Like MacArthur, Just Not in the Philippines
First things first, we have been in personal contact with Original Post Girl. Our confidence is high that she understands that we meant no harm, there was no malice in our heart, and that if there was any inferred attack upon her person, it was completely unintentional and we have apologized to her for any such grievance. Without arguing what was right or wrong, WoW is a game and the people in it are not. We’re here to make people feel good, not bad. Even if everything we wrote was spot-on 100% gospel, we don’t want to hurt anybody.
Again, we’re sorry OPG. We look forward to letting you do a BRK Guest Post in the very near future. And you’ll all sit up straight and pay attention when she reads her report, right?!
Moving on.
The birthday oust from power was tremendous, but there are some things we need to clear up.
1. Nerf rules. Don’t diss Nerf.
2. Loincloth of the Monkey, foshizzle.
3. Hobbes is tired of the farm; all the animals were delicious.
4. Mrs BRK doesn’t smoke cigarettes. She’s only down with Montecristo No.4s
5. As for the hostile takeover, like MacArthur, we shall return!
The birthday wishes were fabulous! We want to thank each and every one of you for them. Truly, if a man is judged by his friends, we are blessed beyond measure.
So please allow us to attempt a small Thank You with an Airman Howell story! One of our two Dancing Tales, even.
/daniel mode on
“GET ON THE BUS!”
And we did, all 50 or so of us who had a week left at basic training. We all calmly but quickly filled the bus, the door shut, the airbrakes hissed, and we took off for the stadium.
For some reason, we were being taken to see a World Leage of American Football (WLAF) (think cheap USFL) football game and pfft who were we to argue. Looking spiffy in our trim blue uniforms, six flights of trainees, some 300 people, were bussed to the San Antonio stadium to watch a not-quite professional football game and look good doing so.
We arrived, marched off the bus, into the stands, and filled up a section right on the 50-yard line. I was in the second group of trainees, around the fourth row back. In front of us… were girls.
Lots of girls. A flight of female Air Force trainees was in the front rows, then my flight behind them, then four more flights of guys behind us. Fifty trim, polished, knee-length skirt, uniform-wearing girls. We had been isolated from women for five weeks, this was cool!
No socializing was permitted; we were to remain calm and professional, for we were all representing the US Air Force. So sayeth our instructors, so let it be done!
Professional. I can pull that off, totally. I can do that… wow, golly they smelled nice.
The game began, the WLAF cheerleaders were on the other side of the stadium. We were enjoying the sun, the breeze, the football, and some time to not be stressed to the max.
OK, we need a flashback here. Hold on.
The first real day of basic training, we were all standing against our lockers, quivering at the arrival of our Military Training Instructor. And she burst into the dorm and blew our minds. Tall, muscular, black, and Loud! Holy cow, she could Project and strike fear into any man’s heart, making them sweat all the way into their black cotton socks. Her foul-mouthed invectives thundered around the dorm like a barrel of superballs fired from a shotgun. Personally, I tried to turn invisible or become a chameleon, but something she said warped my brain.
“Do any of your dumb blankety-blanks know how to type!?”
Utter silence.
“I SAID, DO ANY OF YOU BLEEPY BLEEPY BLANKETY-BLANKS KNOW HOW TO TYPE!!!”
And my world exploded and the chemicals in my body altered their molecular structure. I lost my humanity as I shrieked into the storm,
“SIR! I CAN TYPE SIR!”
I called her Sir? I didn’t. There’s no way I called her Sir. My brain returned to this dimension and quit the job.
“Dude,” my brain said, “You totally called her Sir. Goodbye. Call me back in six weeks.” /doorslam
And the goddess of war thundered, “GET YOUR BLEEP-BLEEP BLEEPING BLEEP IN HERE!!”
I warped to her office, expecting to be eviscerated.
“Thank goodness,” she said, “You really can type? Would you be a dear and use this list of names to type out a copy of this form for everybody? Thank you so much, it’s hard to find someone who can type.” And she smiled, left the office, and started verbally abusing everybody in the dorm, one at a time, while I sat at the Selectric and typed out inventory forms.
“WHY THE BLEEP WOULD YOU BRING CONDOMS TO BASIC TRAINING!!!”
Type, type, type.
“THOSE ARE THE DIRTIEST UNDERPANTS IN THE HISTORY OF THE PLANET!! ARE YOU A GORILLA?!! CAN YOU WIPE YOUR BLEEP AT ALL!!”
Type, type, type.
At some point, I was told that the goal of basic training is to graduate and have the instructor not know your face when they call your name to receive your diploma. That kind of happened to me, as I was never known as Airman Howell in basic training.
I was the House Mouse.
“MOUSE!! GET THE BLEEP IN HERE!”
“Ma’am?”
“Be a sweetie and please take these reports to the NCOIC downstairs?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you. And don’t let them give you any crap.”
“MOUSE!! WHERE THE BLEEP ARE YOU!!”
“Right here, ma’am.”
“Mouse, my husband is going to drive by and pickup my shopping list. Would you please take it to him in the parking lot?”
“Certainly, ma’am.”
Typing, organizing, filing, quick trips to the commissary to get supplies, and one time a birthday card for the instructor’s mother. I saw that she had needed the card, was at the commissary anyway, bought it and left it for her. She was thrilled.
So I was known as “Mouse” for six weeks, that’s critical. Now we can go back to the football game.
Four rows of girls, 50 sparkling examples of what physical fitness can do for a person, spread out before us as we watched the game. Halftime arrived and the cheerleaders changed sides and stood in front of our section. A TV crew came with them and started taking video of the cheerleaders and the girls in the front rows. The halftime show started and dance music filled the stadium. The cheerleaders jumped the railing and tried to encourage the female airman to join them. And when the video crew started taping them all, the female airmen couldn’t help themselves and burst into dance with the cheerleaders! What a show!
Then one of the cheerleaders tried to get the front rows of guys to dance too. No f-ing way, lady. We were all told to be professional and represent the Air Force like good little trainees, we’re not going to get in the middle of 50 gyrating female airmen and 12 semi-professional cheerleaders… Right?
Note: Five weeks of basic training is not enough time to prepare a man to resist the lure of dancing with 62 hot and toned women.
I jumped up, bounded down two rows of bleachers, and broke it down as best I could, anticipating the place was going to be a mob of 250 crazy guys frolicking among the girls! Must stake claim to some prime real estate!
But none of them moved, not a single guy got out of his seat. It was just me, a flight of 50 female trainees, and a cadre of WLAF cheerleaders. No lie.
One of the members of my flight yelled out, “Go Mouse!” It was repeated and turned into a chorus picked up by the rest of my flight, and eventually the entire gaggle of airman.
“GO MOUSE-Y! GO MOUSE-Y! GO GO, GO MOUSE-Y!”
And the stadium rocked as much as a WLAF game could rock. The music blared, the girls danced, and I was smack in the center, my hat jauntily askew and everything was right with the world.
Did I mention the film crew? I must have. At that time, though, I had certainly forgotten about them.
But the next day I was rudely reminded of that filming crew when I was summoned to the commander’s office. (I spent a lot of time at the commander’s office, now that I think about it.)
“Sir, Airman Howell reports as ordered,” and I offered my salute.
The man didn’t say a word. He held up a VCR tape, popped it into a player, turned on the TV, and I got to watch the local news channel and their on-the-scene reporter describe how a group of basic training airmen from Lackland Air Force Base had a great time at the WLAF game, but one airman seemed to have the best time of all.
And there I was, dancing like a goofball with all the female trainees and the cheerleaders, proudly representing the US Air Force with dignity, as we had all been reminded was our Duty.
Did I mention that I missed graduating from basic training with honors? Heck, my training instructor didn’t even recognize my name at graduation, either.
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28 Responses to “Like MacArthur, Just Not in the Philippines”
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Thanks BRK, I’ll meet ya down in Ironforge sometime and I’ll buy you a Dwarven Brew. C:
Any chance of that video making it’s way to youtube?
I have got to stop reading these things while eating, that’s the second time I’ve narrowly averted disaster of the keyboard-destroying type.
BRK! Yer story be all buggered up! Ya couldn’ta been at a USFL game in 1991, ’cause the San Antonio Gunslingers was dead and buried by then. You was most like at a WLAF game with the San Antonio Riders, proud holders of the stupidest name on professional sports franchise history. Get yer facts right, ya dang hunter!
‘Course, I’s just a simple orc what don’t know nuthin’ bout any of this.
Ratshag, your facts check out. We always thought it was USFL! The Riders it must have been, specifically the Sun. May. 19 – (W) RIDERS 27 VS. MONTREAL MACHINE 10 – (Att. 20,234) game. We’ll change it!
Atta Boy, BRK! Well done.
I feel privileged to be a part of the BRK community and look forward to more of your highly entertaining musings.
/Salute
PS Happy B-Day!
that tape should definitely be added to the BRK movie archives
Happy birthday, BRK!
And thanks for turning the tables and giving your readers a present with another Airman Howell story.
You obviously don’t just know how to type. You know how to write — really well!
MASH has nothing on Airman Howell
Thank ye kindly for the story, definitely brightened my day
I look forward to more Airman Howell stories, they’re absolutely brilliant. Keep up the good work, you make us proud.
Good Hunting,
Tox
Wow, Billy Joel’s Errand Boy to “House Mouse” to “Big Red Kitty”?
Hope you’re celebrating big time, seems like you have a hell of a life!
(I’m only 22, I’ve got time to catch up.
)
You know, BRK, I think you should consider recording these stories as MP3s, I think they’d be even more entertaining to *hear* you tell them.
Go Mousey, indeed.
Holy Kow, BRK. Too funny.
Happy Be-lated Birthday.
/salute from San Antonio, Tx.
Just buy his book when it comes out on CD or MP3.. Imagine BRK reading his own book to us… strike that… BRK Narating a documentary for us on video. This way we can see them hot woman…. but honestly.
Just buy the BRK book.
OMFG…the MOUSE. LOL lucky @#$%^&!!!
At least you weren’t the latrine queen. LOL
Dang it Daniel…Making me remember the best 6 weeks I ever had. lol
Just saw a video of a marine throwing a puppy down a cliff…..what a SOB, BRK i ask you, is this kind of behaviour a common thing among guys with guns(i.e. military, air force, sea boys) i ask you this because i’ve seen quite a few examples of not the same but similar acts(remember the marine chick photos with naked iraqui prisioners??) i find this very disturbing (ever for a priestitutte) considering that this soldiers are supposed to have a certain background, formation, bla bla bla. I mean, you dont go to the streets and recruit the first @sshole you see, you must have some BASIC filters, dont you?? oh well, i guess i just needed to take this out of my system, i hope you BRK and the kind viewers will leave a comment about this, i feel like its a big issue.
PD pardon my french, its rly early here so my typing sucks(at least it does until 11:00am PST)
Salutations! Priestitutte
Best. Story. Ever.
And as a side note, as the mouse, you were the lucky one, as I will never forget the two words that will forever reach the cold talons of fear straight up my sphincter, up my spine to sink firmly into my heart…
“CHOWRUNNER, GO!”
HAH! BRK you get my gigglin’ in the mornin’. Better than Folger’s for wakin’ me up.
62…finely-toned women…*/drool*
Imagine if Mrs. BRK was there…someone’s face would still be hurting…
No Priestitutte, There was a recent NYT hack job on all the criminals being recruited for the military, but when you went and looked into the study most of it was petty crime not violent. Sure some guys get in. There was a second hack job by the NYT recently about the huge amount of violence committed by veterans, but the very study the NYT used showed most of that was done by people who had criminal background before going to Iraq. And the total amount of violent crime perpetrated by veterans is actually less than the general population, including journalists!
Abu Garaib had nothing to do with armed forces, prisoner abuse happens in the US as well, and every western country, it’s just not as bad in the West as it is in many other countries.
I had a blog which was “written” by my dog and he’d write about abuse of animals sometimes. There are tons of awful people out there, and no pattern that I saw. I wrote a few articles about a bird-lover that was being tried for killing all his neighbors cats.
In fact I feel safer around my veteran friends than many of my “pacifist” friends, since some of them act like they’re about to go postal they are so full of rage and anger, but then again they are all in the theatre industry so you know..
thank you for your service BRK and everyone else
Brk, as my dad used to say, “You are a gentleman and a scholar.” And as my brother always says, “Hippo Birdy!”
House mouse, havent heard that term since basic training. And the poor schlub who was our house mouse looked all the part too.
Chow runner….GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! That was my job.
I got pinged as chow runner on day two of basic training. I was told to go into the chow hall, move the dog tag from one position to another and come out and start sending in the flight one squad at a time. I made the fatal mistake of moving our flight ahead of everyone else that had been waiting in line. Needless to say that I was read the riot act, and given the proper procedure for how the chowrunner does his job.
We had to stand with our backs against the wall reading or stupid study guides (student study guides
) and when so directed move our tag from one peg to the next. For five weeks I was never bothered nor questioned about anything, until three days before graduation, when a TI from another squadron asked what I was going to do when I finished with basic training. Sir I will be going Castle AFB for training to be a gunner on B-52s.
A GUNNER! ON B-52s, WELL ARENT WE SPECIAL. I SUPPOSE YOU THINK THAT YOU WILL BE BETTER THAN THE REST OF THE AIRMAN, WALKING AROUND IN YOUR GREEN BAG UNIFORM (flight suit) PLAYING BIG MAN ON BASE.
No sir, I will not be better than any other airman, sir, its the job I wanted sir. The ranting went on for what seemed like minutes but lasted abot 20 seconds. The TI came up to me later to welcome me to the gunner brotherhood. He was a gunner on B-52 during Viet Nam.
Fast forward six months, I was medically disqualified from gunner school because of a color vision deficiency. I spent the rest of my career is Operations Resource Management, since the color vision problem I no longer eligible for flying duty and a slew of other jobs.
I see your point yunk, is that i find har to understand how people can be so mean to puppy/POW/journalists/cops/milkman/etc
I just dont understand were all that hate comes form, whats to prove by throwing a pupy off a cliff?? that guy’s manhood? machoness??(yes, i invented that, i like making up words). Things like this make me loose faith in humanity, see i wouldnt mind that @sshole be sent to die in some lalalalala country, fook him, maybe he could jump off a cliff with an osama bomb upp his #%$. Sorry for this minute of anger, im almost always a happy wh0re, love Priestitutte
@ Priestitutte
), I see a stunted human being that unfortunately wears the Marine Corps uniform I once proudly wore.
Having done a bit of time in Uncle Sam’s Mensa Club (USMC) I can tell you that violence for the sake of violence is not at all taught, modeled or encouraged. The key to marine basic training is instilling discipline so that when the chaos and hell and suffering of a firefight surrounds a person they have a slightly better chance to survive because they have learned discipline.
What you describe is not a measure of how tough a person is but instead how stunted. Unless a male learns how to wield power they will always abuse it, typically by kissing up and slapping down.
So, where you saw a Marine first (I assume this from your original post
@BRK
I was the Duty Hut Private…. got to make the drill instructors bed, etc. You comment about the TI going off on dirty underwear reminds me of a similar story.
Every night 80 mostly bald teenagers wearing only boxers lined up in front of their racks (bunks) for a hygiene inspection. DI checked teeth, hands, ears, etc. Part of the routine was to turn around so DI could check one’s back (or backside).
This one occasion our “Hygiene Rock” (see BBB definition of ‘Rock’) managed to put on his boxers backwards, leaving the opening in the back.
DI saw this and calmly, coolly asks..
“WHAT THE $*&^ DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING WEARING YOUR BOXERS *#@@%$ BACKWARDS??!! IS THERE A REASON YOU WANT EASY ACCESS TO YOUR BACKSIDE??!! WHO IS GOING TO VISIT YOU TONIGHT? YOU HAVE 3 SECONDS TO FIX IT….NOW!!!
Ahhh, those were the days.
-e
No. 2 BRK!! MONTECRISTO NUMBER 2’s FTW
Six weeks of boot, and a female drill instructor?
Sounds more like a cub scout pack and den mother. Man part of me wishes I’d have joined the AF, but part me is glad I didn’t. Saw too much other good stuff in the branch I was in.
Holy wow, I love the internet.
I desire more Airman Howell stories.
^_^
And yes, that tape needs to find its way online.
Everything’s online, don’t you know? =)
Wooow. I agree with val..that tape needs to find its way online. That golf tournament we were taken to (army basic training, the reason we went is also unknown) was nothing like that! Golf is so boring!