Barman! Pint of Pish & a Bag of Scratchings,Please....

Apologies if done before...

RAF Kinloss 1985,I was a new sprog posted to the Bomb Dump straight from training,among the reprobated working there was a wee porridge wog Corporal,Liam S.

Liam had a reputation of liking his beer followed by a good scrap.One Saturday night we were in the NAAFI Capercalie Club bop,eyeing up the local bints & pad brats,wives & slappers looking for cheap booze & a shag.
So Liam's standing propping up the bar a bit worse for wear stareing daggers at his missis bopping away to Wham or fuck knows what & he spots us come in to the bar.

"What ya dri'kin guys?" Liam askes & soon get's the drinks in,plus more to add to his supply of beer & whisky in front of him.After a couple hours,Ryan,who did'nt really drink much bought a shandy,Liam seeing this became enraged."What are ya? A fooking poof or a fooking Armourer?!....Here,Ya wanna drink pish,I'll giya pish!" so in front of everyone in the bar,Liam snatches Ryan's glass & empties the contents over the counter,whips his dick out & pours a steaming pint of pish into it straight from the tap & slams the steaming pint of pish onto the counter.
Now some of the other,older members of the group are,by now,in fits of laughter.Us,straight from trade training are "wtf!?"
Liam thrusts the pint at Ryan,who fair play to him,takes the pint mug & a gulp of Liam's home brew,promptly turns & runs into the bog to throw up.
Liam,seeing his home brew hardly touched,proceeds to drain the steaming contents in one yam-sing,upending the pint pot on his head!
"AAhh....feckin luvly!"
Now by that time the NAAFI staff had called the Snowdrops who were pulling up outside the NAAFI,seeing the blues flashing,we tried to steer Liam out the back way & back home to sleep it off.His missis was,by then in hysterics screaming & yelling at him for 'ruining her night out'.
Legging it across pitch black playing fields towards pad town towing a fiesty pished up jock who wants more beer is'nt much fun!
Especially as on Monday,we had a visit from OC Arm who gve us Dumpies the first degree!
A few weeks later,again in the NAAFI,Liam's missis got punched in the gob by him & she smashed a glass in his face he was sent off to Wroughton? to dry out.

So,do fellow ARRSE'rs have tales of bar room antics you would'nt in in civvie dives?
T'was at the HQ NorthAG Barracks HQ Kolsas, Olso Norway in the mid 1970s. In the Junior Ranks Club, on party evenings with wives, girlfriends etc attending. There was this Geordie Scaly Corporal and a Geordie RAF SAC who used to strip off to buff, stark fek'ng neked and sit on the bar stools drinking thier pints.... nobody took a blind bit of notice... nobody ever complained, not even the wives and girlfriends of the other geezers there....

Yes... great fun... many a drunken night was not-remembered by a few of us..... Honest... It wasnae me, I never took my claeths off except when on the dance floor doing my 'Grease - John Travolta' thingy lumbering around the dance floor like a drunken Troll....

Someone even took some piccies.... so somewhere in somebodys photy collection is a piccy of young Uncle Vanya with his Army skivvies and vest on and nothing much else, flaked out in an arm chair...... :oops: :)

I still waken up with sweats and panic....... :roll: :oops:
Ah, a story about lagging.

I was going to post a couple on here and then thought 'but I've told that story before' on checking it was 6 years ago so perhaps due another airing.

A young Lance/Corporal who later went on to be Corps RSM and convicted sex offender (not related) had a habit of minesweeping pints of p1ss in the bar in NI. If there was no p1ss left in pint pots he'd quite happily take it straight from the meaty tap at a distance of 14 inches, apparently thats the best way as its still accelerating away and before gravity takes over.

After a two year tour, we tried to think about what you get for a chap who has probably necked 100s of pint of golden champagne. So we had a whip round.

At his drinks he stood on the table, drunkenly rambled on about how much he loved us, how much he were like his brothers, how much of his winnings he would share and how he would turn on us if we ever crossed the line, a typical bezzering speech.... then he opened his prezzies. An envelope full of cash and another one, neatly wrapped (probably by a clerk or someone else that does a girls job)

When his eyes caught hold of what it was and when it sunk in, you could tell he was over come with thought, emotion and little tears welled up in his deviant eyes.

It was a soda stream, and with a lump in his throat and a slight squeak in his voice he said 'Och fizzy p1ss'

That night he must have had twenty or more vodka and urine pints, he didn't even like vodka, but what else can you add to carbonated p1ss to continue getting bladdered?
Things defiantly took a turn for the worse when Sqn/Coy bars were stopped (although I'm sure there are a few still running). They were f*cking horrible places but the sights and the states people used to get into were phenomenal.

Names and specifics have faded in the mists of time but there are still lingering memories of;

The n. i. g. 'Top shelf' A truely crippling concoction which was, more often than not, topped up lovingly with someones p*ss with more than a hint of skiffage around the rim. One poor b*stard I remember, halfway through his tasty cocktail, threw up into the glass. Fair play to him, he finished the lot, chunks and all.

Another horrific ordeal someone was put through was, a mouthwatering beverage as described above, to be drunk through somebody's sock. Now this wasn't a fresh on straight off your foot type sock, this was a week old reeking tank park sock. I feel a bit sick thinking about it, especially now I've got the term 'w*nk sock' in my head....dear god, the horrors.

One particular individual, used to delight fellow patrons with his 'I can fit DM2 worth of 10pfg coins into my foreskin' How he realised this ability still bewilders me but it was a truely impressive sight. I can still picture him, back turned, hunched over for a couple of minutes then whizzing round, old fella out, looking like a snooker ball in a sock.


I worked with a bloke in Germany who would take a slash on every tramp he saw in a shop doorway. If he had nothing in the tank, he would have 3 or 4 more pints and then actually go back to make sure he didn't miss one.

"Seaming" was also the sport of choice at one unit I was at. The art of lagging yourself directly down the inside seam of your trouser leg, trying for minimal outward spread of the damp area, was a skill that only a dedicated swampmaster could achieve. After a section piss up, a few of us had gone seaming with varied success. We were then shocked to be approached by a rather irate ginger Captain, who proceeded to issue a bollocking, shouting how ashamed he was to be associated with such minging NCO's, ranting about values and standards, and various other stuff. We chuckled at first, but then realised he was serious and started to wonder how he was going to take this, and how much in the shit we were.

It was only when he was going completely nuclear, with his face redder than his hair as he shouted and screamed, that one of the lads spotted a yellow puddle slowly increasing in size by his left foot. The fucker had pulled off a perfect seam, whilst simultaneously issuing his (now obviously fake) bollocking.

A cracking bloke for a ginger rupert, he's out now I believe.
Ahh the old Bag of Crisps in the Naafi, empty crisps out, use bag to do one in, whatever the flavour, then return crisps to bag, wait a little (obviuosly near end of night) then offer crisps round. To the twattttt who did it to me, and i know your reading this, very funny :)
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