Jump to content

The topic free thread


chiplee
 Share

Recommended Posts

I'm tired of the "thread jack" police in the BS forum so this thread is mine, and it can go anywhere anyone wants it to. Let's start with elephants. What do you think about elephants?
Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • Replies 108
  • Created
  • Last Reply

Top Posters In This Topic

i've heard they taste like chicken ;)

 

but what the Flack has that to do with the end of the world . and if the end of the world is near do we still have to pay IRS :eek1bluegreen:

 

I heard that they taste like a cross between a Condor, and a Spotted Owl.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

It's been a long time since I "air struck" anything, and it'll be a long time 'til I do again, anything alive anyway. I'm on my way to a place where the bomb a lot of dirt.
Link to comment
Share on other sites

I saw on Mythbusters, they are truly afraid of mice.

 

-Robert

 

You know that fish in the Amazon that swims up the urethra and lodges itself there. I think elephants are afraid of mice because of the same principle, only mice can do it to elephants. I would be afraid too!

Link to comment
Share on other sites

you going back to vietam Chip lol

hey i thought you were out of the seat for a while

 

I've been at a ground school for a year. I'm going back to the jet in a month or two.

 

When I graduate from Expeditionary Warfare School on the 8th of May my orders were supposed to be back to Beaufort (which is why I never changed my location on the site) but then at the last minute the beaufort thing fell through and I was given the option to wait here in Quantico (non-flying) for a year in hopes of a spot in Beaufort opening up. I wasn't interested in not flying, as you might imagine, but if it set me up for success on the back side I would have done it. Being out of the jet for two years would result in all of my quals expiring, and requiring re-certification. So I combed the Marine Corps for flying jobs and found China Lake to be the only other viable option. I'm too junior for the job so I hadn't ever seriously considered it, but I sent an "application" anyway and I called the Marine Detachment XO out there to tell him how awesome I am, I guess I got lucky. The board met a few weeks ago and picked me to come be their operational test and evaluation F-18 pilot. As new or "changed" weapon systems come online I'll be the guy that takes them from the developmental test pilots and basically operates with them in the same fashion the fleet will operate with them. I guess it's going to be cool. I can't really tell yet. I just know it's flying vice nonflying so it's all good.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

I think we should air strike the IRS with elephants that have mice up their units so they're really PO'd. Then have a barbeque with the elephant meat that tastes like the endangered Spotted Owl Chicken Condor of outerspace and carve demonic figures out of their ivory tusks while holding pleasant conversation by the fire. :turkey: :spacecraft:
Link to comment
Share on other sites

The long June twilight faded into night. Dublin lay enveloped in darkness but for the dim light of the moon that shone through fleecy clouds, casting a pale light as of approaching dawn over the streets and the dark waters of the Liffey. Around the beleaguered Four Courts the heavy guns roared. Here and there through the city, machine guns and rifles broke the silence of the night, spasmodically, like dogs barking on lone farms. Republicans and Free Staters were waging civil war.

 

On a rooftop near O'Connell Bridge, a Republican sniper lay watching. Beside him lay his rifle and over his shoulders was slung a pair of field glasses. His face was the face of a student, thin and ascetic, but his eyes had the cold gleam of the fanatic. They were deep and thoughtful, the eyes of a man who is used to looking at death.

 

He was eating a sandwich hungrily. He had eaten nothing since morning. He had been too excited to eat. He finished the sandwich, and, taking a flask of whiskey from his pocket, he took a short drought. Then he returned the flask to his pocket. He paused for a moment, considering whether he should risk a smoke. It was dangerous. The flash might be seen in the darkness, and there were enemies watching. He decided to take the risk.

 

Placing a cigarette between his lips, he struck a match, inhaled the smoke hurriedly and put out the light. Almost immediately, a bullet flattened itself against the parapet of the roof. The sniper took another whiff and put out the cigarette. Then he swore softly and crawled away to the left.

 

Cautiously he raised himself and peered over the parapet. There was a flash and a bullet whizzed over his head. He dropped immediately. He had seen the flash. It came from the opposite side of the street.

 

He rolled over the roof to a chimney stack in the rear, and slowly drew himself up behind it, until his eyes were level with the top of the parapet. There was nothing to be seen--just the dim outline of the opposite housetop against the blue sky. His enemy was under cover.

 

Just then an armored car came across the bridge and advanced slowly up the street. It stopped on the opposite side of the street, fifty yards ahead. The sniper could hear the dull panting of the motor. His heart beat faster. It was an enemy car. He wanted to fire, but he knew it was useless. His bullets would never pierce the steel that covered the gray monster.

 

Then round the corner of a side street came an old woman, her head covered by a tattered shawl. She began to talk to the man in the turret of the car. She was pointing to the roof where the sniper lay. An informer.

 

The turret opened. A man's head and shoulders appeared, looking toward the sniper. The sniper raised his rifle and fired. The head fell heavily on the turret wall. The woman darted toward the side street. The sniper fired again. The woman whirled round and fell with a shriek into the gutter.

 

Suddenly from the opposite roof a shot rang out and the sniper dropped his rifle with a curse. The rifle clattered to the roof. The sniper thought the noise would wake the dead. He stooped to pick the rifle up. He couldn't lift it. His forearm was dead. "I'm hit," he muttered.

 

Dropping flat onto the roof, he crawled back to the parapet. With his left hand he felt the injured right forearm. The blood was oozing through the sleeve of his coat. There was no pain--just a deadened sensation, as if the arm had been cut off.

 

Quickly he drew his knife from his pocket, opened it on the breastwork of the parapet, and ripped open the sleeve. There was a small hole where the bullet had entered. On the other side there was no hole. The bullet had lodged in the bone. It must have fractured it. He bent the arm below the wound. the arm bent back easily. He ground his teeth to overcome the pain.

 

Then taking out his field dressing, he ripped open the packet with his knife. He broke the neck of the iodine bottle and let the bitter fluid drip into the wound. A paroxysm of pain swept through him. He placed the cotton wadding over the wound and wrapped the dressing over it. He tied the ends with his teeth.

 

Then he lay still against the parapet, and, closing his eyes, he made an effort of will to overcome the pain.

 

In the street beneath all was still. The armored car had retired speedily over the bridge, with the machine gunner's head hanging lifeless over the turret. The woman's corpse lay still in the gutter.

 

The sniper lay still for a long time nursing his wounded arm and planning escape. Morning must not find him wounded on the roof. The enemy on the opposite roof coverd his escape. He must kill that enemy and he could not use his rifle. He had only a revolver to do it. Then he thought of a plan.

 

Taking off his cap, he placed it over the muzzle of his rifle. Then he pushed the rifle slowly upward over the parapet, until the cap was visible from the opposite side of the street. Almost immediately there was a report, and a bullet pierced the center of the cap. The sniper slanted the rifle forward. The cap clipped down into the street. Then catching the rifle in the middle, the sniper dropped his left hand over the roof and let it hang, lifelessly. After a few moments he let the rifle drop to the street. Then he sank to the roof, dragging his hand with him.

 

Crawling quickly to his feet, he peered up at the corner of the roof. His ruse had succeeded. The other sniper, seeing the cap and rifle fall, thought that he had killed his man. He was now standing before a row of chimney pots, looking across, with his head clearly silhouetted against the western sky.

 

The Republican sniper smiled and lifted his revolver above the edge of the parapet. The distance was about fifty yards--a hard shot in the dim light, and his right arm was paining him like a thousand devils. He took a steady aim. His hand trembled with eagerness. Pressing his lips together, he took a deep breath through his nostrils and fired. He was almost deafened with the report and his arm shook with the recoil.

 

 

 

 

 

Then when the smoke cleared, he peered across and uttered a cry of joy. His enemy had been hit. He was reeling over the parapet in his death agony. He struggled to keep his feet, but he was slowly falling forward as if in a dream. The rifle fell from his grasp, hit the parapet, fell over, bounded off the pole of a barber's shop beneath and then clattered on the pavement.

 

Then the dying man on the roof crumpled up and fell forward. The body turned over and over in space and hit the ground with a dull thud. Then it lay still.

 

The sniper looked at his enemy falling and he shuddered. The lust of battle died in him. He became bitten by remorse. The sweat stood out in beads on his forehead. Weakened by his wound and the long summer day of fasting and watching on the roof, he revolted from the sight of the shattered mass of his dead enemy. His teeth chattered, he began to gibber to himself, cursing the war, cursing himself, cursing everybody.

 

He looked at the smoking revolver in his hand, and with an oath he hurled it to the roof at his feet. The revolver went off with a concussion and the bullet whizzed past the sniper's head. He was frightened back to his senses by the shock. His nerves steadied. The cloud of fear scattered from his mind and he laughed.

 

Taking the whiskey flask from his pocket, he emptied it a drought. He felt reckless under the influence of the spirit. He decided to leave the roof now and look for his company commander, to report. Everywhere around was quiet. There was not much danger in going through the streets. He picked up his revolver and put it in his pocket. Then he crawled down through the skylight to the house underneath.

 

When the sniper reached the laneway on the street level, he felt a sudden curiosity as to the identity of the enemy sniper whom he had killed. He decided that he was a good shot, whoever he was. He wondered did he know him. Perhaps he had been in his own company before the split in the army. He decided to risk going over to have a look at him. He peered around the corner into O'Connell Street. In the upper part of the street there was heavy firing, but around here all was quiet.

 

The sniper darted across the street. A machine gun tore up the ground around him with a hail of bullets, but he escaped. He threw himself face downward beside the corpse. The machine gun stopped.

 

Then the sniper turned over the dead body and looked into his brother's face.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

I like Count Chocula, but I'm not sure if it's better than Cookie Crisp...well, the original RALSTON brand Cookie Crisp, not the General Mills hostile-takeover cereal they make now. So I guess that means I like Count Chocula better. Too bad the boxes are only big enough for 4-5 bowls.

 

http://www.derok.net/countchocula/images/count%20chocula%20box%20old.jpg

 

 

What happened to the 2 other baker guys from Cinnimon Toast Crunch anyways? Did the old fat guy (Wendell) take them out? Would that make him a cereal killer? --good song by Crystal Method btw.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

 Share


×
×
  • Create New...