So, there I was, deep in an email exchange with a guy in the box and this shows up.
Bailing. Rocket.
I, of course, respond thusly:
Sigh. Geez, the shite you'll use for an excuse, dude.
Then, do I hear back from him? Bueller? Bueller? Anyone?
~crickets chirp~
Oh, he finally shows up again in another context, sure.
So, why am I posting this? This is the first war where that kind of thing is really possible. Where you can have a routine (for our era) conversation going on, safe in your basement knocking back a 'rita, and get a Bailing. Rocket. note in the middle of the conversation.
Heh.
Oh, and dude - it is too a passing thought, and not a requirement - just to complete the conversation.
*Click "read more" to find out what TINS means, if you don't already know.
Bailing. Rocket.
I, of course, respond thusly:
Sigh. Geez, the shite you'll use for an excuse, dude.
Then, do I hear back from him? Bueller? Bueller? Anyone?
~crickets chirp~
Oh, he finally shows up again in another context, sure.
So, why am I posting this? This is the first war where that kind of thing is really possible. Where you can have a routine (for our era) conversation going on, safe in your basement knocking back a 'rita, and get a Bailing. Rocket. note in the middle of the conversation.
Heh.
Oh, and dude - it is too a passing thought, and not a requirement - just to complete the conversation.
*Click "read more" to find out what TINS means, if you don't already know.
TINS = This Is No Sh*t! which is milspeak for "Once upon a time..." It starts a "war story" that while embellished for effect or damaged by the ravages of time on memory, they usually have a grain of truth in them. Not always. Therein lies the challenge.
In the Air Force, it usually appears as "There I was..." and involves a lot of hand movement.
The Navy calls 'em sea stories, but I don't know how they start 'em off. I'll probably find out next month, doing the Kearsarge embark.
If there's a Marine involved, and his lips are moving, it's a sea story. Or he could just be trying to read his comic book.
See Dusty? I don't *always* pick on the Air Force.
In the Air Force, it usually appears as "There I was..." and involves a lot of hand movement.
The Navy calls 'em sea stories, but I don't know how they start 'em off. I'll probably find out next month, doing the Kearsarge embark.
If there's a Marine involved, and his lips are moving, it's a sea story. Or he could just be trying to read his comic book.
See Dusty? I don't *always* pick on the Air Force.
Wrong.
Marine sea stories all start with "this is a no sh!tter!" and their ... umm... relation to an actual event is measured as an inverse to how strident the claims to veracity become.
..and it isn't for the benefit of the Marine, it's merely to allow them time to translate for their compatriots in the remainder of the Naval Department.
And for Air Force, just remember that all ranks translate to dude and that any salute crisper than a causual wave is considered a hostile act, and all is fine.
If I'd known you didn't trust me to stay intact, I'd a-set up a webcam inside the bunker.
Sheesh.
We only feast on the flesh of the living.
We're just that kinda people.
I type *fast* when I hear "pffffft -- vrooooooooooooooo"...
I particularly admire the punctuation, Chief...
*Nnnnnnnnot*.
Bite me.
Is Tod Palin in town?
Bill ~ Nice to know you're still in one piece...more or less.
I knew quite a few gunnies that wouldn't hesitate to bust a Marine's chops, both literally and figuratively, if said Marine confused him for a lowly officer type with a misplaced "sir".
And as to the live food for chow. At least we'll know it's fresh.
When I was pushing troops at Ft. Dix, my Drill Sergeants would admonish any trainee who addresses them as "sir" with "Don't 'sir' *me*, Trainee -- I *work* for a living!"
If they said it within my hearing, I'd counter with "Yeah, it's a tough job, keeping those stripes from disappearing, isn't it, Corporal?"
You're an officer type person? If so, I have a question for you.
Is it true that officer type folk spend their working days sitting around, eating decrusted cucumber sandwiches, drinking tea and quoting poetry at each other?
You've got us confused with the *Brit* army.
My bad.
In my own defense, I'll tell ya true. It's hard to tell the difference between ours and the Brits with all that hoity toity gentleman stuff y'all like to strut around.
I spent all my time figuring out ways to keep from flying resupply missions so I could give the nurses "Orientation Flights" to some remote, secluded clearing in the woods fifty miles from nowhere.
But it usually didn't work because the Ossifer types invariably found every remote, secluded clearance fifty miles from nowhere and designated them all as weekend, post-forced-march bivouac sites for the troops.
You've prolly even been to a couple -- remember one with a two-foot deep depression in the center and a huge poison ivy patch in the northeast corner?
Ooo! Ooo! That was me! I did that one! In collusion with the CSM!
Warrant Officer types are decent enough. Kinda like a hybrid between an officer and a real soldier.
No offense John, sir.
It *did* produce a new sand trap on the Air Force's golf course, though...