Worm was a new guy we got into the company about mid 1980. He was a wheeled vehicle mechanic and was from Kansas or Nebraska or some other flat place and was just a good solid kid. He was a hard worker and always had a smile on his face and a kind word to say, was kind to animals and loved Mama and Jesus. He was also kinda slow.

His first name was Bob but one time I was leaning out my window and saw him coming back from the mess hall so I hollered down asking him what was for lunch and he hollered back “WORMS!” It went back and forth a few times but it turned out he was hollering wurst instead of worms, and the name stuck. When I left 18 months later he was an acting jack sergeant and his guys called him Sergeant Worm.

Because he was a mechanic, he was billeted down in the Redneck Rooms where he fit in just fine, him being a pigeon toed bucktoothed farm boy and I’m not exaggerating when I say that. Motherfucker even had a cowlick. He had never been more than 100 miles from home before.
The boys down there took good care of him and accepted him right away which was pretty much a given for anybody that drank whiskey, listened to Country, chewed tobacco and hated all things yankee. As I recall, he also had webbed feet which only proved his bloodline – as Miss Lisa says, Corn Fed and Inbred. They took him under their collective wings making sure he knew what to do and when to do it, basically showing him the ropes about army life as well as off post etiquette.

He needed all the help he could get. That boy was naive. I mean, he was green. I remember one time we were talking shit and I asked him if he had a girlfriend back home and he said “Sure” so I asked him if she ever sucked his dick. He got all indignant and said “Hell no, she ain’t no queer!” I had to tell him that if a woman did it to a man, that was cool, but if it was two men it was queer and then I had to explain why. I was actually having to give an 19 year old kid “The Talk”. I mean, he had the part about reproduction down being a farm kid and all but as far as having some damned fun while you’re making them babies? Not a fucking clue.
So me and him and a bottle of George Dickel had a talk. I educated the boy on everything I knew about women which admittedly wasn’t much. I got some dirty magazines and showed him what was what and what was supposed to allegedly happen when you did this. He was pretty shocked at first but after about a half a quart he relaxed and started asking questions and I bullshitted my way through best I could.
I left him with the bottle and about a half dozen issues of Hustler magazine and beat feet down to the Redneck Rooms where I immediately told everybody present what just happened because this shit was just too good to not share, right? After everybody quit laughing and got their shit together we had a quick meeting and decided that this matter needed to rectified as quickly as possible. I mean, what if Worm was killed the very next day in a tragic accident? A man can’t die without having his dick sucked at least once, right?
So we took up a collection and me and Phil and Greg went back to my room (knocking first in case he was abusing those Hustler magazines) and found him asleep on the couch. We snatched his young ass up and marched him out the gate down to the cab stand and took him to the whorehouse. We were on a mission. We were going to get that boy’s dick sucked before he died the next day.
Well fuck, we got there and started walking through and Worm’s all red in the face and trying not to stare. He’s fucking embarrassed as hell and we’re still on the first floor with all the ugly lower priced girls – wait til he sees the fine girls up on the third floor, he’s gonna stroke out.
Then it hits me. I whisper in his ear “You ain’t never seen a real live nekkid woman before, have you?” He shakes his head violently. “Never had sex before?” His head’s going back and forth so fast his teeth are going to start popping out like chiclets.
This ain’t right. I tell Phil and Greg that a guy’s first time needs to be special, maybe in the back seat of his daddy’s car up at Make-Out Point with somebody he’s madly in love with at the moment, not some worn out First Floor Whore. They both look at each other, look at me, shrugged, and both of them grabbed an arm and hauled Worm up to the 3rd floor where he could fall in love with a young pretty whore. That was the best they could do.
We never could get all the details from Worm about what went on behind closed doors due to his stammering and stuttering when we asked, but the next payday I’m staggering back onto Post when I see Worm strolling out, whistling and all happy and shit. I asked him where he was going and he blushed and said “You know…..”

Worm had about as much experience drinking as most guys did at that period of his life just barely out of high school. By the time I left, he was a hard drinker. You almost couldn’t be, living with the rednecks. Weekends were a non-stop party and I mean hard drinking. There’d be 3 small refrigerators packed with German beer and 10-12 bottles of whiskey and not a single soft drink to mix with.
Now, while everybody took him under their wings, Phil took on a more fatherly role. He praised him when he did something right and got pissed at him when he fucked something up. I was laughing so hard I was crying the first time I heard Phil tell him “Worm, I can’t tell you how disappointed I am in you right now, son” and Worm standing there looking all chastised and shit.
Once Phil got deep into his cups though, he got mean and there were a couple times he slapped Worm around and other folks had to intervene. Phil was a good sized man but was fairly reasonable sober – get him real fucked up and he got mean.
Now I gotta tell you that everybody got their ass kicked down in the Redneck Rooms. There was at least one good fight down there every weekend – when you’ve got 10-15 young males jammed into a couple of 4 man rooms for no other reason than to get severely fucked up, there’s gonna be disagreements. But those were settled with fists and both sides had an equal chance. Phil was slapping Worm. There’s a big difference between getting hit and getting bitch slapped when it comes to pride.
Well, like I said, Worm was a real naive kid who didn’t have an enemy in the world so he didn’t really know what to do about it. I mean people jammed up on it and stopped it before it could go any further, but still… and what was bad was Phil wouldn’t remember a thing about it the next morning. Worm would be all pissed at him and Phil would be denying it, swearing the half dozen witnesses were all lying.
Remember what I said about Worm being a farm kid? Yeah, he may have been a happy go lucky kid but he was a big happy go lucky kid. Not real tall, but stout. He stood right at 5′ 10″, but he weighed a good 200 pounds and it was all in his chest and shoulders.
Man, the last time it happened the guys just told Worm that he was gonna have to stand up to him. He might get his ass whipped but it had to be done. Who knows, maybe Phil will have some memory of that.
The next weekend started out as usual with everybody drinking and having a good time and as the evening progressed there was a quick fight between Hoagie and Greg when Hoagie caught Greg stealing a can of his Vienna sausages. You did not fuck with Hoagie’s Viennas (VI-EEnas) – Hoagie was from some crossroads in Georgia and sometimes required an interpreter to make himself understood.
Anyways, as soon as one fight starts, you’re guaranteed another. That shit’s contagious. Bigger than shit about an hour later, Phil starts in on Worm over one thing or another.
Worm doesn’t say a word but as soon as Phil leaned forward like he was going to get up, Worm flew off the bunk he was sitting on and nailed Phil right in the side of the head. Boom. Lights out.
Note to Self: Don’t piss Worm off.
Things changed with Phil and Worm after that. It turned into more of a big brother/little brother thing.

Worm didn’t smoke dope right at first. Matter of fact he didn’t get into it much at all but when he first got there it was a big no-no. I don’t know if he actually believed the shit they taught in health class or if his preacher made him watch Reefer Madness back to back 15 times.
He wasn’t even comfortable when anybody else was smoking or even carrying dope around him at first, just a paranoid fucker. I remember one time we had been off post for a few beers and right before we got to the gate he asks if I’ve got a chunk of hash on me. “Well of course I do. Why?”
“What if they search us going in?”
I looked towards the gate where the MP on duty was checking vehicles and people walking through the gate. “Oh hell, that’s Gary. I’ve sold him dope before. Come on. Hey Gary!”
“Hey, Lane. I need to stop by later.”

There was a dynamite hashish called Trippin Green that showed up only a few times when I was there. Most of your hash was bought in small compact chunks, a 20 gram piece generally being about the size of a Zippo lighter. Trippin Green came in thin sheets – a 5 gram piece was the size of a cheap western paperback and about as thick as a butter knife and hard as a rock. It was a bright green in color, almost fluorescent.
Speaking on general terms, the darker the hash, the more potent it is. Black hash is the best, with blonde being the mildest. Green and red hash fell in between.
But let me tell you what, Trippin Green will put your dick in the dirt. It will cause you to drool on yourself. It’ll fuck you up so badly you couldn’t even function in a mental hospital. You take about 3-4 tokes and everything is good and all of a sudden there’s a jolt that you can physically feel and then you’re seeing everything in 2D instead of 3D – it’s like you’re looking at a picture of life right in front of you. There’s no depth at all. And everything’s brighter and more intense.
When Trippin Green came around, it was around until it sold out – about 3 hours. It was never an ongoing thing. It came, it was gone and you wouldn’t see it again for 6 months and I don’t think I was ever able to get more than 10 grams at a time.

Back to Worm. We had some of that Trippin Green come in about 4 months after Worm got there and he was starting to loosen up some. One night after he’d consumed a few drinks he decided he was ready to give some of that devil weed a try. I’m sorry to say I wasn’t there.
I got back from wherever I’d been and was kicking back in my room smoking dope and listening to music when Greg barged in. “Well, we finally got that motherfucker high, Lane.”
“Really?” He could only be talking about one person. “How’d that go?” I was genuinely interested because Worm could pull some off the wall shit when he wanted to.
“Welp, we fired up a bowl and he came over and joined in. He only took about 3 tokes before his lungs blowed out and then he went and laid up in his bunk and started reading. That’s all he done for four solid hours was read. And check this shit out – he was reading the Bible.”
“That’s it? No shit?” I was kinda disappointed.
“He was reading out loud, Lane. The King James version. Now is thee going to offer me a drink or shall I smite your yankee ass?”

We had a couple radio vans up at Konigstuhl running a relay and using the permanent site’s tower and power up there. It was a beautiful landscaped site with permanent buildings and the duty was really nice. We got to be pretty good friends with the comms guys up there, too.
A quick detour here – everybody in my unit, with the exception of the mechanics and cooks, had at least a Secret security clearance with about half holding a full time Top Secret clearance. Mine was Secret but was upgraded as needed and then downgraded back to a Secret when the job was done. Now please do not think I’m trying to come off as some secret agent man – I can assure you I was never entrusted with any secret shit. The only reason I had that clearance was to access places I needed to in order to do my job. It wasn’t because of what I knew, it’s because of where I had to go.
Back to Konigstuhl. Even though the radio vans were running off site power, they still brought their generators with them and one day when were doing the daily maintenance we couldn’t get one to start. We called down to the company for a generator mechanic but didn’t have one available so they sent Worm instead. No problem, he was good with engines of any type.
While he was on the way I got to thinking about how much he was always talking about home and how much he missed his Mom and Dad. I jumped into the radio van and rang the permanent site up and asked the guy inside if he could meet me at the gate. When he got there I asked if he could patch a call through to the States in couple hours. Not a problem, he said. He already done it for all of us so one more is no big deal. It was just a matter of patching over and then him dialing the number.
Worm showed up and fixed the generator in about 15 minutes, so Wally brought him up to the radio van and asked for his home number. I swear on all that’s Holy Worm started bouncing up and down and clapping his hands in front of his face like a little kid when he realized he’d be able to call home. I felt like giving him a cookie or something.
That motherfucker was on the radio for an hour. He was telling his folks about schnitzels and German beer and fraulines and the German dairies right in the middle of town and and and….. I’m surprised he didn’t tell them about his trips to the whorehouse.
We had to swear him to secrecy. He wasn’t supposed to be inside that van and we’d be in a shitload of trouble if anybody found out. When we wrapped things up there a week or two later and got back home, I was immediately cornered by all the mechanics wanting to know just happened up there, did he get his dick sucked again because he won’t quit grinning and nobody knows why.
At least he could keep a secret.

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30 Responses to Worm

  1. ShaneNBake says:

    Thanks for posting that. I really enjoyed reading it.

  2. BWBandy says:

    Write the book.

  3. MadMarlin says:

    Lmao, hell no, she ain’t queer. Bwahahaha

  4. Bud says:

    i like these stories ,man. this goes in the book fer sure

  5. Dave says:

    I was stationed in Bamberg from 72 to 74, and I have to beg to differ. The Moroccan green was good, we used to get it in those thin plaques, but the Lebanese red and blonde we used to get before their civil war lit up was outstanding. Smooth smoke that would fuck you up most severely. Which is how I spent most of my time when we weren’t on the range. Never cared much for the Afghan black. Always seemed a bit harsh.

    • Wirecutter says:

      Blonde dope is weak. That shit was so mellow I’d pass on buying it.

      • Dave says:

        Not when I was there. The red was more prevalent and greatly prized by all that smoked it. You were early 80’s, IIRC? I did a little, ahem, retail distribution and the red was number 1. Now I make better hash, legally, than most of what we got in Germany. The good shit they used to grow in the Bekaa Valley is long gone.Dope nostalgia.

        • Wirecutter says:

          Yeah, I was there from late 78 to 81 when I was in the army, 72-76 as a dependent.
          I always liked the red even of my lungs didn’t. That shit wasn’t called Choking Red for nothing. I did dearly love the Bubblegum Black though.
          I got some pretty good hash when I was in California but it was pricey. I actually preferred the oil which was something that I saw only occasionally in Europe.

          • Dave says:

            I rarely saw the oil, as well. Maybe once or twice. Had some Ugandan weed once, shit went for 10 dollars a 10 gram “lid”, and people were happy to pay it. Ah, the good old days before they could detect that shit in the piss tests.

    • Odgreen says:

      Knock knock knock. “Who is it?” “It’s Dave, man, open the door, I got the stuff!” “Dave’s not here, man.” Knock knock knock knock knock “Open the door, man, It’s Dave!!” “Dave’s not here, man!”

      Sorry Dave, with Kennys reminder of the old days and your take on it, Cheech and Chong just sorta re-appeared!

  6. Timbo says:

    Great read, Mr Lane!

  7. Phil says:

    Yeah, you need to write the fucking book man.
    I’d buy that sumbitch in a heartbeat.

    You did light my eyes up there for a few seconds when you mentioned good ol’ George Dickel.
    Back when I was still drinkin’ I used to love that shit, the black label stuff.

    I do have a question for ya.
    Did you guy’s do much hot knifing, the hash on a pin under a glass or just pipe hit it?

  8. Bobo the Hobo says:

    That was AWESOME! I agree; write that dammed book!

  9. Eric says:

    I dig your stories where Hell is being raised and cows are exploding. This one, even though nobody got pissed or maimed, was an excellent read. Thanks for sharing!

  10. I will buy the book, if you write it. And not let my kids read it :)

  11. Jim says:

    Your stories are awesome. Thanks.

  12. MIke_C says:

    Dang, but you are a fine storyteller.
    And Worm sounds like he was a good dude.

    > I can assure you I was never entrusted with any secret shit. The only reason I had that clearance was to access places I needed to in order to do my job.

    Hah! Been there. At one point in my life I had a DOE “Q” clearance, but that was for essentially the same reason. Anyway, a few years later a novel came out in which the protagonist (a journalist or something) was granted a Q clearance so he could help write a technical manual, I think. This journalist subsequently had all sorts of adventures including having a beautiful Russian spy seduce him, and stuff like that. I felt cheated. Had my Q clearance for years, and not one single beautiful spy (Russian or otherwise) so much as gave me a wink, much less anything intimate.


  13. soapweed says:

    Your calling is awaiting you….git after it…….Wonder what square Worm landed on after youuns’ finished up with him?

  14. Sanders says:

    Everyone who was in West Germany during that time frame has tranny stories to tell.

    Seems there was an unusual amount of them around Mainz, where I was.

    One of my buddies was an Iowa farm boy who fancied himself a lumberjack. He got drunk in the wrong bar, one night, and I was on the guard roster, so was in the barracks when the CQ got a phone call…..

    I bet you have some funny ones.

  15. Grumpyguy says:

    I second it. You are a great story teller. Its a gift!

  16. Tennessee Budd says:

    Once again, great story, Kenny!
    I’m going to send you an email. I’ll mention “Worm” in the header so you can decide whether to read it or send it instantly to the trash folder. I’d put it here, but my posts can be long enough; no reason to subject everybody to it.

  17. Elric says:

    Great story!

    Write the book, man.

  18. Shell says:

    Trippin’ Green. That shit was indeed The Bomb.

    I don’t remember ever seeing any blonde, but had many a high time on Chokin’- and Bubblegum Red and Black.

    I only smoked actual weed twice while I was in Bamberg from ’81 to ’83. Once when a friend went with his German girlfried to visit her kinfolk in the Northern part of the country and brought some back from there and once when I went to visit a high school classmate who was stationed in Schweinfurt.

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