unit legends.

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by shortfuse, Nov 9, 2004.

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  1. Every unit has got one , some have got more than one , the bloke who nothing ever sticks to , is idolised by the troops , (and sneakily by some of the seniors aswell) always manages to bodyswerve any sh*tty jobs , is a monster on the p*ss , and generally looks like he's been dipped in glue and thrown through oxfams window, they generally don't get above corporal , and if they do it's not for long.
    this thread is dedicated to their exploits.

    to get the ball rolling , when i was posted to tidworth in the mid 1980's i was put in a room with the slackest , most abusive lance corporal in her majesty's corps of royal engineers, for the sake of persec (and because it was his nickname) i'll refer to him as "speedy" , there wasn't a man in the whole of 22 engineer regiment who he wouldn't take the p*ss out of , and young troop commanders would walk miles around our G10 store to avoid the withering abuse he'd hurl as they walked past.the only time he would salute one was if he was either carrying loads of stuff , or riding a bike,
    he was ALWAYS at the back on PT , and excuses for this ranged from
    "sorry sir , i was looking for the back marker" to
    "sorry sir , i had to stop and give mouth to mouth, to a mountain goat that was suffering from altitude sickness on that last hill"
    our troop sergeants name was butler , and every , and i mean every morning he called speedy's name out he'd answer in his best blakey from "on the buses" accent
    "i 'ate you butler " :D
    speedy was so confident of NEVER getting weekend duties , he used to play for his pub football team in windsor , and i can't think of one occassion when he missed a game ,apart from tours obviously.
    the unit legend will nearly always have an "individual" taste in music, and speedy's big passion was dolly parton , when i turned up in his room , the first words he said to me where
    "right sprog , do you like dolly?"
    "er...... i dont know corporal"
    "well you f*cking do now sprog , and seeing as it's november it's time for dolly's christmas hits"
    .....deep joy..... :roll: . the last i heard of speedy , he got posted to 38 (berlin) field squadron , so even his last posting was a cushy number.
    so come on gents , lets hear all those "legend" stories.
    and do any of the other engineers out there remember speedy ??
  2. 21 Sig Regt (AS) Hotel Troop - RAF Bruggen.

    Name - "mouse"

    sh1t tip for a scratcher, hair down to his arrse was 4' nothing tall but seemed to be 1000' tall to me, room inspections a mere formality and good excuse to feed his 2 fire bellied pirranas on "live" for that day.

    officer would bimble into his tip and draw breath in as mouse "plopped" a goldfish into the 5' tank out of the little 1' tank next to it....and the officer would suddenly become fixated with this feat of nature. stay till every last bit of gold had gone, and then hit my room next with much zeal and viggor.

    so i always got a right petty crappy room inspection and mouses tip would pass...

    he was also a raging alcoholic, (arnt we all?) so the army sent him to Belize and he was found drinking brandy on a dock in the dodgy bit and nothing happened, then the army saw sence and posted him to cyprus, surely he would dry out there? hehehe

    If anyone knows where mouse is these days i would love to find out and catch up....

    he was a good egg.

  3. The tears are rolling down my cheeks :lol: ! Thanks for that one shortfuse !!
  4. LOL I was on my B3 with Mouse the original Gargoyle for sure. He would always tip up at 3am on a monday morning wake up the entire room and spend 5 mintues on his kit in between packing away a bin liner of choccy bars and a couple of bottles of his favourite tipple, while telling of his sexual antics (all paid for of course) over the weekend.

    He left Cyprus not long ago, not too sure where he went though, no doubt somewhere cushy with a bar.
  5. I to was in Cyprus with mouse. Last saw him as he staggered out of the dark at Blandfor to ask if I knew where he could get a pint. I got the impression it was not his first. :D
  6. My mate who was in the paras told me about one of the blokes having turettes, and at every parade, all of the m would whisper: "the RSM is a w@nker" until the guy couldn't hold it any more and would shout "THE RSM IS A W@NKER!!"
  7. I shouldnt laugh but...

    HAR HAR :lol:
  8. A number of things mark a mans military career, one of which is serving along side a VC winner. Although I personally have not had that distinction I have twice been honoured to serve along-side men who were the next best thing; "Excused Shorts".

    For those unaware "Excused Shorts" was granted only on the authority of the Commanding Officer to men of such immense proportion that the simple act of bending over whilst wearing shorts results in a massive lump of schloz coming out to have a look around and perhaps scratch its head on the ground.

    I was only 18 when I met the first one and the shock left me in a state of inadequacy for years, mainly because the other platoon members told me they were all like that.

    These rare men are commonly mistaken for being overly religious; an understandable error resulting from exclamations of "Jesus Christ" when ever an uninitiated takes first sight. Whatever, they move in a world of their own, breathing a different air from the rest of us mere mortals and to me anyway they are Gods. By the way wives and or girl-friends of these men were also treated with the reverence granted to Olympic champions, which for all intents and puropses they were.
  9. Those two stories had me ferkin rollin on the floor.... 8O :D :lol:
  10. Once served with a bloke nicknamed Phoetus who's party trick was to dump in the handbags of girls he picked up. He rarely got to shag them, just got off on cr*ping in their bags and only on Friday nights. I once asked him why he never did it on Saturday nights and he looked at me as if I was from Mars and said, "That would be disgusting". As his fame grew so did the number of supporters who would mingle quietly in the crowded bar awaiting the action. Having got in with the group of girls he would excuse himself to take a slash and pinch a bag. He was back within minutes. We would all sit there giggling like school boys waiting for the inevitable move to the loo by the collective group of girls. A cone of silence would decend on the bar pierced by an echoing scream from the boggs and a huge cheer from the bar.

    On my last outing there were close to 300 men from the Bn in that bar. What a fukcing legend.