Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by convoy_cock, Jun 28, 2005.

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  1. During operational tours in static locations, it was quite common for the less desirable bits of the compo ration pack to start stacking up. It was necessary to find things to do with these items. To make and consume hot beverages from all the tea, coffee and hot chocolate provided was a full time job. It was possible to construct sangars from the buckshee sundry items packs after a couple of months.

    With this in mind, in a small corner of a Kigali football stadium, "Ultra-screech" was born. On the back end of a 14 hour night shift, we were looking for something to keep awake, when my colleague suggested a double hit of 2 sachets in one water bottle, one orange, one lemon. It was extremely tart and made the lips smack as you drank it, but it was easily do-able. I was never a big fan of this cross between Kia-Ora and defoliant, but boredom produces strange past-times. The riggers Bosnian power lifting stories more than confirm this.

    Over the next few weeks we simply kept upping the ante. It culminated in the first and only Ultra Screech championships.

    Eight of us around a GS table, with a water bottle each and a mountain of sachets in the middle. We started at 5 sachets each (flavour optional) and moved up in batches of 5. A good swig was taken by each contestant, whereupon he had his water bottle topped up by the umpire. The first drop out occurred at a measly 10 sachets. Clutching his throat as if he was going to turn into Mr Hyde, he scuttled out of the 18 x 24 and back to obscurity. Most of us had previously tested ourselves at 20+ and were able to cope with the monstrous corrosive effects on our oesophagi and digestive tracts. By 25, people were starting to wilt visibly and by 30 there were only two guys left. I'd dropped out as soon as I realised how much the screech had fcuked me up. I'd turned to say something to a fellow contestant but the noise that emerged sounded like a cross between Jack Duckworth and Phyllis from the Street. My vocal cords had been stripped until they only vibrated at the lowest frequencies.

    A look in the bottles of the two finalists revealed a glowing pile of toxic sludge. Both were at the limits of their screech endurance. They both managed to hit the 40 point but were rapidly deteriorating. Contestant 1 had a big bib of orange drool all around the top of his t-shirt and his pupils were changing size independently. Contestant 2 looked slightly better but his teeth were getting loose and some of his hair had fallen out.

    Contestant 1 topped out at 42 with a scream of "I cannae fackin doo nae more."

    Contestant 2 sank his 43rd sachet with aplomb and celebrated by not sleeping for 3 and a half days.

    Have any other ARRSE members created impromptu sporting competitions from ration stockpiles?
  2. I was in Recce Tp of my old squadron circa July 1997 when we stopped and set up a Troop hide for the evening.

    It was the last night of the exercise and shortly before 2300 the SSM turns up and says ''In the morning, slopey wants a Regimental parade so make sure you all shave tonight'' Slopey, being the RSM was a well known pain in the arrse.

    But, RSMs word was law so to save on fcuk about time in the morning, I decided to shave that night.

    So I dug out my water bottle, as the Tp Sgt was using the water jerry can, and he was a lot bigger than me (he is the original Hog) so I wasn't gonna take it back.

    I poured the water into my mess tin, dug out my razor and began to shave.

    Within seconds, my face felt like satan was pi$$ing on it! My skin was coming off and a thousand ants were eating my head.

    I let out a blood curdling scream which had the rest of the troop saying things like ''What is that silly cnut up to''

    I looked down into my mess tin and shone my torch into it (sans red filter) and saw the water was green.

    Then I twigged, I was shaving in a bowl of Lime flavoured Screech!

    Bast*rd. :evil:
  3. We were having an un-structured but fun competition in Germany. The gist was, 'who can blag a Yank into the daftest kit swap?'. This was '90 or thereabouts, no Yank had been anywhere near a warzone since they got kicked out of 'Nam with their tails between their legs. Consequently, my mate was winning with 2 combat jackets field, a bayonet and a foldy bed for one RSigs beret which had 'been in N.I.' (wow).

    Mid exercise we got a message from the QM 'Don't eat the pilchards in the ten man rat packs. There's a fault, one in a hundred are lethally toxic. Bury them.'

    The competition changed to 'who can blag a Yank into the daftest food swap for pilchards?' (after we had dug them up and polished the cans).

    A certain sergeant won, with 4 cans of pilchards (odds of 25/1 there) netting a very creditable 3 deep pan pizzas and a slab of Michelob. Good drills, fella.
  4. Have heard a rumour of people necking back bottles of food colouring before getting a CDT. imagine giving a blue or purple urine sample to the umpires!

    If anyone has done this please post on here what happened!
  5. C_C,

    Outstanding! I nearly shat myself laughing. And I think I've definately cracked a rib.
  6. Well cheating a bit here as it was the septics rations but anyway.

    On the roof of the Ice station Zetra 1996 (IIRC) half full plastic bottles of water and the powder out of the bottom of those heat up packs the spams use.

    First one I saw was exactly that a half full bottle and one heat pack. Pour in the powder, screw the lid on the bottle, very gingerly shake and retire swiftly.

    Wait.....wait.... the bottle explodes with a soggy blart noise to much amusement of the watching troops.

    But Squaddies being what they are the stakes just had to be raised.

    Two heat packs makes a very satisfiying bang and a large puddle of water.

    Three was getting a bit dangerous...

    I would love to report that someone had the balls to go for 4 but those heat packs were pretty hard to come by and no one wanted to donate anymore of them.

    Still fun and games were had by all for a couple of days afterwards as you never knew when one of these water bombs might be lurking under your table or bed....
  7. "MRE Bombs" were heard going off all the time on PRAIRIE EAGLE in Poland in 2001. The Poles wouldn't allow any EU sourced food in (Foot and mouth was raging accross the UK at the time) and the whole Ex was on the verge of being scrubbed when the Yanks saved the day by offering something like 30000 MREs. Off course with the guys using BVs to heat rations this meant a LOT of the food heaters. Empty out a 1.5/2litre fizzy pop bottle (a coke/fanta bottle will safely withstand 150psi before deforming and exploding which is more than a DROPS tyre will manage), make sure it's reasonably dry inside, add 3 or 4 MRE heaters (work on 1 heater per 0.5litre of bottle) then some COLD water (heat accelerates the reaction), screw on the top tight and get the Pl/Tp nig to run round the vehicle/building/tent as many times as he can before it goes pop. Bets are laid on the number of laps he can make.

    The little 0.3l "Panda Pops" bottles are very effective with one MRE heater, particularly if thrown into a crowded room/tent/hanger. This method was used to wake the troops on TELIC1. Oh how we laughed!!!!!

    I saved so many of them on TELIC1 that I posted them back to my 12yr old nephew to have some fun with!
  8. Better still is on caving expeds fill the bottle with carbide and add water.

    On exped last year we had a Frog couple arrive next to our campsite as they had been scared by the activities of the locals . Remote area and we ,I suppose looked safer at first .

    Later that night massive blasts from the carbide bombs. The blasts were enough to set off their car alarm from a good 20 m away.

    They left next morning?
  9. We set off an MRE bomb in the guardroom of Basra Palace during Telic 4. The on-coming guard commander had to be peeled off the ceiling and the two blokes in the front sangar made ready. Quite loud.
  10. I have seen screech sniffed, snuff sytlee, twas quite entertaining :)
  11. not quite a rat pack tale, but the other horror of the range day or short ex ........ the haybox "meal"

    i've mentioned this elsewhere but my DS in training would not let these go back with a thing in them .... and i mean nothing, so a new breed of inter section competition was born the first of which was the "inter section margerine eating relay" which is self explanatory and recalling it makes me gag as i'm typing, it wasn't even proper marge it was that f*cking solidified ear wax in an orange wrapper they used to bring out.

    the other little beauty for the section that hadn't performed in the aforementioned race would be based on the kiddies halloween favourite apple bobbing but would involve a sausage pushed into the bottom of the beans and then they all had their combat jackets pulled of their shoulders and around their elbows and they basically had to take turns to eat the f*cker out from the top down.... the section who'd performed this task were easy to spot as they all looked like they worked on a make up counter in john lewis and had overdone the old fake tan a bit.

    :D :D :D
  12. Everyone had the inter-section margarine eating competition on the ranges... I was quite good at that one "eros margerine in them horrible orange greasproof wrappers", however I did use screech as a refreshing alternative to sugar when I was making a home made mortar on bommy night.... worked a treat and the aftersmell was quite alluring.
  13. What would happen if an MRE, or five, were added to say... a can of paint? Could be great for a knock and run attack on your favorite pads' place.

    Probably an urban legend but apparently some 'kids' around here got hold of some dry ice, added to a few of those larger coke/lemonade bottles with some water in, and left them all over a park. Cue 'mortar like' explosions and police on the scene in 5mins flat as the bombs still going off. Took them ages to work it all out.
  14. Haven't been in for a bit, but here's a short tale about surplus ratpacks, bleeps and red faces...

    Falkland Islands late 1982/early 1983 (getting old, so can't remember exactly), lonely tech in a six channel on top of a hill which was given the name Albatross (Albert Ross to the initiated). A mile up the hill (Campito) was the radio relay det of 3 RR Ops and an ED.

    To set the scene there was constant talk that the Argies, having lost a lot of face in the recent conflict (as well as a weally big battleship), were likely to launch a special forces attack on the Islands. Speculation focused on the likely attacks to be on either Radar sites, communications locations or anti-aircraft installations.

    So I'm in a key comms site, parked next to a radar station surrounded by a blowpipe battery. Hmmmm

    However, I drew sustenance from the fact that I was surrounded by a homicidal bunch of Planks who even went for a sh1t armed to the teeth. (At one point these mad fcukers had even asked for permission to shoot down the newly repaired and returned to service beaver mail 'plane because they hadn't been notified that it was going to be flying down San Carlos Water - fcuker was painted bright red and had a top speed of about 10mph, so was obviously an Argie covert op!!!!)

    Anyway, scene set, back to the plot.

    Phone in six channel rings in middle of night. I stagger round in the dark, banging into those strategically placed pointy bits on the edges of green electronic equipment so cunningly designed by RSRE, and finally find which fcuking BPO250 it is which is ringing.

    Wassup????(I believe Budweiser nicked that from sleepy squaddies the world over as an advertising logo).

    Through sleepy ears, I head "mumble, mumble.....fire"
    I stagger outside and look up at hill to see flames and the sound of explosions. I instantly assume Argie Attack!!!!, so put my wellies on. Bit late as I was already stood up to my knees in a fcuking bog.

    Dash to phone to Stanley and report (wait for it......)
    "contact, wait out"

    Bear in mind this was on a standard telephone, it was probably a really stupid thing to say, however I'd gone into 'we're soldiers first and tradesmen second' mode.

    Scrabble round various cupboards in container and finally find my box of SMG ammo (tech = not real soldier = not issued real gun).

    I then discovered why the Zulus won at Isandlwhana. Could I get the fcuker open???? Not a chance.

    Just as well really, coz the phone rang again and out came the boring (but very safe) truth. A carelessly laid gene exhaust had set fire to the side of the tent which was holding enough spare compo to keep BAOR in the field for a week. This in turn had started to pop the tins of unused compo (primarily chicken supreme - no surprises there). The eejit on the other end of the phone had been as sleep addled as the eejit at this end (me) and well.....

    Denied all knowledge of call to Stanley with my imperious, I wanna be a real squaddie "contact wait out" crap, and went back to bo-bo's, determined to open that box of 9mm in the morning, just in case.
  15. We once called the bluff of a bloke who stated that his driver would cook him bacon grill by heating the tin directly on the flames of a hexi cooker until the tin exploded and the hot bacon grill was launched into the air like a badly aimed 51mm round. Said bloke claimed he would then reach out of the turret with a slice of buttered bread, catch the falling bacon grill, whack a second slice of bread on it and scoff it.

    He was a fat cun.t, so that part of the story seemed plausible; but you just got the feeling that he’d heard the story elsewhere and was bigging himself up by repeating it. So we made him show us.

    A hexi cooker, bacon burger and 2 slices of bread were swiftly assembled, and fat boy started giving it the “well, of course it’s been a long time since I last…” Yeah, right.

    Following his direction, we placed the tin upright on the cooker and stood around him, drinking heavily and offering helpful advice. Thoughtfully, someone had dented the tin so it would take the maximum amount heating before failure, meaning the contents would be hotter than the copper penetrating slug from an RPG. It also meant we had more time to sledge the bloke, who was visibly wilting.

    Just as he was about to admit that he had been talking boIIocks the tin exploded. Crucially it failed along the seam on the side, so instead of launching the contents upwards in a graceful arc, the baconburger shot out sideways like a baton round, dropping him like a stunned bullock and spattering his smart cavalry threads with red hot mechanically recovered meat and pork fat. He was not badly hurt, as disfiguring burns were minimised by swift audience action, emptying their drinks onto his writhing, prostrate body while laughing like the bunch of jack cun.ts we were.

    Of course, once his body had been dragged away we got every tin of bacon grill and bacon burger we could lay our hands on and continued to test his theory. And actually, if you have enough bacon burgers and enough drunkards standing at silly mid on with slices of bread, it can be done. Just remember to put the tin on the hexi on its side, with the seam facing upwards.