No Shit there I was, Ramadi Iraq 2005, actually wait….. Back up. I can’t say “no shit” for this story as it’s central theme is just that.
I don’t know about your tours to the desert, but from my experience, H20 was never in short supply. It was located in huge bottles, on massive aircraft pallets located all over the FOB. It sat in the 110+ degree heat, and was like drinking fresh McDonalds lawsuit coffee only without the delicious coffee taste, and foamy clumpy shits that followed.
Ice in coolers did not hold up on three hour convoys, and the massive 2 liter water bottles took up way too much cooler space.
Gatorade was never plentiful, and was considered a rare treat when we could get our hands on it. One day the mess hall received three connexes full of grape flavored Gatorade in the 20oz bottles.
My Armorer, Young Specialist Wesley Green, whom you may or may not recall from my back scratcher story from a few weeks ago, took it upon himself to wheel and deal for a pallet of this grape-flavored nectar of the Gods. It cost us a broken Nautilus ab cruncher (but we had two in our gym and one was not on the property books).
This pallet was enjoyed by my orderly room staff exclusively for nearly a week.
That is when a few of my guys started noticing that their fecal matter color was changing. Bright hues of florescent green and yellow began to fill our Job Johnnys. Then one day our NBC Private, PFC Powell, whom you may remember as not being the smartest of privates, whom mistakenly purchased a douche for a female medic on my orders, decided to mess with Top, and try to get some free time off. He took a green chem light and a turkey baster (where in the hell he got a turkey baster in Iraq I have no clue) and inserted glowing green chem light juice in, on, and around his latest drop.
He came in and asked Top to take a look at the glowing pile of nuclear waste shit, and asked if he could be excused from duty to see the Medics and get some “bed rest”. Top was one of the brighter First Sergeants that I have dealt with, and made PFC Powell scoop out his creation to take with him to the medics. Since the medics hadn’t been aware of the tactically acquired Gatorade they were in for quite a shock when PFC Powell came in with his glowing sandwich baggy of poop. They immediately called the PA and the FOB surgeon. It was only when they were preparing to order an emergency Medivac did Top step up and say that his troop was simply sandbagging, and that the poor dumb bastard had just drank too much Gatorade, and added chem light juice. For some reason these Medics, the PA, and FOB Surgeon were all of the mindset that my young PFC had grew up in Chernobyl or discovered Saddam’s secret stash of WMDs. It wasn’t until Top, just through his “Top Glare”, made PFC Powell admit to what he had done that the FOB Medical staff relented.
What form of perverse punishment that Top gave PFC Powell eludes me at this time, but I’m sure that it was fitting. It does roll downhill after all.
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