Vasudus posted:

Deathy, make a new thread with all of these recordings and I will stick it for a little bit then goldmine it.

CISNAZI WEEDHITLER posted:

If you think about it, at some point in our great human civilization this whole poo poo-hole in chair thing was the pinnacle of the blossoming science of Ergonmics, and Design.. And really, at least a jump in the dark ages of sanitary engineering, and if we're being completely honest the whole thing was pretty loving clever at the time. Remarkably clever if you take into account where we started from, as a species.

So yeah man.

For a moment in time, somewhere along this great march to whatever our species ultimate end may be, this loving retarded making GBS threads chair was our great moment in the sun. It was our conch to raise, our triumph as a species to revel in, if however briefly and unceremoniously. They won't write the history books about the schlub that pioneered the entire poo poo chair industry, and brought down costs in large poo poo chair factories by 50% with his own Victorian version of lean 6 sigma and bootstraps. That guy's story isn't getting told today or tomorrow or yesterday- he's forever forgotten and unknown now. And he was special. Like "one of the few men in history's long snaking trail" sorta special. And he was able look at the world before him for a moment and take in the satisfaction that he personally is the absolute best on the cutting edge of an extremely important affair in humanity. For him in that moment it was exactly what an orgasm would feel like if it went for 5 minutes and you were completely coherent and cognizant and not looking like someone with cerebral palsy trying to take a sexy selfie. This moment was immense, life affirming, and truly and honestly empirically the best sort of moment a person can experience. What I'm saying is this: The guy loving planted his flag at the top of gently caress-you-got-mine-haters-gonna-hate-mountain right there in history, never to be removed. And yet here we live today. Able to laugh derisively at King poo poo Chair and his loving retarded little poo poo chair empire. Because we know better than him, and we know that he didn't succeed in anything at all really, he just made poo poo chairs. The world isn't NPR bro, nobody gives a gently caress.

But while we laugh at the Prince of the poo poo Chair throne and his antics, lets look deeper into our own hearts.

In your life with all of your little wire diagrams and systems integration and functions wizardry will you ever live to see his day? The day that you can truly stop and take stock of your life and say honestly to yourself "I'm the absolute best at what I do on the cutting edge of an extremely important affair." with full conviction? No. No you'll never be experience one true and pure accomplishment that is all your own to mark your journey through time.

You're never going to top that douchebag and his poo poo chairs. Ever. So why not cut to the chase on the behalf of the rest of us and make your CFC contribution this year to Remington. Ya know, for the promotional 9mm JHP rounds they slip in their schwag bags at the CFC fair. Once you've gotten the bullets buy a gun and engineer a way to plant one of those freebie pop gun bullets in your goddamn cerebellum you irredeemable Porsche driving gently caress.

Schneider posted:

schneider posted:

Block leave is the poo poo. Merry Christmas Marines, etc etc. Anyway.

Duty sucks, gently caress duty.

This thread is now about funny or hosed up duty stories.

Once upon a Saturday night, I was touring my post as any squared away DNCO should do when I heard a noise, a very particular noise, coming from one of my grandboot's rooms. His door was ajar and the noise coming from within sounded suspiciously like a female getting smashed out. A FEMALE, WHO WAS NOT PROPERLY CHECKED IN WITH THE DUTY NCO, IN MY BARRACKS? gently caress. NO. Why do I even care about this, you ask? I guess I'm just a prick. I guess it pisses me off that some dumbass 18 year old PFC is bringing his little teenage tramps back to the barracks to smash them out while I'm walking around the barracks with a loving logbook under my arm yelling at idiots to pick up their cigarette butts. Additionally, I didn't like this particular Marine.. he was kind of a turd and sucked at life and whined a lot.

My mind raced, scrambling to find the most absurd and offensive insults I could muster as I prepared to kick the door open and deliver rear end-chewing to end all rear end chewings. My corfram came up and I spartan-kicked the door open, face twisted in fury, spittle flying as my mouth formed the first syllable of what was to be the magnum opus of my asschewings.

What I beheld was not PFC Fuckknuckles simply loving some skank, oh no.

On one of the racks were four of my Marines going family style on some chubby unattractive blonde girl with a tramp stamp. I'm pretty sure the balls touched.

I stopped in the doorway as my tiny TBI-ridden rifleman brain attempted to process the scene before me. They all stopped their frantic humping for a moment and stared at me. I didn't know what to loving say at this point.. I mean, what can you say to that, really. I just asked if she was of age and upon receiving a valid photo ID from the girl, muttered "very well, carry on" and continued my tour.

Honeyboy Bradley posted:

Honeyboy Bradley posted:

I have a good story: the day me and my platoon destroyed an entire shipment of books for no good reason. This all happened back on my float. (Marine terminology for MEU deployment)

Back on the float we used to get care packages of books- every once in a while a mail drop would come with a cardboard box full of them that would get passed from berthing to berthing. There were a few boxes going around the ship, every time a new box came in it would get passed through the berthing cycle (mail clerks would always get the box first because they were dicks).

Anyways, we always got the box last. Every loving time, because everyone hated us. So one mail shipment we decided to maraud- and take the new book box for ourselves. The heist was simple, and involved entering the mail room and taking the new box from the clerks. They were busy sorting the mail shipment, and the door was left open- so it was easy for two of us to walk in there, bully the stooge sorting letters, and take the box for ourselves. We eloped back to our berthing where we greedily opened our glittering, cardboard prize with a k-bar.

Inside, was poo poo. We had never actually gotten our hands on a book box before- but it was underwhelming. The contents were, in a word: gay. Science fiction novellas, romances, some flavor-of-the-month paperbacks- it was, aside from a few classics, utterly gay. Setting our sights on the book boxes from afar, when we happened to chance upon them while visitng another berthing, had given us the impression that there would be some real page-turners inside. We were wrong.

So I grabbed a copy of Digital Fortress by Dan Brown, opened it in half, then pulled down my trousers and skivvies and inserted one half between my buttocks.

Let me back up a bit- as I'm sure you require some explanation for why this was my chosen course of action. You see; my rear end, is incredible. My rear-end is oddly enough, shaped like an attractive female's hind. My rear end could be described as: succulent, juicy, bouncy, bubbly, enticing, or even lusty. In case you haven't gotten the point yet: I've got one fat boypussy. If you cropped out the rest of my muscular frame, and were shown an image of only my behind, you would swear it was taken from the centerfold of Black Men Magazine. Needless to say, I didn't get it solely by means of genetics. I've always taken well to exercises of the legs and gluts, and my physiology shows this. My rear end is also incredibly strong, and when I clench it, it's feels like two mounds of titanium. This is why I decided to place the book between these two cheeks of mine.

I placed on half of the book between my cheeks and gripped the other half with both hands. With only the force of my rear end to hold the other end, I yanked as hard as I could until I ripped the fiction novel in half. Right down the binding, it split in two. The rest of the berthing was intrigued. If I could manage it, why shouldn't they?

Hands lept into the book box, grabbing paperbacks for the other Marines' own trials. Cammie trousers and skivvy shorts came off, and soon a total of about twenty marines were standing in the berthing- open books clenched in their buttocks. (This is where the 0_o comes in)

The berthing was silent, but the air contained the palpable energy of concentration. Every once in a while a stifled grunt, or moan could be heard as the men wrestled with their literature. First, a large Puerto Rican Marine managed to split Brother Odd by Steve Koontz, and let out a primal, triumphant scream. Freakonomics was next, then Frankenstein, and then American Psycho. One by one the berthing tore the entire contents of the box to shreds, using nothing but our powerful asses.

After we were done, we threw the ruined books back in the box and forgot about it for the rest of the day. Until a female sailor knocked on our berthing door, and asked for the box. We obliged, and handed her the box full of books- their pages ripped, and moist from our butt-sweat. She and her berthing-mates later attempted to complain to our SgtMaj about the incident, but he knew better than to investigate. One unspoken rule about our MEU: you don't know what goes on in our berthing, and you don't want to know.

So that was one of the more 0_o moments in my military career. Being on a boat for long periods of time can lead to some interesting occurrences.

holocaust bloopers posted:

Present day

"Gentlemen listen up! This will be brief so please give me your undivided attention: short and sweet; I promise." The loadmaster, a bean pole who wears a SSgt name tape but looks like he just walked out of a daycare, is bellowing this over the high-pitched whine of the engines. "This here's your mandatory safety briefing so you probably want to make a mental note of what I'm about to tell you just in case the unfortunate happens. It could save your life."

My ears perk up occasionally to catch bits and pieces. Something about a 40-man raft and egress over water. My hands dance across my pockets looking for something to do. My mind is exhausted. I'm exhausted.

Check the cell phone again. No text.

Check the call logs. Not a goddamn thing.

I don't know why this cuts me so loving deep, but I think, and I fail to come up with any reasonable conclusions. Stabbing at the power button, the screen flashes then blanks out.

"Foamies are being passed around. This is something you wanna grab, so get a fistful, and keep them on your body. You don't know between now and the other hops when you'll get some."

I pull my bags a bit tighter, I keep a hand on the rifle case and give it a squeeze.

The C-17 kicks up a massive cloud of dust that eats up away at every bit of clear sky over the airfield. As the the jet lurches with a powerful shudder, I can feel the brakes release. It's clear that there isn't a way out of this.

I slumped back in the mesh-backed seat. It felt enormously good to get that ruck off our back after being held at the aft cargo door entry for what seemed like an eternity but really was about 20 minutes. It could've been a lifetime, really. For some of us this was our first time leaving CONUS looking to make a name for ourselves in the war. The others, the more experienced E-4's and NCO's, looked back on us with a weary look that they knew what was in store and that what us new guys came to expect will not be the story many of us had written out for ourselves already.

And I sat there for the first several hours contemplating the rifle packed up beside me; my rifle. Sure it began as just a rifle to me, then a weapons system, now a rapidly opening gate to my salvation.

Four months prior

"Baby, baby, keep thrusting keep going...almost there."

In the moment she came, I laid on her chest listening to her heart beat, watching her chest rise and fall. She began breathing slower as the endorphins impact on her body lessened.

"Mmmm. That was a good one, doll! Did you have fun?"

"Sure I did. Helluva time."

This was anything but the truth. Another bout of sex, another time I slink away to hastily rip off the condom knowing full well it might as well been fresh out the box.

"God loving dammit. Get your head on right."

I roll these words in and out and over themselves till they meant nothing.

Six weeks in country

Stinkin' hot, humid, and the bugs swarm us without mercy. With five of us hand-picked out of the original group sectioned off to a small clearing consisting of nothing more then several tents, a heli pad, and a make shift gym put together from cinder blocks and some rebar that the glass-wearing engineering types whipped up into a poor man's barbell and other odd equipment, we had little to waste our day on. That's fine. The CIA-types we've been handed off to kept us busy with a variety of missions. Easy poo poo, like a village recon, were no brainers. The snatch n grab operations required a little bit more thought, but not much more.

We spent a lot of our time cleaning weapons, looking over maps, and shooting hoops on the pad when the choppers were towed inside the hardened shelters for maintenance.

Major Schaefer appeared into the door way of the tent and like Pavlov's dogs, we shot up rigid.

"Our friends over at Langley seem to have us in their good graces. We just got the authorization for something special." Maj "Dutch" (as we knew him in the field. He was steadfast and unwavering to military regs while inside the FOB) Schaefer was a large, powerfully-built man. He had a keen eye for ops and an even better one for wading through the bullshit the CIA attachments fed to us. He was our buffer, a guy we trusted, but a guy not to be crossed.

"It appears a Washington Suit working for the State Department has gone missing northwest of here. We're to insert on the helicopter's last known position and get to the bottom of this. Guerilla forces are reported to have been in the area but satellite imaging puts them at least a week prior to this so we should be clear. That doesn't mean to take it lightly because who knows what we'll run into. Either way pack lightly, guys. This should be no more than 24 hours, if that. Hell, I wouldn't even bother cleaning up around here. You'll be back before that pot of coffee gets cold."

"Valentine, Kyle!"

"Sir!"

"Congratulations, fuckstick. Ramirez is down with a nasty case of dysentary. You got Hawkins and Billy. Don't gently caress this up or else you'll be pulling security at a strip mall bar after I get done reaming you out."

"'rah, Sir!"

"At ease, gentleman. The Blackhawk departs in 5 hours. Have gear loaded in 4. Clear? Good."

Does IDR face down the galaxy's most feared hunter or in a terrible set of circumstances kill a man who assaults his pregnant wife outside of a bar only to serve several years in prison before flying to Alabama at the end of his sentence to re-unite with his daughter?

CISNAZI WEEDHITLER posted:

if i ever win the lottery I'm going to start an affirmative action hiring policy for all of my new business practices, only hiring persons of colored ancestry and fluid gender to make up for our previously barbaric ways as a people in this nation.

my new business empire? High end short sleeve t-shirts made with only my finest hand grown and picked organic cotton. to be kinder to mother nature our farms will have 0 carbon footprint by using no electricity or fuel whatsoever, the land being worked only by the safe and natural hands of a human and not some barbaric carbon spewing machine and our factories will be the single largest source of manufacturing employment for the entire fluid gender colored population in America- promising a good honest future for these folks. And to best show our appreciation for these hard working people I'll be providing them 0 carbon footprint housing that is also not a drain our nations rapidly dwindling aquifers by being supported strictly with the water the good lord decides to provide for us all

yes sir, I do believe I can make a profit, empower a people, and protect our planet all while still being a white man put in charge of a ton of niggers with strange dicks

goddamn i love freedom

goddamn i love america

Deathy McDeath posted:

blazeing w/ hitler posted:

Sudden movement on the rooftops -- I zoomed in my M16A14 w/ A Cog and fired off a sick double tap on some insurgent wearing velcro shoes, his body sort of just went limp why running & then fell off the roof onto the street lmao. Then I felt sick to by tummy, thinking wow, I just.. killed someone, but I ate a spoiled MRE earlier haha, killing people is loving cool and Im never eading Jambalaya MRE again

sforzacio posted:

Requesting:

Reverand maynard posted:

needs to be done in the voice from bastion

Godholio posted:

It's not GiP, but this is one of the best posts the forums have ever seen. For your consideration.

quote:

Honestly, I took a good look at FYAD to try and make sense of the nearly endless hordes of pieces of poo poo that dehumanize anyone who is not a white heterosexual cisgender man with the correct interests and value preferences. I shouldn't have to say that loving unironically. I really shouldn't.

GBS, currently, is worse. It is not being 'invaded' by FYAD. FYAD seems to have its own idiosyncratic, but restrained problems. A 'joke' is made, and with two or three emptyquotes, forever complete. All mockery is ephemeral, any repetition deliberate and patterned. However pointless, they are finite. Ending. Yielding.

The current GBS inhabitants let loose from their cages are now flinging poop, as mere animals, who exist only to eat, gently caress and sleep, incapable of self-actualization, only subsisting on the approval of peers for the psychological maintenance of their purposeless existence. Any threats to change this cycle in any way must be met with hostility, for they are the products of billions of years of self-replication, unable to transcend the bounds of their instinct.

The fact that they are in any way proximal to civil society is dangerous. Even if nominally confined to one forum, their toxic thoughts will lend an air of respectability to behaviors unwanted everywhere else.

There are now almost 80 people on my ignore list, up from a previous count of around 4. Each and every one, as far as I can tell, is a worse poster than a guy who raped an 8-year-old. Such things, I would hope, would be nigh impossible. But human decency is so easy, yet so far out of reach, that anyone with a modicum of empathy or consciousness can obtain it, and thus by corollary, that those posters do not possess such things.

This is our community, not theirs, and we will not yield to such filth.

Handsome Ralph posted:

Oh my god, close the thread and goldmine it. That post reading cannot be topped.

DinosaurWarfare posted:

Whatabout the one where the guy accidentally beats up the tranny going "full tekken combo on that decadent son of sodom"?

Deathy McDeath posted:

Booblord Zagats posted:

One of our receptionists had her mom and dad get divorced because her mom, a local PD dispatcher, inadvertently made a sex tape with one of the Cops she worked with as she didn't know there was a camera in the briefing room that the Mayor's office had access to. All of which ended up getting her mom, the Cop and the Chief of Police all fired after it came out to the local paper her mom was getting trains ran on her at work on the regular.

blazeing w/ hitler posted:

Sudden movement on the rooftops -- I zoomed in my M16A14 w/ A Cog and fired off a sick double tap on some insurgent wearing velcro shoes, his body sort of just went limp why running & then fell off the roof onto the street lmao. Then I felt sick to by tummy, thinking wow, I just.. killed someone, but I ate a spoiled MRE earlier haha, killing people is loving cool and Im never eading Jambalaya MRE again

Booblord Zagats posted:

One of our receptionists had her mom and dad get divorced because her mom, a local PD dispatcher, inadvertently made a sex tape with one of the Cops she worked with as she didn't know there was a camera in the briefing room that the Mayor's office had access to. All of which ended up getting her mom, the Cop and the Chief of Police all fired after it came out to the local paper her mom was getting trains ran on her at work on the regular.

Martello posted:

The Anal Purgation of Brother Valentinus

Kyle cranked his seat way back, settling into the leave flight from Old Blighty back to the States. The Corps had booked him economy - big green motherfuckin weenie, am I right bros - but one look at his lopsided smile and mil ID and that chesty British Airways clerk had bumped him up to first class. He was already a couple rum and cokes deep, and the old Hassidic dude sitting next to him seemed the quiet type. This flight would be boss.

After a drat decent dinner and a few more drinks, Kyle's eyes wouldn't stay open. He wanted to keep flirting with the leggy stewardess - she had one of those nice deep womanly voices - but there was no way he was staying awake. Sleep took him like the muscular arms of a lover.

"Brother Valentinus, wake up immediately." The voice was deep, resonant.

Kyle opened his eyes. "What the gently caress?" Standing over him was an enormous man in deep blue armor. Kyle didn't even have to give it a second thought. The man was an Ultramarine, one of the Emperor's Chosen. He was a Sergeant, armed with a chainsword and a plasma pistol. He wasn't wearing a helmet, showing off his pale blue eyes, square jaw, and shapely mouth.

"The orks are advancing. We are near overrun. Man your post and fight to the last!" The Sergeant pointed a knife-hand. Kyle - or was it Valentinus? - looked to a simple door cut in solid ferrocrete. He stood up and realized that he, too, wore the deep blue armor of an Ultramarine.

"gently caress yeah," Valentinus said to himself. "Uh, I mean, acknowledged, brother-sergeant! I will bring fire and death to the enemies of Man!" Valentinus charged through the door, out of the bunker, and into daylight on an alien world. Huge rock formations surrounded the Ultramarine fort, reminding him of those motivational posters with photos of the Utah desert. His battle brothers were laying down suppressive fire on a horde of charging green monsters. Orks, the most improbable enemies in the tableau.

Valentinus looked down and found he was holding a heavy bolter. Not his style, but only Scouts carried sniper rifles, and he was far too experienced to only be a Scout. He took a knee to steady the weapon and fired a hail of explosive death into the onrushing Orks. Green flesh and dark blood spattered in gobbets as he ripped Orks apart, but more kept coming. They swarmed the low wall in front of him, and he saw battle brothers fall under the weight of numbers to his left and right. Valentinus kept firing, keeping the Orks just a few paces in front of him, building a wall of green bodies. Finally, his bolter ran dry with the click of bones grinding together.

Valentinus threw down the useless weapon and grabbed a chainsword from where the sergeant on his left had dropped it. He raised the weapon high, reving engine and whining teeth mixing with his thunderous battlecry. "Come at me bros!" Valentinus sliced the first Ork's shoulder off as he dodged a choppa swing. He ducked under another's scything axe, and sawed the Ork in half from below, blood pouring in buckets. Then a sledgehammer blow to his shoulder knocked him flat. He rolled onto his back in time to block the falling choppa. The Ork on top of him was huge, a Nob for sure, and he felt his strength giving way beneath the crushing pressure of the Nob's glistening green muscles. Then thunder split the air and the Nob's loathsome head exploded like a watermelon hit with a mallet.

"Sergeant!" Valentinus gasped. It was the Ultramarine who'd woken him earlier. The burly marine pulled him to his feet, his grip strong and sure.

"Are you alright brother?"

"Never better," Valentinus replied. "But Sergeant - I don't even know your name."

"Lucius. Now look to our enemies, brother!" He pressed a bolt pistol into Valentinus' hand.

The two Ultramarines stood back-to-back, a death-dealing duo of destruction. Valentinus barely processed the rest of the battle, slicing, shooting, the scent of Ork-blood and chainsword fuel mixing with the manly musk of Sergeant Lucius. After what seemed like hours, Valentinus and Lucius found themselves alone, surrounded by a wall of broken green bodies. The Ultramarines thrust their fallen foes aside and searched for survivors. There were none other.

Lucius clapped an armored hand on Valentinus' shoulder. "You fought well, battle brother. It's a pity we're the last two alive, but at least our brothers fell in glorious battle!"

Valentinus smiled a lopsided smile. He pulled the release on his chest plate. "It also gives the two of us a chance to be alone out here." The blue armor fell away, and Valentinus stood naked to the elements.

Lucius' blue eyes widened, but he quickly returned the smile and removed his own armor. His body bulged with scarred, hairy muscle, and the Sergeant's dick was bigger even than the Predator's. Without a word, he grabbed Valentinus and turned him around, bending him over a dead Ork with one deft motion.

As Valentinus felt Lucius enter, he lifted his eyes to the sky and roared, "gently caress me, space human being!"

Kyle's eyes snapped open. A hand shook his shoulder, and he turned to his left. The old Hassid was staring at him in horror. "Young man, are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine." Kyle rubbed his eyes. "I was just having a dream."

"Some dream. You sounded like you were dying."

Kyle grinned. "Oh, far from it. It was the dream of a lifetime."

The old Jew shook his head, then looked perplexed. "What's a 'space human being?'"

Shala posted:

Did you read the cop one in one breath?

Deathy McDeath posted:

You assholes better appreciate this because it took a long loving time to put together!!!

Honeyboy Bradley posted:

I think I already told this story but it's fresh in my mind so here it goes again:

A few years back I was in Chicago for a while and made an OKCupid profile to score easy women off the internet. I started talking to an asian girl who didn't have any clear pictures of herself on her dating profile. She was down to gently caress the Honeyboy after a night of seductive OKC messages so she gave me her number and address and I drove down to get my freak on.

She lives in Boystown. For those who don't know where Boystown is, it's an area of Chicago where all the gays hang out. We were gonna go to a movie in Boystown's theater and then back to her place for nasty interracial sex.

So I'm driving around Boystown by the movie theater and I see an asian girl standing on the street corner. I'm like 'oh gently caress thats gotta be her' because she had the same body type as the girl's OKC profile. So I slow down in my car and wave at her through the front window. She sees me and comes up to my driver's side window and that's when I see it's a loving man.

Like he had a five o'clock shadow and everything. He looked like Mr. Miyagi with a wig on. So I didn't ask any loving questions I just got out of my car and started beating his rear end. Like I went full Tekken combo on this decadent son of Sodom. Then I spit on him and got back in my car and started driving home.

A few minutes later she starts calling my cell and I pick up because I'm ready to talk mad poo poo to this tranny that tried to trick me into going on a date with him. But it was a woman's voice saying 'Where the gently caress are you? You're fifteen minutes late.'

'Uh, is this not just the person I just met?'

'No? What the gently caress I'm still waiting outside the theater'

And that's when I realized I had unwittingly beat up a tranny prostitute. He probably saw me waving at him through my car window and thought I was a John. So I didn't go out on the date that night I just drove home and jerked off. I still feel bad for doing that though. The prostitute was probably like 'Oh theres a John I'm gonna make some cash tonight' but instead he got dropped.

CISNAZI WEEDHITLER posted:

Go ask the career development folks at the MPF. Also pimp the TMO folks and ask them.

The final answer comes from one of those two sources. And in the end you have a 50/50 chance of being told the wrong thing anyway.

But you asked for thoughts, and after smoking a bowl and contemplating things, I had a thought I'd like to share with you.

Have you considered not marrying your fiancee?

I can count on one finger the number of guys that were USAF intel officers that I wouldn't line up outside the gas chambers if the fourth reich became a thing.

A few years from now, when you can't even stand to look at him without feeling a sense of extreme hatred and disappointment simultaneous to realizing that at 28 years old you spend 50% of your day thinking about becoming a divorcee, remember this advice: Run the gently caress away now.

Seriously, there is a 100% chance your fiancee is a tool and a loving nitwit. There is a 100% chance that he will be peer pressured into becoming a distilled version of fighter pilot gay bro'ness not by dudes that fly fighter jets, but other sperged out intel retard officers. He's going to start saying things like "Check, Rodge, Vector, Burner" and other associated lame as gently caress things, while also sometimes randomly wearing a flightsuit to work on Fridays despite his only flight time being the fam flight he poo poo his pants or puked his guts up during.

Also he's going to cheat on you. Oh man is he going to cheat on you. And there is a not too bad chance that it won't be with some good looking gal, but rather some dumb bitch enlisted intel girl that almost got a degree in psychology from her podunk state school before she decided she hated the taste of gargling frat sperm and dropped out and joined up to get a chance at being the hottest little twat in a windowless SCIF in Japan.

But don't worry about that breaking your heart, he'll never tell you. You'll be too busy caring for the 3-4 kids he demands you squeeze out in repayment to the base model BMW 3 series he's going to buy you when he gets to his second assignment at Tinker AFB.

When he's not deep dicking some borderline inbred dipshit Airman who's a civilian 5 and intel 12, he'll be lording over you how his job and career come first, and pray he doesn't make more money than you because that'll come up everytime you sigh audibly at the dinner table where you two will passive aggressively try to grind down each others will to live and breathe.

By this point as a captain he's going to be TDY 1-2 months a year, where he's getting half assed hand jobs from third tier strippers on excursions with the least socially inept enlisted guys in his flight-- this is probably the point where his raging alcoholism will be so clear and obvious to you that you two will start fighting every saturday before kick off when his colleges football team inevitably will take a beating. This fight won't stop until his next TDY when the sweet release of his toothless stripper infidelities and lack of home presence gives you time to bust out your big giant purple *BZZZZZ* friend whenever those walking talking pants making GBS threads machines you call children fall asleep long enough to let you deaden the nerves in your clitoris.

Soon after he'll take his third assignment, the one right before he pins on Major, and suddenly he'll be pressuring you into becoming a fundamentalist christian, and he'll delete all of his whores off of his facebook account and spend his home time posting image macros about 2nd amendment rights, and how jesus spoke english in the bible so these loving mexicans should too. At this point you two will be consigned to bi-annual loving, and only when you've drank enough cheap boxed wind to be able to stand the idea of him pounding away on you missionary style but still refusing to look you in the eyes.

This will also be the point when your oldest childs ADHD and pyromania are diagnosed, and one of your parents die. There is around a 85% chance one of you is going to be eating zoloft and klonopin out of loving pez dispensers, and waking up angry that the sweet release of death hasn't taken one of you out of this loveless hosed up marriage.

Somewhere in here the idea of swinging is going to come up casually as an almost joke when you are both in the blissful release of a nice drunken buzz, and one of you will actually be very open and interested in the idea. The other is going to wind up being an unhappy accomplice wondering why your partner wants to gently caress almost chubby guys with spray on tans, or watch the sacred hole through which your children came into this world be filled with all manner of different ethnicities of cock.

I'm late to bring this up, but sooner rather than later you're also going to screen positive for HPV, and your intel officer husband is going to take every bit of research skills he has from his job to convince you that you got it from donating blood or sitting on a toilet seat.

You didn't get it from the Red Cross or a trip to the shitter.

As it stands now though, you can walk the gently caress away and enjoy a life that I'm pretty sure would be better than the above. And you'll never have to see the inside of an officers wives meeting which is a lovecraftian hell that makes my description of your future seem like Charlie's trip through the chocolate factory.

holocaust bloopers posted:

That's the truest post on SA ever.

holocaust bloopers posted:

That's the truest post on SA ever.

Niu Niu posted:

Im looking for a bento box, it cant be pinku (thats japanese for pink) or any girl color. It has to be of 2 or more kotoba (thats japanese for 2 compartments) and has be be chibi (small) sized. And has to be really kawaii (cute). Also It has to be about 10-20 bux. And you have to post pics of it first (i want to make shure it's kawaii [cute]). And it would be nice if it came with matching chopstick holder (WITH chopsticks). OH! and it CANNOT have any cartoon pictures, or be made out of plastic. It has to be made of ceramic, or something like that. Also it would be nice if it was made in japan. and not in china or corea (korea) or whatever. I have found a bento box similar to the one im describing in e-bay, but it was 1 kotoba, and i dont want my gohan (rice) to touch my other things (it can get wet and i would not like that, plus 2 compartments looks more kawaii)

And it HAS to be by paypal. Please contact me at msn messanger at niu_niu2@hotmail.com or e-mail me there. You can also reply here but i would rather if you would message me, because it's just faster that way and i dont think i would check this topic alot.

THANKS IN ADVANCE!!!

*PS. I know it might seem like im asking for alot but bento boxes come in ALOT of different shapes and stuff... i saw one JUST like the one im asking here on e-bay for a buy it now price of 15, BUT IT ONLY HAD ONE COMPARTMENT!!! I WANT 2 or MORE!!