My national guard unit, 139th ROC, North Carolina NG, was sent to Slavonski Brod, Croatia to staff the Task Force Pershing HQ for SFOR in Bosnia. We were a glorified truck stop for the units moving between Germany and Bosnia.
As an E-5 – Buck Sergeant for the civilians – I ended up being the ranking enlisted man in the Intel section. One of my guys was Aaron. Aaron never stopped whining. “It’s too hot,” “It’s too cold,” “It always rains.” Waah, waah, waah. And he worked in an office that heat and AC, plus, being the Intel section for a brigade we had a TV in our room with cable so that we could “monitor the news.” Cough, cough, ESPN, cough, cough.
I was counseled by my captain for calling Aaron “my bitch” and “Jennifer” because he whined like he had PMS all of the time. I also couldn’t mention PMS in any context.
I worked a night shift. I slept during the day – duh. My cot was near the entrance of our GP medium tent – about the size of the hospital tent in MASH. We were able to spread out since only six of us slept in it, and since the tent was draped over a wooden frame, we had a door to keep out the weather.
My cot was by the door. The door had a spring on it so that it would stay shut, but this meant that it would slam shut when opened. One day Aaron woke me up with his slamming and banging as he switched out his sleeping bag for a freshly cleaned one. A few minutes later, after he had gone back to work, the door began slamming and banging at a furious rate.
I sat up ready to tear some ass, only to see a line of Specialists and Sergeants formed up and taking turns sitting on Aaron’s fart sack. Each guy would sit down and then rip a nasty, wet sounding fart, courtesy of nutritious Army chow, then make room for the next guy.
Before I could say, “What the hell?” One of my specialists, as he was sitting down said, “We do this every time he turns in his fart sack.” To emphasize his statement, he reached into his butt crack and pulled out some butt fuzz, which he stuffed deep down into the fart sack.
I then got an earful of how Aaron had become a dick after he made Sergeant. I commiserated with the guys, because it was all true. I then went back to sleep, but first I took my turn in line.
A few days later as Aaron was hitting the sack and I was getting ready to go to work, Aaron said, “I don’t get it, I just turned in my old sleeping bag and this one already smells like ass.”
I bet it did. About 20 asses.
Follow
