and left crying. Now, tradition dictates that the first guy who's date realizes that this is a contest, has to buy beer for the whole Company. Not a platoon of 30-odd men mind you, A COMPANY of 150-odd. So out I go and make the most painful speech of my life, assuring her that I was indeed interested in her, and I really DID like big, beautiful women.

"No baby, that girl is just being mean because you look so much better than her. I do like you. I love big girls. It turns…me on...Really."

I can almost put myself in to anaphylactic shock just thinking about that speech.

She came back in reluctantly, and asked me to dance. I've rappelled down sheer cliffs, parachuted at 500 feet, so low that a reserve wouldn't open, and faced down the bullets of mortal enemies...and I was SCARED to dance with her.

But I did.

I even let her kiss me.

I even let her get naked...

I even...yeah...I even fucked her.

There was NO way I could afford to spend money on beer for my whole company. I just couldn't do it. I had to bite the bullet, and let this thing accept my penis into some orifice.

God it was terrible.

Combat doesn't really bother me, but that night gave me a hearty case of PTSD.

Her ass was unwashed. Her crotch smelled like wet cardboard and piss. I swear I found crumbs in her folds.

And I STILL stuck my twice-condomed penis in there.

I had to fake a fucking orgasm. I had to sit there and go

"OOOHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH... That was SOOOO great baby...." and act like I was turned on by her 6 tits flopping around on her back.

Yes, her back. She wanted it doggy style. Money is money, and I didn't have much.

Harvey still won the contest.

And my date? She turned to me, as I dropped her off at her home and said,

"Thanks for taking me to the Hog Contest. You're a MUCH better date than last year. I'm sorry I didn't win with you either, but the sex was great. You're a good sport. Call me."

I can't win.