"There I was, last man in the patrol, chest deep in water, both pantlegs full of shit, (Don't worry, it was MY shit)....."   and everybody in the office is looking at you with a combination of fear and disgust that you have never seen before, and you realize that...

a.) They have no common ground with me whatsoever that they can relate to this story with, and...
b.) If they don't like this story yet, I probably shouldn't finish it, and...
c.) I need to save this story for an audience that can appreciate two pantlegs full of shit.

The people who DO wanna hear the end of the story, and can find the humor in a pantleg full of shit are the same twisted 2 percenters like you might meet in the military, who like a little exitement in their life, or maybe woulda joined the military if life hadn't taken them someplace else, people who think skydiving might be a cool hobby, or think things blowing up is cool.... and they are the same people that if you show a little homophobia will grab your ass, or if you don't like to be called by your gay-ass first name will ONLY call you by your gay-ass first name, will exploit every sign of weakness; BUT would take a bullet for you or go to the matt for you just because....


It's button pushing for the sake of the sport.  It's not about race, the demographics of greater Phoenix or lumination tools, it's about picking scabs, pushing bruises and pantlegs full of shit.  And here we have a metric ass-ton of button pushing, shit stirring folks (figuratively speaking), who have many qualities but being 'sheep like' not one of them, compounded by really twisted senses of humor.  It's a character trait (flaw?) of people that like to do nutty stuff.  Of which, you find a lot of here.






--so what'll happen ?
That's just it! We don't know.
Maybe something bad...maybe something good
I guess we'll never know.
Cause you're going to guard it.
You won't touch it, will you?


Oh, how long can trusty Cadet Stimpy hold out?
How can he possibly resist the diabolical urge to push the button that could erase his very existence?
Will his tortured mind give in to it's uncontrollable desires?
Can he withstand the temptation to push the button, that even now, beckons him ever closer?
Will he succumb to the maddening urge to eradicate history, at the mere push of a single button?
The beautiful shiny button.
The jolly candy-like button.
Will he hold out, folks?
Can he hold out?

Dirty socks!

Well said.....

yea really, i wanna hear

How one responds to serious amounts of pain is an excellent gauge of the quality of their personality.

Quoted: "There I was, last man in the patrol, chest deep in water, both pantlegs full of shit, (Don't worry, it was MY shit)....."   and everybody in the office is looking at you with a combination of fear and disgust that you have never seen before, and you realize that... a.) They have no common ground with me whatsoever that they can relate to this story with, and... b.) If they don't like this story yet, I probably shouldn't finish it, and... c.) I need to save this story for an audience that can appreciate two pantlegs full of shit.

Yes, actually I've run into this situation before. Either folks' eyes glaze over or they've got a look of horror plastered on their face. One of the hardest adjustments I made to civilian life when I got out of the military was realizing that not everyone wanted to hear some of the stories I was telling.




And I think you've made a good point about the "two percenters" and "pot-stirrers."