The Silly Season

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by RTFQ, Dec 6, 2005.

Welcome to the Army Rumour Service, ARRSE

The UK's largest and busiest UNofficial military website.

The heart of the site is the forum area, including:

  1. RTFQ


    There is no other part of the Gregorian calender that has engendered such fear and excitement as the run-up to Christmas Leave. The reason that Mary and Joseph couldn't get a room was because town was full of Tp and Sqn p1ss ups, and the little baby jesus was born next to the prostrate form of a sleeping gunner who was surrounded by stella cans and dressed as that bird off the Matrix.

    Sadly, this year I'm surrounded by civil servants for the run up to christmas. The planning of our christmas do caused quite a ruckus in our organisation as half of them wanted it to be a Lord of The Rings theme and the other half insisted that, as representatives of the UK Orc and Elf Federation, they felt that unless we do it properly, it wasn't worth doing at all - then there were issues over carrying real swords in public and an argument over whether Gandolf the Grey could be deemed a separate character to Gandolf the White. I may have called Frodo Baggin's sexuality into question and the whole meeting descended into anarchy. It took one-star intervention to calm it all down and he told them just to organise a nice pub lunch. Unfortunately we have a number of food extremists who can't eat anything but leaves and a couple of others who are allergic to, well fucking everything as it happens. Add to that the religious crazies who are convinced that an eternal power that created the universe (and is, as we speak apparently, waging a war of annhilation with the forces of evil) really gives a flying fcuk about whether they have goats cheese or chops with their brocolli, and it's all become a very good definition of a pain in the scrotum.

    I remember the good old days when I was actually in the army as opposed to the hideously unfunny remake of The Office in which I now reside. The 3 solid weeks of drinking that used to leave my pancreas shivering and my liver twitching like a head-shot american schoolkid. I remember how my lads used to try to dress smart by wearing ties over top-buttoned rugby shirts, how their nervous and unsure wives/girfriends would redefine the term 'overdressed' in comparison, yet still make it look good. Until about midnight, that is, when two or more of them would get into a fight about "My Darren" while he (aka Cpl Smith) stood at the bar being congratulated by his section. How I used to get paraded in front of various familial relatives who thought Lt RTFQ was directly to blame for their husband's/boyfriend's/son's recent tours of the balkans. How your real CR came when your Tp SSgt stumbled over and presented you with an odd cocktail the lads had put together, with a slurred "Here boss, drink this." Did you trust them enough to drink it? Did they have enough respect for you not to have played the "Jizz in the Boss's Drink" game? Did they hold you in enough esteem to make sure your supine, ragdoll-like body got put in a taxi headed for the officers' mess after you drank it. I'm sure many a bookish future CGS with a recently endorsed A-grade CR has woken up in a layby in Pwllheli with the bodily fluids of 30 proud men in his stomach. I remember the Officers to Sgts' Mess functions that felt like a particularly cuckoo verse from Revelations. How I nearly died in a ditch in Colchester whilst dressed as a Zulu, pulled my best driver/rad op from a bin in Bracknell and saw what seemed like an entire Batallion freeze in naughty fear when Spearhead was called during a partially clothed rendition of Silent Night.

    This year, however, my silly season consists of a visit to a guesthouse named after a gay dancer for a buffet meal and an afternoon disco with a bunch of tools who think 'personality' wears a bow tie with flashing red lights in it and carries a plastic fish that sings "Don't Worry Be Happy." We have to be out by 1600 for the next function. Oh yeah, another department went there yesterday and three of them got food poisoning from the tuna. Spare me.

    Anyone else having a sh1t run-up to Christmas this year?
  2. Now THATS a CLASS Post... Nice One RTFQ...

  3. RTFQ you owe me for yet another keyboard and screen covered in drink. :lol: Keep it up!
  4. acp, I have now found if you store RTFQ's profile info in your favourites you can, at any time of day or night, get a large sheet of clear plastic, cover the screen and keyboard, read his posts, spluttering, and pebble dashing the plastic with chunks of whatever you happen to have ingested in the last 6 hours or so safely knowing you only need to turn the PC off and make your way, giggling at the memories, to the shower and wash the sheet off, hanging it up to dry for the next visit to RTFQ heaven...... :)

  5. Welcome to the fun-filled world that is office life, RTFQ.

    It is a well known, though as yet unexplained fact, that office workers rarely resemble real people. This phenomenon is at its most evident just before Christmas, when the atmosphere of faux gaiety brings out their inner window licker.

    Colin from Accounts can be found wearing his new tank top, saying ‘I’m mad me!’ and blowing the kazoo thing he found in his Marks & Spencer Christmas cracker. Essentially harmless, he does however have a high annoyance factor that will eventually cause his eye to deal your fist a sudden and adroit blow.

    Sandi from HR, who can’t spell her own name, will stand around in her earth mother pose, her right foot (shod in flat canvas pumps made by a Peruvian peasant woman who she ‘befriended’ on her last ‘working’ holiday with VSO) wrapped around her left, arms folded, and holding a glass of organic tofu juice. Any attempt to engage her in conversation will result in a sudden veer off-thread. Since you’re male, the subject will invariably change to your shortcomings.

    I could go on but I’ve just realised that my Christmas bash is looming and I’ve suddenly lost the will to live.
  6. Direct hit once again RTFQ. :D :D :D :D

    Our office party will be held in the afternoon this year, do not get overexcited we will all be expected to make the time up.

    This years xmas party theme is redundancy with our 'at risk' status expected to be confirmed on the 20th and the party on the 21st. How I will laugh and our chief execs jokes and look forward to sitting next to two of the directors exchanging seasonal pleasentaries.

    I wonder if i will get a hat in my xmas cracker or a p45 :)
  7. I share your grief RTFQ

    I’ve just come out of a meeting, where the AOB consisted of a chat about what to do for our lash up on the 16th. I sat with my face in my hands as suggestion after suggestion was shot down for spurious reason after spurious reason.

    “Why don’t we go for a curry, then a few pints?”
    “But not everyone likes curry.”
    “Why don’t we go to a curry house and those that don’t like curry can order from the English menu?”
    “What about people who are driving?” et-fcuking-cetera, et-fcuking-cetera.

    The whole time I was sat there, I was just thinking. ‘Why don’t you all fcuk off, you comedy tie wearing, fat c-unts.’ Everyone knows what will happen because it happens every year. This bunch of halitosis cursed middle aged gronks will head into Manchester city centre and get hammered. Because it’s the only time this year that their big fat wives will have let them out, and they’ve got no drinking stamina, they’ll be paggered before 7 o’clock on no more than four pints. They’ll then make c-unts of themselves by trying to chat up the girl from admin, breathing their ‘sh-it smugglers duffel bag’ breath on her until she passes out.

    I always have to make sure that I’ve got a back up do to go to, so I can bale when they start getting sick and crying at about 8 bells.

    Oh how I hark for the days when one of the lads had to be treated for burns at CMH because someone panelled him with a jug full of lava-custard at the sit down meal in Arnhem barracks in 1989.

    Oh how I miss the sound of the cheer as that full can of Breaker arced across an entire cookhouse before burying itself right in the grid of a particularly despised full-screw in Holdfast 1991.

    I shall never again witness the spectacle of the sloppies going bonkers as their hard work was getting smeared into the ceilings and windows. Or the jaw dropping delights of watching four blokes shi-tting in a urinal trough because the traps were full. And watching the same trough come off the wall under their combined arrse weight, covering them in sh-it, p-iss and bog roll.

    And what about Christmas 93’, when the RE decided to leave two diggers unattended in our compound in Ballykelly. I’m sure one of the dogs was driving one at some point.
  8. RTFQ


    The plot thickens. The commercial cell, which are basically a bunch of morbidly obese followers of wicca (I'm not joking), have refused to come to our do on the 14th, because they don't like the fact that their woeful and browbeaten husbands haven't been invited. This astonishingly poor attempt on Realpolitik is flawed on many levels. Firstly, they are all tedious, worn out shells of human beings. They do a job that is so niggardly and dull that no-one with a spark of human charisma would ever attempt it, this fact makes them think they are rare specialists cultivating a black art, not a bunch of bints slipping down a rut of a job that is speeding them from early adulthood to death with barely a whimper of complaint. So life and soul they aint. Secondly, most of them walk like p.issed wardrobes, meaning the corridors leading to and from their offices are like the M4 suffering a Willi Betz Go-Slow. Frankly the venue isn't big enough to accomodate their mass. Their suffragette-like "Well we aint going then" was largely met by knowing looks and a barely muffled "Someone had better warn Ginsters then" from your correspondant. I fecking sh1t civilians.
  9. Jerry-can of HM's finest kero and a box of matches should do the trick RTFQ
  10. Nice one cc, I have been trying to find a way of describing my bosses fetid stink and that has just hit the nail on the head!
  11. RTFQ you have a gift and you use it well - you should be paid for what you do :lol: :lol: :lol:
  12. RTFQ....i sympathise entirely.

    as a former employee (i left, i wasnt sacked ... just) of a large faceless corporation i can testify that christmas do's are fu cking nause making in the extreme...

    even with last years profits (RBS ... eleventy squillion quid) they dibbed up £30 a head for the do ... the lads on the shop floor could drink or hoover that much gear up their hooters in about 15 minutes flat.

    We had all the usual stereotypes, the apprentice who was so lagered when we got there he vomited at dinner, the office manager whos marriage failed shortly afterwards due to half the panel shop roaring up her when she got p1ssed, the assistant manager who tried to be "one of the lads" but was pretty much stone walled due to being a c0ck and i was intent on bringing subversity and mayhem to the whole evening.... i succeded.... but thats one for another time.

    In short, its not the Christmas do thats the problem .,... its the f ucking no neck pointy headed civvies you're working with......

    i now work with a gang of mates who at best could be considered "a bit naughty" and at worst certifiable lunatics of the highest order and i have been ASSURED that their Christmas lash ups are legendary and always contain grotesque ammounts of booze, chemicals, fighting and at least one arrest ...

    i await with baited breath !!!,................ and full report to follow ... obviously.

    RT .... give us a shout and we can work on your "getting out party" scenario :wink:
  13. Being quite new to the company I am rather relishing the dizzy anticipation of my works do.

    There seems to be a party culture in my company and it is positively encouraged. There are two parties a year. Summer and Christmas. Both of these are compulsory. Not only that but you have to go unless you have a sick chit. Non attendance is grounds for a formal warning. 8O

    So off we trundle from dung heap central off towards England where we meet up with the London office.

    The summer party consisted off a funfair, laser quest, shooting stalls, BBQ with professional caterers and last but not least FREE BAR. All this on a wonderful summer day at some mansion on the expansive lawns.

    I was met by the MD who knew me fcuk knows how as I had been in the company for 6 days and there all of 30secs and was relieving myself behind the coach. "Ah T B B so good to see you. Enjoy yourself and don't forget", he said wondering off,” GET PISSED!"

    I still hope he meant to drink plenty for that was certainly what I set about doing.

    The 1st year anniversary was slightly different as in we ‘only had a free bar and food’.

    I am rather looking forward to the Christmas bash. Somewhere in London but is as always a surprise

    So sorry you all have to work and ‘party’ with mongoloid losers but my company is rather fun. :D
  14. Just how do you do this?

    I've just spent the last 5 mins stifiling laughs as I read RTFQs latest posts of morale for those of us ensconced in the real world.
  15. ... well RTFQ, your life is crap. At least the majority of the people you work with speak English. I make a point of NOT participating in the departmental 'Secret Santa' (Apparently a packet of fags isn't funny...) and the associated Christmas insincerity fest that is the Departmental 'Do'. I cite my p*ss-poor attitude and general contempt for all my co-workers and students as good reasons, although THIS year I am being FORCED to go by my Boss (... "Y'know you're really anti-social... people are starting to think you don't like working here" - well no sh*t Sherlock... I don't), and one of the girls that I share an office with who paid for my ticket as a present in AUGUST (... No really luv, a pint would have done, in fact t'would have been preferable. Actually, scratch that - I would rather eat a plate full of my own vomit than to go... oh well). In our dept we have Spanish, Italian (the majority), French (a load), Chinese (real ones), Indian (Hindu - I think, I haven't tried slaughtering a cow in front of them to find out... yet), a whole gaggle of Irish (splitters) and the odd Brit - who are well in the minority. Apparently it's 'dinner and a disco' at this cheap Italian hotel. My boss is refusing to go as he went last year. I (according to Him), am representing him. It's going to be sh*t.

    ... another thing I hate about Christmas is that fecking song by Paul McCartney and Wings... Simply having a wonderful Christmas time - MY @RSE. My bum-sphincter could compose a better carol. Jesus. Ding, Dong, Ding Dong... it's driving me MENTAL.