Sort of on-topic
During a drunken snowball fight on a ski trip this winter a wayward snowball happened to strike an alarmingly large chap with very short hair and an even shorter fuse. This bloke and his equally simian mate were Royal Marines who reasonably pointed out that they had just got back from fighting a fucking war in Iraq for us fuckers and that the last thing they needed was for some poxy student cunts to lob fucking snowballs at their fucking faces.

My mate is not especially known for his tact, common sense or his ability to calm a tense situation, but even for him his next comments were spectaculaly silly. "We didn't ask you to fight a war for us" he says. Oh dear. "Besides, we pay your wages!" Now my mate is a medical student, meaning that not only is he yet to have paid a single penny in taxes, but when he does start coughing up they're going to be taken from his generous, tax funded, National Health Service pay packet.

Needless to say we got rather pummeled. But on the upside it is good to know that if they're was some sort of global bullet supply crisis that our boys would still kick butt. Assuming, of course, that the opposing army was exclusively made up of mal-nourished, lank-haired students.
(donksta, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 19:48, Reply)

I've never been a soldier too
But when I left school I worked as a security guard and our uniform was RAF blue. Twunts in my office told me to pick up an armourmed van from Stockwell and bring it back to South Wales. Tossers didn't tell me that the next stop on the underground was Brixton and it was the height of the riots. I spent 25 minutes on the underground with my parka zipped up so I looked like Kenny of South Park in 100 degrees C so I wouldn't get a burning tyre wrapped aound my neck. Got my own back though, I fuggin wrote off the van later. Supervisor lost an eye and and his boss became a raging alcho
(ElGatodeBarco, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 19:43, Reply)

Speech defects
I was a musician; we had a pipe band, with a bass drummer by the name of '2-6' ( three blokes in the band with the same surname, different last two numbers ) who had a bad stutter. In the practice room one morning, the bandmaster's phone rings. 2-6 answers" H-h-hello, b-band block?". The QM, who also has a bad stutter, hangs up. Approximately .26 seconds later he bursts into the block shouting " WHO J-JUST ANS-SWERED THE F-FUCKING PH-PHONE?"
2-6 says " M-me s-sir ". Nobody moved.
It was only a couple of very tense minutes' negotiation that saved him from being marched down to the CO.
( uncle bastard is twanging a dan moi, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 19:22, Reply)

I was a cadet
We were all at an RAF base for our summer camp and were sharing dorms with some CCF types from a posh school in Glasgow.

Note: Every CCF person I've ever met is from a private school.

One of the kids from there, Baikie, had the kind of exhuberant personality that makes the group of other lads want to twat him.

Well... the officers used to inspect the dorms at night. We'd organised everyone to make a loud Fwapping noisej just as the officer was about to leave by getting people to pull their (facial) cheeks apart and push together rapidly for three of four times. Then 40 cadets all shouted BAIKIE STOP MASTURBATING!

'kin sweet. That was his name for the rest of the week.
( drunkenoaf, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 19:12, Reply)

A wake up call
2AM in NW Germany, another shitty freezing guard duty. Colleague coming off stag ever-so-slightly knackered, points SA80 at unloading bay, observed by equally knackered full screw ( corporal, two stripes ). Neither of them notices live round in chamber before daft sod lets the working parts forward. Cue rudest/loudest awakening for stag ever, Quartermaster shouting "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?" down phone to the missus before running outside to see two now very awake and alert berks and one smoking gun. He got a week in nick for that one. I've got more...
( uncle bastard is twanging a dan moi, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 19:11, Reply)

radar pies
used to have a science teacher who worked at a radar base, said when he wanted his tea he'd stand under the dish and throw these pastys up,catch them and throw them up again, hey presto! ready for eating!
(muggins im afraid dave.my mind is going, i can feel it, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 18:49, Reply)

My dear old auntie Brian
"Now this is christmas, and what have you done? Another year over and a new one just begun"

I spend most nights leaning out of my bedroom window singing these three lines from 'Merry xmas - War is over' at passers-by for hours and hours until I pass out or end up rocking backwards and forwards in a corner sobbing.

Why do I do this? Why it's because I'm autistic of course!!! Quantis never crashes!! I'm an excellent driver! and so on.
(Andrew Avetoom, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 18:02, Reply)

Brother in Law
My Brother In Law being an RAF type, he also studied Russian and now Arabic for the purposes of radio monitoring. Anyway the story he told me when he was stationed in Germany (pre the fall of berlin wall) and was practising Tank driving on the AutoBahn with a superior.

He was in what he described as a '60s armoured APC' apparantly they couldn't afford anything modern...Anyway they were cruising along the Autobahn and the APC started going slightly to the left and needed to be straighten up. At this point he realised that the right steering lever wasn't working at all, which he reported to his superior who was right next to him. The superior ordered him to do an emergency stop, which requires you to pull back on both levers.

This resulted in him veering violently left from the outside lane narrowly avoiding cars plowing through the intersection, missing an oil tanker by about four feet, flying down the offramp on the other side, avoiding driving into a lake, then managing to park in a thick bush. I have no idea what form of thick German shrub can stop an armoured apc, I should have asked.

Apparantly he caused about 400,000 pounds of damage, or Deutschmarks...I forget
(Jeru War and Piss, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 17:56, Reply)

My Grandad
He was quite a dude.Lots of stuff happened with him during WW2.
He noticed a load of Spitfires kept on coming down because they lost too much fuel when they got shot or something, so he came up with an add-on.It was a little box on the fuselage that injected fuel into the engine so they'd have enough to get home.Which is quite cool.
Apparently he also got firebombed once, and his friend, in a piss-poor attempt to put the flames out, put whisky on the fire.

Apologies for length, but girls say small is better.Sob.
(CatfaceJones, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 17:28, Reply)

Oh dear...
I've been considering joining the army for a while now, as my girlfriend is going into the Navy.

It worries me that all these stories make me want to join up MORE.

Sadly at the moment all my army stories recount nothing but great ineptitude in games of Call of Duty 2.
(sporky, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 15:53, Reply)

My only brush with Our Brave Lads
A mate & I spent an afternoon playing pool and drinking in our local. Afternoon turned to evening, and we knew we were in trouble after the 12th Babycham, but being proper lads and all, kept going. It would have seemed impolite to the bar staff to stop.

Both of us are fairly politically astute, left wing, and on that occasion, really quite gobby. One of my mate's loud diatribes against Thatcher (this was the eighties), capitalism and yuppy scum was overheard and taken umbrage to by some gentlemen who were in the employ of Her Majesty's armed forces.

There were bestial grunts which went along the lines of "dead...poof...lefty...kill...nonce", and they moved in, threateningly. One of them informed us that as an act of patriotism, he'd be removing my mate's liver and having it served rare on a bed of wilted bok choi with a veal and port jus (OK, I paraphrase).

"Patriotism?" I slurred, "don't tell me about patriotism, I served in the Falklands!" (which, by the way, wasn't true - I was a card carrying member of CND and a trotsky agitator).

"O yeah? Army?" our threatening chums gaily rejoined.

"Military Intelligence. Can't tell you more. Hush hush, you know", I trilled.

They took a closer look at my short-cropped hair, and the psychotic glaze of 14 pints, and muttered "Ok then", and off they lurched.


My old fella (an ex teacher) said to me that at school there were five ability streams, 'A', 'B', 'C', 'D' and 'Army'. Seems he was right.
( petuniadb, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 15:41, Reply)

Royal Poo Collection
A recently ex-RAF pilot mate now works as a very posh taxi driver, flying celebs and the well to do around as part of a fleet of private jets. Not that funny in itself, but in a freezer at their base is a collection of celebrity turds that the crews 'collect' from the jet khazis. He is very proud that his first contribution was a brown otter belonging to a certain ex member of a girl band who was quite posh.

He also claims that there is a collection of Royal steamers harvested from the Royal jet, under lock and key on a RAF base. Why? Why not.
(Hampton St.Roker (has probably had your mum), Mon 27 Mar 2006, 15:10, Reply)

Probably for the best, really...
I was 12 years old, all excited about joining 'Thurcroft Detachment, C Company, Humberside and South Yorkshire Army Cadet Force' or T'Cadets as we say up north. About 2 weeks into this, someone in their infinate wisdom decided to get us all to field strip the DP Mk4 Lee Enfields (SMLE) which was great while we could see the rifle. They then decided that we should try this blindfold. Now to stop us tearing down the rifle to its bare bones, this field stripping basically involved removing the bolt and magazine. So out pops the bolt, out pops the magazine, pull the w-spring out of the magazine. Great. Did that. In a good time, too. Now all I've got to do us put it back together. The bolt goes back in, and is locked into place. Srabble about on floor, locate w-spring, scrabble scrabble scrabble, locate magazine. And then with all the coordination of a cow on speed trying to answer the phone, I jam the w-spring into the magazine backwards. And jam it in. And further. And further. All the time thinking this should be pressing down a little more easily than it is. Jamjamjamjam. Mmm. Still no real give in it. Jamjamjamjam.

End result? One useless magazine, one parade before 'Staff', and one sad 12 year old being asked not to come back.

Cnutes the lot of them...

You read this, didn't you? Thats a whole minute of your life you aren't getting back, you know?
(TC, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 15:09, Reply)

Not one of my own...
But my CO in ATC told us a story regarding a camp he went on as a cadet.

There was this Warrent Officer, you know the type, a bloke for whom nothing is good enough. Well, my CO's flight get latrine duty, and no matter how hard you cleaned the bastard toilets this Warrent would scream and shout at you.

So, one day, this kid in my CO's flight spends a full day cleaning one toilet. The rest of the flight cover for him while he scrubs just one toilet to a state of 'brand spanking new'.

He then sprays chocolate sauce all over his hard work, smothering everything in this one abloution.

The next day came inspection. The Warrent strolls down the line of shitters, putting people on report one by one until he comes to our hero's bog.

Opening the door he screams, "What in God's name is this?"

The cadet calmly and smartly walks into the toilet, runs one finger down a wall and tastes it. He takes a moment to sample it's flavour before returning to attention and shouting, "Shit, sir!"

Well, the CO get dodgy about details there, but needless to say that kid was on Janker's for the remainder of camp!
( Pointy Head poked another hole in my anorak on, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 14:37, Reply)

MrKyle
"oh and my mate vicki's boyfriend, lucas, is in the army, he's a driver. he's 19. he's a T W A T. he got pissed and started telling us how he felt bad because he squashed some paki kid in iraq. like i give a fuck.... lucas, your a twat mate."

Far more likely to be an Iraqi, or maybe he was on holiday in Iraq or something.

*shakes head sadly*

I could tell you about my paintball concussion, but that's a bit too far off topic really.
(Throbbe, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 14:33, Reply)

Some Mother DO Have 'Em
Once you were out of basic things were a bit more relaxed. But you still had one poxy parade a week to attend where your boots had to polished to a high shine. Enough so you could see your face in it.

There were lots of tricks to keep your boots shiney. Too many to go into all of them here but one trick was Cleer (can't remember how you spell it) floor varnish. Once you'd bulled your boots to perfection, a coat of this would protect the shine and you wouldn't need to bull them again - or that was the idea. (Me? I used black missile paint instead of polish)

Anyway, one plonker bulled his boots to a fantastic shine, painted them with Cleer and put them by his bed to dry. Then he decided to make his bed. Grabbed his woollen blankets, shook them hard and then realised what he'd done.

Parade that day was funny.

"You!!! What the fuck are you doing coming on parade with FURRY BOOTS!!!!!"

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 14:10, Reply)

Explosives expert
Very good friend of mine (I swear it isn't me, really) got the draft (we're Australian) for Vietnam and like an idiot promptly joined up. Soon thereafter the penny drops with regards death, discipline and general nastiness, so said fellow decides to maneuver himself out of potential danger (and not into the brig) by being a bit of a funny bastard. You know, "accidentally" dropping mortar rounds down the barrel upside down, that sort of thing. So they made him an engineer. Naturally. Somewhere his "sense of humour" wouldn't perhaps endanger his comrades. Being an engineer in the army at that time mostly involved blowing things up. In his case, trees to make way for a road through Borneo (that's not still classified, is it??). So, how much PE does it take to fell a 90 ft rainforest giant, then? Or rather,how much does it take to lift the whole bloody thing not just skyward, but skyward and over a bit... a bit more.... and all the way to just (allegedly) 5 ft short of the Officer's Mess IN THE NEXT VALLEY? He's still not saying. Apparently the best 2 bits of his servive year were 1) hanging out with the locals for days at a time whilst on "field work" getting pissed on tapai, and 2) leave in Singapore on his way home to Oz, where in 4 days a whole year's pay went on hiring a Mercedes, drinking, and whoring. So you see, he did learn to be a good army sort after all.
(dadadali has hybrid vigour, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 13:45, Reply)

Not seen it happen, but.....
It could work in theory...


I've heard several stories about the high powered radar systems used by the airforce. For those who don't know, these are very expensive microwave ovens that you can point at targets.

Apparently to check if the full power settings work on some of the systems, the techies wait until anything with feathers flys in front of the antenna system before applying power.

Switch on and POOF!!!! one pigeon cooked in half a second.


now that has got to be fuking funny to watch!!!
(Darkpie 3.243F6A8885A308D31319, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 13:43, Reply)

bullets
my ex was in the army. one day they were on a training weekend and one team had to attack the base which was being defended by the other.

it was by pure accident that one of the "defenders" realised their side had been issued with live ammunition, not blanks. there had nearly been a total massacre.

mind you, as the rest of his mates were just like him, that might not have been such a bad thing...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 13:37, Reply)

our school had compulsory CCF (combined cadet force - army cadets)
and every so often we'd be bussed to the local army base for shooting and assault course days.
Once, we were given a 'treasure hunt' style activity to find loads of markers then return to yomp round the assault course. Trouble was, i didn't have a watch, so i didn't return on time, resulting in a major security alert as a whole bunch of soldiers were mobilised to find a confused teenager in ill-fitting combat gear wandering around their tanks and field-guns.
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 13:15, Reply)

Negligent Discharge
Olly was great. He was a skinny little ginger bloke in his 40’s who during my time working for a high street bank was also in the same minority group as myself (we both had a sense of humour).

Olly had spent the first 14 years of his working life in the RAF, and by his own admission had never risen above the rank of “Admin Pleb”, however, despite only being an office worker he still had to go on live firing exercises a couple of times a year.

I asked him if he had ever been put on a charge. “Oh yes” was the reply. Apparently, just before one of these exercises they were all at attention in full kit being briefed in the presence of the CO. They were told in no uncertain terms that there were to be no cock-ups whatsoever.

It was at this point that Olly accidentally fired a round straight into the air. Cue everybody hitting the deck (and a few sphincters releasing) apart from Olly, who stood there with an apologetic look on his face.


Olly was great to work with. Our David Brent type manager called a meeting to get us to sign up for a sponsored parachute jump for a charity called “Winston’s Wish”.

Manager: “Now does anybody know what Winston’s wish was?
Olly: “He wished he had a parachute”

Fucking genius!
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 11:39, Reply)

Good old spams
I got a bit of a reputation for being quick witted at my last base (not difficult when you're mainly out drinking with the US Navy).

One day, I come back off leave, and goto the yank bar (£1 a bottle - worth it even is it was piss weak yank beer). At this point i was informed of a newly arrived chap who apparently thought he was gods gift to everything.

In teh interest of being sporting, I decide to give the guy a chance before ripping his frail illusion to shreds. New bloke walks in, and we're introduced. He's dressed in a vest, excessively long shorts (or excessively short trousers - never can be sure) gold necklace partially obscured by his chest hair, hairy shoulders, socks and sandals.

His name is charles, but he prefers to be called "chip". Therefore in typical british style, I call him "crisp", as thats what we call chips over here.



Oh dear!!!!


So we get chatting, and indeed he IS gods gift to women, the USN, and god. Hehehe..... his time has come methinks!!

The conversation moved to me asking him where he was from. He replied florida (having been there on hols, I know its very easy to get a tan, but his is a bit permanent), so along those lines I asked him if he had any mixed ethnicity in his blood.

At this point everyone in the bar is listening avidly as to whats going to happen and he's revelling in the attention.... hehehe.... dickhead!!!

He replies, "well, my mom is from new york, and my pop was from cuba"



"fuck me.... he must have been a damn good swimmer to get all the way up there!!!"


Cue all of the regulars (including the non-smokers walking out for a smoke to conceal the laughter), and a look of complete and utter shock on the face of the newbie.

I just finished my beer and carried on chatting to him as if nothing had happened. It took till the end of the night for someone to tell him that all of it had been set up.



We took him into newquay the following weekend to test the amazing fortitude he 'had' while consuming alcohol.

4 pints later, and he's about 3 sips from chatting up the bar stool.



After all of that, we took the piss out of him so often he only went to the yank bar on special occasions.


muhahaha

apols 4 length, he couldn't contain it (apparently)
(Darkpie 3.243F6A8885A308D31319, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 11:32, Reply)

Scary people from St. Helena..
Work in the mess at mpa.

We thought that there was a chance that at least 2 of them could possibly be classified under the darwinian system as human females, but we never were sure. As such, one of them was nicknamed (affectionately) as the silverback.

The guy who lived opposite me found out at close range that they have at least one hole down there.

He got so drunk that he thought it would be a good idea to shag one (she thought it would be a good idea to shag him, and he had no say in the matter).

Unfortunately for my mate, this wasn't a snatch-22 situation (where you have to get so drunk to shag something that you can't get it up anyway), and proceeded to do the deed with an 18st (250 lb) monster whose body hair could have clothed the entire population of ethiopia, and whose body fat could have fed them for a decade.

He's now married to a nice girl who occasionally indulges in minor lesbian tricks while drunk at parties.



I still don't think it was worth it
(Darkpie 3.243F6A8885A308D31319, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 10:45, Reply)

when i was about 17
i used to g oto a really "classy" "club" called the zone in gillingham on a thursday cos that was dirty girls night

girls used to approach me because i had long (ish) hair and was well dressed, now i´m not a handsome boy, but it was addictive

yes, i used to pull because i WASN´T a squaddie
( SickRik float like a camembert sting like a brie, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 10:27, Reply)

Never a bad word about bennies
Went into stanley a few times while in the falklands. Mainly went for the beer, as the local populations gene pool is shallower than Rev Blair(oxon).

For all those not in the know, the islanders are called bennies (wikipedia to find out why).

Anyway, after returning back to mpa and going back on shift, we get an unusual story..

Top RAF pisshead goes out, gets blotto'd, stumbles part of the way upto hillside camp (where we overnight to save driving back pissed). Chap decided it would be quicker to commandeer a bennies landrover and drive back up the rest of the way.

As none of the locals lock their cars, entry to the vehicle was no problem. Due to the fact there were no keys, and the severe state of drunkeness that this guy was in, he fell asleep, on the vehicle's horn.

Cue benny waking from his slumber and investigating the noise. After waking up pisshead, and finding out that he wasn't a squaddie, but a forthright member of her majesty's airforce, he took the guy into his house.

A few drinks later, some stories (we think chat up lines), the benny drove him upto hillside and helped him into bed.

benny went home (after a few sexy pictures?), and pisshead came back.

We found it quite a good comparison between the raf and army, as an army bloke had been caught earlier that week trying the same thing, and got locked up for it in stanley nick..


t'was amusing verily
(Darkpie 3.243F6A8885A308D31319, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 10:20, Reply)

The wonderful world of sleep deprivation
Lying in a forest.... middle of the night..... my stint on stag..... partner falling asleep..... look thru night vision....


I swear to this day that the bush 50m in front of me had a knife.


Same exercise, we had one guy challenge a sheep that he thought was trying to infiltrate our site......

being welsh myself, I didn't realise that the welsh regiments had become so technically advanced!!


Same exercise again, the guy in charge of our site went a bit loopy (hanging out of his arse). One of the lads put him in teh cabin of the 4 tonner and told him to get some sleep.

Cue the SNCO 20min later wandering around the cam netting looking for his fags and helmet.

the fags we found in the helmet, in the front of the wagon he'd been sleeping in. He was proper fucked.
(Darkpie 3.243F6A8885A308D31319, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 10:08, Reply)

Clarkson
My uncle was in the RAF until last year, and has quite a few good 'uns - heres one.

He's mad, absolutly mad, on target shooting. He's one of the top 50 shots in the british armed forces, and as such often gets called to help with TV shows and the like.

One such thing was a program Jeremy Clarkson was doing on guns and various odd things about them, like how you can't blow up a car with them, best way to anally rape your mother with them etc. About a week after the army had had their fun at Heathrow airport, he turns up for the days shooting at RAF Brize Norton in his landy, complete with fully loaded shotgun in the back of his car.

I will repeat that for clarity. Jeremy Clarkson turns up at an RAF base after a top security alert with a fully loaded shotgun in the back of his car.

This would have been bad at the best of times, which these obviously aren't. Apparantly when his producer finally managed to get him out of the interview room he was walking funny for the rest of the day and later confessed to actually shitting himself when all the guns were pointed at him and he was politly dragged out of the car to told to get to first base with the floor
(Potty Jag har smör i min rumpspringa, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 9:04, Reply)

The joys of electrocution
A certain ex-raf corporal knob-end decided that he was fully qualified to re-install the 4 car batteries in the back of one of our landrovers.

'Unfortunately' for him, he obviously wasn't completely aware of teh power of 4 car batteries connected together.

Cue knob-end accidentally shorting the connection between at least 2 of them with the spanner.

everyone knows that electricity takes the shortest route to earth.......

but not in this case. It decided that knob-end had less electrical resistance than the cables on the batteries, and provided him with quite a shock.


this caused him to fly out the back of the landrover at a fair old rate of knots, only to be greeted by a group of people who were laughing their arses off at him. Dumb fucker!!

muhahaha!!!!
(Darkpie 3.243F6A8885A308D31319, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 8:40, Reply)

My good mate
Was out in an african country with certain people from poole.

He was on the aircraft pan awaiting a flight home, where aforementioned people were loading their kit onto the plane.

They neglected to mention to anyone that they had an ammo crate full of flashbangs cooking away in the heat.

My mate was on the phone to his girlfriend, saying when he'll be back, when the flashbangs decided that their life was too boring, and they proceeded to commit mass suicide in the crate.

Cue my mate hanging up and doing a swastika impression away from the source of the explosions.

His missus on the other end of the phone heard something along the lines of "Should be back within the next few days, will ring later to let you know..... BANG BANG BANG (line dead)"

One of the lads found her pacing backwards and forwards in her room imagining the worst.

We all found it quite funny when my mates phone didn't work again until he'd landed back here and was outside her room.

A long line of worn carpet with a slight odour was present in her room by all accounts.


the really dodgy thing was that the ammo crate was kicked around the pan by the guys from poole as the nades went off one after the other, while everyone else had either legged it or hit the deck in panic.

Fukin nutters!!!
(Darkpie 3.243F6A8885A308D31319, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 8:14, Reply)

This was very cold.
Was on excercise in a freezing cold february, part of a infantry unit. To give a introduction on infantry;

You sleep in mud,
Your first aid kit is mud
Your rations is mud
Your cover is mud
Your camouflage is mud

Any problems you rely on the mud

anyway , freezing cold after a 40K recon tab, pitch black in the middle of some mud. Went to clean my weapon, started stripping it down, all ok, went to put back it together again, and realised i had two forward springs. I had somehow managed to take apart the guy next to me weapon as well. By now the ice was forming up on the fingers so i carefully laid the second dismantled weapon near him and sneaked off into the mud.
(Chance1234 up for parole on, Mon 27 Mar 2006, 6:22, Reply)