Received this today and almost turned to jelly. Please circulate it to all your friends and comrades as soon as possible (or something very bad will happen to you). The average British soldier has an IQ of 19 (when officers in general are included this drops down to about 18, and if you throw in the HCR it falls to less than 10). He is a greasy-haired, well-hung lad who under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half donkey. Not yet out of ASBOs, and just old enough to buy a line of coke, but old enough to marry those considered un-marriageable by his country and all for you. Hes not particularly keen on hard work but hed rather be shafting in BAOR than unemployed in the Shot. He recently left special needs school, where he was probably a below-average student, played with himself something rotten, dove down regularly on a sixteen-year old ming bucket, and knew a policeman that harassed him when he left, and swore to be waiting for him when he returned home. He moves just as easily to the jungle rhythm of a young ethnic dogger, or to the death rattle of a Geordie granny. He is about a stone heavier than when he left home because he is drinking from dawn to dusk and well beyond. He has trouble counting, so paying bar bills is a pain for him, but he can do a runner in 25 seconds, and reassemble 5 minutes later with his pals in the park. He can recite every detail of a nights debauchery and assemble a drinking party in minutes few. He digs wenches without the aid of condoms, and can apply KY like a professional paramedic. He can drink until he is told to stop, or play dead when a bill is to be paid. He reacts to ming-scent instantly, and without hesitation, but he is not without a sense of personal dignity, ensuring that he covers the faces of the truly ugly or mounts a rear assault. He is confidently self-sufficient, having two condoms with him at all times: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his beer fridge full and his feet on the sofa.. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, with a trapped hair often on display, but he never forgets to clean his weapon. He can cook his JPA claims with the best, steal his sisters underwear, and fix his own DVD when its time for a little porn. If you are thirsty, he'll laugh at you; if you are hungry, he smiles as he devours his Big Mac; if you are asleep, he grins mercilessly as he pees in your locker. He'll even share his girl with you in the heat of a firefight if he runs low on funds.. He has learned to use his weapon in his hands, and regards his weapon as an extension of his own personality. He can shaft anything, because that is his job - it's what a soldier does. He often works half as long and hard as a civilian, draws twice the pay and laughs mercilessly as hes shafting poor Joe Civvys missus whilst hes on the night shift at ASDA, and can still find black ironic humour in it all. There's an old saying in the British Army: 'If you can't take a poke, you shouldn't have joined!' He has seen more ugly women and gutters than he should have in his short lifetime. He has wept in front of the CSM to avoid that AGAI 67 action, and he is unashamed to show it or admit it. He feels every bugle note of the 'Last Post' or 'Sunset' vibrate through his body while lying in his Z-type whilst bedded down for a few days. He's not afraid to give it to any woman who shows the slightest interest when he has his UJ boxers on display; yet in an odd twist, he would defend anyone's right to have twos up. Just as with generations of young soldiers before him, he is paying the price for our debauchery. He is the latest in a long thin line of British shafting men that have kept this country free of ugly women, and the breweries in business, for hundreds of years. He asks for nothing from us except our daughters, mothers, sisters and free-fridge access. We may not like what he does, but sometimes he doesn't like it either - he just has it to do. Remember him always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his dogged determination.