Triubute, part of a series to Canadian Armed Forces. Insignia chosen for personal signifcance and bears no relation to anything written below. TES/rm
Once upon a time, Private G. Locks became separated from his unit soldiers who were conducting a training exercise at Base Borden. After wandering around for hours in the cold November freezing rain, Private Locks stumbled upon a deserted bivouac site. The members must be out on exercise he thought to himself. Carefully, he crept around the eerily quiet camp with his sweaty hands gripping his trusty C-7, loaded with a full magazine. Private Locks was fairly certain he had arrived at a friendly zone, but not being the swiftest of army men, Locks was just never really certain about anything.
Let’s just say this dipshit was a few tomatoes short of a sauce.
Shivering in the chilly dampness, Locks grew aware of his need to take shelter from the elements. Cautiously, he entered the largest tent on the site to warm up and contemplate his next move. He was low on supplies since he was too stupid to stick to the one-man-one-kit rule so any bit of comfort he could find would be great.
Entering the tent, he welcomed the sight of three IMPs; those are Instant Meal Packets for you civvies. Suddenly aware of his growing hunger, and having eaten his last peanut butter packet from his own IMP hours ago, Locks picked up the first meal package and took out the shiny foil main course envelope; he simply tore open this package and did not bother to read the contents.
He was rewarded with a meal affectionately known as “lung in a bag” or a sort of omelet if you really use your imagination. This tastes too disgusting. Seizing the second meal package, he opened the main envelope to taste the ham and scalloped potatoes. Too bland he spat the contents out into the dirt floor. Desperately opening the third envelope he was pleased to discover it was the meatloaf and he devoured it.
Feeling sleepy, Locks surveyed the three neatly laid out sleeping bags. Testing out the first one, he did not like the hard rocks underneath poking through the self-inflating air mattress. Too hard. The next sleeping bag had been placed on a spongy part of the ground; too soft and too squishy! Yes, Locks was a picky pain in the ass. Finally, he tried out the third sleeping bag which was just perfect and he hunkered down to catch some shut-eye.
Not long after Locks was dead to the world, the three tent occupants who were all corporals, returned and were they pissed! Maybe a little scared to in case the enemy had been in but they weren’t going to say so.
“Hey some numpty has been eating my IMP,” whispered the first corporal.
“Yeah? Well come mother fucker has been eating my meal too,” added the second.
“Oh yeah? Well the son of a bitch ate all of my meal.”
They turned their attention to the sleeping quarters that they almost never had ready but this was done with special permission for this ex.
“Hey, some asshole has been fucking around with my sleeping bag.”
“No shit? Some asswipe has been messing around with my bag too.”
Well, well, looky here! Some shit head not only fucked over my bag but the fucking numpty is still sleeping in it!”
Now all this time, Private Locks had been completely oblivious to the corporals for he was a very deep sleeper.
“Hey you, who the fuck are you? Stand up and identify yourself you brain dead numpty!”
Grabbing Lock’s rifle, the first corporal gave the bag a solid kick and then heard a very muffled groan.
“Hey shit head, get the fuck up!” The second corporal’s C-7 rifle butt landed with a dull thud on the bag.
“You stupid fucker, we said get up, now haul your ass out of that bag or we’ll sling it up for you. Identify yourself!” The third corporal’s lack of patience meant another kick to the bag and a fierce tug at the zipper.
“Oh shit, it’s Locks! What a tool! First he gets lost and then he can’t even find his own fucking tent. What a knob! What have you got to say for yourself, Private?” shouted the first corporal.
Locks, too stupid to give a proper answer was promptly declared the bitch of the day and put on camp tramp duty as punishment.
The moral of the story? Stay with your men, have enough provisions on your person for emergencies and stay the fuck out of any tent that is not yours.
No comments:
Post a Comment