Payday loans
RedShirts 2 Ad Banner for Kickstarter

Archive for May, 2008

Zombie Survival Part 1

Friday, May 30th, 2008

To keep with the zombie theme that Michiel seems to have started, I would like to discuss some zombie survival techniques.

Say you are sitting in your living room, minding your own business, when you happen to notice what appears to be a pack of zombies standing on your front porch. Simply follow these easy steps.

Step 1 – Confirm The Zombie Infestation

Check the date. Is it Halloween? If it is there is an excellent chance that the zombies are merely some kids in make-up, and they want candy. It is generally considered bad form to shoot your neighbor’s children in the brain.

However movies such as CHUD 2, Revenge of The Living Dead, and many others have taught us that sometimes the flesh-hungry damned do rise up to attack during Halloween. And these movies always feature at least one suburban family that get ripped apart because they opened the door to what they foolishly assumed to be trick-or-treaters.

There are generally speaking only three ways to confirm the presence of zombies. The first is to open the door and see if they eat you. There is a rather large and glaring flaw with that test.

The second option for checking for zombies is to ask them.

“Excuse me, are you a zombie?”

If they drool, and reach for you while licking their chops, then its a zombie and you should shoot it in the brain.

If they answer “yes”, then thank them for their honesty and then shoot them in the brain. (But try to do it politely.)

If they tell you that they are not a zombie, then shoot them in the brain anyways. Because everybody knows that zombies are liars.

The third test I like to call “The Test Shot”. Shoot one of them in the leg. If they stay up, and just glare, moan, or scream for you tasty tasty brains, then it is clearly a zombie and you should follow up with a shot to the head.

If on the other hand, they fall to the ground screaming in pain and dropping candy all over, then its just a little kids wearing a costume, and you can go back to watching television. If it falls over dropping candy without the screaming, then congratulations. You just shot a pinata. And what kind of asshole shoots a pinata?

What would really happen in a zombie apocalypse.

Thursday, May 29th, 2008

One thing that has always bugged me about zombie movies is that only humans return from the dead. It does not matter what the cause is, there are only dead people getting up and walking around.

Well, in spite of what your religion may tell you, people are not special, and I am pretty sure that whatever reanimates dead people will reanimate everything else too. This totally makes the coming zombie apocalypse even more horrifying, and the odds of surviving it drop to zero.

That’s right, I said zero. No one will survive it. Let me show you how I see this going down.

Imagine you and a few friends have gotten together to try to ride out the zombie apocalypse. You’re all huddled in a house. You have the place barricaded pretty well, and it is holding the zombie people and their zombie dogs and zombie cats at bay. But in the house there are terrors you did not count on.

One of your buddies goes to use the bathroom, and after a couple of minutes you hear a blood curdling scream. He comes running out, holding his ass, saying something bit him. You point your gun at the toilet and see zombie goldfish, that have come back from their watery grave to feast on their former human masters. Since your friend has been infected, you have no choice but to shoot him in the head, declare the bathroom off limits, and from now on, you all go in a bucket you found in a closet.

While you all sit around and ponder what to do with the bucket once it is full, one of your friends begins to scream as he is bit by a zombie mouse that died in the walls several months back. As he freaks out, he knocks over a box, and a bunch of zombie cockroaches come running out. You could just turn on a light to keep the zombie roaches at bay, but there is no electricity.

You realize you can’t stay in the house, it is not safe. So you shoot your mouse bitten friend in the head, gather some supplies and leave. But as you head for the door, one of your buddies bumps into the plant that died because it never got watered, and one of the branches scratches him. He thinks nothing of it, since he didn’t think that plants would come back from the dead too.

What none of you realized is that the plant got reanimated, and even though it moves so slow you can not perceive it, plants do move. Although it is stuck in a pot, don’t think for one second that the plant has not been trying all this time to find a way to fertilize it’s soil with your brains, and it has slowly turned and leaned towards the area you and your friends were hiding, just like it had turned towards the sunlight when it was alive.

You all run to one of your friends SUV, and have to dodge a zombie bird on the way. One of you almost got pecked. It was close but you are all ok. You decide to head to the high school gymnasium, as it should be relatively free of pests and animals, and you can figure out your next move there.

As you are driving to the school, you notice all the road kill dragging itself along, searching for flesh of the living. You are not sure what is more disturbing, the half a zombie possum clawing its way along the roadside, or the family of zombie ducklings feeding on the remains of the mother duck. Suddenly you see something even more disturbing, it is a couple of undead squirrels filling their cheeks with the brains of a jogger.

As you almost reach the school, your friend with the zombie plant scratch begins to turn, but no one notices until he bites into the back of the drivers skull, and the SUV crashes into the big electronic sign in front of the high school. You know, the sign that was purchased by the class of 1987 and tells you when the next girls volleyball game is going to be. You feel bad that it got destroyed, since you know those kids sold a lot of candy, and washed a lot of cars to raise the money for that sign. But you figure that none of that matters anymore, since they are probably all dead from zombies.

Zombies. You forgot about the zombies for a second and got all focused on the electronic sign. You must have hit your head in the crash and thats why you forgot about your zombie friend gnawing on your other friends skull that caused the crash in the first place.

You shoot them both in the head and make your way to the school.

Suddenly, you see some undead emo kids heading for you. You hate emo kids, so shooting them is the first bit of fun you have had since this whole zombie apocalypse started.

You make it to the gym and realize it is just you and one friend that is left of your party. The two of you try to relax, since there is nothing in the gym. No birds that got trapped. No bugs that you can see. No animals of any kind.

It’s as you both breathe a sigh of relief that your friend gets bit by a mosquito.

You have no way of knowing if it was a zombie mosquito or not, especially after your friend slapped it and crushed it.

Not wanting to take any chances, you shoot him in the face. You two weren’t that tight anyway. He was a friend of a friend. He was the fat guy in your group, and you were amazed he survived this long. Although it was funny when he tried to sneak some food, and opened the can of sardines. He screamed when the zombie sardines all started to flop out of the tin. Fortunately they were soaked in oil and just fell apart as they tried to attack.

As you think to yourself that you will miss him more than you would have expected, you begin to feel funny, like a fever is coming on. You notice some of your flesh is slowly becoming necrotic.

How can this be? Nothing got to you. You confirm it buy stripping down and checking every inch of your body in the mirror. No bites or cuts or anything.

As the fever gets worse, you finally figure out what happened. All the bacteria that your immune system has fought and killed since this whole ordeal began are now zombie bacteria. You are becoming a zombie from the inside out. Your own survival mechanisms have betrayed you. Your final thoughts consist of the realization that this will happen to everyone and everything on the planet, and you are witnessing the end of the world.

New Guest Stories Rules

Wednesday, May 28th, 2008

As you may have noticed I have been using my site as a forum for soldiers and veterans to share their funny stories. And so I get stuff emailed to me I read through it, generic and put the best ones I find up here.

Some of the stories I get sent are funny, generic but not written in a particularly comedic manner. Up to this point I have gone back and forth with the original writers to try to help them polish it up. Unfortunately this is beginning to eat up a bunch of my time, when it would probably be faster for me to just re-write the thing.

And so that is the new policy on submissions. If you send me a story, I will edit it, and possibly re-write a portion of it, to make it a funnier read. You will still get credit for writing the story, I will just mention that I helped you to tell it.

Read The Chart

Wednesday, May 28th, 2008

When I was going through the Army LPN program at Ft. Sam Houston, pharm part of our course requirements was doing clinical rotations on the various floors and sections of the hospital. Most of the job was becoming familiar with doing complete patient assessments, buy charting, medic and basic procedures; ie: dressing changes, moving the patients, etc. One of my classmates whom I was paired with one day, learned a very valuable lesson.

My partner that day (who I will refer to as PFC Mybad) was taking care of a young man on a medical/surgical ward. That means all the serious problems he had were treated and he was now recovering. The morning routine was pretty simple: go in, greet the patient, do a physical assessment, change the linens if necessary, and ask if there’s anything they need prior to morning medication rounds. Unfortunately, Mybad forgot one key element at the beginning of this encounter. She failed to read the man’s chart to get a history of his current condition.

The physical assessment is essentially a rundown of check on the body’s major systems; musculoskeletal, cardiac, pulmonary, integumentary, etc. She did all of these very cheerfully and professionally, the whole time chatting up the man and his wife who was at the bedside. Then things went wrong. When checking muscle strength, a routine test is to hold your hands out, palms up, and ask the patient to press down on your hands with his as hard as he can. When she asked him to do this, he just kind of stared at her, bewildered.

That’s when the wife softly said, ”He’s a quadriplegic, dear.”

PFC Mybad turned beet red while the patient, his wife, and I went into near hysterics laughing.

New Friends Additions

Tuesday, May 27th, 2008

And before I show the list, SPC Jeremy Johnson wanted me to tell you about Operation Happy Note.

In his own words”
“These guys are sending musical instruments to deployed soldiers, which is fucking awesome, and I figured its the kind of thing that you would plug on your site.”

Well spotted Jeremy, and consider the info passed on.

(Submitted by SPC Jeremy Johnson)

  • Not allowed to tell my LT “I don’t have to listen to you, you’re just a Lieutenant!” (Note that this never actually stopped me)
  • Not allowed to remove computer equipment to install a microwave in the shelter.
  • Not allowed to remove computer equipment to install a mini-fridge in the shelter.
  • Not allowed to install an X-Box in the shelter.
  • Not even if I give the LT a turn.
  • Not allowed to convert my Humvee into a Pirate Ship.
  • Not allowed to ‘just’ fly a Jolly Roger from the antenna mount.
  • Not allowed to slash the tires of Vehicles that park in my spot.
  • Even if they belong to other units.
  • Especially if they belong to another Country.
  • Not allowed to exchange my M16 for a Pistol, “Because it’ll be more fun.”
  • Not allowed to Exchange my M16 for a shotgun, “Because all the cool kids have one.”
  • Not allowed to exchange my M16 for a Sub-Machine Gun.
  • Ok, I can, but only if I can find one for the commander too.
  • Not allowed to shoot at Civilian Contractors in Suburbans if they’re tailgating me. That job belongs to the LT. (True story, don’t ever give that guy the finger)

(Submitted By Joshua Nolan)

  • Cannot ride a quad-barreled APC designated for the Iraqi Army like a rodeo star.

  • The answer “You might.” is not consent to attempt to jump a 3 foot sand berm in an 18-wheeler after running over the “DO NOT ENTER” sign.

  • Cannot attempt to jump anything in an 18-wheeler.
  • Dr Pepper is not basic pyro issue.

  • Cannot start a pillw fight on an airliner and blame PTSD.


Friday, May 23rd, 2008




This Is Never Funny

Thursday, May 22nd, 2008

So a few years back the Army decided, in its infinite wisdom, that it had too many Staff Sergeants.

And so, as the Army sometimes does when this happens, it decided to offer incentives to any E-6s that would volunteer to leave the service early. And someone whimsical came up with a rather creative incentive system.

The volunteer could choose any two spots on their body, and an Army medic would measure the distance between them, and award one hundred dollars for every inch.

The morning the program opened, the medic, a Specialist, who had drawn the measuring detail received his first volunteer.

“Alright Sergeant before we get started I am required to ask you what your MOS is, and why you wish to leave the Army.”

“Well Specialist, I’m a mechanic and I was going to ETS next year anyways and I figure I could use the extra money, so why not get out now?”

‘Fair enough Sergeant. Where would you like to be measured?”

“From the tip of my left middle finger to the tip of my right middle finger.”

The specialist took his tape measure, and checked. “Okay Sergeant, you measure at 66 inches, go ahead and take this form to the Captain at the desk outside and he will cut you a check. Please send the next candidate in.”

The second candidate, a tall man, entered and was asked the same question.

“I’m a 25S, which means I work with satellite communications systems. I’m about to get married, which means I could use some extra money. And since civilians with my training make some serious money, I figure that now is a good time to get out and start a family.”

“Fair enough Sergeant, where would you like to be measured?”

“From the bottom of my feet to the top of my head.”

This man was six foot eight, and the Specialist told him so. “That comes to 80 inches, please give this form to the Captain at the desk outside and he’ll take care of your check. Please send the next man in.”

The third NCO walked in, limping badly. He too was asked for his MOS and his reason for leaving the service.

“I’m an 11B, infantry. I have seen too many combat tours, and my Humvee hit an IED a few months ago. I only recently got out of the hospital, and it is only a matter of time before my paperwork catches up with me and I get a medical discharge. So I might as well take the money and run while I can.”

“Sounds like a plan Sergeant. Where would you like me to measure you?”

“From the tip of my penis to the base of my testicles.”

“Wait, what?”

“Did I stutter soldier? I said from the tip of my penis to the base of my testicles.”

“Sergeant, I don’t mean this as an insult to your manhood, but wouldn’t it be a better idea to-”

“I SAID THE TOP OF MY COCK TO THE BACK OF MY SACK TROOPER!” the Sergeant bellowed while dropping his pants, “NOW GET TO IT!”

Feeling awkward, the Specialist got on his knees and gingerly brought the tape measure forward. Taking a quick look, he gasped and jumped back.

“Sergeant! Your balls are missing! Where are they?”

“Fallujah. Now pay up.”

9/11 Humor… What? Too soon?

Wednesday, May 21st, 2008

Back in September, my girlfriend was online at the website of one of her favorite retailers, checking out candles and other foofy girl stuff, and there was something on the site that caught us both off guard. They were having a sale. This was not your average ordinary sale. They were having a 9/11 sale.

Now, I was not offended, as there are few things out there that will offend me. Even so, I had to wonder if this was a wise marketing campaign.

I guess it is not totally out of line, since after the attacks on September 11, our own president suggested that we go shopping, and basically not let the terrorists disrupt our American way of life, i.e. consumerism. It did make me wonder if this is the future of advertising, where we can exploit any tragedy as long as we offer substantial savings on merchandise?

But then my disbelief gave way to my wandering brain, which started to think about how if this did become a regular thing among retailers, just what the ads might look like. Basically, I ran with the Presidents Day sale motif, as it would be done by a local car salesman that produces and stars in his own ads, and just gave it a 9/11 twist.

DISCLAIMER (Yes the following is not exactly tasteful, so, if you go forward and get offended, you have no one to blame but yourself, and I will have no sympathy and probably make fun of your “outrage.” Seriously, you have been warned. Enjoy).

I picture a local car salesman dressed as a suicide bomber and yelling, “Death to high monthly payments.” Then there is a big fakey explosion, and as the dust settles there is a vehicle with very reasonable monthly payments painted on it’s windshield, and a voice over saying, “This beauty can be yours for a down payment of $911.”

Maybe they will use the slogans from 9/11 and say things like, “Lets roll… back prices,” or “Our savings are wanted dead or alive.”

Or maybe the salesman will be in a flight suit and do a bad George Bush impression, “The terrorists hate our free clock radio with every test drive,” while behind him is a banner that says, “Savings Accomplished.”

Maybe they could use actual video of the planes flying into the towers and have a voice over that says, “We couldn’t save everyone on 9/11, but we CAN save you… MONEY!” Then, as they the plane crashes into the building they superimpose a bunch of dollar bills to look like they are coming out of the explosion.

If they run with the idea of using actual 9/11 video with things superimposed, they could show a crowd, running from the dust cloud of the collapsing tower, with the words “High Prices” superimposed on the cloud, and a voice over that says, “Don’t let high prices catch you. Run, don’t walk, to our 9/11 sale.”

Obviously, the only way to end any of these commercial ideas is to say the following: “If you pay more, you support the terrorists.”

Yes, I know it is tacky and tasteless, but I’m not the one who had a 9/11 sale. I just followed the idea to it’s natural conclusion, and if you live in America, you know that none of it is that far fetched, and you can probably picture it all as clear as I could.

I have to admit, it cracked me up, but come on, after seven years, can’t we find some humor in this tragic event?

Yes it is very dark humor, but somehow, I doubt you can come up with a good 9/11 puppies and rainbows joke. And lets face it, being able to laugh at tragedy is a sign of healing, and it is also a very human thing to do, as it helps us to cope and move on. So be human or be offended… the choice is yours.

(By the way, if you were offended by any of this, then the terrorists have already won).

Why Yes Sir, There Was Alcohol Involved.

Tuesday, May 20th, 2008

Story By Jayson, with help by skippy.

Once upon a time, in a far away land called Korea.

Well, the rest of the world calls it Korea.

We called it “Land of the Not-Quite Right”. We being the troops in the 4/7 CAV, who were stationed in what appeared to be the worlds largest flea market. This was a little town called Sonjuri that only had 3 crappy bars, and was near the DMZ.

I was a young, high speed-low drag, arrogant Bradley gunner in Alpha Troop. Our troop commander had always talked about wanting a goat as a unit mascot. As any regular reader of this site can guess, this was probably not the wisest life-choice he had ever made.

One night, most of the unit was out drinking. As sometimes happens when a bunch of soldiers are out drinking, we hit upon a really good idea. In this case we decided that to demonstrate how much we appreciated and respected him as both an officer and a gentleman, we should acquire him a goat mascot of his very own. And thus I found myself with a small group of highly motivated troopers, preparing a night infiltration operation against a local dog farm. In case you are wondering what a dog farm is, it is exactly what it sounds like, and you probably don’t want to know anything else on the subject.

Utilizing our highly trained stealth skills, natural sneakiness, and a near lethal BAC, we made it into the dog farm. Shortly after that we made positive contact with our target. We then subdued our four legged friend, and promptly headed back.

So, we started off back to camp, sneaking through the back streets and alleyways. We had made it about halfway back to our camp, with the goat fighting us the entire way, when the goat executed a counter-measure that we had not anticipated.

It pissed all over the guy carrying it. And the guy next to him.

Cursing our luck (and the goat) as we turned onto the next alley, we encountered three old Korean women. We faced off, looking as innocent as you can while covered in urine and carrying a goat. The women started yelling and chasing us. Even drunk and carrying a goat, we were faster and made it back to the gate well before them.

Now all that remained was the rather trivial task of sneaking a live goat past the guards. Our guard shack had a main room, where the guards were, and a corridor for people who entered to show their ID through the Plexiglas.

So all we had to do was get the goat through the corridor without the guards seeing it over the counter, and out the other side.

“This should be easy,” we thought as we set our plan into motion with the kind of confidence that can only be accomplished with heroic amounts of alcohol, and struggling livestock.

So, we have one guy start talking to the Korean guard who was outside, and the rest of us open the door to the shack and just kind of pushed the goat in. Unfortunately that’s when the three old women caught up and started shouting. Once inside the guard shack, the goat took off like crazy and ran out the other door, into the camp.

So we forget about the animal for a minute and join the three way argument between us, the guards, and the elderly ladies who are claiming that the goat is theirs. Now it might not have technically been ours. But we didn’t steal it from them, and damned if we were going to give them the goat which we had stolen fair and square.

Finally the sergeant of the guard has had enough. He tells us to go retrieve the goat and give it to them, regardless if it’s theirs or not. So we start off onto camp and start looking for the goat.

Now, this is a small post. Only about 500 Soldiers live there, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find this thing. After all, how much trouble can one unattended goat get into in a military encampment late at night?

Well a few minutes later we tracked it down to the lawn of a house.

Which turned out to belong to our Squadron Commander.

So, now we have our Squadron Commander standing on his porch, watching us and wearing the kind of expression that can only belong to a man who has experienced the joy that is “Surprise Midnight Drunken Goat Rodeo”.

We finally manage to get a grip on the damn thing, and take it back to the guard shack. We give the goat to the guards, and they give it to the old women. And we head back to the barracks for some beer. But first a shower because two of us smell like goat and the other two smell like goat pee.

More Friends of Skippy

Monday, May 19th, 2008

It’s that time of the week again, when I show off some more things that our various servicemen can’t do. This time the entire list is courtesy of SPC Jason Greco.

  • Not allowed to order chloroform
  • Not allowed to cut a lock because I’m too lazy to walk back and get the key
  • I am not a Government Slave
  • Not allowed to use privates to test the validity of an MSDS (Material Safety Data Sheet)
  • I should not barricade my Platoon SGT’s door with water bottles.
  • No longer allowed to refer to Marines as “Targets”
  • No longer allowed to call a deployment a “Field Trip”
  • Hitting another soldier with a frozen fish in the Commissary will get you kicked out
  • No longer allowed to tag things with the phrase “Army Smart”
  • I am not allowed in areas that require a security clearance, even if I have one
  • Not allowed to claim a crowbar as my weapon
  • Not allowed to use military vehicles for an “Ice cream run”
  • It is optional to participate in “Man Love Thursday” if you are higher ranking than I am
  • I am not the juggernaut
  • I am required to wear underwear to PT formation
  • Not allowed to build anything without supervision
  • Not allowed to order prosthetic testicles
  • Not allowed to order things “just because I want one”
  • Not allowed to run a sex toy business while deployed
  • Not allowed to wear a cape to work
  • Black Hawk mechanics are not “crash test dummies”
  • The other 0.1% do not work here
  • Snowball fights are not authorized on the flight line
  • Not allowed to buy anyone, especially Local Nationals.
  • I should not test how sharp my knife is on living things
  • “I can find things to do” is not the correct response when asked what I’m doing
  • Not allowed to shoot cigarettes out of soldier’s mouths
  • Mardi Gras beads are not allowed in the Dining Facility
  • No longer allowed to wear a cape while driving a convertible military vehicle
  • My kevlar is not a pimp hat and I’m not allowed to put a feather in it
  • A $1000 piece of equipment does not make a good ash tray
  • Mohawks are not authorized haircuts
  • I am not allowed to boycott our CSM
  • Not allowed to attach mullet wigs to hard hats with super glue
  • Not allowed to order a new aircraft from supply, even if the one on the flight line is broken
  • “Playboy: The Mansion” is not an authorized military program
  • Not allowed to build a statue of myself using Government resources.
  • Not allowed to replace my rifle with a baseball bat, even if it does have the same serial number, butt number, a sling and a magazine attached to it.