Holy F@#&ing S@$t!

Calm down…
Calm down Frankie-boy…
Okay, people, I have to announce that…
F@$k! I can’t believe it!
…anyway, I have to say…
Dammit! I’m so excited I can’t type…
Frank! Get a hold of yourself, man!
Anyway, my announcement is that…

Continue reading ‘Holy F@#&ing S@$t!’ »

Our Military VIII

I really like this feature, so, if you have something, either a story or a joke, e-mail me with the subject “Military”. Everyone else, enjoy.


Pw2 who can confirm firsthand that those camel spiders are large and hard to squish, writes about the incompetence of his own branch:

Many of the comments from Marines about the Air Force not being ready for combat are unfortunately spot-on. I’m a Major in the Air Force Reserve, actually I’m a full time member of the reserve I’m what is know as an Air Reserve Technician. Last year I deployed to Al Udeid Air Base Qatar from June to November in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom. I was deployed as the Deputy Air Reserve Component Liaison. That means I worked for a full Colonel (O-6) who was the Air National Guard’s (ANG) and Air Force Reserve Commands (AFRC) representative on the staff of the Commander Air Forces Central Command. (My Colonel was the go between from the 3 star ANG General and the 3 star AFRC general to the Active Duty 3 star general in charge of the air war.) So as to provide continuity, the Liaison position and the Deputy Liaison position were on staggered 120 day tours. That means the first Colonel I worked for left after about 60 days and a new Colonel replaced him. (I left about 75 days later and was replaced by an ANG Lt Col)
As part of our duties we traveled around the war zone and checked up on the ANG and AFRC troops and made sure they were getting treated fairly. So while I was in the ultimate REMF (Rear Echelon Mother F*%$#r) position, I did travel into Iraq several times. Now the first guy I worked for was pretty sharp I would have confidently followed him into battle. However, the second guy (I’ll call him “Brother Bob”) while a good man who I am sure will get into heaven, would not inspire fear in the hearts of our enemies.
On my first trip into Iraq with “Brother Bob” pretty well sums up why Air Force Officers probably shouldn’t carry guns. Since we were leaving early Tuesday morning, we went to the “armory” on Monday afternoon to get issued weapons (9mm pistol). Since tent city is a weapon free zone, I stored my weapon in Col “Brother Bob’s” trailer inside the CAOC (Combined Air Operations Center) compound. I frankly forgot about the weapons after we locked them up. Since we had a lot to do before traveling (packing, laundry drop off, working out, putting DCU (Desert Camouflage Uniform) covers on our body armor–) we agreed to take care of our errands and meet up again after chow.
When we met back up Col “Brother Bob” (sorta under his breath) told me he needed my help because he had “broken” his gun. He tells me that he was trying to slide it back like he did at the range and it came apart and he couldn’t get it back to together. He goes on to tell me that he asked one of his roommates for help (another Air Force Colonel) and he couldn’t get the gun put back together either. Trying not to laugh, I tell him not to worry I’m sure I can help him put his weapon back together. So we go back to his room were he hands me the disassembled weapon, and I attempt to reconnect the slide to the receiver. It won’t go back together (the two Cols were right about that). Here is where I add to the Air Force Officer mystique, as I removed the slide to investigate what is wrong I forgot to put my thumb on the recoil spring to hold it in place. The recoil spring fell out of place and launched the guide pin across the room. At this point Col “Brother Bob” begins to get nervous and starts to question if I know what I’m doing. I of course assure him I do and I was just careless to let the “pin” get launched like that. (Which is actually true I did know what I was doing, but I was careless) I do admit it took me another couple of minutes (rather than the few seconds I anticipated) to figure out the problem and get the weapon reassembled. (One of the Colonels “twisted” and locked the disassembly button so the weapon could not be reassembled. Once the problem was identified it was easily corrected.) I then briefly went over how to cock, load and reload the M-9.
As a safety measure since we weren’t leaving the Air Base, I made sure we kept our weapons unloaded while in Iraq. I couldn’t think of any viable scenario where the time it takes to put a clip in the weapon would make any difference (with our limited amount of ability) between victory and defeat. I was convinced then and am still convinced we would have much more dangerous to ourselves than to the enemy if we had loaded our weapons. War is Hell!

David sent me this letter from Brad about how things are actually going in Iraq:

Hi everyone,
I just watched the evening news from last night. We get CNN on delay from the states. I realize that most of you dont know anything about what it is like over here except what you hear in the news. It is hard to believe just how wrong they are until you live through it. From what I hear in the news Our position is about to be overrun and we have resorted to negotiating with terrorists to take cities. That is bullshit. I just want to set the record straight. You dont hear about the operations going on 24 hours a day and the stories of guys giving it all for millions of people they dont know. You cant understand the “negotiations” the cobra gunship pilots are bringing to bare until you have seen one screaming across the open desert with singular intention. You dont hear of all the victories the truck drivers and logistics guys win each day just to get us food and water. You sure as hell dont hear about the intel victories. It is so true that when we do things right nothing happens and when we miss something everyone knows.
I was being harrassed by an Iraqi woman the other day for our pilots shooting a mosque. She couldnt see that a sniper in a minerette earned that full belt of 20mm cannon fire from the cobra. I mean, who knows…the pilot could have missed with the first 200 rounds. Better to be safe and finish off the can. Besides the gun camera shots make great morale films for those of us at base. There is nothing like seeing your enemy blown free of a 100′ tower on a night vision scope. Perhaps it makes me a warmongering, blood thirsty, zealot, but I find that the only solution for fanatics is to bring to bare fanatics of our own. Did I mention I love my job. Ok enough of my ranting, I just wanted everyone to know that we are not sitting idly by waiting for insurgents to drop rounds on our heads, we are taking the fight to them. Each in our own way. We constantly remind these people of the great freedoms and liberties we offer and also the terrible swift sword that seeks those wh o bite our open hand of offering.

Yankee Imperialist Running Dog has a few more variations of the snipe hunt for newbies:

Frank, very funny stuff.
All the others, good stories, keep ’em coming. My Dad was in the Army, airborne infantry, in WWII and told me he sent money home to his folks to buy him a colt M-1911 .45 pistol as a back up even though he was supposed to have a sidearm since he was a Sgt., so who knows things fall through the cracks.
I was a newly minted ensign in ’80 and, I guess, really a FNG and very green. An old CPO sent me on a snipe hunt down in main engineering as my right of passage. Embarrassing but all in good fun. Later, as an LTJG, I sent new ensigns to stand watch for the mail buoy and to the Quartermasters for some sky hooks.
Thanks for bringing back the memories. God bless are brave men and women in harms way that someday they will have memories of happier times.

Pam sent this story in which I assume is a joke:

A Marine was deployed to Afghanistan. While he was there, he received a letter from his girlfriend. In the letter she explained that she had slept with two guys while he had been gone, and that she wanted to break up with him … AND, that she wanted the pictures that he had of her back.
So, the Marine did what any squared-away Marine would do. He went around to his buddies and collected all of the unwanted photos of women that he could find.
He then mailed about 25 pictures of women (some with clothes, some without) to his girlfriend with the following note …
“I don’t remember which one you are. Please remove your picture and send the rest back.”

BloodSpite sends this one in about Rangers versus Special Forces:

Rangers vs SF
The Chief of Staff of the Army asked his Sergeant Major, who was both Ranger and Special Forces qualified, which organization he would recommend to form a new anti-terrorist unit. The Sergeant Major responded to the General’s question with this parable: If there were a hijacked Boeing 747 being held by terrorists along with its passengers and crew and an anti-terrorist unit formed either by the Rangers or the Special Forces was given a Rescue/Recovery Mission; what would you expect to happen?
Ranger Option
Forces/Equipment Committed: If the Rangers went in, they would send a Ranger company of 120 men with standard army issue equipment.
Mission Preparation: The Ranger Company First Sergeant would conduct a Hair Cut and Boots Inspection.
Infiltration Technique: They would insist on double timing, in company formation, wearing their combat equipment, and singing Jody cadence all the way to the site of the hijacked aircraft.
Actions in the Objective Area: Once they arrived, the Ranger company would establish their ORP, put out security elements, conduct a leaders recon, reapply their face cammo, and conduct final preparations for Actions on the OBJ.
Results of Operation: The Rescue/Recovery Operation would be completed within one hour; all of the terrorists and most of the passengers would have been killed, the Rangers would have sustained light casualties and the 747 would be worthless to anyone except a scrap dealer.
Special Forces Option
Forces/Equipment Committed: If Special Forces went in, they would send only a 12 man team (all SF units are divisible by 12 for some arcane historical reason) however, due to the exotic nature of their equipment the SF Team would cost the same amount to deploy as the Ranger Company.
Mission Preparation: The SF Team Sergeant would request relaxed grooming standards for the team.
Infiltration Technique: The team would insist on separate travel orders with Max Per Diem, and each would get to the site of the hijacking by his own means. At least one third of the team would insist on jumping in.
Actions in the Objective Area: Once they arrived , the SF Team would cache their military uniforms, establish a Team Room, use their illegal Team Fund to stock the unauthorized Team Room Bar, check out the situation by talking to the locals, and have a Team Meeting to discuss the merits of the terrorists’ cause.
Results of Operation: The Rescue/Recovery Operation would take two weeks to complete and by that time all of the terrorists would have been killed, (and would have left signed confessions); the passengers would be ruined psychologically for the remainder of their lives; and all of the women passengers would be pregnant. The 747 would be essentially unharmed, the team would have taken no casualties but would have used up, lost, or stolen all the “high speed” equipment issued to them.

Anonymous (though I know who he is) has this little vignette:

Love your military stories, by the way. Here’s one you can post as from an anonymous reader. True story, happened to me.
I’m an Air Force guy who spends a lot of time in Army support assignments. Once while deployed in a tent city environment I was standing in line for chow in a tropical downpour, ankle deep in mud. A soldier in line in front of me turns and says “Hey, are you Air Force?”
“Yep” I reply.
“Man, I wish I’d have joined the Air Force” he said, “you guys don’t have to put up with this shit.”
Never occurred to him we were both standing in the same line.

In My World: The Running Mate

“This war earns millions of dollars for big companies,” the radio said as John Kerry was chauffeured to another event, “whether those who manufacture weapons or those involved in reconstruction such as Halliburton and its sisters and daughters.”
“This man has the talking points down, Jeeves,” Kerry remarked to his butler who was driving, “He might make a good running mate. Who is he?”
“Osama bin Laden, sir.”
“Ethic, eh,” Kerry remarked, “Even better. Make the call to him and see what he thinks about being my running mate?”
“But, sir, I don’t think that’s wise…”
“Are you questioning me!” Kerry screamed, “Do you know who I am? I served in Vietnam! My wife is rich! You don’t questions me! Now get Osama bin Laden!”
The butler groaned. “Yes, sir.”


“I hate America! Kill all Americans!” Osama bin Laden shouted.
“One of those anti-war pacifists, I see,” Kerry remarked and then handed Osama a script. “Here’s what I want you to say for your ad.”
The cameras were turned on and Osama started talking. “I am Osama bin Laden, and I hate Bush! He is ruining America, and his tax cuts have further wrecked the economy!” Osama then paused. “Actually, that’s stretching the truth a bit.”
“Just read the script!” Kerry yelled, “I’m John Kerry!”


“Hi, I’m Rudy Giuliani, and I support President Bush. He was there for us in New York, and he’ll be there for us in the future. Now excuse me, as I saw a panhandler out front and I’m now going to go beat the crap out of him.” Rudy then picked up a pipe and walked off camera.
Bush quickly ran in front of camera holding both his thumbs up. “I’m President Bush, and I approved this message.
“Cut!” Cheney called out.
“Next time you be president and I be the director,” Bush said.
“No,” Cheney answered, settling in his director’s chair, “and you’re an idiot.”
Clancy, Bush’s intelligence guy, then came into the room. “Hey! It’s Clancy, my intelligence guy!” Bush exclaimed.
“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Clancy answered, “But what I can tell you is that we’ve found Osama bin Laden.”
“Hot damn!” Bush yelled, “How’d you find him?”
“We put agents in all the hotspots, intercepted every transmission in the Middle East, and read every newspaper there even though they’re in funny languages. Then we had our top analysts check ever bit of datum. Finally, I went to watch an episode of Will & Grace and saw this.” Clancy turned on a T.V.
“Kill joooos! Kill Americans!”
“I’m John Kerry, and I approved this message. Right, Jeeves.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jiminy Jilickers!” Bush exclaimed, “Osama bin Laden is Kerry’s running mate!”
“I can neither confirm not deny that,” Clancy said, “Actually, I can’t deny that, because it’s true!”
“We need to have our snipers take him out at the next Kerry event!” Cheney stated.
“Whoa, hold your horses there, Dick,” Bush said, “That will be labeled as just partisan sniping. Now that he’s a Democrat, we have to kill him in secret. And he’s given us a venue to kill him so secret, it’s better than smashing him over the head with a trashcan in a dark alleyway – The Vice-Presidential debate!”
“But millions of people watch that,” Cheney said defensively, “They like to hear us inconsequential entities debate the issues.”
“Get your head out of your undisclosed location!” Bush yelled, “No one watches the Vice-Presidential debate. It’s the perfect place to kill him secretly. I’ll call Vinnie.”
“Who’s Vinnie?”
“Stop asking questions and get ready for a kill’n!”


“…and thus the Rumsfeld Strangler and the Chomps Mangler still remain at large,” the anchorwoman stated. “In other news, the Vice-Presidential debate between Dick Cheney and Osama bin Laden is tonight, and it promises to be boring and tedious. So tune in for a rerun of America’s Funniest Home Videos.”


“So the location of the debate is goings to be secret until the last minute,” Vinnie said as he chomped on a cigar, “But I gots my people on it.”
“What people?” Cheney asked.
“Who is this gavone?” Vinnie asked Bush, “I lets him into my own garage, and he asks me nothings but questions.”
“Dick, just listen, you gavone,” Bush commanded.
“Anyways, when my peoples finds the place the debate is goings to be in,” Vinnie continued, “they’ll plants a gun under your podium. Then, you pulls it out, shoots him twice, and then casually drops the gun as yous walks out the door. We gots a nice place in Sicily for yous to stay until the heat dies down.”
“I don’t think I like this idea,” Cheney said, “What do you think, Bush?”
“I think I folded the Mad Magazine fold in wrong or the joke is in Swedish,” Bush said as he played with a magazine.
Cheney swatted the magazine out of Bush’s hand. “That my latest issue of National Review!”


“Osama, you get the first opening statement.”
“America must die!”
“Thank you for your brevity,” the moderator said, “Cheney, now your opening statement.”
“That’s just the same old Democrat rhetoric,” Cheney said while sweating profusely as he groped under his podium. “Now, I didn’t want to bring up my opponent’s ties to terrorism…”
“Are you questioning my patriotism?” Osama shouted angrily.
Cheney crouched a little to search further under the podium. “The only one bringing up the issue of patriotism is you.”
“At least I’m not a stooge of Halliburton!”
“I am my own man,” Cheney said as he shook his podium.
“Then why is there an executive from Halliburton behind you waiting to poke you with a stick if you say anything against them?” Osama asked.
“You mean Bill? Well, I admit that sometimes Halliburton can be overbearing… OW! I mean, they’re the perfect company, and I won’t have people slandering them.”
“All you Republicans are in the pocket of big business!” Osama shouted, “and… and… Are you hiding behind your podium?”
Cheney was on all fours looking on the ground. “No.”
“Well I think you are hiding from the American people because you know that you can’t support your positions on the issues… which were dictated to you by the joooos!”
There was ululation in support of that statement. Cheney peeked out from behind his podium to see the audience was filled with terrorists. “How can this get any worst?” he groaned.
“Now I want to talk about healthcare,” Osama continued, “Which will be important when I kill Americans. So… what’s this?” Osama pulled an object wrapped in a cloth from under his podium. “Is this a gun?”