Sea Stories with Evil Uncle Coffee....
Posted: Wed Jul 11, 2007 1:55 pm
Ok, I decided, after a suggestion from my PSTD group "councilor" and from the urgings of a couple of the cooler humans on this site (if you have to ask if you as one, then you're probably not), to write about some of my experiences in the Corps. Names of certain people are changed to protect the guilty, certain dates and exact places names changed because of classification status, certain tactics changed to protect the guys that might still be applying tradecraft against Bad Guys(TM), and certain items just plain changed because the bulk of this crap happened many, many, many moons ago...
If you served, feel free to share your own stories, anecdotes, or whatnot. If you haven't served, kindly limit your imput to the stories posted by those that have served as I honestly don't care what your father's cousin's next-door neighbor's accountant's son did. In both cases, if you have something that is just plain motivational or patriotically cool to share (pictures, links to news or video, ect) then post away.
Warning: I sometimes tend to use a lot of four-letter words when recalling stories from when I was in. If such language offends, either keep it to yourself or don't read. I don't really give a damn if my language offends. These are my stories (or the stories of people that earned the right to cuss when ever they damned well please). If you can't deal with that then I invite you to click the back button now...
Still here? Good. I'm gonna start this off with a funny story...
Iceland is Cold: Or, why I loved to Travel Around Drunk...
When your Gunny tells you that if the Corps wanted you to have a wife they'd issue you one, he wasn't bullshitting. Don't get me wrong, I did love my ex when we were married, and even to this day I still have a very friendly relationship with her. After all, she did give me two sons, and she put up with a lot of crap out of me. She just wasn't really cut out to be the wife of a Marine.
She didn't seem to understand that while I loved her, sometimes I wanted to hang out with my brothers in arms rather than be around her.
She was the daughter of a pair of bonafide hippies.
Her dad, Rich, was a real live Vietnam draft dodger. I got my nose broken for the third time when my parents met her parents for the first time and somehow the subject of the Vietnam War was brought up. My Pop served three tours in Vietnam as a USAF PJ (That's Pararescue Jumper for you civilians). Next thing I know, me and my two brothers are trying to pull our Pop off of my future fath-in-law. In the ensuing fracas, Pop managed to land a vicious right hook square on my snout (Yeah, he was trying to hit Rich, but my head got in the way).
For some reason, despite his pacifistic, hippy asshole ways, me and Rich always got along good. He didn't like what I did, but he didn't try to judge me for it. And he was greatful for me not letting my pop kill him...
Her mom, Betty, was the biggest feminist I'mn ever met...
How many Feminists does it take to change a lightbulb? None, feminism never fixes anything.
Anyways, Betty was a bitch, plain and simple. She was the kind of woman that expected her "male" to be there to attend to her ever want and whim. She looked down on me for my service, she disrespected my uniform and my Corps, and she even tried to tell my sons that their daddy was a "evil baby killer" once.
I hate that woman with more passion that I've felt for most anyone I've ever met... If Mom had gone after her like Pop had gone after Rich, I wouldn't have stood in the way. Hell, I'd have probably handed Mom a gun...
Anyways, so thanks to that upbringing, my Ex had this notion that "her man" should be there to do what she wanted, whenever she wanted. WRONG!
After a while it got to the point where I'd basically harrass, beg, whone, bitch, and generally make my CO's life miserable with requests to deploy.
Well, one day I went in to his office to do just that and I noticed the look in his eyes that said "You might think I'm granting your prayer, dumbass, but I'm about to make fuckee-fuckee with you big time, in a big way..." Little did he know I would have waded through a swimming pool of crap to get the “F” away from my wife...
"Son, you'rew going to Iceland," he said...
GLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
So I went to Keflavik, Iceland in November for a six month TAD(TRemporary Duty Assignment, or "Traveling Around Drunk").
Now for those not in the know, there isn't anything between Iceland and the North pole but Santa's fat ass and afew stry iceburgs. In the winter it is dick shrivlingly cold and the sun comes up for maybe an hour a day. It's a darkly cold and hellish landscape that to this day I still have very fond memories of...
Anyways (yes I had a damned point people, bear with me)...
So there I was, sitting in this shack with piss-poor heating in the middle of January in Iceland. Myself and my buddy PFC Iverson were manning post on a frost covered and snow buried gate out back of Keflavik Airfielf in the back ass end of snowy nowhere. We were so cold that we spent half our shift huddled under a blanket "spooning" to stay warm.
Yeah, I was the big spoon, you dumb idiot... Harr harr harr...
Anyways, about midway through the watch out Corporal of the Watch rolls by in his heated High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle (That's a "Hummer" you no-loads in the civilian world). Corporal Peters got out. Peters had just made corporal about month previous, and holyshit, did he let it go to his pointy little head...
We all hated that prick.
He comes in and we fall out from under our blanket and kill the potable TV we had to report our post. He grunts at us and signs off on our watch card before going outside to check the gate we were guarding.
Oh, did I mention that it was -40F outside not including the damned windchill? Or that Corporal peters had exited his vehicle without putting on his gloves while holding a hot cup of coffee?
Yeah, so a few seconds go by and me and Iverson hear this muffled screaming from outside our shack. Once again, we come out from under our blanket and go to see what the noise was.
There was Corporal Peters, clutching the chain and padlock that secured the fenced, yanking it up and down sceaming "GET ME THE “F” OFF THIS FENCE!"
Ever seen "A Christmas Story"? Remmber the scene where that dumbass licked a flagpole on a dare and got stuck fast?
Same concept. See, holding that coffee cup make Peter's hands nice and sweety. dumbass was stuck to the fence.
That's when Iverson, being a good and depoendable, if stupider than a box of rocks, Idaho farmboy said "Well, Corporal, I can get you off the fence, but I don't think you're gonna like it..."
I knew what Iverson was about to do and gave him the "“F” yes, I am in" nod.
"I don't give a rusty “F” what you assholes do, get me the “F” off of this goddamned fence! That's an order," Peterson screamed at us.
So being good Marines who followed a lawfully given order, me and Iverson unbottoned our trousers and unlimbered our cocks and we pissed all over Peters' hands. We even managed to splash his coat and his pants with piss.
Peters' hand became unstuck. He brushed his hands through a snow drift to get the piss off (I told you this guy was a nasty “F”), muttered "thanks" at us before telling us to mention this incident to noone.
We were oin the horn with the Commander of the Guard in less time than it took for Peters to get back in his ride.
From that day hence, he was no longer "Corporal peters"... He was "Pisshands Peters".
And that's how I got to piss all over a senior rank and not only did I not get a Captains Mast over it, the idiot was greatful.
If you served, feel free to share your own stories, anecdotes, or whatnot. If you haven't served, kindly limit your imput to the stories posted by those that have served as I honestly don't care what your father's cousin's next-door neighbor's accountant's son did. In both cases, if you have something that is just plain motivational or patriotically cool to share (pictures, links to news or video, ect) then post away.
Warning: I sometimes tend to use a lot of four-letter words when recalling stories from when I was in. If such language offends, either keep it to yourself or don't read. I don't really give a damn if my language offends. These are my stories (or the stories of people that earned the right to cuss when ever they damned well please). If you can't deal with that then I invite you to click the back button now...
Still here? Good. I'm gonna start this off with a funny story...
Iceland is Cold: Or, why I loved to Travel Around Drunk...
When your Gunny tells you that if the Corps wanted you to have a wife they'd issue you one, he wasn't bullshitting. Don't get me wrong, I did love my ex when we were married, and even to this day I still have a very friendly relationship with her. After all, she did give me two sons, and she put up with a lot of crap out of me. She just wasn't really cut out to be the wife of a Marine.
She didn't seem to understand that while I loved her, sometimes I wanted to hang out with my brothers in arms rather than be around her.
She was the daughter of a pair of bonafide hippies.
Her dad, Rich, was a real live Vietnam draft dodger. I got my nose broken for the third time when my parents met her parents for the first time and somehow the subject of the Vietnam War was brought up. My Pop served three tours in Vietnam as a USAF PJ (That's Pararescue Jumper for you civilians). Next thing I know, me and my two brothers are trying to pull our Pop off of my future fath-in-law. In the ensuing fracas, Pop managed to land a vicious right hook square on my snout (Yeah, he was trying to hit Rich, but my head got in the way).
For some reason, despite his pacifistic, hippy asshole ways, me and Rich always got along good. He didn't like what I did, but he didn't try to judge me for it. And he was greatful for me not letting my pop kill him...
Her mom, Betty, was the biggest feminist I'mn ever met...
How many Feminists does it take to change a lightbulb? None, feminism never fixes anything.
Anyways, Betty was a bitch, plain and simple. She was the kind of woman that expected her "male" to be there to attend to her ever want and whim. She looked down on me for my service, she disrespected my uniform and my Corps, and she even tried to tell my sons that their daddy was a "evil baby killer" once.
I hate that woman with more passion that I've felt for most anyone I've ever met... If Mom had gone after her like Pop had gone after Rich, I wouldn't have stood in the way. Hell, I'd have probably handed Mom a gun...
Anyways, so thanks to that upbringing, my Ex had this notion that "her man" should be there to do what she wanted, whenever she wanted. WRONG!
After a while it got to the point where I'd basically harrass, beg, whone, bitch, and generally make my CO's life miserable with requests to deploy.
Well, one day I went in to his office to do just that and I noticed the look in his eyes that said "You might think I'm granting your prayer, dumbass, but I'm about to make fuckee-fuckee with you big time, in a big way..." Little did he know I would have waded through a swimming pool of crap to get the “F” away from my wife...
"Son, you'rew going to Iceland," he said...
GLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
So I went to Keflavik, Iceland in November for a six month TAD(TRemporary Duty Assignment, or "Traveling Around Drunk").
Now for those not in the know, there isn't anything between Iceland and the North pole but Santa's fat ass and afew stry iceburgs. In the winter it is dick shrivlingly cold and the sun comes up for maybe an hour a day. It's a darkly cold and hellish landscape that to this day I still have very fond memories of...
Anyways (yes I had a damned point people, bear with me)...
So there I was, sitting in this shack with piss-poor heating in the middle of January in Iceland. Myself and my buddy PFC Iverson were manning post on a frost covered and snow buried gate out back of Keflavik Airfielf in the back ass end of snowy nowhere. We were so cold that we spent half our shift huddled under a blanket "spooning" to stay warm.
Yeah, I was the big spoon, you dumb idiot... Harr harr harr...
Anyways, about midway through the watch out Corporal of the Watch rolls by in his heated High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle (That's a "Hummer" you no-loads in the civilian world). Corporal Peters got out. Peters had just made corporal about month previous, and holyshit, did he let it go to his pointy little head...
We all hated that prick.
He comes in and we fall out from under our blanket and kill the potable TV we had to report our post. He grunts at us and signs off on our watch card before going outside to check the gate we were guarding.
Oh, did I mention that it was -40F outside not including the damned windchill? Or that Corporal peters had exited his vehicle without putting on his gloves while holding a hot cup of coffee?
Yeah, so a few seconds go by and me and Iverson hear this muffled screaming from outside our shack. Once again, we come out from under our blanket and go to see what the noise was.
There was Corporal Peters, clutching the chain and padlock that secured the fenced, yanking it up and down sceaming "GET ME THE “F” OFF THIS FENCE!"
Ever seen "A Christmas Story"? Remmber the scene where that dumbass licked a flagpole on a dare and got stuck fast?
Same concept. See, holding that coffee cup make Peter's hands nice and sweety. dumbass was stuck to the fence.
That's when Iverson, being a good and depoendable, if stupider than a box of rocks, Idaho farmboy said "Well, Corporal, I can get you off the fence, but I don't think you're gonna like it..."
I knew what Iverson was about to do and gave him the "“F” yes, I am in" nod.
"I don't give a rusty “F” what you assholes do, get me the “F” off of this goddamned fence! That's an order," Peterson screamed at us.
So being good Marines who followed a lawfully given order, me and Iverson unbottoned our trousers and unlimbered our cocks and we pissed all over Peters' hands. We even managed to splash his coat and his pants with piss.
Peters' hand became unstuck. He brushed his hands through a snow drift to get the piss off (I told you this guy was a nasty “F”), muttered "thanks" at us before telling us to mention this incident to noone.
We were oin the horn with the Commander of the Guard in less time than it took for Peters to get back in his ride.
From that day hence, he was no longer "Corporal peters"... He was "Pisshands Peters".
And that's how I got to piss all over a senior rank and not only did I not get a Captains Mast over it, the idiot was greatful.