Heck, I do remember a "Bear" story

Sylvrfalcn

Sylvrfalcn

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Jun 4, 2002
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Once upon a time, out on the training ranges of Fort Hood, a bunch of Air Force types were participating in a field exercise.

One evening, around dusk, a young fellow felt the urge to relieve himself. Not yet fully grasping the concept of field sanitation, he wandered off into the tree line instead of heading to the port-a-john to take a leak.

Next thing we know, we hear a loud scream, and here comes Junior sprinting headlong into camp yelling his head off. Had to tackle the boy to the ground for his own safety, his skin had gone quite pale, and pulse and respiration indicated early onset of going into shock.

Got him calmed down enough he could talk, and he kept murmuring something about a bear. "Bear?" I says, "yes Sarge, it was horrible, huge and hairy, and it was coming right at me". "Now hold on son, just what color did that bear happen to be?", "I'm not sure Sarge, couldn't tell very well in this light, but it looked sort of reddish brown". "Unh hunh, now think real hard for me a second troop, did this here bear happen to have horns?" "Uh, yeah Sarge, that's weird, it did, it did have horns". Snap, crackle, pop, you could literally see the light bulbs switching on in the boy's head as all assembled engaged in a melee of back slapping and belly laughing. Yup, our terrified airman had obviously never before met a future Big Mac face to face.

Don't know if I've told this story before, if so I apolgize to the old hands. Still, thought some of the new folks might like it. I still get a bit of a chuckle myself when I look back on it.

Sarge
 
Hey, Sarge, it's good to see you back.....and while we're telling stories......although I'm not sure this is a story.....from my POV this about sums it up.......LOL :D :rolleyes: :p

We started to "bud" in our blouses at 9 or 10 years old only to find that anything that came in contact with those tender, blooming buds hurt so bad it brought us to tears. So came the ridiculously uncomfortable training bra contraption that the boys in school would snap until we had calluses on our backs.

Next, we get our periods in our early to mid-teens (or sooner). Along with those budding boobs, we bloated, we cramped, we got the hormone crankies, had to wear little mattresses between our legs or insert tubular, packed cotton rods in places we didn't even know we had.

Our next little rite of passage (premarital or not) was having sex for the first time which was about as much fun as having a ramrod push your uterus through your nostrils (IF he did it right and didn't end up with his little cart before his horse), leaving us to wonder what all the fuss was about.

Then it' was off to Motherhood where we learned to live on dry crackers and water for a few months so we didn't spend the entire day leaning over

Brother John. Of course, amazing creatures that we are (and we are), we learned to live with the growing little angels inside us steadily kicking our innards night and day making us wonder if we were preparing to have Rosemary's Baby.

Our once flat bellies looked like we swallowed a watermelon whole and we pee'd our pants every time we sneezed. When the big moment arrived, the dam in our blessed Nether Regions invariably burst right in the middle of the mall and we had to waddle, with our big cartoon feet, moaning in pain all the way to the ER.

Then it was huff and puff and beg to die while the OB says, "Please stop screaming, Mrs. Hearmeroar. Calm down and push. Just one more good push (more like 10)," warranting a strong, well-deserved impulse to punch the %*#!* (and hubby) square in the nose for making us cram a wiggling, mushroom-headed 10lb bowling ball through a keyhole.

After that, it was time to raise those angels only to find that when all that "cute" wears off, the beautiful little darlings morphed into walking, jabbering, wet, gooey, snot-blowing, life-sucking little poop machines.

Then come their "Teen Years." Need I say more?

When the kids are almost grown, we women hit our voracious sexual prime in our early 40's - while hubby had his somewhere around his 18th birthday.

So we progress into the grand finale: "The Menopause," the Grandmother of all womanhood. It's either take HRT and chance cancer in those now seasoned "buds" or the aforementioned Nether Regions, or, sweat like a hog in July, wash your sheets and pillowcases daily and bite the head off anything that moves.

Now, you ask WHY women seem to be more spiteful than men, when men get off so easy, INCLUDING the icing on life's cake: Being able to pee in the woods without soaking their socks...

So, while I love being a woman, "Womanhood" would make the Great Gandhi a tad crabby. Women are the "weaker sex"? Yeah right. Bite me.

;) :foot:
 
Funny yes, but also highly insightful. Probably the main reason we men will never fully understand women, is that our life experiences are so totally different. Thanks Gin, for adding to the education of us knuckle dragging hunter gatherers. ;)

Sarge
 
Sylvrfalcn said:
Funny yes, but also highly insightful. Probably the main reason we men will never fully understand women, is that our life experiences are so totally different. Thanks Gin, for adding to the education of us knuckle dragging hunter gatherers. ;)

Sarge
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Ditto....now, I need to go and comb my back....hey, wife, are you done typing my reply, yet?!
 
My hat is off to the lady. Mine served double duty as sar'nt major for a troop of five and all their friends while I was off galavanting overseas for weeks and occasionally months at a time. She should'a got rid of me while she could, but after forty years, I guess I'm safe.
 
mamav said:
Hey, Sarge, it's good to see you back.....and while we're telling stories......although I'm not sure this is a story.....from my POV this about sums it up.......LOL :D :rolleyes: :p ..........

;) :foot:
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Gin,

That is an incredible piece of writing! Awesome descriptions. "Insighful" really describes it!

Makes me more than ever aware of the Jewish men's prayer that includes, "Thank you God that I was not born a woman........"

Have had some talks with my wife about what it must be like to have these things hanging on your chest and nothing hanging down below.

She thinks it would be VERY strange to HAVE things hanging down below. Sheesh!

One of the other things I would think it very tough being a woman is that girls/women have been told since birth how 'cute' or 'beautiful' they are while boys/men ane more praised for accomplishments.

So as we men age, we can still accomplish. It must be very hard on women to feel their beauty slipping away. To see the young women in the magazines or on the street with perfect skin, hair, bodies.

Yet we men can walk down the street balding, slapping our pot bellies and saying, "Pretty good!"

Never thought that I would say this, but even as I approach the startlingly old age of 62, I realize that I am very much in love with a beautiful and sexy 58 year old woman to whom I have the very good fortune of being married.
 
Ah training at Ft Hood, our reserve unit did a couple of summer camps at Ft Hood back in the late sixties and early seventies but all I remember were the armadillos :D :D :D Thanks for the memories :D
 
Ah yes, the armadillos, some big as Volkswagons, got a story about them from a friend of mine I'll call "Red".

Red was a squad leader for some mech infantry dismounts. One day during a field problem on Fort Hood, one of Red's guys had a "close encounter" of the armadillo kind.

Starts off with Red hearing a commotion of crashing brush, etc, from the direction of one of his guys fighting positions. Moving over to the fighting position as quick as the tactical situation would allow, Red finds his guy stumbling around with a terrified look on his face, and obviously missing his rifle.

"Where's your weapon troop?"
"It, it took it away"
"What took it away"
"The armadillo"
"<response unprintable>"

Here's how it shook out; The kid's hunkered down in his fighting position when he hears a rustling in the brush. Looking in the direction of the noise, he sees a "giant" armadillo (obviously a potential man-eater) slowly working it's way directly toward him. The kid is crap yer pants scared, and doesn't have any live rounds, so, heart pounding in his ears, he quickly removes the blank firing adapter from the muzzle of his M-16, and attaches his M-9 bayonet. Just as the "beast" is making it's "attack lunge", the kid neatly bayonets him. Well, not all that neatly, darned thing thrashed around so hard it yanked the rifle from his hands and proceeded to take off with it to parts unknown. The rifle was later recovered, bloody bayonet still attached, but the "beast" was never seen again. Red did tell me, in all somber seriousness, that the tracks that thing left were hellaciously huge for an armadillo. :eek:

Sarge
 
Sarge that's on an equal with the bear story you told in the beginning. I can truly see a city boy scared to death of an armadillo, even a little one, let alone one the size of a Volkswagon.
I doubt that I'd had the courage to bayonet one that big but give me my 22" Foxy Folly and we'd all be eatin Texas Turkey fer a snack if the Sarge would permit a fire.;) :D :thumbup:

Your story about a kid mistaking a cow for a bear reminds me of one hunting seaon when my uncle Jean used whitewash to paint the word COW on each side of every head of dairy cows he had up near Sperry Oklahoma after he had two of his best producers shot during deer season.
 
One of these days I'll have to tell y'all about the night I got "snake bit" by a rat over in Afghanistan. You'll have to set your beer down and make sure you swallow good before you read that one. ;)

Sarge
 
One of these days.....how bout now while I have a few spare minutes to enjoy myself reading.... ;) :D
 
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