-  [WT]  [Home] [Manage]

Posting mode: Reply
Subject   (reply to 1972)
Password  (for post and file deletion)
  • Supported file types are: None
  • Maximum file size allowed is 1000 KB.
  • Images greater than 200x200 pixels will be thumbnailed.
  • Currently unique user posts. View catalog

No. 1972
1. You Don't Mess With A Man's Hat

He never stood still enough to draw a clear bead on, so the RED Sniper's headshot ended up being a graze above his ear and a hole through his hat. The hat, that was the big thing. The wound didn't hurt as bad as some shit he'd had, and all the blood was in his ear, not getting in his eyes, so fuck it - but his HAT. There was a fucking hole through the brim.


The announcer took over the comm, buzzing in his ear and ordering him to put the hat back on. "FUCK YOU, COCKFACE, HE FUCKING PUT A HOLE IN MY FUCKING HAT! WHAT, ARE YOU GONNA COME DOWN HERE AND MAKE ME PUT IT BACK ON? I DIDN'T FUCKING THINK SO!"

The voice kept on, so Scout took the comm off, too, and threw it down so hard it almost broke. He looked up at the nearest camera, still shouting, in silence now because his microphone was in the comm. The camera crew in the monitoring room got nothing but a nice clear view of him making obscene gestures and shouting - the word "fuck" is extremely easy to lip-read.

This little hissy-fit would probably have gotten him fragged if they hadn't called match just about then - the REDs had snagged the briefcase.

The rest of the BLUs blamed the Scout for the loss; he adamantly and volubly denied any responsibility. "It's the fucking RED Sniper's fault, assfags, he's the one who fucking put a hole in my fucking hat! You don't fucking mess with a man's hat!"

He sat in exiled ignominy in the common room, pouting and cradling his hat like a baby. "My fucking hat! LOOK at my fucking hat now." He held it up, finger speared through the bullethole. "You can fucking FUCK my fucking hat now."

"Mebbe YU can," said the Demo meaningfully.

And that was the first time the Scout popped the Demo in the eye.

2. A Certain Amount of Property Damage is Expected and Allowed For.

So they were all sitting around the common room one night, everybody's fucking drunk, yeah? Same old, same old. Now, you know, they ain't got a lot to do, so they get to talking sometimes, and Engineer got to talking even more than the rest of 'em, usually. How the fuck this guy - I mean, he was fucking brilliant - ended up as fucking cannon-fodder in this goddamn place, who the hell knows, but he's talking all this science bullshit.

"Most of an atom is nothin', you know. Tiny, tiny nucleus in the center, and the electrons - even tinier - move around it in this big wide sphere. There's really not a whole lot of actual matter in matter."

"Oh now that doesn't make any fucking sense," the Scout protested. "I mean, if shit ain't made of shit, then how come it's fucking solid?"

Engineer started to answer him, but the Spy cut him off. "Actually, mon lapin, it is not. It is just that usually, the leetle tiny bits of matter, zey run into each ozzer, no? But if you can match ze resonant frequencies, so zat ze leetle tiny bit of matter in one goes t'rough ze big empty space of ze ozzer, you can pass right t'rough, clean as a whistle, as zey say."

That that wasn't really a legitimate use of "clean as a whistle" was less interesting than the sciencey bullshit he'd just spouted, and the Scout - well, he was pretty fucking drunk, and not that big on science anyway, right?

"You're fucking bullshitting me, cockfag, there ain't no way that's true."

"I swear, it is! It is so, is it not?" The Spy appealed to the others, who all nodded solemnly, because they could see what was coming.

"Yeah? Well, fuck, if that's true, what's keeping me from running through that fucking wall?"

"Nozzing! You just 'ave to 'it it at ze right frequency. If you are moving at ze proper speed - "

"Fuck me, I can do that. Watch me, you assholes, I'm gonna fucking do it."

Scout stood up and retreated (only slightly stumblingly) to the far end of the barracks hall, then launched himself down it toward the common-room wall at the other end. He was pretty fucking fast, you know, and he was at a good goddamn clip when he hit it.

He woulda made it, too - sheetrock cracked and crumbled around him - only he hit a stud.


Flat on his back with a busted nose and stunned for a second before he sat up. "I ALMOST FUCKING MADE IT! DID YOU SEE ME? I ALMOST FUCKING DID IT! I GOT HALFWAY!"

The Spy rose from the couch, shaking his head. "Non, non, you 'ave to vibrate ze wall first." He placed one gloved hand on the wall, hummed (covering the noise of his kicking out the far side of the wall), and stepped sideways between the studs through the hole in the drywall.

"Oh, fuck you."

3. The Snake Story.

The Engineer is one of those guys who has a story for everything. It's usually a long story and it's usually a bullshit story but it's usually entertaining. Let somebody mention snakes, for instance.

"I seen a snake one time," he'll begin in a reminiscent tone, "long about ten years ago," and if they're in the common room he'll be strumming along on his guitar as if he's Johnny fucking Cash. "Now, this was out in Laredo" (a riff from the old song "Streets of Laredo" sneaks in) "and I don't know how familiar y'all are with that area of this great nation, but back in the old cowboy days that town was home to a feller by the name of Ten-Foot Tom. Now, he was called Ten-Foot Tom on account of he was ten foot tall. In fact, I reckon if you slapped a ten-gallon hat on the Heavy here, you'd have yourself the spittin' image of that-there bad old hombre. Ten-Foot Tom was a cattle rustler. He'd just walk himself right into the middle of a herd, pick out a couple of the choicest beeves, and walk off with 'em tucked under his arms. Now, obviously the cattlemen weren't too terribly appreciative of Tom's rather acquisitive nature, so one day they got up a posse and went after him. Them boys chased Ten-Foot Tom day and night for twenty-seven and one-half days. I tell you, they was tired. They plumb wore out four hundred and sixty-three horses between 'em. Tom was on foot, and he run his boots clean off, and then he run his feet clean off, and he was about down to just havin' stumps to his knees when they finally cornered him. Now, them boys wanted to hang him, but they didn't have a long enough rope. Instead they figured they'd just shoot him. Seventeen bullets they fired at that man, and they all just plumb ricocheted off of him. One of them killed a lawyer in Denver, Colorado, and they still celebrate it there today. Next they figured on drowning him, so they dragged him down to the Gulf of Mexico - "

"Laredo's nowhere near the Gulf of Mexico!"

"You don't reckon they spent them twenty-seven and one-half days runnin' in circles around Laredo, do you? That'd just be silly. Anyhow, they towed him out and dumped him, and he just sunk like a rock. Then he started drinkin' in that water 'til he got his head above it, and he walked on in to shore. Long about that time them ranch boys figured they'd just about give up. And after all that, you know what finally done Ten-Foot Tom in? A snakebite." (Two bars of the Dead March and a moment of silence.)

"Now, harking back to the occasion previously alluded to, I found my own self in Laredo for reasons which fall beyond the purview of this anecdotal recitation. Now, I was leaning over with my hands on my knees, and I felt something poke me. I looked down to see the snake. It was seven feet in circumference, with a head the size of an alligator's. I never did see the end of it, so allowing for the curvature of the earth and my height being five foot ten I reckon that snake was in excess of eight miles long. How far in excess I do not care to guess, because I would hate y'all to think I was exaggerating. Them fangs was gone in through my boot-heel and the tips of 'em was sticking right out of my knee, and that was what I felt poke me. Luckily I had a couple of fellers with me who had a double-ended logging saw between 'em, and they commenced to saw them fangs off at the root just like a couple of trees. Took 'em two days and a night, but I got loose of that snake, and we took them fangs in to show 'em to a feller at Texas A&M. He counted the rings in 'em just like a log, and that snake was about two hundred and fifty-seven years old. Furthermore, it turned out upon investigation that it was that same old snake as killed Ten-Foot Tom."

A pause to allow the story to sink in.

"I see snake once," says the Heavy, and everyone looks at him expectantly. "I step on it."
Marked for deletion (old)
>> No. 1973
"I see snake once," says the Heavy, and everyone looks at him expectantly. "I step on it."
This made me laugh.
>> No. 1974
"I see snake once," says the Heavy, and everyone looks at him expectantly. "I step on it."
I love you.
>> No. 1975
This is... These are wonderful. The snake story is undoubtedly my favourite.
>> No. 1977
I could read this kind of stuff all damn day.

Your Engineer is perfect.
>> No. 1978
choicest beeves I know that's the correct usage, but I'm LOL'ing. Next time I see my Heavy-shaped kid brother, I'm going to ask him to steal a couple of the choicest beeves for me.
>> No. 1991
someone somewhere at some point read engie's story aloud and recorded it and i can't for the life of me remember if i saved it or not
>> No. 1992
I want to say Gunfag did.

Bother him or Owl.
>> No. 1993
yes, that was gunfag (with me playing guitar for him as he is amusical), and it can be accessed at jkbaker.com/SA/snakestory.mp3
>> No. 1994
oh what the hell

ta much
>> No. 2083
We need more of these stories and we need them nao.
>> No. 2185
More, MORE!!

Delete post []
Report post