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  1. I think perhaps I have spent too much time on this site or too much time in the company of squaddies.

    Today I have finally called myself into question and taken a long hard look at myself from a different stand point.

    An hour ago I was drifting through the town centre lost in thoughts about whether or not I could get a couple of 'liquorice allsorts torpedos' up my nose whilst unsticking my sweaty scrotum from my leg without anyone seeing.

    A pair of perfectly pleasant religiously dressed women were in my way with a collection box and some magazines, as I wandered closely I removed my concealed hand from the comfort of my pods as a subtle mark of respect I nodded my head and acknowledged the ladies. This was to prove my mistake.

    They looked at me and said, hello young man, do have time for a quick chat, I responded 'No sorry I'm busy' and went to drop a £1 coin in her bucket (collection not her snatch)

    She said, 'Bless you, Jesus loves you'

    My immediate, response, without thought for my audience was 'Does he fcukers like, he thinks I'm a cnut'

    I felt the silence fall around me and I genuinely thought a thunderbolt would appear from the sky and knack me where I stood. I had to simply bow my head and wander off shaking my head, I didn't have the guts to turn around to see the cloud of vulgarness that had descended where I was stood.

    Any others ARRSEr's mouths got them into trouble ?
  2. Fcukin hell MDN, just had to wipe the coke splatters from the monitor and keyboard.

    Cheers mate

  3. :lol: Priceless! Wish someone had captured the ladies' expression for posterity. The mental image of that scene made my day.

    Cheers! :D
  4. you f*cking queer boy, your losing your edge.... you should of stuck your finger up one of their dried up old rickers and skiffed the other one with her mates poo/cobweb combination.... GET A GRIP MAN.
  5. Rod924

    Rod924 LE Reviewer

    Moment that springs to mind happened some years back. I was staying the night in a shitty little town in the highlands of God's country, called Dingwall. Having completed my duties for the day, I returned to the B&B for SSS and then out to find something to eat and some much needed fizzy loopy juice.

    If anyone has been to Dingwall, they will confirm that this once, was a vibrant tourist stop off. Now, it's home to smack heads and losers who obtain their shit from Oil workers. Nowhere at all decent to eat, I settle for a fish supper, which was, rank! How can you fcuk up a fish supper?

    Anyway, from the chipper I walked down the high street (as I type, I am sure someone has mentioned this bar in the past weeks) and stop at the first Inn, which is on the left. The bar is owned by 'Queenie' and looks from the outside oldie-whirlie, in a drinking man's pub way. I open the door to the pub and step in to a time warp. The 'bar' is best described as a 1960's room, vacant of pictures or people. The floor is the original grotty blue linoleum, not at all highly bumpered, the walls are stained a stunning tar yellow. The seating arrangments are bright orange plastic 70's school dining chairs gathered around maybe 3 or 4 narrow wooden chairs. And heating is supplied by a dirty portable gas fire

    I want to turn around but I don't. A magnetic field is drawing me to the bar. In a flash, instinct if you will, I notice the lack of hand pumps for the Ale. There also appears to be a very limited, perhaps 4 if that, optics available! And then, Queenie emerges from washing her smalls, well it looked more like a circus tent from the space they occupied, in the sink. The sink that the washing up is done in!

    Queenie is one highland lass. She is one ugly, fat and hairy munter with teeth to run fast away from. To stop me recoiling from the shock, I place one arm on the bar top. My arm is now stuck fast due to the build up of Ale over the decades that has never been cleaned. The place is sad, and she would make more money if she advertised it on the 'EXIT website' as the place to get one in the mood!

    Now this is where my mouth gets me in trouble,
    Queenie "Khaneeheeeelpyeeeesh"?
    What I wanted to say was "Yes, can you tell me where the police station is"? but what came out was "Oh, pint of heavy please"
    The lord must have been watching me, as Queenie then said "Shourrie shun, ave onlee ghat chans oo Tennents ooor Mkuwans" and I replied "OK, can of Tennents then ta" 8O

    I knew this was wrong.....
  6. Last night, coming back from a Drill Night, pleasently drunk and slightly annoyed that no where seemed to be open for burger I was suddenly overcame with the desperate need to urinate I mean as in I was going to fill my boots need. Screaming 'I need a pisch' to the nominated driver he damn near handbreaks the car around the corner and pulls up out side an ally leading to the public toilets around the back of a frequently used carpark for some hotels. Throwing myself out the car and running full belt in the wrong direction, nearly falling over, I get my bearings turn around and run full belt into the locked door of the public Gents and begin screaming to my now out of sight mate "It's fooking locked!". Obviously being a bloke and therefore equipped with the all purpose use anywhere, anytime piss pole, I proceeded to have one of the longest pisches of my life all the way up the door yelling "Teach the fookers to lock the fooking door!". I was such a quiet decent bloke before I became a STAB, I now seem totally incapable of not using cnut in every spoken sentance.

    <Edited because I have little grasp of English it would seem>
  7. I forget sometimes that Naafi humour doesnt always appeal....

    I had just left the office to go to site and stopped in the garage for some petrol and sticky bar. After several indecisive minutes of drooling over malteasers, rolos or fruit pastels I did the typical chick thing and went Yorkie Bar instead.

    I walked up to the counter and was greeted by the wide boy behind in his yellow shirt, red tie and baseball cap. He grinned, nodding towards my norks and in a broad Geordie accent said “Alreet pet, pump number 5 was it like?” not shifting his eyes from my jublies.

    “Er yep..thanks and this please” as I plonked the Yorkie onto the counter…

    “How man pet, yee canny buy a Yorkie like, says on the wrapper they’re not for girls” he said grinning a nodding at me again.

    Without thinking I coughed then in my best Bernard Manning impression said “It’s alright mate I’ve got a c.ock under this dress”

    Watching his jaw hit the floor and remembering I was no longer in the Naafi, I grabbed the Yorkie and left, slightly crimson faced as I passed the blokie behind me sniggering!
  8. I had to wander past the scene of the crime earlier on today and still in a state of guilt I looked the other way as drew level with them

    They seemed to be undeterred in thier collection campaign and show no signs of trauma....... maybe I should go past them again, show them my scrotum and nick thier collection tin.
  9. I work with an engineer that started life as a man, but thanks to some skillful surgeons in Europe, is now a woman. He/she helped solve a problem on one of my projects. What was my response?

    "You the man!" :oops:
  10. Priceless!
  11. Towards the end of my first TA camp, in the midge-infested hole that is Garelochhead, an old sweat warned me of the perils of mil-speak carrying over into the civvie environment.

    The tale told was of Jerry (actual name used to identify the guilty), a man of some service and now holding rank and doing a range of valuable Q tasks. He was very quietly spoken, and always had a smile on his face and a word of wisdom for those new to a task/situation.

    After one particular camp he visited his aged mother for tea, cucumber sandwiches, cake stand etc etc. At one stage he wanted to adorn a roll with some spread, but said spread was out of reach. So rather than reaching over the table (which would have been something of a social faux pas), he requested assistance with a softly-spoken "pass the fcuking butter, mother".

    Her response was never recorded, but he was mortified. She'd though his regiment were all gentlemen, and of course they are - but we all fall off our pedestal evry so often.
  12. Bo77ocks
    That story came from a septic war film that I cant remember the name of!
  13. Hamburger Hill If I'm not mistaken