Top nights & wanton vandalism - tales of debauchery (merged)

#1
How annoying is it when at the end of the month, you are so skint you have to raid your jew jar for the last bit of change that will go in the Naafi vendor. However you are so lashed that once you have put in all your money, you press the wrong button and an empty compartment comes round. And then the old man has the bare faced cheek to put you on a fizzer for smashing the place up in an asbach fueled rage.
By the way if you swear in this forum it gets censored. Voice of the Toms my arse!
 
#2
MMMmmmm I believe in what your saying.  Myself and two fellow buddys did the same thing in Berlin in '87.  Except the NAAFI was closed (around 3am), and we 'helped' each other through an open window.  Said vending machine and many Marks later, we walked away with a NAAFI sausage roll and a pint of Danish milk.  Horray for empty vending slots !!  And piissed up squaddies.  NAAFI.... take notice !!
 
#3
The vending machines in Minden were always empty, therefore nothing to steal.

Faced with a choice of Gyros pommes Mayo or Stale NAAFI ginsters I know which i would go for
 
E

error_unknown

Guest
#4
Having the vendors smashed up was the least of the problems for the Nadjer people in Arnhem Barracks, Aldershot.  Every week or two they had to bring in a disinfection team dressed in full NBC kit to sort out the microwave. You'd just go to pop in your Ginsters Ploughmans, and find a brown trout, that had been laid and baked on full power for a couple of hours.

Mind you, it was still a toss up between the turd and the ploughmans!!!
 
#6
Convoy

I was working in Warrington a couple of years ago when I visited Ronnies at lunchtime I walked into the Gents to find someone had curled out a Mr Whippy in a milk shake cup and place it under the hand dryer.

It stank like a thousand rotting bodies, when I breathed unaided again, I was trying to imagine what was going through the culprits mind as he laid his pressie. The reaction was tremendous, all the young staff behind the counter were gipping and they cordoned off the loos for over an hour and a half
 
#7
Back from my usual Sunday session..... hence starting to remember a few things..... the NAAFI at Hobart Barracks.  Someone, please, describe the eating-place in the vending area.  Memories are just coming back in my drunken state.  Ceiling was covered in NAAFI pies.  And I mean COVERED.  Floor was an assortment of pies, beer and vomit...... Right, Ground Force is on, so, Sod Off....
 
E

error_unknown

Guest
#8
I like the sound of that toilet trick.

The originator of this thread, is known to me and had a couple like that up his sleeve. He was known as the Corps Power Pissing champion and could urinate over a 4 tonner without touching it.

His favourite toilet game though was to go into the urinal and power piss onto the ceiling. This would treat the next user to a light shower of ammonia tinted rain.

Rigger am i right??
 
#9
Another good microwave one used to be to put a lit fag, standing on its butt, in the centre of the oven and then nuke it for 30 seconds.

Impressive firework display, even more impressive fire and absolute proof that NAAFI microwaves CAN be burnt from the inside out.

Oh how I miss the days of mindless Korn fuelled vandalism  ;D
 
#10
Convoy WOW my hero I wish i could swamp over a four tonner without touching it, thats an impressive accolade I'm in awe ;D
 
#11
Remember the Hobart NAAFI vending area well.  Fuc#ing minging!  Someone decided to help clean it up by making a microwave bomb out of matches wrapped up in silver paper.  Full power for max time and BOOM!  Big fire followed by instant closure :)  they should have put a ladder in there so you could have got a pie off the ceiling when the machines were empty though....
 
#12
FAO Convoy_cock.
Yes old boy, it is I, he of being able to Geoff Hurst over a four tonner, and undisputed 3 sqn/7sigs piss jousting champeen. I hope you appreciate the subtlety in the name.
Anyway, carrying on with vendors, did anyone else used to call vending machine pies "Growlers".
The only thing funnier than a pissed up bloke smashing up a vendor for ripping him off, is a pissed up bloke smashing up a vendor and falling asleep with his hand in the damaged machine's hatch. Ah the criminal mastermind of the drunken soldier.
 
E

error_unknown

Guest
#13
Reminds me of doing orderly duty at the Court Martial gaff in Aldershot. What a laugh

They wheeled out this spotty 18yr old Slop Jockey, in front of 11 Field Marshals, 6 Admirals and a Japanese Colonel who still thought WW2 was on.
They read out the list of charges which took ten minutes. In classic Bill Oddie tradition, this guy had been told to Foxtrot Oscar by his lantern jawed jerry girlfriend, so he decided to take an APC for a spin round the camp. After clipping the occasional building with the RPs after him like the Ant Hill mob, he took out six cars in the officers mess car park, probably ruining loads of Barbour jackets and bad cords. He ended up parking it in the foyer of the same mess. Best part was, there was a do on. He then gets out, with blood streaming down his face, cos he'd bust his conk, and starts to have a big piss against the side of the APC in front of all the officers horsefaced girlfriends. He then got thrown in the clink before washing up in Aldershot. They reckoned he'd done £450,000 worth of damage.

After they'd finished reading the charges, this 103yr old general asked him, if he had anything to say in mitigation before the proceedings commenced.

He'd had 3 months to come up with something good, that might save his neck. He stood up, took a deep breath and said,

"Sir, on the evening in question, I had been drinking"

Needless to say, he was cleared of all charges and promoted to "sloppy in charge of making sure that the tomato melts all the bread in the deathpack sandwiches"
 
#14
aaahhh. smashing up the naafi vendors... truly the sport of kings or lashed up full singly full screws who should know better. Myself and the rigger know a particular chap who for reasons of anonymity will be known as 'chalky', after a particulary heavy session in the pink flamingo aka glenns bar aka 7 sigs 3 sqn bar decided he would relive the naafi vendors of their contents - food and shrapnel!! When the feds raided his room the following day they were confronted by a room reeking of asbach and the whole floor covered in differing values of shrapnel and naafi growlers. The  perp was definitely as the rapper coolio so eloquently put it “living in a ginsters paradise”. What a winkle!! Mind you his street cred rose enormously after said incident!! :D ;)
 
#15
all ill say is SOEST naafi wrecked 24/7 vendors pi**ed in S**t in w****d in small vermin cooked in aswell as stray cats yes bostin we did it all also if u need any techniques for opening them little puppy dogs up just give us a shout me and a jock with sms use to specialise in the 6 ft piquet an excellant tool fine adjusting one for the use of

oh and bostin dont use my nick name if u remember me its too obvious my first name is jay though u would remember that mate
 
#16
On Sunday morning myself and MDN were evicted from the De Vere Hotel in Blackpool by a very short angry welsh man and a poorly dressed barman who couldn�t stop laughing.

Apparently, they did not appreciate us breaking into the pool and then jumping in, fully clothed at 0330 after running up a �165.00 bar bill, neither did they appreciate the fact that we then stripped off, completely, in order that our clothes would not get any wetter. :?

I think the final straw was the remnants of a wedding party (who were, unknown to us, viewing us from the bar balcony) watching MDN push me around the pool on a sun lounger, before launching both the aforementioned furniture and poor old me into the pool, 3 times.

This resulted in me having to sleep at MDN�s, leaving my missus on her todd in the �300.00 a night room, as all we would give the rather annoyed little welsh manager was our names (Capt Blackadder and Pte Baldrick) and room number (777, very clever for a 400 room building), an all round expensive night. :cry:

I, of course, did the honourable thing and phoned my missus at 0400, giggling like a girl, to tell her how clever I was.

One bonus though, Donut lost his house keys, car keys, safe keys and all his money, resulting in a �500.00 bill to replace all of the locks, he also received a substantial sulking at from Mrs MDN for running up and down the street outside his house, naked, at 0430, claiming at the top of his voice that the FBI had stolen his clothes, before throwing his soaking wet underpants through his next door neighbours open bedroom window. For some reason, I seem to have a vague recollection of chasing him, also naked. She then made us sleep outside before relenting at about 0500 and letting us back in, where we proceeded to start a ceaser salad fight in the kitchen and filling the �nibbles� bowl full of lager before passing out on the lounge floor. :D

I reckon that this is the most expensive place I have ever been booted from and the most expensive single one night piss up, with the cumulative costs of the room, bar bill, locks and taxi fares coming to over a grand.

Top, top night and very, very clever

Beat that
:lol:
 
#18
Gunny it is true, and ORG tells a slightly tamer story of what really happened.

My neighbours look at me in a hatred/disbelief kind of way.

Mrs MDN is now doubting whether I am capable of fathering upcoming sprout. She claims she heard us shouting 'Get a job you like you sweaty minging welfare claimer' to the cab driver that was unfortunate to bring our wet pink bodies home.

My leather shoes are trashed and now in the bin, and Mrs MDN has vanished into town with my cards so all in all its a far more expensive night than I had remembered.

Auntie Stella is a wicked wicked lady and makes you do silly things.

A friend of mine went to the hotel golf course for his usual Sunday morning lesson, on arrival at the nineteenth hole he listened to stories of drunken assholes being kicked out for having a naked pool party, thankfully he never linked it with me.
 

Ventress

LE
Moderator
#19
May I recount a BBQ in the South West, jethro country, when mates of mine attended said BBQ hosted by grand-parents, about 6 lads of Army tug-of-war fame.

The day started tamely as BBQ's do and the troops were briefed for IA drill on Smudge getting pissed- no beds, only lino and his doss bag! The grandma was busy getting the BBQ going when the rain started, -no drama, put her in the shed for cover and she can crack on. As did the lads with the stella and vodka! The grandad getting more and more drunk and having the 40 year old flashbacks to Korea and the Imjin river!

Drink flowed and the first party game was to set fire to the plastic viking helmets all the lads had, the first was covered in brandy and set alight to much howling of the burnee! The helmet shrunk and melted into his scalp from which he still bears the scars.

The next was dunking for the last stella cans in the large water filled dustbins, Jonesy dunks in and get on with the task in hand- head first-as the lads all pi$$ them selves as his legs stop kicking and the splashing stops, luckily the bin is kicked over and he takes a huge gasp of air!

Next event was the assault course round the huge garden, which was terraced with steps cut into the gound. Un thinking Ferret jumps the hedge thinking-ah only a foot high, falling 6 ft down the terrace fracturing two ribs! Luckily the lawn mower broke his fall. By this time the grandad had reverted into Father Jack and was f-ing and blinding at all and sundry.

Drunk as they were, they wanted food, remebering nan was in the shed they opened the door and the nan emerged like a contestant on 'Stars in their eyes!' Who wants steak was her hoarse first words! The grandad replied- 'Suck my Co(K'- he didnt get any steak!

Everyone was now gibbering and Smudge slipped off to the bed he was banned from at Startex! The lads slep were they fell and the morning awakening was hearalded with 'where's Smudge- not the bed!' Luckily he was on the brand new sofa! Quizzed on his bladder result, he said dry as a bone! Refief- sadly he had spewed over the new carpet! Not to worry he had cleared it up.

A knock at the door, on opening- a camp neighbour with a half eaten chicken drumstick and a can of stella, 'Are these your? And there someone asleep in my canoe!'

Departing and on the way back to Tidders, Smudge is congratulated on clearing his vom, hes says 'Yeah, just used the hoover under the stairs!- to hoover up the vom! The gran chukked said hoover out the next week due to the smell!

All true and probably more happened- now consigned to Corps History!
 
#20
One annual camp some years ago, the BC and PSAO decides the Bty has too much money and has to spend some. So in their wisdom decide on a Bty smoker with all the trimmings. They book this country club, which just happens to be in an old castle somewhere next to Sennybridge in Wales, it’s as POSH as fuck.

We got there in three Bedford’s and numerous Land rovers and parked next to mercs, rollers the lot. The country club, being politically correct had courtesy wheel chairs and after an hour or two this Bdr has a fifteen pint idea, “I’ll pretend I’m a spacka” He sits in one of these wheel chairs and has a Gnr push him up to the table. The boys on the table play along with it and ply him with drink. The locals are watching all this and it can be seen by their gestures that they acquiesce the situation. There is not a word from this Bdr, he just sits there with his head laid to one side only to straighten his neck every time a glass of beer is offered to his mouth by one of his mates. Until, after every two pints he sits bolt upright and shouts at the top of his voice “PISH” Immediately one of his mates jumps up and pushes him to the Gents. On a about the third visit to the ablutions, returning to the table with the Spacka and the chair, his mate says in a sort of way that everyone could here, “ that’s my finish, the cunt wanted a shite that time and I had to wipe his arse. I’ve fucking spewed me fucking heart up in the there, the place is fucking humping” The table of locals moved somewhere else.

As the night went on we were all just about cabbaged. I went to Gents myself and stood next to the MT Sgt who was an ex Reg and was known to be a little light fingered. I was a WO2 at the time and while pissed I can be talked into anything. He says “ sor diya like fucking wine” I replied “ noo-ind a fuckin again, like, why, hic”? He says “ well, when yi finished ya piss gan ootside, there is a smaal winda in amang the ivy graaing up the waal” I did this and blow me, there was a small window in among the ivy growing up the wall, just as I got there, this window opened and two bottles of red wine were passed out followed by this voice saying, “ put the fuckers in the side bin of the far Bedford and come back for some more. On the way to the far Bedford one of the Toms was in tow with one of the local ladies, he says “aahreet sor, where did yi git the fucking wine”? I explained, “just stand outside of that small window (pointing with a bottle of wine) in among the ivy growing up the wall” well to cut a long storey short, word travels fast when your up to no good and in no time at all, half of the Bty are in the car park back loading the wine cellar of this country club into the Bedford’s. The BQMS being a sly sort of bugger noticed that the place had gone quiet and empty and decides to investigate, he caught one of the Sgts smashing the top of a bottle of wine against the Bedford, just so he could see if it was fit for us to drink of course. The BQ shouts “whoy ya cunt, wot yi deeing” The Sgt replies, “Aye Roddas, yi wrinkly owld fucker, gan ind git ya oun, just gan ti that winda doon there, ind join the que” Well, The BQ was after his crown, so he bubbled the lot of us to the BSM. I fucked off across the horizon and consolidated an OP, but to no avail because Toms just love to drop WO2s in the brown smelly stuff. We were made to put it all back and the management were quite happy to let things drop if we paid for the bottle that had been broken open and all the fire extinguishers because by this time all hell had broke loose.

Next day I’m having an interview without coffee with the RSM. He was not impressed as he explained in no uncertain terms that I had been a cunt of the highest order. He said that your Bty had been billed £45 for the extinguishers and £65 for the bottle of wine. “Fucking 65 snots for a bottle of piss, fuck me I’m pleased we were caught when we were, if we had got away with that lot the SIB would have been involved, we must have had thousands of quid’s worth and it all would have been supped before we got back to camp, Sir” was my reply. “Yeh, if you had just taken a few then we all could have had a slurp, now fuck off and see your BSM” was his final gesture.

The BSM, as an award for our gross misconduct give the Mt Sgt and myself driving duties for the week ends RR. We had to drive the Sgts mess into Swansea in two land rovers, leaving the land rovers at a police station complete with keys and work tickets for security. For the first hour a managed to stay off the piss, but thought I’ll just have a couple. Well a couple leads onto another couple and 14 hours later. Have you ever asked a desk Sergeant for your work ticket and keys, stupid fucking drunk and stinking of drink, well I have? The daft fucking Welsh cunt gives me them as well and said “drive careful boyo” “yackydaa yi taffy bastard” was my parting gesture as I was trying to remember were the rovers were parked.

The BQMS never did get his crown and I got commissioned.

Life’s a bastard

True storey.
 

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