Lou and the taste of Vim

Discussion in 'Now That's What I Call NAAFI Bar' started by sillyboy, Oct 29, 2009.

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  1. Ive just had a nudge on Facebook requesting my friendship from a bloke named 'Lou'..

    'Lou' was in the room upon my arrival at my first draft, with niceties aside he showed me my pit, briefed me up on the do's and dont's scratched his sizable arrse then went back to his book..Fair one I thought, gets into sports rig, and goes for a wander round, now being 17 and it being a Saturday, naivety prevailed and my overall impression was that although it was a little windswept, out of the way and desolate, it was a quiet place, good amenities and a thankful far cry from training..

    All smashed apart at 2 ish the next morning when 'Lou' came back from the lash, after dragging me out of my pit by my ankles, and not long after he planted his boot straight into my coccyx to the accompanying soundtrack of his laughing pal he had trashed my pit space quite spectacularly, pretty eye opening stuff, little words were said, he bubbled on about god knows what then gave me a bear hug before slinging me back on the bed laughing, him and his mate then sat up till six spinning dits and listening to music.

    Next day not a word....not a peep, after a couple of other lads floated back in prepping for Monday it was largely forgotten, a trend started to occur though, being stuck in camp most weekends inevitably ended up in either 'Lou' smashing me about a bit, 'Lou' dragging me out drinking then smashing me about a bit or me discreetly finding something else to do until the meathead had gone to sleep :D

    Finer moments in our love affair for that sh*t three months was 'Lou' driving his heel into my bare toes as I shaped my spare lid in the hall mirror, 'Lou' jumping off a locker onto my back sending me in turn ribs first onto a fire extinguisher hook in the wall and 'Lou' force feeding me a sock full of Vim and water when I was ambushed in the heads by him and his pal (hence the thread title!)

    To elaborate, 'Lou' was in his late thirties, larger than your average prop and was infamous for malletting half a matelow Field Gun Team in Pompey the previous xmas leave, chuck in a load of Falklands related head wobbling issues and it pretty much explains his wierdness.

    The only advice sniggered to me and 3 others that were on the harsh end of senior guys fun and games at that particular time was to fight back, I made one admirable attempt whereby I punched away at his head and face and would love to go all Steve Preece and say I made my point but he looked mildly angry and put his hands down, only for him to then pick me up by my ears and mandible and shake me about, a lot.

    All that aside he was a nice bloke, not a lot he couldnt teach and was forever throwing me bits of gucci gear to fill up my beltkit..

    Anyways it all stopped pretty much as soon as it started and we developed a friendship of sorts based around punk music and swapping books, last I saw of him was when on BPC and he was creeping round Brize in civvies for unknown reasons, last I heard of him was when he had passed his e mail to a mutual friend who I worked with in Afghanistan telling me to say hello..

    Ill be his pal I think, with trepidation, If I meet him for a few wets and he throws me all over Yates before making me do handstands for him again ill be most disappointed with myself..

    Tell us about your block monster....
  2. aaw bless...i want to mother you now :D
    • Like Like x 1
  3. If 'mothering' includes being w*nked off into a papercup then I accept
  4. I thought you'd like the idea of me being smashed around, still it must be a sickener for you considering every lad at that age had done more in 8 months at Lympstone than youve managed to eek out over half a lifetime of miserable pretending ..
  5. Big Eddie, normally to be seen wearing coveralls, boots minus laces and a polished steel para lid. He kept tropical fish and depending on his mood which changed hourly from deep depression to manic, furious bouts of masturbation, he'd ritually kill one before slinging it under his bed.

    His room smelt like the low-tide mark on a northern beach but had more flotsam in the form of empty vodka bottles and broken tellies. He once dismembered a boiler room feral cat because, in his words, 'It fucking still owed me a fiver from last month'

    Eddie is the naked, hot soup thrower from some of my previous posts; a man banned from his adopted home town of Kirkwall, Orkney and now currently doing life for the murder of a student.

    His thick Yorkshire twang was the last sound many of God's creature's would hear and the first sound that many a fast food proprieter would hear before being blinded by a cup of cream of mushroom.

    He was also the proud owner of a penis that resembled a tree root. The same penis would be gently tugged whilst he'd stand naked over your bed in the twilight hours as he'd ask 'Can I borrow your skis?' regardless of the fact that:

    a. It was summer.
    b. We were in Aldershot.
    c. I didn't ski.
    d. Neither did Eddie.
    • Like Like x 4
  6. The creature that was MDN. Never forget him lobbing his todger out onto a shoulder of an unsuspecting Air Trooper in Block 14 in Minden and leaving it there as Air Trooper carried on chatting oblivious to the laugter of all and sundry til MDN started to wank and all hell broke loose. Funny as fcuk.
  7. Describe his penis please. Girth, weight, definition, colour and tang will do for starters.
  8. BOOM MOFO :lol:

    wednesday night, Norton Manor involved the sprogs desperately trying to stop the duty old school wretch from smashing/kicking/head butting his way into the grot after having self medicating down town on his sports afternoon

    You could hear the fecker singing as he zig zagged down the main drag.

    Next morning he always seemed slighty perplexed as to how he couldn't open any of the dors as he'd kicked the handles off, but could almost fit his head in some of the hole he'd made

    O how we laughed
  9. I would of broken the cnut's legs with an iron bar while he was asleep, reni
  10. The barracks monster was a woman (allegedly) built like a shot putter face like a welders bench

    She used to get rangooned and try and catch some unsuspecting soul to inflict her self on

  11. Im sure you would have treacle, call me old fashioned but at 17 I didnt fancy juggling the 5 or 6 other war damaged lunatics that haunted the accomodation :)
  12. The irony, he's now a Probation Officer in the West Country :)
  13. Well one things for certain, he was in a room full of fresh faced eager young men so it would have been painfully tumescent.
  14. The Rat ! (May his name be spoken in hushed tones)
    First couple of nights in battalion had to share a room with ajoining bunk occupied by the man himself before being moved to a rifle coy block.

    About 12 o'clock this character staggers in, falls over my bed, about the age of my dad, and slurs
    "Who the f@ck are you?"

    "I'm just up from depot" says I, fresh faced and tight of buttock.

    He then vomits on my bed and farts loudly and says "Are you airborne?"
    "Yes", I venture apprehensively, "I've been to Brize"

    "I'll show you airborne you crow f@cker"
    Takes of soiled jeans and rams his arrse about 2 inches from my face.

    The biggest, ugliest set of piles you could imagine, a proctologist would have a life's work on his bum grapes and need go no further. I swear to this day that they were moving even when he wasn't. The chalfonts had their own microclimate. Oozing, scabby rectal prolapse like something from a bad B movie. And the smell, the rancid, unforgettable stench of open sores and decomposing dung.

    Welcome to battalion.
    • Like Like x 1
  15. Lou was pretty much my only taste of being defenceless, I never quite got into the routine though of slinging sprogs round for fun, would have made a sh*t bully really, had far too much fun going on, was either on a run ashore or I was cavorting with someones beloved but I did fall in love with one sprog who came to Stonehouse.

    Tommo, cracking lad from Southampton, jammy b*stard had cashed in his pennies from an inheritance at 18 and had spent 3 years wandering the planet, and I mean, wandering like a f*cking Nomad..every sh*thole under the sun and every bit in-between before returning to join the Corps, he'd gone RE with a view for 59 but told them, in his words, to poke it after being bounced for having a sly tab in the early hours of the morning out the back but had watched every fat knacker who failed any phys being chivvied along and encouraged..

    Anyhow, we had our own ubiqioutus 'Big Dave', a right f*cking header of a Bristolian who'd messed up a chance to nip off to Sale Sharks for a couple of years by nipping the nose off a doorman and re-adjusting an intervening off duty coppers face when on leave. He was a sound bloke though, just big and daft, I spent just short of a year stealing his pillows as often as they were re-issued and sticking them above the tiling in the heads, he would fly into my room and scream 'if you get any snifters on who's doing this Al f*cking let me know right mate !?!?' , to which id peer, Orwellian like over my well thumbed copy of 'Papillon' and reply softly, 'certainly mate, pretty sure its some c*nt from another block though...sit down, chill, hot wet ?'

    Tommo turned up and was a right chipper, I was endeared to him purely by his box of phots that were truly awesome and the fact he sheepily asked me where he could do his dhobi as he had a pair of p*ssed jeans and a vommed shirt that needed doing as he'd double slammed at his birds house early hours that morning.

    Dave, true to form got stuck into Tommo, usual stuff, 'get your f*cking gear on your coming out', 'sort this f*cking room out' ect ect, bit of pushing and pulling and the odd slap but it was evident that Tommo was holding back a bit, all pretty apparent one Sunday morning when the almightiest crash sent me sprinting to the corridor, poor old Dave, all 6"1 of him had been slung into the full length mirror back first, stamped all over from groin to fizzer and the coup de grace of a waist propelled headbutt had demolished his eye socket, Tommo was wobbly lipped, I f*cked him off to his pit and got Dave sorted out and that was the end of that..apparently tenting it up in Guam, living 'bush' in Namibia, evading border bribes in the Far East and mixing it up in bars every night in every South American sh*thole you can think of had evidently given Tommo a bit of an edge when it came to being cornered, he still cried though..the f*cking girl :D

    (On Daves last day some technical whizzkid managed to double whammy his car with a thundie and a green smoke when he opened the door :D )