Back to Basics

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by Blackrat, Feb 22, 2013.

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  1. Lets face it, the NAAFI is becoming slightly left of gay. What we need to do is start again.

    After the first Gulf war, i was sent down to the Falklands. Clearly i had upset someone and they intended to pass me off to annoy the Crabs. This started from day one. As a fully confirmed shitkicker, i found their ways annoying to say the least. On a muster parade one morning, an RAF Warrant Officer asked me why my kit wasn't pressed and why my toecaps were not bulled. Last i checked, i wasn't in the Guards, outside Buckingham Palace and i was posted to the middle of fucking nowhere. Bullshit aside, MPA was full of bars and i spent most of the time trawling them, trying to get into the females rooms, or preferably their knickers. Needless to say i failed utterly. Clearly these crab birds were fearful of a bona fide warrior in their midst. Either that or they were fucking lesbians.

    One evening i was walking up the bloody long corridor, minding my own business smoking a fag. The following is an account of what happened next;

    Female Crab (From behind me) - "Put that cigarette out"

    Me - "Get stuffed"

    FC (Now in front of me) - "How dare you. I'm an RAF Police Officer"

    Me - "Fuck my luck. A pig in knickers"

    FC - "Do you know it's an offence to smoke in these corridors"

    Me - "Is it? I can't see any no smoking signs"

    FC - "You're standing underneath one. Put that bloody fag out"

    Me (takes a couple more pulls on fag and drops it on floor) - "There you go love."

    FC - "Don't fucking call me love. Show some respect. I'm reporting you. What's your name?"

    Me - "LCpl GS Table"

    FC - "You haven't heard the last of this. I'm watching you"

    Bully for you love. Anyhoo, as luck would have it i was in the air refuellers bar that night (the one with all the alarms in it) whereapon i spied on my power mad sweetheart sitting with some of her crab chums. Unfortunately for her, i was pissed and in the mood for mischief and revenge. I popped off to the karzi, took off a boot, removed a sock and proceded to lay a cable in it. Trying to curl one off into a sock is quite tricky, especially when you're pissing all over the place as well. After various yoga positions, i managed to leave a decent deposit in the sock and popped back to my oppos with what looked like the strangest sausage in the world. Moving my muckers to a safe distance i started to swing the sock around my head, a bit like David with his sling shot, although David didn't have particles of shit flying everywhere. When there was enough momentum, i launched the missile which flew across the bar and landed with a satisfying "Plop" sound on the coppers table. Being rozzers, their first reaction was to examine the item in front of them. "What the fuck is this?" enquired one. "Christ knows" said another. Another, much braver than the rest, pick up the mysterious sock shaped parcel with with his pen and examined it close up, only to fling it (to my utter delight) into the lap of the power mad bitch. "It's a fucking sock full of shit" he cried. The love of my life shot up as if someone had just shot a tazer up her fragrant starfish and in her haste to escape the stench, tripped over and banged her head on a chair, much to the amusement of my muckers.

    My point? There isn't one. I just wanted to share a dit with you. I'm off now to shove some fireworks up a cats arse.
     
    • Like Like x 4
  2. Works for me. Nice one
     
  3. The beauty of the Falklands was that we had two man rooms, with a hot and cold sinkrinal in them. This prevented the need to walk the ten or so metres to the latrines in the middle of the night when you needed a piss. One evening, after a heavy session down at Deanos in Port Stanley, we came back to the facility and held an impromptu piss up in our accomodation corridor. After about half and hour, one of the Infantry lads asked me where the bog was. "Fuck walking down to the latrines mate, just pop in that room and used the sink" says i. "Cheers mate" replied the Infanteer.

    About an hour or so later the chap, who's room it was, turned up and had a couple of cans with us and stated he was going to get his head down. He entered his room and we heard "What the fucking shitting Jesus? Which one of you cunts has been in here then?" On walking in the room, i saw him pointing, horrified, at his sink. Left plumb in the middle of the sink was a perfectly crimped bum cigar. To add insult to injury, the dashing Infanteer had wiped his arse on the curtains.
     
    • Like Like x 2
  4. Schaden

    Schaden LE Book Reviewer

    Trying too hard - 3 points.
     
    • Like Like x 1
  5. Grumblegrunt

    Grumblegrunt LE Book Reviewer

    ah the joys of the bronx surprised it was still standing - we did enough damage to it when bored in 89 and it was in a state then. the lot before us used to ambush the raf police by hiding in the rafters and killed a couple of dogs allegedly, so they refused to go anywhere near any RIC ruckus, they just sealed it off.

    just reading they only do six weeks now - that cant be right. can it?
     


  6. Nope I read that twice looking for something amusing!
    I found none but I did learn that you are a disgusting cunt and the rest of the bar would've been within their rights to have kicked fuck out of you
     
  7. I told my dog what you said and he begged me to feed him Xylitol.


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