Reinforcing the coalition
A friend of mine serves in the Royal Navy. When in Sunny Iraq, he and a bunch of his mates - an Englishman, and Irishman and a Welshman, no less - got into a drinking session with a group of Americans. The RN types of course wanted to drink steadily, and the Americans were doing their best to keep up with them, but despite their best efforts were frankly falling short of the pace.

One of the Americans had reached the stage of drunkenness where he was starting to promote himself, rather. His earlier claim of being an Ordinary Seaman had been a cover story and he was in "reality" a member of the US Special Forces. He wasn't supposed to talk about it, but by God he was going to. Oh yes. He filled in this story with increasingly slurred and incredible tales of derring do; a one-man killing machine and no error.

He'd reached the point where he'd run through an Iraqi barracks cutting the throat of every third man and was disarming IEDs before breakfast using his toothbrush, and had passed beyond it all into incoherence, so his mates decided it was time to go. With one of them supporting him at each shoulder, he turned at the stairs and shouted back "I don't care what anyone says. You Brits are okay".

He waved in undying friendship as a large damp stain appeared at his crotch and began to spread. Mewing with disgust his mates started to hustle him out and back to their ship.

The lads turned back to the bar and ordered some more beer. "Special Forces?" said Taff in the distainful tones only a Welsh accent can manage. "Special Needs, more like."
(richardm, Fri 6 Feb 2009, 16:00, Reply)