E R N I E ' S H O U S E O F W H O O P A S S
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Hell in Vietnam…
credit given to original author if known
This is for all you young ‘uns who wonder what Daddy did in the war. One day the Nav’ [US Navy] decided we should unload our nukes so we wouldn’t nuke a fishing boat or other “enemy.”
We stopped by Subic Bay on the way down to ‘Nam and offloaded them for holding in the big ammo dump at Cubie Point, in the Philippines. We then loaded about a million rounds of conventional ammo. This was “all hands” and took all day. After that it was decided that we would amuse ourselves by cleaning the 50 Caliber Browning Air Cooled Machine Guns.
All this in about 110 degree heat. I remember taking the gun apart and feeling dizzy.
I woke up three days later in my rack and delirious.
After a moment or two, I was informed that I had been sick. My buddies had nursed me through it all and I didn’t even remember. 40 % of the guys had the same bug. I got my act together and discovered I was really hungry. Thusly, I proceed up the mess deck and discovered that most of the guys (all 300) had eaten and I had the place to myself. I grabbed about 10 eggs, toast and a bunch of fruit and tried to get back to normal. I also poured myself a big mug of "Navy Standard" apple juice, and a few more.
I was so dehydrated, I guess I must have drunk about 3/4 gallons of apple juice, almost two big 2 quart cans..
I had time to go down get a shower and put on some clean clothes. I felt like a new man. Muster was on the deck at 0700 and took the usual 30 seconds to make sure we were all there. The Nav’ is a little paranoid about losing their prisoners. My next move was to go fire off the Fire Control Radar room and make sure it was happy. This was all I had to do for the whole day. The rest of the day was filled with staying out of sight and playing cards, lest somebody get the idea that I could be used for a working party (yuk!).
So after about 15 minutes, I was ready to get down to my real Nav’ vocation, playing "OH HELL". This was a card game sort of like "Hearts". It was played in a great place on top of the Ship’s gyrocompass. This was a big egg shaped unit that was about waist high and had a gray rubber cover over a glass top. I have never had a better place to play cards. It was situated between Ship’s Fire Control Computer and a big 1000 Watt amplifier that ran all the loudspeakers on the ship.
All this junk was in the “plotting room” and was supposed to be a “Security Area” so we didn’t have to worry about the Master At Arms (a real Asshole) catching us skating and putting us to work! We played cards about 8 hours per day.
We fired off the game and I was away and winning. I was really good at this, but the guys I played with were a bunch of dummy Interior Communications Electricians (ICMen) and were not the brightest bulbs’ on the porch.
About 30 minutes into the game, I felt a little tingle. I was happy about this because it was considered Great Sport to rip off a classic FART and get away with it. I won’t bore you with the theory of Fart Classification and Implementation as practiced in the Nav’. Suffice it to say that I was a Grand Master.
I decided to implement the ”Silent but Deadly” form of the Art, which was my specialty, since I am by nature a shy and retiring type of individual, actually quite delicate at heart. This entailed moving to an impact area [where you wanted it to stink] and unleashing the weapon [farts away!] and then moving back to the previous position before the aroma wafted up to nose level. A scenario for plausible deniability was thus created. Complete denial with a straight face and voice were the final touches. I was a seventh level Master of this Dark Art.
This morning, I noted that the ICMen were totally absorbed in the card game. I silently and slowly moved around the gyro to the area of the little unit that generated weird sounds like the collision alarm, etc. I armed the weapon system [got ready to fart] by shifting my weight to one leg, clearing the firing area [spread his asscheeks]. The ICMen were still unaware, the ideal victims. I could easily get away clean and they wouldn’t even remember that I had been at the scene of the crime. I knew I could do this because I did it about every other day.
The only problem was the quality of Methane that I could produce. I knew that today would be a maximum potential. I even considered going to the Overt Blast [loud fart], but that was only appreciated by my fellow Fire Controlmen (FT’s}, who were real animals.
I unleashed the gaseous weapon and my onboard systems reported Bore Clear, Stand by for Effect [suicessfully farted, wait for the stink]. I silently slid back to my original position, undetected, to await the effect of my barrage.
I suddenly realized that something wet has reached the area of my socks. The Navy Standard Apple Juice had liquefied the entire three days of tropical fever backed up bowel movement and it was now sliding down my legs.
I knew right then I was in serious trouble. I had to make an clean getaway or I would be sporting a neat Navy nickname like my friend Lance, who was known as Wet Dream, after he had romantic experience in his pants while sleeping on a pile of laundry, in front of about 10 guys.
I instantly threw my cards on top of the computer and said “I gotta go check the Radar” and slipped out the door.
Thirty seconds later I was up in the radar room with the door locked. I slipped out of my dungarees, socks and skive shorts. I cleaned myself up as best I could. I still remember how cold the tri-clorethane contact cleaner was when I sprayed it up my ass to clean the "material" off. I used a bunch of Uncle Sam’s lint free cleaning rags to clean up and the whole "mess" (and I do mean mess) went into a Pepsi carton.
I put on some old dungarees that I kept in the radar room for use when painting the Gun Director, radomes, etc. I then went back on the ASROC deck and deep sixed [discarded] the Pepsi carton over the side into the Gulf of Tonkin.
My reputation was intact and I went on to new heights of gaseous daring do.
Uncle Eddie, FT2, USN