SEC, Ryan's, Fire on a plane, A-square - Page 2

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[ARCHIVED THREAD] - SEC, Ryan's, Fire on a plane, A-square (Page 2 of 4)

Posted: 5/18/2009 8:24:48 AM EDT

[#1]

In on 1. Ok, well I boned that one. How about an edited page 2 semi ownage?

And you are welcome.

Posted: 5/18/2009 12:16:49 PM EDT

[#2]

holy shit my sides hurt now

i almost died laughing at ryan's stake house, the festival of lights, and the squirrel story.

Posted: 5/18/2009 12:30:03 PM EDT

[#3]

LOL, these are great.

Posted: 5/18/2009 12:59:56 PM EDT

[#4]

Holy crap. Attack of the blimp and the MRE dinner one were great!

Posted: 5/18/2009 1:20:27 PM EDT

[#5]

Tagged!

Thanks for the effort it took to bring these back!

Posted: 5/18/2009 9:48:07 PM EDT

[#6]

Squirrel on a motorcycle and the blimp are some of my favorites from when I first joined.

I'm still wiping tears away from the Ryan's story. I'd never read that before. OMFG that was funny.

Posted: 5/19/2009 7:14:25 AM EDT

[#7]

Great Stuff!

Posted: 5/19/2009 9:50:55 AM EDT

[#8]

I shit in my pants in Walmart and it went down almost exactly like the Ryan's Steakhouse story but without the vomiting!

Posted: 5/20/2009 7:27:43 PM EDT

[#9]

Had to add this one by John_Wayne777

Pretty much the worst restaurant experience EVER... NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH –– RAYOR

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Some days defy description....

After finding out that the local FFL doing a transfer on a S&W M&P pistol for me STILL has not gotten the package (making me wonder if the package is lost or stolen at this point...) I get a call from the family saying they want to go grab something to eat.

So I says to myself, "Self", I says...."A nice dinner out will be relaxing and will take your mind off of your MIA handgun for a while. Let's do it!"

So I meet everyone at the restaurant and look forward to a nice relaxing hour or so....but as soon as I walk in I see Jimmy Carter's mug on a TV where they are running CNN. At that moment some part of my brain said "You should probably just turn around and go home. Nothing good can come of this." ...but being the rational person I am I dismissed this instinct because it was, after all, just a former President on TV...not an omen.

So we are seated and place our order. Across the roughly four foot aisle there is another group of people seated, mostly middle-aged. It's still early so the college kids haven't infected every restaurant yet. They are sharing a large pizza and a couple of them have salads along with the pizza. The man sitting on the outside corner of the table is positioned so that he is facing me...he also has a couple of beer bottles on the table.

Time passes with the usual small talk that happens among family as our drinks and salads begin to arrive. The folks across the aisle, apart from being a tad louder than I would have preferred, seem to be relatively nice folks. As I look around (I am always on the lookout when in public....it pays to be safe) I notice a slight irregularity in the clothing of the guy sitting across from me and so I begin paying very careful attention to him in as discrete a manner as possible, thinking that he might have a weapon. I wasn't panicked because there are a large number of CCW holders around these parts and this guy didn't seem to be any sort of threat, but I always like to know who around me is packing heat.

As I am doing my clandestine recon, I glance at his salad and see movement. "That's not right..." I thought...so I looked harder. And there, climbing up one of his croûtons, is the biggest damn cockroach I have ever seen.

So much for my appetite.

Before the revulsion can begin in earnest, however, I notice that his fork is coming down into the salad plate...heading right for the croûton. I realize what is about to happen and begin to get up and approach his table as quickly as I can....everything goes into slow motion.

I see his fork stab the croûton and he pulls the fork toward his mouth...with it's disgusting passenger on board. I am now standing up and moving toward him saying "NO!! WAIT.." but because of the noise he doesn't hear me. I see half the croûton disappear into his mouth and then....

CRUNCH

He has just bitten the croûton and it's hideous little passenger in half.

His demeanor changes. He realizes something is wrong. He looks at his fork and sees the front half of a very large and very nasty looking cockroach on half of his croûton. He makes a gasping noise as he drops his fork and shoots upright all in one quick motion. Even in the miserable lighting in the restaurant I can see him go pale instantly and grab at his throat.

"Oh crap...He's choking!" I thought to myself, so I continued my approach in preparation of doing the Heimlich if it was necessary.

His dining companions are puzzled..."George, what's wrong?" "Honey are you alright?" "Oh my god, he's choking!"....George is hunched over with his hands in the classic "I'm Choking!" position.

I am right next to him now and grab him by the shoulder, spin him around to look him in the face and say in a loud voice "ARE YOU CHOKING??" apparently remembering my first aid training.

George looks up at me, and I think the guy is in real trouble. I begin to move around him to perform the Heimlich, when George turns his head towards me.....

....And vomits.

Now when I say that George vomited, I don't mean that he burped up a little. I mean he let loose a stream of vomit so powerful it felt like it was coming from a fire hose....

...You'll notice I say "felt" in that previous sentence and you might start to wonder about the meaning of that word in that context. I assure you, dear reader, it means exactly what you think it means. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, George's powerful stream of projectile vomit impacted yours truly right on the side of the face at point blank range.

This impressive stream of vomit splashed a mixture of used pizza, salad, beer and roach guts right into the side of my face, and from there it went into my hair, down my shirt, and some of it even went into my ear. I tried to throw up my hands to block the stream and managed to deflect some of it....

I am backing away from George as he continues to retch and as I am trying to come to grips with the fact that my entire upper body is now covered in some foul smelling vomit. To be honest, my brain is not really functioning at this moment in any conscious way because of the horror of what has transpired. But, sadly, I don't have much time to come to grips with what just happened.

Remember when I said that I threw up my hands to deflect some of George's vomit? Well I did a hum-dinger of a job, because some of it landed right in the plate of a diner behind me. I was unaware of this, of course, because I was simultaneously trying to get the vomit out of my eyes and out of my right ear as I tried to create distance between myself and the human volcano.

I only became aware of what happened to the other diner when I felt myself bump into something as I backed up, and I whirled around, still blinded by the vomit. That's when I felt it.

Apparently all of this had been too much for diner number 2. For when the vomit I deflected landed in his plate, he fell out of his chair onto his knees. Immediately after he hit his knees, I backed into him. The "something" I bumped into was his head. Ordinarily I would have been very concerned about someone bumping into my right side because that's where my 1911 is being carried in a Blade-Tech IWB holster. My Smith 442 is also riding in the right front pocket of my pants.

Diner number 2, however, didn't notice any of this. Immediately after his head made relatively minor contact with my handgun, he let loose.

I, still blind from vomit, feel a bump on my right side and then I feel a hot stream of chunky liquid proceed down my right hip and leg.

Yes, ARFCOM, diner number 2 yakked all over my right side. Apparently for lunch he had egg salad and tuna salad sandwiches, and his dinner salad was full of feta cheese and big black olives, along with the requisite tall glass of beer. He heaved a mighty heave and belched forth an even fouler and chunkier substance down my right side.

Some of it went into my holster.

Some of it went into my right front pocket.

Some of it went into my cell-phone pocket.

Some of it went into the INSIDE of my pants and began running down my leg.

Then as suddenly as it began, it was over. There I stood in the middle of a relatively nice restaurant among a horrified group of diners covered in so much vomit it is literally dripping off of me and making large splatting noises on the floor.

The smell......is indescribable. I won't go so far as to say it is the worst smell on earth, but as a man who has gutted all sorts of animals including gut-shot deer, I can tell you that it is among the worst smells I have ever encountered. As the old saying goes, it could gag a maggot.

My mind is blank as I stand there dripping with vomit. Time seems to stand still as I can see the foul mixture dripping off of me....

And then it happens.

Diner number 2 is apparently ready for round 2. He lets go again, but this time I can see it coming. Unfortunately I don't react quick enough to be missed entirely. Round 2 hits me square in the boots, soaking my socks and filling my boots with what seems to be the foulest smelling vomit I have yet seen on this horrible night.

I am now standing in the middle of a relatively nice restaurant....

With vomit dripping off of my nose....off of my chin.....

With vomit in my right front pocket.

With vomit in the cargo pocket of my pants.

With vomit in my right rear pocket.

With vomit in my wallet.

With vomit inside my pants.

With vomit running down my leg.

With vomit soaked socks.

With vomit pooled in my boots.

I take a step to try and escape this horrible hell, and I notice that there is hot vomit squishing between my toes.

The restaurant is at an absolute standstill. Half of the diners within eyesight are staring in absolute horror with their mouths agape....the other half look like they are about to go Krakatoa any second. The wait staff is in the same boat, half staring in horror, half barely keeping their lunch down.

As I take another step the realization that The Smell is coming seems to strike the diners and the wait staff alike, and they begin to scramble to get the hell out of there before THEY loose it. Drinks are spilled. Plates are turned over. Dishes shatter.

The manager comes to see what in the heck is going on and walks up to a scene that is probably the closest thing to the Mr. Creosote sketch in Monty Python's "The Meaning Of Life" that any human being has ever experienced.

"It's only waaaafer thin!"

He is startled for a moment, but the man is a real pro.

"Sir" he tells me calmly "We can help you clean up around back. Everyone remain calm, and we will get all of this cleaned up. Sir, this way." The manager leads me toward a side door that is close by as I am still drippingly covered in vomit. As he walks quickly he begins barking orders to the wait staff on the other side of the restaurant who had not been witness to the horror.

"Sandy! Get a mop now! Jake, get all those people out of there NOW! Get them all gift certificates! Jodi, don't let anyone with puke on them go out the front door! This way sir." as he leads me out the side of the restaurant. After we get through the door he makes a hard left and leads me to the back of the building and begins getting out a hose pipe.

"I'm afraid this is the best I can do, sir..." he says as he starts to connect the hose. "If you want to try and use this, I can go get you something to dry off with."

I don't even answer him. I just start taking off my boots so I can pour the vomit out of them. Then I spray them out. I take off my socks and it is just about then that I notice something. It is January. It is 29 degrees outside, and I am spraying down my bare feet with a hose filled with cold water.

Goodie!

About this time the family shows up looking more than a little green around the gills. I remove my weaponry as clandestinely as I can and instruct them to hurry and wrap the guns up in my coat so nobody can see them...Then I have a decision to make...Do I start stripping or do I try and clean off with my clothes on?

I decide that stripping to my boxers just isn't an option, so I put the nozzle of the hose inside my waistband and begin to hose off the inside of my pants. The water is unbelievably cold right now and I can feel my entire lower body going numb. Then I spray out each of my pockets, and then I move on to my upper body. spraying inside and outside my shirt, and finally spraying down my head and hair, then working my way back down to my feet to make sure all the putrescent fluid is gone.

So there I stand in bare feet soaked from head to toe so cold my teeth are chattering...but at least I can't smell the vomit anymore. Perhaps the vomit is all gone...or perhaps I am on the border of hypothermia and no longer care about smells. Either way, despite being a human popsicle I feel better. The manager returns with some towels that I use to dry off as best as I can.

As I dry off the manager asks me what happened. Through chattering teeth I manage to explain the roach situation as the root of the evil that had transpired in our midst.

"Sir, I am so sorry! Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? A free desert? A free meal?"

God bless the guy, he is trying...but honestly...is anyone actually going to take him up on that offer under THESE circumstances?

I tell him to just forget about the entire thing (as we hadn't gotten our main course yet). I just wanted to go home and take a long hot shower. Still wet and very cold, I got the old blanket I keep in the trunk of my car and put it in the seat of the family car so I could sit down without getting vomit on the seats.

The only sound as we drove home was the loud chattering of my teeth.

It's over now, and I am sitting near the wood stove. I am beginning to get feeling back in my toes. I am looking at my 1911...an expertly crafted weapon....that is covered in dried vomit. There are dried bits of what I think is tuna all over it. I am looking at the leather pocket holster for my Smith 442....I don't know if it is ever going to be usable again. My Smith...poor little thing...there is vomit in a couple of the chambers. I have quite possibly the single most disgusting cleaning job ever attempted on a firearm ahead of me tonight.

Joy!

So the next time you are at a restaurant and you think that you are having a bad experience, remember my tale of woe and be thankful.

Now if you will excuse me, I think there is still some used pizza sausage in my ear...

Posted: 5/23/2009 5:05:03 PM EDT

[#10]

Gotta TAG this one for later.... I love the Ryan's story, that thread was epic!

- Clint

Posted: 5/23/2009 7:40:16 PM EDT

[#11]

Ah. So THAT is the Ryan's Steakhouse story.

Posted: 5/29/2009 4:57:48 PM EDT

[#12]

I was crying with laughter.

Posted: 6/17/2009 4:52:40 AM EDT

[#13]

Posted by Wild Boar:

When I was about 12, my family and I were at a local lake, enjoying the weekend. On Saturday morning, I awoke with a great brown pressure down below. Now, when I was younger, (and to a certain extent, today), I did not enjoy giving "rectal speeches" in public forums. I do not have to elaborate: public shitter at the lake. How much worse can it get?

Well, I decided that I could be Hercules, and hold that loaf until I made it home on Sunday evening.

Boys will be boys, so my brother and I spent the day swimming, eating, drinking, and the like. Sometime in the early afternoon, the loaf down below had finished rising and baking. It now wanted to come out of the oven. Let me tell you, I was in tremendous agony. But the pain I had then was only a small peek of what lay ahead.

There were only two sets of toilets in the park we occupied. We checked both, and I picked the cleaner of the two. I sat myself down in the handicapped stall (this will become important later) and began doing business.

Now, I knew something was amiss as soon as I began the foul act. Nothing budged. I was flabbergasted! Ok, fine. I could do this. I pushed harder and felt the cruel log give a little. After it moved, I wished it hadn't. A jolt of pain shot up my spine directly to the base of my skull. This turd was gonna be a problem. A BIG problem.

That was fine. I'd dealt with this kind in the past. The pain would persist whilst I dumped, but would quickly go away after the event. I resolved to get this thing over –– and fast.

I pushed harder. Here it came! Ouch, wait... OH SHIT!!!!!!!! The turd (hereafter referred to as "Bigfoot") started irrevocably on its way out. I tried in vain to clamp my sphincter shut, but it was too late. Bigfoot was s-l-o-w-l-y crawling out, and leaving a blinding pain in his wake.

My butt began to rise from the seat, and I began to grunt. Beads of sweat popped out on my forehead. The hurt got worse. I was fully off of the seat now, and the beads of sweat became rivulets. Was I crapping my spine?

By now, I was erect enough to see over the small door on the stall. My brother was standing in one of the doorways of the bathroom with a look of sheer terror on his face. He ran off. With the advantage of hindsight, I would have done the same.

As I rose from the toilet seat, I had unconsciously grabbed the handicapped rails. I now had a death-grip on them. Bigfoot felt like he was almost halfway out, which meant it was still gonna hurt a little more. I could stand it no more, I began screaming.

This wasn't a girlie scream –– it came from deep in my gut. I imagine it sounded like Russell Crowe in Gladiator. At that exact moment, a complete stranger came strolling in to do his business. His eyes met mine, and he, too, turned right around and left.

Shortly thereafter, I heard a huge splash. My ordeal was over. In my mind's eye, all I could see was a huge, pulsating, bloody lump of waste. I turned to look and was greeted with the blackest crap I'd ever seen. I cleaned myself up, splashed some cold water on my face, and lit out of that place like the Flash.

Although I wish I could, that weekend will never be forgotten.

Posted: 6/19/2009 11:48:12 AM EDT

[#14]

Bump........Didn't Piccolo post a pic of him with the SEC one time???? if someone has it post it in here please

Posted: 7/11/2009 12:45:14 PM EDT

[#15]

Bumped the wrong thread. This is the one I need.

Posted: 7/16/2009 10:35:28 PM EDT

[#16]

found this, sec's are real

http://www.pandecats.com/x/seeing-eye-cats.shtml

Posted: 7/17/2009 1:31:36 AM EDT

[#17]

Tag for boring nights at work.

Posted: 7/29/2009 8:09:54 PM EDT

[#18]

Posted: 8/16/2009 6:01:49 AM EDT

[#19]

This has got to be the funniest stuff I have ever seen on arfcom!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Posted: 9/5/2009 9:09:10 PM EDT

[#20]

Holycrap, tag

Posted: 9/5/2009 9:23:29 PM EDT

[#21]

These are great!

Posted: 9/5/2009 11:24:47 PM EDT

[#22]

I've never seen the original Ryan's post. But I have seen it re-posted several times. Every time I read it, I laugh a weird, keening high-pitched unnatural laugh and tears come to my eyes!

Anyone who can read it from beginning to end without laughing probably isn't actually alive. It's an absolutely legendary masterpiece.

Posted: 9/14/2009 9:03:10 PM EDT

[#23]

This thread needs to be tacked!!!!

Posted: 9/18/2009 10:20:53 PM EDT

[#24]

Wdsman,
Thanks much for posting this one I injoyed sitting here for 2 hrs LMAO.

Posted: 9/23/2009 7:42:29 PM EDT

[#25]

bump!

Posted: 9/23/2009 9:27:54 PM EDT

[#26]

Tag, for epic-ness.

SEC= ROFL

So much for going to bed early(er) tonight.

Posted: 9/24/2009 4:20:56 AM EDT

[#27]

by Hawken 50:

"My door bell rings at 3am and i answer it with a great big bucket of fail-"

this morning, at 3:00, my doorbell rings waking me up from a sound sleep. i'm awake instantly and have the Delta out of the bedside safe in 3 seconds flat. of course i'm completly naked, the wife's still asleep and the dogs downstairs going bonkers. so first things first, i run across the hall and check on the rugrat. she's fine, sleeping soundly. so back to the master bedroom. the door bell rings again.

there was a hell of a snow storm so i fugured chances were it was a stranded motorist or some such. i grab my robe and try to put in on with the 1911 in hand. fail. the gun became tangled in the Gordian Knot that is the sleeve of my robe. i try to pull it back out the way in came in. fail. shit piss fucking asshole. so i'm standing by my bed, buck ass naked with a 10mm 1911, the epitome of a fighting handgun, entangled in a bathrobe in my hand. the door bell rings again. fuck it says i, and i tossed the whole mess on the floor, back to the bedside safe for 1911 #2, the springer compact.

i get it out of the safe, toss it onto the bed and pull on the wifes bathrobe (inside out i must add) and return to the bed to grab the gun. GOD DAMN FUCKING DARK ROOM WITH A DARK FUCKING BEDSPREAD AND A BLACK FUCKING PISTOL. where the FUCK is the gun!!!! i can't see shit!!!.

doorbell rings again. the dog has totally lost it, and i can hear him running around downstairs like he's trying to coral a heard of lepoards. fuck it. fuck everything, back to the safe, for handgun #3 and the flashlight i should have grabbed the 1st time (although with my luck, if i had it'd probably be wrapped up in the bathrobe with 1911 #1.) #3 is a 4" ported taurus tracker in 44mag. if i have to shoot someone, i'm gonna end up deaf, but they wont be getting up. i give a quick check out the upstairs windows and see nothing. the motion lights are off.

so after all this assfucking around, i head downstairs. by this time the doorbells ringing about every 10 seconds. i hit the bottom of the stairs and collide with 115 pounds of labrador retriever who has been barking ferociously and running insanely between the front and back door. he took out my rigth leg, but luck was finally on my side, my face dragging down the wall slowed my fall. well maybe luck was being indiffrent at best, cause when all was said and done, the dog was ontop of me with one of his paws crushing my testicles.

the doorbell is now ringing constantly. i can only describe myself getting untangled from the dog and the equlivilant of a monkey fucking an octopus. but hey in the plus column, i'd at least held on to handgun #3 (a good thing too, cause the next in line was a 9mm pocket pistol, and we know i'd have been better armed with a bowl of well cooked spagetti.)

so i check all the windows and the front door first (doorbell is at the back door.) nothing. i pause at the door to the mud room. doorbell suddenly stops ringing. take a deep breath. i'm through fucking around. fling the door open, illuminate the back door (which has a window in it) and draw down, center mass of door... nothing. not a god damn thing. i hit the out side light. nothing. i approch the door cautiously, pieing out either side of it. nothing. there is a foot of new fallen snow, not a track in sight. open the door cautiously, gun at the ready. nothing. open the screen door have a look around. i throw on some foot wear, step outside and nothing. i look at the doorbell and as if on cue, it starts ringing again, constantly, nearly causing me to piss myself.

GODFUCKINGDAMN PIECE OF SHIT WIRELESS DOORBELL!!!

i ripped the button off the wall, pulled the batteries out, and chuck the fucking thing into that cold dark night. it's fucking cold out and i'm going back to bed.

but no, fate was against me yet again.

standing outside, 15 fucking degrees, wearing nothing but the wifes pink bathrobe and a pair of fuzzy slippers. carring a combat light and a 44mag.

I HAD LOCKED MYSELF OUT!!!!!!!

Posted: 9/24/2009 8:51:14 AM EDT

[#28]

Quoted:
Bump........Didn't Piccolo post a pic of him with the SEC one time???? if someone has it post it in here please

Posted: 9/24/2009 9:32:31 AM EDT

[#29]

Quoted:
Awesome!!! Thanks for taking the time to post these.

Posted: 9/24/2009 3:01:22 PM EDT

[#30]

I'm bumping this...

Posted: 9/24/2009 5:09:11 PM EDT

[#31]

Quoted:

Quoted:
Bump........Didn't Piccolo post a pic of him with the SEC one time???? if someone has it post it in here please

http://i54.photobucket.com/albums/g120/m108shooter/SECansI.jpg

Even funnier now that I've seen a picture of it!

Posted: 9/29/2009 10:19:45 AM EDT

[#32]

Deserves another bump so the newbies can get a taste
of what the good old days were like around here.

Posted: 10/4/2009 9:37:57 PM EDT

[#33]

bump

Posted: 10/9/2009 7:18:55 PM EDT

[#34]

Thought this belonged here:

from skippy

Skippy’s List: The 213 things Skippy is no longer allowed to do in the U.S. Army
A quick note:
I don’t mind if you want to quote a few items from my list of your site. But please do not copy the list in it’s entirety.

Explanations of these events:
a) I did myself, and either got in trouble or commended. (I had a Major shake my hand for the piss bottle thing, for instance.)
b) I witnessed another soldier do it. (Like the Sergeant we had, that basically went insane, and crucified some dead mice.)
c) Was spontaneously informed I was not allowed to do. (Like start a porn studio.)
d) Was the result of a clarification of the above. (“What about especially patriotic porn?”)
e) I was just minding my own business, when something happened. (“Schwarz…what is *that*?” said the Sgt, as he pointed to the back of my car? “Um….a rubber sheep…I can explain why that’s there….”)

To explain how I’ve stayed out of jail/alive/not beaten up too badly….. I’m funny, so they let me live.

The 213 Things….

1. Not allowed to watch Southpark when I’m supposed to be working.

2. My proper military title is “Specialist Schwarz” not “Princess Anastasia”.

3. Not allowed to threaten anyone with black magic.

4. Not allowed to challenge anyone’s disbelief of black magic by asking for hair.

5. Not allowed to get silicone breast implants.

6. Not allowed to play “Pulp Fiction” with a suction-cup dart pistol and any officer.

7. Not allowed to add “In accordance with the prophesy” to the end of answers I give to a question an officer asks me.

8. Not allowed to add pictures of officers I don’t like to War Criminal posters.

9. Not allowed to title any product “Get Over it”.

10. Not allowed to purchase anyone’s soul on government time.

11. Not allowed to join the Communist Party.

12. Not allowed to join any militia.

13. Not allowed to form any militia.

14. Not allowed out of my office when the president visited Sarajevo.

15. Not allowed to train adopted stray dogs to “Sic Brass!”

16. Must get a haircut even if it tampers with my “Samson like powers”.

17. God may not contradict any of my orders.

18. May no longer perform my now (in)famous “Barbie Girl Dance” while on duty.

19. May not call any officers immoral, untrustworthy, lying, slime, even if I’m right.

20. Must not taunt the French any more.

21. Must attempt to not antagonize SAS.

22. Must never call an SAS a “Wanker”.

23. Must never ask anyone who outranks me if they’ve been smoking crack.

24. Must not tell any officer that I am smarter than they are, especially if it’s true.

25. Never confuse a Dutch soldier for a French one.

26. Never tell a German soldier that “We kicked your ass in World War 2!”

27. Don’t tell Princess Di jokes in front of the paras (British Airborne).

28. Don’t take the batteries out of the other soldiers alarm clocks (Even if they do hit snooze about forty times).

29. The Irish MPs are not after “Me frosted lucky charms”.

30. Not allowed to wake an Non-Commissioned Officer by repeatedly banging on the head with a bag of trash.

31. Not allowed to let sock puppets take responsibility for any of my actions.

32. Not allowed to let sock puppets take command of my post.

33. Not allowed to chew gum at formation, unless I brought enough for everybody.

34. (Next day) Not allowed to chew gum at formation even if I *did* bring enough for everybody.

35. Not allowed to sing “High Speed Dirt” by Megadeth during airborne operations. (“See the earth below/Soon to make a crater/Blue sky, black death, I’m off to meet my maker”)

36. Can’t have flashbacks to wars I was not in. (The Spanish-American War isn’t over).

37. Our medic is called “Sgt Larwasa”, not “Dr. Feelgood”.

38. Our supply Sgt is “Sgt Watkins” not “Sugar Daddy”.

39. Not allowed to ask for the day off due to religious purposes, on the basis that the world is going to end, more than once.

40. I do not have super-powers.

41. “Keep on Trucking” is *not* a psychological warfare message.

42. Not allowed to attempt to appeal to mankind’s baser instincts in recruitment posters.

43. Camouflage body paint is not a uniform.

44. I am not the atheist chaplain.

45. I am not allowed to “Go to Bragg boulevard and shake daddy’s little money maker for twenties stuffed into my undies”.

46. I am not authorized to fire officers.

47. I am not a citizen of Texas, and those other, forty-nine, lesser states.

48. I may not use public masturbation as a tool to demonstrate a flaw in a command decision.

49. Not allowed to trade military equipment for “magic beans”.

50. Not allowed to sell magic beans during duty hours.

51. Not allowed to quote “Dr Seuss” on military operations.

52. Not allowed to yell “Take that Cobra” at the rifle range.

53. Not allowed to quote “Full Metal Jacket “ at the rifle range.

54. “Napalm sticks to kids” is *not* a motivational phrase.

55. An order to “Put Kiwi on my boots” does *not* involve fruit.

56. An order to “Make my Boots black and shiny” does not involve electrical tape.

57. The proper response to a lawful order is not “Why?”

58. The following words and phrases may not be used in a cadence- Budding sexuality, necrophilia, I hate everyone in this formation and wish they were dead, sexual lubrication, black earth mother, all Marines are latent homosexuals, Tantric yoga, Gotterdammerung, Korean hooker, Eskimo Nell, we’ve all got jackboots now, slut puppy, or any references to squid.

59. May not make posters depicting the leadership failings of my chain of command.

60. “The Giant Space Ants” are not at the top of my chain of command.

61. If one soldier has a 2nd Lt bar on his uniform, and I have an E-4 on mine It means he outranks me. It does not mean “I have been promoted three more times than you”.

62. It is better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, no longer applies to Specialist Schwarz.

63. Command decisions do *not* need to be ratified by a 2/3 majority.

64. Inflatable novelties do *not* entitle me to BAQ or Separation pay.

65. There are no evil clowns living under my bed.

66. There is no “Anti-Mime” campaign in Bosnia.

67. I am not the Psychological Warfare Mascot.

68. I may not line my helmet with tin foil to “Block out the space mind control lasers”.

69. May not pretend to be a fascist stormtrooper, while on duty.

70. I am not authorized to prescribe any form of medication.

71. I must not flaunt my deviances in front of my chain of command.

72. May not wear gimp mask while on duty.

73. No military functions are to be performed “Skyclad”.

74. Woad is not camouflage makeup.

75. May not conduct psychological experiments on my chain of command.

76. “Teddy Bear, Teddy bear, turn around” is *not* a cadence.

77. The MP checkpoint is not an Imperial Stormtrooper roadblock, so I should not tell them “You don’t need to see my identification, these are not the droids you are looking for.”

78. I may not call block my chain of command.

79. I am neither the king nor queen of cheese.

80. Not allowed to wear a dress to any army functions.

81. May not bring a drag queen to the battalion formal dance.

82. May not form any press gangs.

83. Must not start any SITREP (Situation Report) with “I recently had an experience I just had to write you about….”

84. Must not use military vehicles to “Squish” things.

85. Not allowed to make any Psychological Warfare products depicting the infamous Ft. Bragg sniper incident.

86. May not challenge anyone in my chain of command to the “field of honor”.

87. If the thought of something makes me giggle for longer than 15 seconds, I am to assume that I am not allowed to do it.

88. Must not refer to 1st Sgt as “Mom”.

89. Must not refer to the Commander as “Dad”.

90. Inflatable sheep do *not* need to be displayed during a room inspection.

91. I am not authorized to initiate Jihad.

92. When asked to give a few words at a military ceremony “Romper Bomper Stomper Boo” is probably not appropriate.

93. Nerve gas is not funny.

94. Crucifixes do not ward off officers, and I should not test that.

95. I am not in need of a more suitable host body.

96. “Redneck Zombies” is not a military training aid.

97. Gozer does not dwell in my refrigerator.

98. The proper response to a chemical weapon attack is not “Tell my chain of command what I really think about them, and then poke holes in their masks.”

99. A smiley face is not used to mark a minefield.

100. Claymore mines are not filled with yummy candy, and it is wrong to tell new soldiers that they are.

101. I am not allowed to mount a bayonet on a crew-served weapon.

102. Rodents are not entitled to burial with full military honors, even if they are “casualties of war”.

103. My commander is not old enough to have fought in the civil war, and I should stop implying that he did.

104. Vodka, green food coloring, and a “Cool Mint” Listerine® bottle is not a good combination.

105. I am not allowed to bum cigarettes off of anyone under twelve.

106. I may not trade my rifle for any of the following: Cigarettes, booze, sexual favors, Kalishnikovs, Soviet Armored vehicles, small children, or bootleg CD’s.

107. Must not mock command decisions in front of the press.

108. Should not taunt members of the press, even if they are really fat, exceptionally stupid, and working for UPI.

109. I am not authorized to change national policy in Eastern Europe.

110. Never, ever, attempt to correct a Green Beret officer about anything.

111. I am not qualified to operate any US, German, Polish, or Russian Armored vehicles.

112. When saluting a “leg” officer, an appropriate greeting is not “Airborne leads the wa- oh…sorry sir”.

113. There is absolutely no need to emulate the people from “Full Monty” every time I hear the song “Hot Stuff”.

114. I cannot trade my CO to the Russians.

115. I should not speculate on the penis size of anyone who outranks me.

116. Crucifying mice – bad idea.

117. Must not use government equipment to bootleg pornography.

118. Burn pits for classified material are not revel fires – therefore it is wrong to dance naked around them.

119. I cannot arrest children for being rude.

120. An EO briefing is probably not the best place to unveil my newest off color joke.

121. I should not use government resources to “waterproof” dirty magazines.

122. Radioactive material should not be stored in the barracks.

123. I should not teach other soldiers to say offensive and crude things in Albanian, under the guise of teaching them how to say potentially useful phrases.

124. Two drink limit does not mean first and last.

125. Two drink limit does not mean two kinds of drinks.

126. Two drink limit does not mean the drinks can be as large as I like.

127. “No Drinking Of Alcoholic Beverages” does not imply that a Jack Daniel’s ® IV is acceptable.

128. “Shpadoinkle” is not a real word.

129. The Microsoft ® “Dancing Paperclip” is not authorized to countermand any orders.

130. “I’m drunk” is a bad answer to any question posed by my commander.

131. No dancing in the turret. This especially applies in conjunction with rule #113.

132. The loudspeaker system is not a forum to voice my ideas.

133. The loudspeaker system is not to be used to replace the radio.

134. The loudspeaker system is not to be used to broadcast the soundtrack to a porno movie.

135. An order to put polish on my boots means the whole boot.

136. Shouting “Let’s do the village! Let’s do the whole fucking village!” while out on a mission is bad.

137. Should not show up at the front gate wearing part of a Russian uniform, messily drunk.

138. Even if my commander did it.

139. Must not teach interpreters how to make “MRE” bombs.

140. I am not authorized to sell mineral rights.

141. Not allowed to use a broadsword to disprove “The Pen is Mightier than the sword”.

142. “Calvin-Ball” is not authorized PT.

143. I do not need to keep a “range card” by my window.

144. “K-Pot, LBE, and a thin coat of Break-free” is not an authorized uniform.

145. I should not drink three quarts of blue food coloring before a urine test.

146. Nor should I drink three quarts of red food coloring, and scream during the same.

147. I should not threaten suicide with pop rocks and Coke ®.

148. Putting red “Mike and Ike’s” ® into a prescription medicine bottle, and then eating them all in a formation is not funny.

149. Must not create new DOD forms, then insist they be filled out.

150. On Sports Day PT, a wedgie is not considered a legal tackle.

151. The proper way to report to my Commander is “Specialist Schwarz, reporting as ordered, Sir” not “You can’t prove a thing!”

152. The following items do not exist: Keys to the Drop Zone, A box of grid squares, blinker fluid, winter air for tires, canopy lights, or Chem-Light ® batteries.

153. I should not assign new privates to “guard the flight line”.

154. Shouldn’t treat “piss-bottles” with extra-strength icy hot.

155. Teaching Albanian children to taunt other soldiers is not nice.

156. I will no longer perform “lap-dances” while in uniform.

157. If I take the uniform off, in the course of the lap-dance, it still counts.

158. The revolution is not now.

159. When detained by MP’s, I do not have a right to a strip search.

160. No part of the military uniform is edible.

161. Bodychecking General officers is not a good idea.

162. Past lives have absolutely no effect on the chain of command.

163. Take that hat off.

164. There is no such thing as a were-virgin.

165. I do not get “that time of month”.

166. No, the pants are not optional.

167. Not allowed to operate a business out of the barracks.

168. Especially not a pornographic movie studio.

169. Not even if they *are* “especially patriotic films”

170. Not allowed to “defect” to OPFOR during training missions.

171. On training missions, try not to shoot down the General’s helicopter.

172. “A full magazine and some privacy” is not the way to help a potential suicide.

173. I am not allowed to create new levels of security clearance.

174. Furby ® is not allowed into classified areas. (I swear to the gods, I did not make that up, it’s actually DOD policy).

175. We do not “charge into battle, naked, like the Celts”.

176. Any device that can crawl across the table on medium, does not need to be brought into the office.

177. I am not to refer to a formation as “the boxy rectangle thingie”.

178. I am not “A lesbian trapped in a man’s body”.

179. On Army documents, my race is not “Other”.

180. Nor is it “Secretariat, in the third”.

181. Pokémon® trainer is not an MOS.

182. There is no FM for “wall-to-wall counseling”.

183. My chain of command has neither the time, nor the inclination to hear about what I did with six boxes of Fruit Roll-Ups. ®

184. When operating a military vehicle I may *not* attempt something “I saw in a cartoon”.

185. My name is not a killing word.

186. I am not the Emperor of anything.

187. Must not taunt officers in the throes of nicotine withdrawal, with cigarettes.

188. May not challenge officers to “Meet me on the field of honor, at dawn”.

189. Do not dare SERE graduates to eat bugs. They will always do it.

190. Must not make s’mores while on guard duty.

191. Our Humvees cannot be assembled into a giant battle-robot.

192. The proper response to a briefing is not “That’s what you think”.

193. The Masons, and Gray Aliens are not in our chain of command.

194. Shouldn’t take incriminating photos of my chain of command.

195. Shouldn’t use Photoshop ® to create incriminating photos of my chain of command.

196. I am not allowed to give tattoos.

197. I am not allowed to sing “Henry the VIII I am” until verse 68 ever again.

198. Not allowed to lead a “Coup” during training missions.

199. I should not confess to crimes that took place before I was born.

200. My chain of command is not interested in why I “just happen” to have a kilt, an inflatable sheep, and a box of rubber bands in the back of my car.

201. Must not valiantly push officers onto hand grenades to save the squad.

202. Despite the confusing similarity in the names, the “Safety Dance” and the “Safety Briefing” are never to be combined.

203. “To conquer the earth with an army of flying monkeys” is a bad long term goal to give the re-enlistment NCO.

204. NEVER nail a stuffed bunny to a cross and put it up in front of the Battalion Headquarters sign as an “Easter Desecration.”

205. Don’t write up false gigs on a HMMWV PMCS. (”Broken clutch pedal”, “Number three turbine has frequent flame-outs”, “flux capacitor emits loud whine when engaged”)

206. Not allowed to get shot.

207. The Chicken and Rice MRE is *not* a personal lubricant. (Skippy wanted this noted for the record that this is not something he has ever attempted or considered! It was something we heard at dinner on 22 September 2001 and it was just so obscene it had to go here.)

208. Not allowed to play into the deluded fantasies of the civilians who are “hearing conversations” from the NSA, FBI, CIA and KGB due to the microchip the aliens implanted in their brain.

209. An airsickness bag is to be used for airsickness *only*. (Also not a Skippy-ism…this was the same dinner.)

210. Must not make T-shirts up depicting a pig with the writing “Eat Pork or Die” in Arabic to bring as civilian attire when preparing to deploy to a primarily Muslim country.

211. Don’t ask LTC Steele to sign my copy of Blackhawk Down.

212. Must not go on nine deployments in six years that require a security clearance that I don’t have, even if the Army tells me repeatedly that I have one and I have no reason to question them.

213. Do not convince NCO’s that their razorbumps are the result of microscopic parasites.

Posted: 10/21/2009 6:34:22 AM EDT

[#35]

btt

Posted: 10/21/2009 4:50:05 PM EDT

[#36]

zomg that... ryan's story.... priceless..

Posted: 11/10/2009 3:51:42 AM EDT

[#37]

btt

Posted: 11/26/2009 1:42:11 AM EDT

[#38]

wow, btt

Posted: 11/26/2009 4:38:41 AM EDT

[#39]

That hurt! 3 hours of side splitting win!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Posted: 12/9/2009 2:07:19 PM EDT

[#40]

bump to keep out of archives

Posted: 12/13/2009 5:57:28 AM EDT

[#41]

Should be Pinned somewhere....

Posted: 12/13/2009 6:08:36 AM EDT

[#42]

Tag for later reading

GM

Posted: 1/2/2010 9:53:43 AM EDT

[#43]

^

Posted: 1/25/2010 12:25:46 AM EDT

[#44]

Quoted:

Quoted:
Bump........Didn't Piccolo post a pic of him with the SEC one time???? if someone has it post it in here please

http://i54.photobucket.com/albums/g120/m108shooter/SECansI.jpg

Thanks Piccolo!

Posted: 1/26/2010 8:26:26 AM EDT

[#45]

I have not laughed this hard in ages!

Truly Epic!

Posted: 2/11/2010 11:07:41 PM EDT

[#46]

Dear god.....3 hours of epicness all rolled into one thread, Pic you should write all your stories down they'd make one hell of a book

Posted: 3/10/2010 3:08:29 AM EDT

[#47]

btt

Posted: 3/11/2010 10:10:37 AM EDT

[#48]

Thank all of you for helping me pass half of the work day with your tales.

Posted: 3/13/2010 3:17:34 PM EDT

[#49]

tag

Posted: 3/13/2010 3:49:43 PM EDT

[#50]

Soooooo tagged to save stories later.

[ARCHIVED THREAD] - SEC, Ryan's, Fire on a plane, A-square (Page 2 of 4)

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