The Five Worst Code Names for G.I. Joe Characters

Like most boys growing up in the 1980s, I was a huge G.I. Joe fan. It started with the comics- made great by the writer Larry Hama (whom the character of Tunnel Rat was modeled after), then moved on the sillier cartoon – Pyramid of Darkness motherfuckers!- and prompted me- and all other red blooded American boys- to buy the toys.

As time went on and the franchise expanded in all directions, more and more Joes needed to be added onto the roster. And towards the tenth and eleventh iteration of new characters they began to strain at the seams for new names and new ideas. As such, some bad decisions were made in the creation of new characters. So I give you the five worst codenames for G.I. Joe characters.

These are not popular characters. They were released as toys, never supported in other media, then fell into the ashbin of history. Some of these are so obscure that even a hardcore Joe fan as myself had never heard of them before.

Colonel Courage

Filecard Information:

File Name: Mewett, Cliff V.

Grade: O-6

Birthplace: Boston, Massachusetts

Primary Specialty: Administrative Strategist

Secondary Specialty: Patriot Driver

 

File Comments: Proper dress and discipline have always been the backbone of the Colonel’s leadership. He works hard to impress these qualities upon his subordinates and insists that anyone who follows his lead will quickly transform themselves into a lean, mean, efficient fighting machine! Because of his efficient work ethic and organizational skills, he is usually assigned to intelligence tasks behind the lines, and behind a desk. So whenever he has a chance for combat duty, he eagerly jumps at the opportunity with an armor piercing weapon in one hand and machinegun blasting in the other.

Military buffs pointed out that the regular G. I. Joe team really lacked a command structure. They had General Hawk and the first sergeant Duke with no one in-between. So they introduced Lt. Falcon, Colonel Courage, and Captain Grid-Iron (see below). Apart from Lt. Falcon (who in the animated G.I. Joe movie was subordinate to Duke for some reason), none of the others ever caught on. Originally part of the twelfth series, it was discontinued in 1994.

And I can’t blame anyone for that. From a toy aspect, the figure doesn’t give you much. There are more weapons included with it than most action figures- seven in total, but they were recycled from other figures and issued in neon green, which is not the coolest color for your war toys.

The appearance of the toy is terrible as well. Even as kid, I would’ve noticed that he seems entirely assembled from different parts of previous characters painted different colors- and none of the interesting ones. In our old battlefields he would’ve just been cannon fodder, someone to be blown up by a firecracker, before the cooler characters came in.

Also the name, although I appreciate the alliteration, is terrible. Sounds like it should be part of a terrible Burger King Kids Club cartoon meant to “inspire children” but just ended up boring them to tears.



Captain Grid-Iron 

File Name: Lydon, Terrence
SN: 903-5221-YY07
Grade: O-3
Birthplace: Evergreen Park, Illinois
Primary Specialty: Hand-To-Hand Combat Specialist
Secondary Specialty: Infantry

File Comments: CAPT. GRID-IRON was quarterback of the West Point football team and graduated in the top ten of his class. It can be said in his favor that he passed up an appointment to the U.S. Army War College for a conventional infantry at the company level. It was this determination to be "where the action is" that brought him to the attention of the G.I. Joe organization. 



  What was the pitch for this? "Everyone loves G.I. Joe and everyone loves football, so let's combine the two." Hence Captain Grid-Iron. He came complete with football shaped grenades, kneepads, and a football style helmet, an oversized rocket launcher, and was completely ridiculous.

He only appeared in one panel of the comic series, but was a regular in the DiC G.I. Joe cartoon series (this was the one who took up the series when Sunbow lost the license after completing the animated G.I. Joe Movie), and all of his dialogue was peppered with football references, which became irritating after the third one.

According to the hierarchy he was in charge of the G.I. Joe team, after the Colonel above and General hawk, but who the hell could take this guy seriously? Sergeant Slaughter should’ve put him in an itty-bitty-ditty bag.

 

 

Starduster

File Name: Skylar, Edward J.
Grade: E-5
Birthplace: Burlingame, California
Primary Specialty: Infantry Transportable Air Recon
Secondary Specialty: Helicopter Assault

File Comments:  Starduster was a circus trapeze artist when he enlisted in the Airborne Rangers. He quickly found that his acrobatic skills and boundless energy would come in handy when swinging from a 150-foot rope. But now he did his famous routines suspended from a Huey Assault Copter- with the audience throwing more than just popcorn and peanuts. It was Duke, however, who recognized how well Starduster's death-defying act would work with the JUMP Jetpack. The combination has been a crowd pleaser ever since. 

 

 

          This character first appeared in 1987, when G.I. Joe was still pretty popular in comics and cartoons, but I’m sure plenty of people don’t recall it. That’s because he was only first available as a mail-in exclusive from G.I. Joe Action Stars Cereal. Afterwards, the figure was available as a mail-in offer from Hasbro Direct. The character was never released in stores and was discontinued in 1990.

The only media he appeared in was three mini-comics that was available in G.I. Joe Action Stars Cereal. Ironically the Jump jetpack he was debuting got more usage than the character, as it appeared very often in the Sunbow cartoon series.

Let’s face it, the name Starduster lacks punch. It sounds like it should belong to a magical pony on Rainbow Bright, or Strawberry Shortcake, or some other godawful feel good, lets-teach-a-lesson, piece of crap cartoon. The character itself looks cool, granted most of the toy was recycled from the Recondo, Flint, and Roadblock characters, to a young me the helmet, jetpack, and grenade launcher looks pretty awesome put together- I think my friends and I would’ve renamed him.

 

 

Windmill 

File Name: Roth, Edward J.
Grade: O-3
Birthplace: Allentown, PA
Primary Specialty: Stopped-Rotor Aircraft Operator

 

File Comments: Windmill was a flight instructor at the Army Flight Warrant Officers School in Fort Rucker and later flew experimental helicopter prototypes at the same facility for the Army Aviation Department Test Activity. You might think that test piloting is easier, or even safer than, testing jet fighters. Consider this- helicopters don't have ejection seats. If you make a mistake, you ride down with it! 



Windmill was the pilot character packaged exclusively with the Skystorm X-Wing Chopper toy. It was released in 1988, rereleased the following year, then shit-canned because no one wanted the stupid looking thing with its ugly pilot. This character and his aircraft didn’t appear in any other media until one of the mid-2000s G.I. Joe vs Transformers: Black Horizon comics where he was quickly killed.

Goddamn this is a stupid looking character. The colors are a fucking eyesore. Safety orange, puke green, blood red- was the person who designed this color blind? The head piece makes no sense and looks like a reject from a Buck Rodgers line of toys. Plus, the oversized revolver (while mercifully black in color) just looks stupid. Like the head, it seems as if it came from another line of toys altogether.

Had I been gifted this character, I would’ve disassembled it and used it as spare parts in a miniature landmine scene. That would be cool.

 



The Ice Cream Solider





File Name: Ragan, Tom-Henry
Grade: E-5
Birthplace: Providence, R.I.
Primary Specialty: Fire Operations Expert
Secondary Specialty: Barbecue Chef

File Comments: The last thing you would expect from G.I. Joe's fiercest flamethrower commando is for him to be called the Ice Cream Solider. However, it's a perfect cover for him because when Cobra hears the Joes are sending a guy into battle with a code name like that, they don't expect much more than a sweet toothed kid with chocolate ice cream stains splattered on his fatigues. Cobra's perceptions of him change fast when they see the Ice Cream Solider fire up his super-charged flamethrower and blast 75 foot streams of flaming gasoline into their foxholes and munitions dumps... talk about a firefight! The Ice Cream Soldier is a one man inferno who scorches those slimy snakes until they melt like hot fudge on a summer sidewalk. 

 

         If there was ever an indication that G.I. Joe had well and truly jumped the shark, it was the creation of this character. Not the actual figure which looks pretty cool (despite the bright orange and yellow accents). The mold would eventually be used to create the Cobra Shock Viper character and, once repainted, shows that the design of it was decent, it was the name that cast the character in infamy.  
        It was released in 1994 as part of the deperate “battle corps” line. These had oversized spring loaded weapons, and many accessories with each character. It was an unsuccessful attempt to add life to the G.I. Joe line.
         I can’t tell if someone let their four year old design a character or if they had become so complacent that they figured the fans would lap up whatever shit they troweled out. However, by 1994 the franchise was in its death knell- No more cartoons. The comic series had been canceled. Ideas must’ve been low. Why not the Ice Cream Solider? Kids like ice cream. It’s a fact. So kids would like a toy named after their favorite dessert. Not so much. As far as G. I. Joe figures go, it is one of the cheapest to pick up on eBay.  
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Mothers Day Special: The Worst Mothers in History Vol. 4

 

Hey, hey, hey. Another Mother’s Day has come around and another of our tributes to the worst Mothers in History. As we’ve gone again, and again, and again,  in order to combat the wave of diabetic inducing sweetness that will be pouring over us soon enough. As preventative medicine, I suggest you read this article and realize that not all mothers are filled with goodness and light, many are drunken chain-smoking cigarette hags too lazy to get abortions when the time was ripe.

Often some milksop politician will ask, “Where would we be without our mothers?” In the case of these examples the answer, “alive and probably happy.”

 

1.     Kenisha Enroda Berry: Dumpster Diving With Baby.

On November 29, 1998, in Jefferson County, Texas, 20-year-old Kenisha Berry placed duct tape across the body and mouth of her 4-day-old son, placed him in a black plastic trash bag and left his body in a trash dumpster, resulting in his death. The child was later found by a homeless couple dumpster diving for aluminum cans. An anonymous tip led the police to Kenisha’s door. DNA tests proved she was the mother and her fingerprints were found on the bag and duct tape, yet she still denied responsibility for the crime.

She explained that when she woke up on that day the baby was limp and not breathing. Realizing that he was dead, she said she was too scared to call for help. She duct taped his arms so that they would be in front of him and across his mouth because it bothered her that his mouth was opened. She then put him in a trash bag, borrowed her grandmother's car and placed the infant in the dumpster where his body was later discovered. Forensic reports that the baby died of asphyxiation due to the duct tape over his mouth. This is was not in fact the first baby she had dumped.

The same DNA evidence linked her to another newborn found tossed into a ditch filled with fire ants. Luckily this one survived, but it was a near miss. She was sentenced to death, but it was later reduced by a limp wristed review board to life in prison.

            2.     Deanna Laney: Bashing Their Heads Slowly

Here is another example of people with severe mental illnesses attempting to normalize themselves by become fanatically devoted to a political or religious cause. We’ve seen it with the anti-abortion movement, Antifa, PETA, and various religions. The result are that they take something to the extreme and put it all in doubt.

Deanna Laney was a devout member of the Pentecostal church Assemblies of God. She believe t so much that she had the delusion that God talked to her. One night, God apparently told her that the end of the world was coming and to get her house in order. To Deanna this meant she had to bash her children’s head in with rocks. First victim was 8-year-old Joshua, followed by six-year-old Luke, then 14-month old Aaron. The last one survived, but had his growth crippled by the severe head trauma he experienced.

She was diagnosed with suffering from psychotic delusions (big surprise there) and was later found by a jury to be not guilty by reason of insanity. She was committed to a mental institution in 2004 and released in 2012. Apparently 8 year in a summer camp facility is long enough for the death of two children and giving a third brain damage. She now freely walks the streets of Texas.

3.    Dora Luz Buenrostro: Hate is Thicker than Love

After a lengthy divorce Dora Luz Buenrostro was forced to share custody of her children with her ex-husband. Neighbors testified that they heard her screaming for hours at her children when they were with her. On October 27^th, 1994 she went to the local police department and told officers that her ex-husband was inside her apartment and that she feared for her three children’s safety.

When they arrived at the apartment, they found two of the children stabbed to death and the third one missing. The husband was held for questioning. Later that day, the third child was found ten miles away. She was killed by having a ball point pen shoved in her neck and bled out. By this time the husband’s alibi had been checked out and it was proven he was nowhere near Dora’s apartment that day.

With the list of suspects narrowed down from two to one, Dora was quickly arrested. Evidence of murder was found in her car, which she claimed her ex had planted. Her inevitable insanity defense tanked and Dora was sentenced to death, after which she blamed everyone else, her lawyers, the police, the prosecutors, the judge, for her situation. Jurors said Buenrostro showed a lack of remorse when she testified during the penalty hearings. She planned the killings to hurt her husband, then tried to frame him.

       4. Susan Dianne Eubanks: Shooting for Love

Born of generations old California trailer trash, Susan Eubanks just couldn’t find love. Having four sons by four different men somehow just didn’t attract Mr. Right. Even with her added quirky traits of alcoholism and pill popping, the finer things seemed to pass her by. Susan’s life just couldn’t seem to get started.

Thus one day, after a long day at a bar of mixing vodka with valium she got into an explosive fight with her boyfriend (not the father of any of her children). She slashed 2 tires on his car and refused to let him in the home. He called the police and they then escorted him to the home, where he removed some belongings and left. Susan then decided to reset the clock. She took a .38 revolver and killed her four boys, aged 14, 7, 8, and 4. A fifth boy, her nephew was also shot, but he survived.

She then attempted suicide by shooting herself in the stomach. The defense tried to use this as part of her insanity plea, but the jury did not believe her. If you really want to kill yourself, why not the head? They then shifted to a blackout defense, she had imbibed so much that she didn’t remember doing anything- but that is not grounds for insanity.

In September 1999, a jury decided Susan Eubanks should be executed for murder. At her sentencing a month later, she said she loved her children but felt they would be better off dead. She said she killed her boys as a final act of love in what was an attempted murder-suicide.

 

 

5.  Michelle Lynn Kehoe: The Eternal Cut-Up

And rounding up this affair we have the wonderful Michelle Kehoe, a narcissistic chronically depressed loner, who turned every public occasion into a sob fest about herself. One night after everyone had gotten tired her complaining about how hard her life was, she decided enough was enough, put her two kids, 7 and 4, in a van and drove to a remote area. She then placed duct tape over her sons' eyes, mouths and hands and cut their throats with a hunting knife she had bought a month earlier. She then cut her own throat. Just before this she had written a note to make it appear as though they were abducted by a fictitious assailant, and she made similar claims to investigators before admitting to the crime. The note said a man broke into the car when the family stopped at a gas station and forced them to the area where the van was found. In the note, Kehoe said she tried to fight him off with pepper spray, but he knocked her unconscious.

All this made her insanity defense a pathetic joke. That and the fact her seven-year-old son survived the attack and testified against her in court. She was sentenced to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole.



That's it for this year. Happy Mother's Day everyone.

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My Honeymoon: Sick in Honduras

Drifting on our booze cruise, we docked at Roatan, Honduras. Yes, the same Honduras that once got into a shooting war with neighboring El Salvador over a soccer match. Luckily this port is part of an archipelago of islands claimed by Honduras, so they can keep most of the degradation away from delicate eyes like mine.

But honestly, they didn’t do a very good job.

Now, mark that my recollections here are tinted by a sinus infection I had forming in my lungs. The constant shift back and forth from air conditioned dry coolness to water-pregnant 90 percent humid heat began to eat away at me. Eventually it formed a knot of filth that spread.

Still, I in my rugged masculinity was determined to push on. I had paid for this crap and we were going to do it! Well, most of it. Well, some of it. Frankly after a few hours, I didn’t have anything left in me. All I could manage was to sit in my room and suck down a hot toddy.

Basic Reflections

We had hired a tour guide for the day to take us around to the various local points of interest. His name was Guy, originally from Costa Rica. He told us that once he came to Honduras he fell in love, about how much more opportunity here than where he came from. Looking around at all the shacks, the tourist traps made from scrap lumber hammered clumsily together, I could only guess at what a shithole Costa Rica must be.

Unlike Belize, which had the veneer of once being prosperous, it was clear that this third world island had almost literally nothing going for it until the cruise lines stuck a port on its tail end. Any place not owned by a Westerner was a dirt poor shack, made from leftover garbage and dead dreams. It was impossible to keep the filth out of eyesight as, apart from the constantly encroaching foliage, that was all there really was. The only cars on the roads were tourist taxis, like the one we were in, zooming fat Americans about from dingy dive to overpriced tourist trap.

 

The entire economy of the island must have been based on tourism as they charged for everything. Apart from when we went to the highest point on Roatan, a greedy palm was stuck out before every event. I don’t mean just the things we did listed below. Those we expected to pay for. But things like going to the beach, using wi-fi (which I still had my phone turned off) cost twenty dollars per person- an absolute rip-off. 

The Sloth and Monkey Zoo

The highlight of the day for me was a private enclave where they breed white faced capuchin monkeys, sloths and various toucans.  This was better than any zoo, as you got to go into cages with them, and interact with the beasts. As I said, this was my favorite. The wife, on the other hand, had an adverse reaction to hairy, sweaty, apes crawling about her- Don’t know why she married me then.

We entered the cage and two monkeys immediately alighted onto my head. I’ve had a lot heavier cats jump up and down my torso, so I had no problem with it. My wife screamed and batted one to the ground. She did much better when the toucan landed on her hat, but was less than thrilled by the bird’s parting present.

 

The monkey spent its time wrapping its tail around my face, and rubbing up against my head. The guide explained that the creature was absorbing moisture from my face of which there was plenty. After he had wiped my brow for me, the animal became more intrusive in his examination. Little fingers dug into my ears and pulled out the wax, which he promptly ate. I honestly didn’t know how to feel about this. On one hand it was gross. on the other it did me a service, like pilot fish that cleaned shark’s teeth

The oddest experience was holding the three toed sloth. With a well-deserved reputation for sluggishness, the animal didn’t struggle in our arms. In fact, if I was reading its facial expressions correctly, it seemed to enjoy it. It was like holding a plump one year old with four inch fingernails. The animal shifted about, looked at me, looked around, but basically clamped onto us as if we were tree branches.

Snorkeling

I had become somewhat pale by this time and my wife was whispering profanities at me about how my illness was ruining the whole trip for her. So I bucked it up and we went on the smallest chocolate factory I’ve ever seen. Basically it was a set up in someone’s attic. After a ten minute demonstration they tried force chocolate on us. We declined and thing went south from there. For that reason, we skipped the rum factory and went straight to what my wife was waiting for, the snorkeling.

A rusty skip pulled up at the dock and we got on with another family. We had come prepared with our gear, but I hadn’t tried it on yet. The last time I had gone snorkeling was in Lake Ontario before I had hit double digits, and I hated it. I couldn’t get the damn pipe to stay up to keep drinking me air and it seemed useless to stay flat looking down, when it was more fun to go down and zip about. 

 

By this time, the sinus infection had hit my lungs, breathing became more intense. What’s worse was that the damn mask sealed itself hard around my nose and I sure felt like I was suffocating. It was god awful and once again I had trouble getting air down the tube, but plenty of water came.

My wife kept bobbing up jabbering about all the wonderful fish I was missing out on. But it was so uncomfortable that I chucked the gear and figured if I wanted to see the damn fish, I’d fucking google them. I spent next hour enjoying myself by swimming the depths and banging my legs against the reefs. It was very relaxing. Didn’t need a suffocation mask to do that!

The Pharmacy

Well the day ended a little early, I was wiped out by all that swimming and monkeying around, plus the first stages of the infection was all over me. I suggested going to the ship’s doctor and wondered about getting some antibiotics on board, when my wife yelled that I could go to one of the pharmacies at the port.

“Will they have them?”

“Oh hell yeah. No prescription needed. Pus they carry all sorts of other things that’ll fuck your shit right up.”

With that sort of recommendation, I hopped right over. It was an open at one end with no front door. Typical of a shop at a cruise port. At first it looked like it was just full of all of the banal goods of a standard pharmacy: bandages, rubbing alcohol, cough syrup. Then I gazed upwards and read a sign listing all of the goodness behind the counter: steroids, muscle relaxers, pain pills. All the pharmaceutical colors of the rainbow.

 

I asked the woman behind the counter about my needs and she handed over a box of 100 amoxicillan tablets. My eyes widen, to even get this far in the states would’ve cost way too much, and eaten up several hours waiting for the doctor to saunter in.

“How much?” I asked, fearing for my wallet.

“Thirty five dollars for the entire box.” she replied, stifling a smirk.

I got the impression, she thought she was ripping me off, but I didn’t care. I was happy as hell. I downed two and headed for my cabin.

Rest of the Trip

So there I was, stuck in bed, watching the most random shows and films pop up on the ship’s television channels. My wife, the human gadfly, was out and about on the trip. Making friends, running up debts at the casino, drinking and gorging. She’d occasionally show up to toss me a banana or a partially eaten sausage- whatever was left on her tray when she was done.

There was one further stop, Cozumel, Mexico, but I couldn’t get out of the bed to enjoy it. My wife went and later reported that it was the best port on the trip, but she may have thought that because I wasn’t there. 

Three days later we pulled into Tampa and, sore and sick, we disembarked for another 9 hour journey back up the highways to our beloved Columbia, South Carolina. There we lived happily ever after, until she burnt her first pot roast and then there was HELL to pay.
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My Honeymoon: Second Stop- Belize

Part three of my honeymoon cruise around the Caribbean. Previously I described the murdership we sailed out on, and our first port of call - Costa Maya. The next day we descended on the small third world country of Belize. Unlike Costa Maya, they did not attempt to cover up the poverty.

Belize City, Belize

          For those who are unaware, the country of Belize used to be called British Honduras. It’s roughly about the size of Massachusetts with less than half a million people living in it. Belize was officially given independence in 1981 due to the place being a money pit. But despite the poverty, the place has two things which the standard American tourist will appreciate:

1) Plenty of cheap booze.

2) Everyone speaks English.

          There wasn’t much going on at the port, so we had booked a tour of the city, culminating in a trip to a Mayan ruin. My newly minted wife wasn’t too interested, this was the part I had insisted upon. The pyramids in Egypt have become too commercialized for my tastes and this was the next best thing.

Beautiful Belize City

 

We began by leaving our beloved murder ship with its constant air conditioning, and settled on a rattling ex-school bus where the air cut off after every jolt over a pot hole. The tour brought us through what I initially took to the ruins of a town, only to discover the place was one of their major cities. Apart from some standout government and business buildings, the place looked like Sarajevo after six months of siege. To be fair, some of it was due to a typhoon hitting the city two years earlier.  

Most of the buildings were left over from British rule, having been constructed in the 1940s and 50s, then patched up with various floating debris in further decades. There were a large number of unfinished cement foundations, where story or two had been laid out, then abandoned. Rusty cables stuck out of tops of pillars where the next floor was intended to go. It was as if they started construction then suddenly ran out of money.

All the while, my wife noticed one particular detail. A lack of businesses, or at least chain businesses, in the city. While an occasional market or small taxi ring popped up, there didn’t seem to be a lot of jobs flourishing. Which may have been why our tour guide was so upbeat and happy. They actually had employment.

 

Due to a snafu with misplacing the tickets (not my fault), we were placed in one group and then transferred to another upon reaching our destination. So we had two tour guides, but they were speaking off of the same script and made the same corny jokes.

“You better Belize it!” was repeated over and over again.

Eventually we hit the highlight of the trip (for me, someone else wasn’t too impressed), the Mayan ruins of Lamanai. After a nice rum coconut- they cut a hole in the top and filled it up with rum for $5- we took a mud skip over to the island were the Mayan’s once held dominion. Our new guide, a former member of the Belize Defense Force, explained to us that while the once Mayan Empire had collapsed, the culture had never really gone away. It had simply been suppressed and ignored by first the Aztecs and then the Spanish. The theoretical reasons for the collapse vary from climate change, to civil war, to disease, to famine. We will probably never know.

Mask Temple of Lamanai

 

I know my demeanor in these blogs tends to of a disinterested sarcasm, but I have to admit getting all giddy on witnessing these structures built over three thousand years ago. Ancient houses, temples, courtyards, game courts. Several million feet must’ve trampled across that ground over the millennia. High priests, princes, slaves, and laborers. Lost, gone, and forgotten in time’s void. God damn, I’m depressing myself.

It was damn hot in that jungle, surprise, surprise, and I was blinded by constant sweat that dripped off my forehead. Yet I heroically pushed on to the climax of the trip, The High Temple of Lamanai. We’d already gone past the Jaguar and Mask Temples, but this one was special because we got to climb it.

One hundred and eight feet tall. Those steps you see in the picture are incredibly steep and large. Considering the average Mayan back in the day measured about 5’4”, it would’ve been an ordeal for most people. The last set of stairs to the top were so steep that we can to crawl up them. Our guide said that this was deliberate, so everyone was forced to prostrate themselves in the presence of the Gods.

High Temple of Lamanai

             As you may not know, I have a problem with heights. Specifically looking down from them. So the moment I reacted the top, where no safety railings dwelled, vertigo hit. My wife was fine, dancing about, taking in the view. But I stood up, grew dizzy, and nearly fell off the top. I crawled down to the bottom. But for those few seconds I had done it.

Mission accomplished, we went back to the ship to indulge our drinks package and playing bar trivia with questions asked by someone who could barely speak English.

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