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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Mon Feb 06, 2012 6:05 pm 
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Okay time to get in the way back machine and tell the story of the great monkey fight of 77.....oh wait that is another story and it cost me $20.00. This one is how I got my ass handed to me by a flipping monkey.

For some odd reason the U.S. Army in its infinite wisdom decided to send my platoon to the great island nation of the Republic of the Philippines or as it is or was commonly known by many a Sailor and Marine....oh and Air Force personnel as the PI.

Well after getting into way to many fights with the Air Force personnel stationed at Clark, it seems that the AF did not appreciate our fighting ability when we put a few of their flight crews into the base hospital and so we were shipped down to Subic Bay Naval Base (and Cubi Point) in the city of Olongopo City.

The Navy decided that hey since we like to fight and Marines for some reason like to fight U.S. Navy sailors, then maybe they would kill two birds with one stone, so to speak and let the U.S. Army and U.S.M.C. fight each other for a change and billeted us between a really swanky Navy barracks and the U.S.M.C. WWII issue Quonset huts, sort of like a buffer zone or DMZ.

Anyway, lets just say that did not work out to well, since the Marines seemed to like us just a tad bit better than they did the sailors and well sailors seemed to be their victims of choice or were just to stupid to realize that a fat webble shapped desk jockey is no match for a fighting Marine or any Marine for that matter.

Out behind our little collection of huts was a dumpster, typical dumpster...nothing interesting or exciting other than it was surrounded by this troop of monkeys. See it was their dumpster and well they did not like it when mere humans had the brass balls to invade their dumpster kingdom.

Now the problem was we did not like the monkeys either, because for some reason the platoon sergeant was a bit ticked off at us, he had a really nice set up back at Clark AB and well he used to make us do our daily five mile run right through Monkey land.....complete with all the sticks and stones and monkey shit they could throw at us.....and on occasion chase us.

Needless to say neither sided like each other.

One evening after hitting the enlisted club (located just across the street from our barracks, the Marine barracks and the Navy barracks) and having drank way, way to much of the local San Miguel beer and my arch nemesis Tequila also known in some circles as teˈkila my squad mates decided that it was my turn to take out the trash and of course brave the monkey gauntlet.

Well I grab my beer, and the bags of trash and out the door I go.....thinking maybe I will get lucky and the monkeys will all be off doing monkey things somewhere else.

Nope......six or seven of the little monsters are sitting around and on top of the dumpster and one tiny little baby monkey is on the ground. So I make some noise and basically get the monkey finger. Oh says now that is just not right......you stupid monkeys don't know who you are fooling with......I'm a hard core heart breaker, life taker, widow maker and not to be messed with by mere monkeys. I even resort to a few well placed jibes...such as I've eaten better monkeys than you are or ever will be.....to no effect.

Okay, let's get physical...........Move Over, Through, or Around Obstacles (Except in the case of Minefields)

So I place my beer on the ground, place the trash bags next to the beer, pick up a nice looking rock and throw it at the dumpster (okay....okay I was throwing it at the freaking monkey that was eyeballing me), hit the dumpster with a big bang and the monkeys jump off.

Screw with me will you......says I with a chuckle....stupid freaking monkeys......so I bend over to pick up my beer for a swig and just as I grab it and start to pull it towards my lips I get this feeling that some asshole out there is looking at me over his gunsights....you know a creepy vibe that just well its hard to describe......its a feeling is all.

So I glance over towards the dumpster.....just in time to catch (what I later believe to be the exact same freaking rock) a rock to my right upper sinus cavity. When I woke up....my trash was scattered all over the back lot, my beer was gone and I had a huge bleeding (required stitches from the Navy Corpsman or in this case Corpscreature) knot on my forehead and a flipping scrape on my face from sliding into the gravel, not to mention my neck hurt as well.

I look around to see if anyone by chance has been a witness to this debacle and low and behold there is...........thankfully its my best friend. So I start to gather all the trash up and down comes Fitz to help out...laughing his ass off by the way.

He takes a look at me and says I'll help you finish cleaning up, and then I'm going to take you to the Navy hospital, I think you have a concussion.

I tell him shit, it couldn't get any worse than this, to which he replies well at least you did not wake up with a butt ache as well.....freaking monkeys, kicked my ass, rummaged in my garbage bags and stole my flipping San Miguel beer.

As he helped me back to the q-huts I asked him which one was it, and he told me it was the little bastard....and to just let it go.......

Score: Monkeys 1 Team Humans or me 0.

_________________
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.


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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Wed Feb 08, 2012 1:45 am 
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Laager wrote:
shrapnel wrote:
Laager wrote:
After about 15 minutes of thrashing around in the woods, I circle back to my truck...which is still running, radio going and look for the bear. I don't see him, so I make a mad dash for the truck......get in slam the door....roll the manual windo up...

I was almost expecting you to say that the bear was in the back seat, waiting for you. :gonk:


Trust me I edged way the heck out to get a real good look inside before I dashed from the woodline to the truck. I just knew that sneaky sob was waiting for me to let my guard down. More than likely he was back at the den talking crap about me....... :lol:

Better to have him back at the den TALKING shit about you, then have back at the den TAKING a shit that used to BE you.

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My first two warning shots are aimed center of mass. If that don't warn them I fire warning shots at their head until they are warned enough that I am no longer in fear for my life.


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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Wed Feb 08, 2012 10:34 am 
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KnightoftheRoc wrote:
Laager wrote:
shrapnel wrote:
Laager wrote:
After about 15 minutes of thrashing around in the woods, I circle back to my truck...which is still running, radio going and look for the bear. I don't see him, so I make a mad dash for the truck......get in slam the door....roll the manual windo up...

I was almost expecting you to say that the bear was in the back seat, waiting for you. :gonk:


Trust me I edged way the heck out to get a real good look inside before I dashed from the woodline to the truck. I just knew that sneaky sob was waiting for me to let my guard down. More than likely he was back at the den talking crap about me....... :lol:

Better to have him back at the den TALKING shit about you, then have back at the den TAKING a shit that used to BE you.



You got that right.......at least we both have a story. :lol:

_________________
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.


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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Wed Feb 08, 2012 7:05 pm 
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Laager wrote:
Okay time to get in the way back machine and tell the story of the great monkey fight of 77.....oh wait that is another story and it cost me $20.00. This one is how I got my ass handed to me by a flipping monkey.

For some odd reason the U.S. Army in its infinite wisdom decided to send my platoon to the great island nation of the Republic of the Philippines or as it is or was commonly known by many a Sailor and Marine....oh and Air Force personnel as the PI.

Well after getting into way to many fights with the Air Force personnel stationed at Clark, it seems that the AF did not appreciate our fighting ability when we put a few of their flight crews into the base hospital and so we were shipped down to Subic Bay Naval Base (and Cubi Point) in the city of Olongopo City.

The Navy decided that hey since we like to fight and Marines for some reason like to fight U.S. Navy sailors, then maybe they would kill two birds with one stone, so to speak and let the U.S. Army and U.S.M.C. fight each other for a change and billeted us between a really swanky Navy barracks and the U.S.M.C. WWII issue Quonset huts, sort of like a buffer zone or DMZ.

Anyway, lets just say that did not work out to well, since the Marines seemed to like us just a tad bit better than they did the sailors and well sailors seemed to be their victims of choice or were just to stupid to realize that a fat webble shapped desk jockey is no match for a fighting Marine or any Marine for that matter.

Out behind our little collection of huts was a dumpster, typical dumpster...nothing interesting or exciting other than it was surrounded by this troop of monkeys. See it was their dumpster and well they did not like it when mere humans had the brass balls to invade their dumpster kingdom.

Now the problem was we did not like the monkeys either, because for some reason the platoon sergeant was a bit ticked off at us, he had a really nice set up back at Clark AB and well he used to make us do our daily five mile run right through Monkey land.....complete with all the sticks and stones and monkey shit they could throw at us.....and on occasion chase us.

Needless to say neither sided like each other.

One evening after hitting the enlisted club (located just across the street from our barracks, the Marine barracks and the Navy barracks) and having drank way, way to much of the local San Miguel beer and my arch nemesis Tequila also known in some circles as teˈkila my squad mates decided that it was my turn to take out the trash and of course brave the monkey gauntlet.

Well I grab my beer, and the bags of trash and out the door I go.....thinking maybe I will get lucky and the monkeys will all be off doing monkey things somewhere else.

Nope......six or seven of the little monsters are sitting around and on top of the dumpster and one tiny little baby monkey is on the ground. So I make some noise and basically get the monkey finger. Oh says now that is just not right......you stupid monkeys don't know who you are fooling with......I'm a hard core heart breaker, life taker, widow maker and not to be messed with by mere monkeys. I even resort to a few well placed jibes...such as I've eaten better monkeys than you are or ever will be.....to no effect.

Okay, let's get physical...........Move Over, Through, or Around Obstacles (Except in the case of Minefields)

So I place my beer on the ground, place the trash bags next to the beer, pick up a nice looking rock and throw it at the dumpster (okay....okay I was throwing it at the freaking monkey that was eyeballing me), hit the dumpster with a big bang and the monkeys jump off.

Screw with me will you......says I with a chuckle....stupid freaking monkeys......so I bend over to pick up my beer for a swig and just as I grab it and start to pull it towards my lips I get this feeling that some asshole out there is looking at me over his gunsights....you know a creepy vibe that just well its hard to describe......its a feeling is all.

So I glance over towards the dumpster.....just in time to catch (what I later believe to be the exact same freaking rock) a rock to my right upper sinus cavity. When I woke up....my trash was scattered all over the back lot, my beer was gone and I had a huge bleeding (required stitches from the Navy Corpsman or in this case Corpscreature) knot on my forehead and a flipping scrape on my face from sliding into the gravel, not to mention my neck hurt as well.

I look around to see if anyone by chance has been a witness to this debacle and low and behold there is...........thankfully its my best friend. So I start to gather all the trash up and down comes Fitz to help out...laughing his ass off by the way.

He takes a look at me and says I'll help you finish cleaning up, and then I'm going to take you to the Navy hospital, I think you have a concussion.

I tell him shit, it couldn't get any worse than this, to which he replies well at least you did not wake up with a butt ache as well.....freaking monkeys, kicked my ass, rummaged in my garbage bags and stole my flipping San Miguel beer.

As he helped me back to the q-huts I asked him which one was it, and he told me it was the little bastard....and to just let it go.......

Score: Monkeys 1 Team Humans or me 0.



Dude, that's a hell of a story.

_________________
PistolPete wrote:Seriously, fashion is dumb. But my wife likes the way they make my ass look or the way you can follow the veins on my balls through the denim or something. Whatever. I can dress up once in a while.


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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Wed Feb 08, 2012 9:21 pm 
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Viper shtf wrote:
Laager wrote:


Dude, that's a hell of a story.


I still have the scar.......flipping monkeys.......oh and everytime we ate mystery meat off of a street cart (vendor) I asked for the Monkey meat.

Maybe one day I will tell you about the great monkey fight of 77.
The Sky Club riot (fight between the U.S. Navy, U.S.M.C. and six Army soldiers) :?
The please SFC Jefferies for the love of God, don't leave me alone in the medic track. :oops:
Never ever ask for "The Works" at the Princess massage palor in the PI. :cry:
The Never, ever "pinky promise" a Korean hooker. :o
The Great Trike Race.
They call him the Streak.
Some stories you take to your grave and beyond.
The greatest procurement artist (or as the Navy says Comshaw Artist)
The Roach

or a few others.......

_________________
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.


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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Wed Feb 08, 2012 10:50 pm 
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Laager, your stories remind of reading Skippy's list. THAT good. :D

For those who don't know of Specialist Skippy Schwartz, enjoy: http://skippyslist.com/list/
While I have never met the man personally, I CAN state that as of 1981, to my knowledge, most of the items on his list would be completely believable. Don't ask how I know- if I told you, I'd have to kill you :D

_________________
silentpoet wrote:
My first two warning shots are aimed center of mass. If that don't warn them I fire warning shots at their head until they are warned enough that I am no longer in fear for my life.


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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 1:22 am 
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Location: New Zealand
Laager wrote:
Maybe one day I will tell you about the great monkey fight of 77.
The Sky Club riot (fight between the U.S. Navy, U.S.M.C. and six Army soldiers) :?
The please SFC Jefferies for the love of God, don't leave me alone in the medic track. :oops:
Never ever ask for "The Works" at the Princess massage palor in the PI. :cry:
The Never, ever "pinky promise" a Korean hooker. :o
The Great Trike Race.
They call him the Streak.
Some stories you take to your grave and beyond.
The greatest procurement artist (or as the Navy says Comshaw Artist)
The Roach

or a few others.......


Why are we waiting?, Why are we waiting?, Why are we waiting?, Why are we waiting?, Why are we waiting?, Why are we waiting?, Why are we waiting?

Why are we waiting for MOAR!

_________________
Screw the 2012 apocalypse. Ragnarok bitches!

There are no foolish questions and no man becomes a fool until he has stopped asking questions


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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 2:31 am 
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KnightoftheRoc wrote:
Laager, your stories remind of reading Skippy's list. THAT good. :D

For those who don't know of Specialist Skippy Schwartz, enjoy: http://skippyslist.com/list/
While I have never met the man personally, I CAN state that as of 1981, to my knowledge, most of the items on his list would be completely believable. Don't ask how I know- if I told you, I'd have to kill you :D


Holy Crap!! Spc Skippy Schwartz and I have a lot in common.....lol I think we associated with the same kind of soldiers. I'm glad to see some things remain the same, then again they never liked kicking anyone out, since they had a shortage of live bodies in the 70's.

Thanks for the website.

Here's a few from me.....

Tact is the ability to get along with others.....learn it, love it....live it...and that goes for everyone on your fireteam, squad and section.

Regardless of the fact that out of 15 men in your section 13 were told by a judge that they had to serve either six years in the state pen or four years in the military branch that would accept them you will not refer to your platoon as the Penal Platoon, or Penal Colony. In fact just stop using the word Penal altogether.

Please do not ID known or suspected CID officers while they are undercover....it is not appropriate to yell out at formation that someone is a CID nark. It does not matter if they really were CID agents, do not do it any more.

Fighting within your platoon, company, battalion is not allowed. If you want to fight call the First Sergeant. (Change order.....do not call the First Sergeant anymore if you want to fight, yes there is such a thing as Convalescence leave and yes we may have a new First Sergeant)

Knife fights to see who gets to strip and take photographs of their ass and other body parts in the Platoon Sergeants face while he his drunk is not allowed. Knife fights are not allowed for any reason other than in an active combat zone against the designated enemy. (No you can not designate who the enemy is, that is the job for higher)...No you will never get that high in the chain of command.

What in the name of all that is Holy is wrong with you people? Is there nothing sacred to you? Please return the chaplain's sacramental wine.

Repainting a training grenade green is not allowed, nor is throwing said training aid into a crowded hooch, bar, or dwelling, either military or civilian for that matter any training aide. Includes clicking the clacker (with the wires attached) on a M18A1 Claymore.

Assualting and robbing pogues on payday is not allowed. This includes throwing them into "Shit River" while assualting them or robbing them or just because they are pogues or any other reason.

Throwing C-rats to kids on the road is not allowed....(put one little shit in the hospital with a full can of peaches/mixed fruit)

Knocking VIPs into "the Pit" while on an obstacle course is not allowed by accident or on purpose. Neither is buttstroking allowed.

You are not allowed to talk to any reporters, foriegn or domestic includes Stars n Stripes reporters. In fact you are not allowed to talk to VIPs either.

Sending your new Sergeant out into an unmarked anti-personnel mine field for a picture to send home to his wife is not allowed, nor can you send anyone else in.

Please do not loose another officer during terrian training, we just got this one.

Locking the Roach in a Wall locker (with or without duct taping his privates) is not allowed. Throwing said locker with or without Roach in it out of the window
is not allowed.

Stealing or borrowing the Navy Base Commander's vehicle is not allowed nor can you borrow the Armor Battalion commander's M41 Walker Bulldog (for Amor familiarization or any other reason)

Not allowed to send support staff or support personnel in first, to clear a building or see if there are any enemy soldiers in the immediate area, even if it is an exercise.

When said E&E exercise is over, it is over then and there, not the next day when you wander in to the free zone. Yes we know that we said it would last four days, but it was over in two, didn't you guys hear the copters flying over and the loudspeakers telling you the exercise was over? No it was not Psyops.

You are not allowed to get "Ski" to fall on the Concertina wire or Barb Wire fencing for any reason.

You are not allowed to bet on the outcome of anything. Yes this is in direct response to the great monkey fight as well as to some of your other bets.

Please do not tell Japanese Naval Officers that the USS Missouri is right where they fucking left it the last time they flew in.

Not allowed to refer to Senior NCOs and Officers (pogues or not) as Sergeant Weebles. Also stop saying it to their faces and in written reports.

Yes I know that I told you that you had to write down in the duty log book everything that happens during your tour of duty. I meant of significant importance, when you fart, pick your nose and take a shit or how long it was or took is not significant. Two entries a night is not a duty log, stuff happens inbetween the time you assume the duty and are relieved. Military stuff, not personal stuff. No it is not significant or important to know how many times the phone rang before you answered it.

There have been complaints that someone taught a Jackass how to drink beer....which one of you Jackasses did it? No it does not matter if it is really a donkey.

Okay, I don't know which one of you morons taught that monkey to drink, but now he's got a freaking drinking problem. He's scaring the living shit out of the cooks. No you can not take him to AA meetings, and yes I am looking at you.

Jesus are you all retarded or something?

What the hell do you mean you all failed the MMPI (Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory), crap I knew you were all retards. What the hell do you mean I have to go to mental health to get Ski, grif and Dom out?

Sweet Jesus Mother of God.....how the hell did you get promoted?

Do not refer to your unit as being part of the Webelos or We Blows.

You and your men are to remain in uniform at all times while on duty. This means with your uniform on your body.....dog tags alone are not considered a full uniform, you must conform to the posted uniform of the day. You are not allowed to threaten or coerice the unit clerk into making a mistake on the daily uniform roster.....or any official document. No it is not the Commander's fault if he or the First Sergeant fails to catch the mistake before the orders are posted.

You are to remain fully clothed at all times.

You are not to wear your uniform while you shower.

You are not allowed to wear any clothes when you shower.

Are you doing this on purpose? How hard is this to understand? No clothes on in the shower, clothes on when you are out of the shower at all times.

No matter what you think or have been told the word F**k is not an action verb to be used around and especially directed at or towards senior NCOs, officers and visiting VIPs.

Using the Roach, any other person (military or civilian) as well as military property and civilian or local government property as a diversion in order to enter the base after curfew is not allowed.

Diversions that destroy U.S. Army or governmental property during a training exercise are not allowed.

Making an using Molotov cocktails or other improvised explosives is not allowed during training exercises or at any other time until further notice...in writing.

You are not Klingon Warriors and the Army is not the Vulcan High Command.

Duct taping OPFOR personnel together in sexually suggestive positions after capturing them is not allowed. Nor is telling them you are the The People's Freedom Army and you are here to strike a blow for freedom in any language or with any accent, while holding a knife to their throat. Make that any weapon.

The Company commander is not to be referred to as a Tribble.

While sleeping with females is allowed (while off duty), taking their underwear and tacking it to the Company Bulletin Board (in the day room or any other area) is not allowed. Nor is it allowed to be considered a throphy of any sort, no you can not cut their hair.

You are not allowed to Count coup so you can win prestige in battle, no I am sure the women will still fall all over you if you do not count coup. No you can not take throphies of any kind. Look how hard is this to understand, you are not Indians.....you are as white as I am.....who the hell are the Hekawi Indians and where is the tribe located?

You will tell whomever is the platoon pickpocket to stop, and please return all of the stuff. The Battalion commander wants his wallet back, especially the pictures of his wife. No it is not a survival trait, Yes Pickpocketing is a form of larceny and is against the UCMJ.

It seems that the Commander of Subic Bay Naval Base is missing his new office carpet. Please return it.

Buying a wife is not allowed. You got away with it once, don't do it again or else.

Refusing to speak English is not allowed. No you do not have Amnesia.

Just because you speak the language and the hookers like you, you will stop telling the hookers that the officers and Senior NCOs all have the clap or any other STD. Or have small dicks or can't get it up.

Drinking anything that will peel the paint off of a tank or any military vehicle is not allowed.

You will cooperate with medical personnel and follow their orders and you will not assualt them...period. No you can not request permission to assualt them. Just do not do it.

When in doubt call someone higher in your chain of command. Side note....no God is not considered to be in your chain of command, neither is the Devil, the local Shaman or anyone other than an active duty military member....make that U.S. or allied.

Fix bayonets and charge is not an acceptable solution to the pay clerk being late, the Mess Hall food or any number of minor things. Just stop fixing bayonets.

Banzai is now an off limits as is Huj, Huj, Hajrá!, Libertad o muerte!, Viva la Muerte!, Tora, Tora, Tora!, Hakkaa päälle!. No more battle cries....you are supposed to be American Soldiers. God help us.

Pulling your combat knife out and sharpening it while glaring at someone during a briefing or class is not acceptable behavior and will cease.

You are not allowed to carry a sword. Okay its a cutlass. The answer is still no. I don't give a rat's ass if it is an issue 1917 Navy Cutlass. You are not in the Navy. End of the story. Jesus Christ where do these people come from........Ohio....shut the hell up it was a rhetorical question. Whats a rhetorical question? Christ on a crutch.

Drinking from an Alcoholic drink bottle while in uniform is not allowed, this includes chugging a 5th of Jeam Beam that turns out to be tea...especially when running a live fire range of any type.

When running a live fire range you are not allowed to tell the students that if they turn around with a weapon in their hands that you will shoot their goat smelling ass dead on the spot. (you are also not allowed to tell them if they fumble/drop a live grenade that you will leave their goat smelling ass behind)

Yes we know the First Sergeant has a pet dog....no you can not have a pet goat or any other live animal or dead or in any state in between as a pet. No one wants to know what a goat's ass smells like. No one wants to know how you know either.

Darn Skippy or Aye, Aye, Sir is not the proper way to respond. You will respond with Yes sir" and "no sir". Please stop referring to females as a sir, they are ma'ams. No that is not short for mammaries.

You will not refer to Lieutenant Parmenter as "Wilton" as well as Lieutenant Parker as Ensign Parker. The Mess Hall sergeant will no longer be referred to as Fuji Kobiaji...yes we know he is Japanese and yes we know his name is hard to pronounce. Fuji for short will not be used either. Or any combination thereof.

You were never stationed at Fort Courage and you do not have orders to Fort Courage and you do not know anyone named Sgt. Morgan O'Rourke or Cpl. Randolph Agarn. Side note....stop referring to everyone in Field Artillery as Trooper Duffy. Also this includes Col. Robert E. Hogan, Col. Wilhelm Klink, Sgt. Hans Georg Schultz. Side note.....you are not allowed to refer to any TV shows in reference to your NCO's and Officers or the U.S. Military.

As you all know the Company Commander's office has been smelling like fecal matter. Yes, what is it? Fecal matter? It's a fancy word for shit. Okay, as I just said the CC's office has been smelling like fecal matter, we have just found out that someone has been shitting in a 5 gallon bucket and putting it above his office, in the ceiling. I don't want to know who the mystery shitter is, or why he is doing it, please stop.

Okay, as you all know the CC's office has been smelling like rotting fish. We have found some dead fish stuffed behind his filing cabinet drawers. For the love of God people, just stop.



I can honestly say that it was the best time of my young life and the worst time as well.

_________________
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.


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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 2:32 am 
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Dr Jekell wrote:
Laager wrote:
Maybe one day I will tell you about the great monkey fight of 77.
The Sky Club riot (fight between the U.S. Navy, U.S.M.C. and six Army soldiers) :?
The please SFC Jefferies for the love of God, don't leave me alone in the medic track. :oops:
Never ever ask for "The Works" at the Princess massage palor in the PI. :cry:
The Never, ever "pinky promise" a Korean hooker. :o
The Great Trike Race.
They call him the Streak.
Some stories you take to your grave and beyond.
The greatest procurement artist (or as the Navy says Comshaw Artist)
The Roach

or a few others.......


Why are we waiting?, Why are we waiting?, Why are we waiting?, Why are we waiting?, Why are we waiting?, Why are we waiting?, Why are we waiting?

Why are we waiting for MOAR!


Pick a story and I'll tell it to you.........

_________________
“Complacency kills. Paranoia is the reason I’m still alive.” If we do happen to make contact, I expect nothing less than gratuitous violence from the lot of ya.


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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 2:42 am 
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okay so none of these are my stories they belong to my grandpa and a friends dad,

story 1 - My grandpa served in the navy back during korea, but first a little back ground on my grandpa he grew up in a home where his mother hated him and his brother only loved his sister and his dad would drink all the time because his wife was a bitch well any ways my grandpa got kicked out of his house when he was 14 so he became a carnny and when that fell through he joined the navy, well so during korea he served in the navy on the USS Gardiners Bay, and he was telling me this story about this this time they were in japan on leave, him and a few of his friends came out of a bar and saw these two guys woopin the shit out of this one guy so Grandpa Rupp being the Sailor that he was decided him and his friends would help this guy out so the 5 of them woop this living shit out of the two guys giving the one guy a beating, after the two guys get there asses handed to them they run off, my grandpa and his friends help the guy up and he goes on his way, so then my grandpa and his friends start heading back to the ship when out of no where 10 guys with bats,chains,ect start chasing them, so my grandpa and his friends, double time it back to the port, where the SP sees whats going on, and start having a fit about it, well afterwards after all the comation died down some chief from SP comes and tells my grandpa not to break up any fights because they happened to beat this shit out of two guys in the mob, and as it turns out the guy they saved was just some guys who brother owed money to the mob.




Do you want more stories? or should i just stop with this one?

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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 3:06 am 
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Laager wrote:
Pick a story and I'll tell it to you.........


Just start from the top and work your way down, or from the bottom to the top, what ever works best. :D

Ruppism wrote:
Do you want more stories? or should i just stop with this one?


Is that a rhetorical question?, of course we do.

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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 3:20 am 
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Laager wrote:
Yes I know that I told you that you had to write down in the duty log book everything that happens during your tour of duty. I meant of significant importance, when you fart, pick your nose and take a shit or how long it was or took is not significant. Two entries a night is not a duty log, stuff happens in between the time you assume the duty and are relieved. Military stuff, not personal stuff. No it is not significant or important to know how many times the phone rang before you answered it.
I still hear this now- I work night security, and I get...bored :D

What in the name of all that is Holy is wrong with you people?

Jesus are you all retarded or something?

Sweet Jesus Mother of God.....how the hell did you get promoted?
Sergeant Allen, is that YOU? Man, those sound familiar...
Drinking anything that will peel the paint off of a tank or any military vehicle is not allowed.
OK, for once, it wasn't something we DRANK, but it actually DID peel paint off of a tank. The US Army is kind of funny about band bumper stickers being placed on vehicles it has on display.
...you are supposed to be American Soldiers. God help us.
Heard this one addressed to us as a unit and in smaller groups of 1-20-ish often enough that even in my memory, it has echoes

I can honestly say that it was the best time of my young life and the worst time as well.

Well, for good or bad, it certainly sticks with you, doesn't it? Some of my worst experiences, which turned out making me a much better person.

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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 3:36 am 
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okay this is another one of Grandpa Rupp's stories, but first a quick chew break, okay so you know how when you were a child and the adults would be sitting at the table talking and you would be watching tv or playing and pretending not to be paying attention, but in all reality you would trade your left foot just to hear them tell one more story, well thats how i heard this story, no i did not trade my left foot for it just in case you wanted to know.

So grandpa Rupp was around 16 when this happened, one night him and his younger brother billy were at a party, this is some where out in north dakota, and well any ways his brother bills kinda drunk and his brothers about 15 and sees this guy yelling at a girl and being the straping young 15yr old he was he thought he would put an end to this bull shit, so he goes over and tell the guy to stop but the guy having atleast 40lbs on billy just hits billy at puts him on his ass grandpa Rupp seeing this goes over and gets Billy and takes him into the one of the bedrooms to talk to Billy about what happened while they were in there grandpa saw a .44 revolver and decides hes going to get even with this guy for fucking with his little brother so he tells billy to go start the car then come back inside and wait by the door, so billy dose that, so while billy is starting the car grandpa unloads the .44 then double checks that its unloaded and then waits for billy to come back in so when billy gets back in grandpa goes up to the guy that hit billy and punches him the the face and pushes him to the floor and pulls out the .44 and cocks it and puts it to the guys head and says I FUCKING HATE YOUR GUTS YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING PIECE OF SHIT, then he pulls the trigger the guy pretty much shits his pants at this point every one is watching then he tells the guy if he ever touches his brother agin he will make sure the gun is loaded, then he throws it at the guys and him and billy get the fuck out of there.

the moral of this story is dont fuck with Billy while Grandpa Rupp is around.

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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 3:45 am 
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There is one more of Grandpa Rupp's stories that i can recall that i will share with you, but first make sure your cup is full so you don't have to get up during this epic tale.

Shortly after the Korean War was over and Grandpa Rupp was still in the Navy wait no back track a couple of year. Grandpa Rupp some how obtained a fake I.D. while in the Navy and there was a bar out side of where he was stationed that him and his friends would drink at and he drank there from when he was about 17 till he was 21 well the story goes that on the night of his 21st birthday him and some other sailors went to that bar and were celabration and carrying on as sailors do, so a few hours into the night the bartender comes over to there table and says hey guys what are you celabrating for and on the the guys goes its geralds 21st birthday so the bartender goes and grabs them a pitcher and says here on the house, well about 20 mins latter he comes back and says you guys have been coming here for the last few years so how is it his 21st so they explain to the bartender that he had a fake ID so the bartender throws them all out.

the moral of this story is dont celabrate your 21st at a bar you have been going to for years.

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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 3:47 am 
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so come to think of it i can recall one more of grandpa Rupp's stories, whos up for it?

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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 3:55 am 
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Laager i want to here these 3

The please SFC Jefferies for the love of God, don't leave me alone in the medic track.
Never ever ask for "The Works" at the Princess massage palor in the PI.
The Never, ever "pinky promise" a Korean hooker.

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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 4:08 am 
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okay so time for the last of Grandpa Rupp's stories

Back in the 70's yes I said the 70's Grandpa Rupp and his daughter she was only a baby then the happened.

Well Grandpa Rupp was driving to the store actualy it was Fred Myers and well any ways hes driving there and he pulls into the parking lot, so hes trying to find a place to park his boat of a car it was a 70's Oldsmobile well any ways hes trying to find a parking spot so he sees a lady getting into her car and getting ready to back out when all the suden this guy walks behind her with a case of beer so she stops backing up and he walks on by and gets into his truck and opens up one of the beers and starts to back out and drive off so the lady finishes backing out of her spot so grandpa goes to pull in and the guy in the truck hits his car, so he looks in the back seat and makes sure his daughter is okay shes till sleeping so he gets out and walks up to the guy and goes like what the fuck are you doing and the guys like well you shouldnt be in my way grandpa then relizes the guy is drunk and tells him what the fuck i have my daughter in the back seat you need to be more careful and leaves it at that and turns to start to go back and park his car planing on calling the police once he gets inside to report the guy for DUI but instead the guy throws his can of beer at grandpa once he turns around to get back in his car grandpa being the paitent man that he is tells the guy to fuck off and ignores it since he has is daughter in the car so then the guy decides to try and start a fight with grandpa, so the guy hits grandpa, so grandpa throws his ass to the ground and starts to beat the guys face in then about 2min into it the cops show up and pull grandpa off the guy and start asking grandpa what happened, grandpa expains how the guy hit his car and thew his beer at his and how the man is drunk and is trying to drive home they then arrest the man and congradulate my grandpa on making a citizens arrest.

The moral of this story is well theres a few morals to this story 1 dont drink and drive, 2 dont fuck with Grandpa Rupp well number 2 does not really apply any more since he passed on back in 04.

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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 4:15 am 
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Okay so thats all of Granda Rupp's stories but dont worry there are still more storys about my friends dad James

James was a submariner back in the 80's i think it was, when ever i asked him what his job was in the navy he would say his job was to make swimming pools in china if he ever needed to.

well any ways the first story is about back in his A school

so he went through submariner A school and there was an ensign there that every one hated the guy was just a dick, he decribed him as gunny hartman from FMJ to the 10th power, so any ways the night before he was set to graduate from submarines school him and some of his friends decided they would prank the ensign so they got like a gallon of black pin ink and snuck into the ensigns quarters while he was out that night and took his dress whites and dyed them black with the ink let them dry and put them back, they never did see the ensign after that.

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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 4:25 am 
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okay so my last 2 stories, these are still from james my friends dad

He was on a sub some where out in the atlantic and there was a guy that they hated he just couldnt get his shit togeather no matter how much help every one gave him he was just one of those guys so for this story i will call him jack wagon since i dont actualy know his name.

so while there were out in the ocean on their sub they all decided to prank jack wagon to get back at him for being a total fuck up, so they went around and got all the magazies from every one every thing from nat geo to hunting weekly to playboy and pent house and they signed him up for all these magazines and had them sent to him on the sub so when the mail got there he had like 50 magazines that he didnt subscribe to but was getting a bill for so he had to write to each one to cancel them but the funny part is he got a subscrition for a set of botanica and ended up keeping them they cost him like 400.00

and now for story number 2

so the same jack wagon was still fucking off and just couldnt get his shit togeather, so that night they had a stand too drill and decided it would be a great night to fuck with him, so this guy had super hairy arms i mean hairy like chubaca hairy, so after the guy went to sleep they put this take over his bunk i cant recall what the tape is called but its like military grade duck tape so any ways there tape over this guys bunk and the alarm for the drill goes off and this guy leaps out of his bunk and his arm gets caught on the tape and it rips off almost all the hair on his arm.

and thats it for stories from me, some one elses turn for some epic story telling

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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 4:26 am 
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You do know this is supposed to be about you and your job, right?

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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 4:53 am 
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sorry kinda forgot about that part. wont happen again.

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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 8:07 am 
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ohh ohh ohh i have a story a work related story at that well its not about my job its about my friends dad and his job
he works in a juvinile corrections faciulity.

so there were two kids in the hall where every one has there own cell the kids in there are violent offenders and SOs
and one of the kids has food to be exact he has half a loaf of bread and peanut butter, well any ways one of the kids down the hall some how figures out he has food and ask for some the kid with food we can call him joe for now, well joe says sure and slides down a penut butter sammitch to the other kid we can call him tim for now so joe send the penut butter sammich down to tim, tim gets the sammitch and eats it then decides he wants another one so he tells joe to give him another sammich joe says no, well tim says if you dont give me one ill tell on you for having food in your cell so joe being the smart kid he is gives him another sammitch so tim gets it and wants one more so he ask joe for another one and joe tells him to go fuck himself he cant have any more, so tim once again threatens to tell on joe, joe not wanting to get in trouble but still not wanting to give tim another sammitch does something that is so foul that it makes me cringe just retelling this story, so joe takes a piece of bread and shits in it and then covers the shit in penut butter and slides it down to tim, tim then takes a big bike out of it and then notices the shit in the sammich and starts screaming , my friends dad goes over and finds out whats going on, takes the tim the kid who ate shit to med bay, and then takes the food from joe as evidence, and even worse my friends dad had to bag and tag the shit sandwitch for evidance also the kid who had the food got like another 5months for having conterband.

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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 8:13 am 
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Ruppism wrote:
sorry kinda forgot about that part. wont happen again.


Don't say that and then post someone else's story again. And then there's the almighty damage you are doing to rule 2.

Rule 2 wrote:
2.) Proofread before posting.
If it’s important enough for you to post it, you probably want us to understand it. This means using proper spelling, good grammar, punctuation, and capitals if it helps with clarity. Typos happen, but full paragraphs of misspelled words with no punctuation are difficult to read and won’t be taken seriously (if anyone bothers to read them).


Please stay on topic, and observe the rules.

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 Post subject: Re: My Job, My Hell...
PostPosted: Thu Feb 09, 2012 8:41 am 
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This thread is for anybody with a tale to tell. The weirder, the better! I want to hear them all. Everyone here wants to know! So start posting.

As for my "I wont do it again" comment, I was commenting towards my non-work related post, and hell other people have posted things that did not come from their work. I don't see you jumping on them about it.

Really as for as I knew this thread was just for the posting of stories for the goal of entertainment.

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