'Proper' libo attire wasn't something that was too harshly hit upon, until it got out of control. Marines start dressing crazy, and that's when the higher ups tend to take notice and crack down. Left to their own devices, the occasional Lance Corporal is going to decide that flip-flops, extra large sombrero, and butt-floss grape smuggler is a-ok for a night out on the town.
Perhaps not that extreme, but you would be surprised what they try to get away with. Case in point...
SSGT: Remember gents, we are guests on this base, no crazy shit on your body, in your body, or out on the town! Liberty expires 1800 hours on Sunday! Be the one that's late! Any questions? Good! Fall out!
The platoon made a mad dash for the barracks, tore off our cammies, and hit the showers. I was one of the first done and changed over into civvies, so I grabbed a chair and waited for the inevitable. Sure enough, here comes Popeye, dressed to the nines in swim trunks, mangled cap, ratty pt shoes (sans socks), and a wife beater. He was gamely attempting to walk out the hatch, right by me with the old 'if I don't look at my Corporal, maybe he won't notice me slinking out the door' look on his face.
ME: Popeye, come here.
POPEYE: Yes Corporal?
ME: Tell me you are going to the pool...
POPEYE: Eh? Naw, Corp, I'm gonna get sloppy drunk at the titty bar!
ME: Yeah, me too, but you know the First Sergeant is wandering around, right?
POPEYE: Yeah, but-
ME: Are you trying to see how far he can fit in my ass? I don't care if you take a bag with all yer freaky deaky duds, but wear some stuff as far as the gates that won't get my ass a target, ok?
POPEYE: *turning around* Roger, Corporal.
As he was walking away, who should come by but one of the machine gunners, a PFC Loco. Loco was an... interesting character, and his dress reflected it. He was dressed in flip-flops, board shorts with pretty flames all up the legs, a mesh yellow sleeveless shirt that showed off his dubious assets, and an amber shade of sun glasses that had the 'arms' that, instead of lying horizontal over the ears, wrapped up vertical over his head. He had so much bling on that Mr. T would have been envious. Not that Loco would have heard him, due to the Princess Leah lookin' head phones blasting out rap en espanol. To Popeye's chagrin, I merely nodded at Loco, and wished him happy hunting.
POPEYE: Corporal?
ME: Hmm?
POPEYE: What the fuck, over?
ME: Loco isn't one of my bubbas. You are. First Sergeant is down that hall that Loco just went down, and I'm going to hang out and watch the festivities. Where is Corporal Jones (Loco's team leader), anyways?
Right on cue, all within roughly 5 miles could hear the distinctive, booming, former drill instructor voice of the First Sergeant. "OH! HELL! NO! MARINE, YOU MUST BE HIGH ON DRUGS, DRESSING LIKE THAT!!! WHY IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY CAN I SEE YOUR NIPPLES?!?! WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THOSE FLAMES?!? ARE YOU A FLAMER!!? SHUT UP, DON'T ANSWER THAT!!! WHO'S YOUR TEAM LEADER, NUMBNUTS!?!?!" *mumbled response* "OH, GREAT, WHISPER AT ME TOO!!! CORPORAL JONES, GET YOUR SCRAWNY ASS OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!"
Looking forward to a cold beer, classy ladies, and a night of the First Sergeant not knee deep in my ass for something one of my yahoos did?
Life is good...
Perhaps not that extreme, but you would be surprised what they try to get away with. Case in point...
SSGT: Remember gents, we are guests on this base, no crazy shit on your body, in your body, or out on the town! Liberty expires 1800 hours on Sunday! Be the one that's late! Any questions? Good! Fall out!
The platoon made a mad dash for the barracks, tore off our cammies, and hit the showers. I was one of the first done and changed over into civvies, so I grabbed a chair and waited for the inevitable. Sure enough, here comes Popeye, dressed to the nines in swim trunks, mangled cap, ratty pt shoes (sans socks), and a wife beater. He was gamely attempting to walk out the hatch, right by me with the old 'if I don't look at my Corporal, maybe he won't notice me slinking out the door' look on his face.
ME: Popeye, come here.
POPEYE: Yes Corporal?
ME: Tell me you are going to the pool...
POPEYE: Eh? Naw, Corp, I'm gonna get sloppy drunk at the titty bar!
ME: Yeah, me too, but you know the First Sergeant is wandering around, right?
POPEYE: Yeah, but-
ME: Are you trying to see how far he can fit in my ass? I don't care if you take a bag with all yer freaky deaky duds, but wear some stuff as far as the gates that won't get my ass a target, ok?
POPEYE: *turning around* Roger, Corporal.
As he was walking away, who should come by but one of the machine gunners, a PFC Loco. Loco was an... interesting character, and his dress reflected it. He was dressed in flip-flops, board shorts with pretty flames all up the legs, a mesh yellow sleeveless shirt that showed off his dubious assets, and an amber shade of sun glasses that had the 'arms' that, instead of lying horizontal over the ears, wrapped up vertical over his head. He had so much bling on that Mr. T would have been envious. Not that Loco would have heard him, due to the Princess Leah lookin' head phones blasting out rap en espanol. To Popeye's chagrin, I merely nodded at Loco, and wished him happy hunting.
POPEYE: Corporal?
ME: Hmm?
POPEYE: What the fuck, over?
ME: Loco isn't one of my bubbas. You are. First Sergeant is down that hall that Loco just went down, and I'm going to hang out and watch the festivities. Where is Corporal Jones (Loco's team leader), anyways?
Right on cue, all within roughly 5 miles could hear the distinctive, booming, former drill instructor voice of the First Sergeant. "OH! HELL! NO! MARINE, YOU MUST BE HIGH ON DRUGS, DRESSING LIKE THAT!!! WHY IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY CAN I SEE YOUR NIPPLES?!?! WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THOSE FLAMES?!? ARE YOU A FLAMER!!? SHUT UP, DON'T ANSWER THAT!!! WHO'S YOUR TEAM LEADER, NUMBNUTS!?!?!" *mumbled response* "OH, GREAT, WHISPER AT ME TOO!!! CORPORAL JONES, GET YOUR SCRAWNY ASS OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!"
Looking forward to a cold beer, classy ladies, and a night of the First Sergeant not knee deep in my ass for something one of my yahoos did?
Life is good...
10 comments:
Oh Murphy, my boss is seriously questioning whether I've been sneaking sniffs of nitrous between patients.
You make me laugh more than should be legal. Thank you for your continued sharing of your stories.
Snigs
Sounds like a good tactical plan, keep the opponent occupied. If First Sarge is busy making a new bedroom wing in Cpl. Jones ass, he won't be redecorating yours.
haha! I haven't heard the term grape smugglers in a long time!
Thanks for the laugh.
Good one Murph! You should have seen it back in the day, when we had liberty cards. Even IF you got out of the barracks, you still had to get out the Main Gate, that was usually an Senior or Master Chief or God Forbid, the Gunny.
You made me laugh, again.
I'm not all that military, so I joined the Air Force instead :). The only "Ohmyghod, (s)he's wearing what?" I can remember was one particular female Airman. One of her outfits included a red lace shirt, with no bra. Another included a shirt that was fine mesh from the nipples to the shoulder blades, again, no bra.
She wound up discharged for something unrelated.
My father-in-law, who was the highest enlisted army rank (Sgt. Major?) tells me the story of his guys.
"Don't you call me from jail you hear. Cuz I'm not going to get you out!"
Great story!
Always hated the newbie ensigns and forever-E6's on OOD watch. One was out to prove something and the other just permanently pissed. Both wanted almost inspection-perfect civvies to let you leave "their" Quarterdeck!
Oh, libbo...
My brother got his ass busted for wearing a jockstrap, bow tie and the company guidon once.
That which does not kill us makes us stronger.
That which gets the other guy in deeper doodoo makes us more invisible.
Snigglefrits: Laughing at me or with me, just laugh.
Anony: Bedroom wing. Har!
Hammer: Grape smuggler, sausage sling, banana boat, pie cover, camel slipper, butt floss, I am a master of all that is un-PC.
Old NFO: Getting out wasn't the problem for us, getting back in was another subject (fuschnukered, lost ID, late, half-nekkid, etc and attempting to gain entry was sometimes an issue).
Sevesteen: Nipples and mesh. Ahhhh...
Mr. Police Man: Me personally, I would be more worried if the SgtMaj WAS coming to pick my ass up from the brig.
Dan O: Civvies inspections. Gotta love it.
Crankyprof: So, he was naked from the neck down? That was uncalled for. Har!
Matt G: Amen.
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