"Moldy sack pajamas! Do any of you butt-tards have any gardamn questions?" screamed Major General Whack Buffalo from the front of the briefing room. He picked up his glass of water and hurled it at a file cabinet.
Randy Sourhill raised his hand.
"Do we get to ride in the Jeeps today, sir?" he asked, a dopey grin sprawled across his jaw like a drunk on the beach.
"Gritty shit gophers, son! How the damn do you think we're gonna kickslap ripsnatch our way into their front lines? In a fuck bus? Move the hell out!"
Cheddar Company filed out of the room, leaving the Major General to noisily dismantle the podium with his Winchester 12-gauge. Jake Toboggan pushed through the crowd and came up beside Randy. Jake and Randy were best friends and terrible soldiers.
"Hey! Didja hear that? Jeeps, man! Frickin' Jeeps!"
They exchanged a hi-five.
"Ow, geez, not so hard, willya?"
"Hand still hurt?" Jake asked, acting more concerned than he really was. His friend was tough. Nobody in Cheddar Company had been shot as often as ol' Randy. He was practically a cyborg, he had so much metal in him. Jake fought back a wave of jealousy.
"Yeah. And you know what? Someone really ought to print a warning on the outside of grenade boxes to warn you that they blow up when you pull the top off. They're sneaky, though. They don't blow up right away--they wait for you to put them back in your pocket," Randy said, shaking his bandaged hand like he'd just dropped a hot potato.
"Major General says the Germans and the Irish are advancing along the...something about a seaboard? I mean that's probably just some bullshit he's gotta pass down from the higher-ups, but what're the odds we'd be fighting the Germans today?" Jake snatched his trusty M1 Garand off the rack as he passed.
"He told us we were shooting Germans yesterday. We're probably going to have to shoot them today, too. Did you get any yesterday, by the way?" Randy said, pouring a handful of gumballs down the barrel of his rifle.
"Nuh uh. They kept ducking. I musta got a bag of really slow bullets."
"I know, right? I couldn't even aim half the time because I kept getting stuck on logs and stuff," Randy said.
Outside in the base's Jeep lot, a group of soldiers had grouped around one of the Jeeps.
"Seems to be some sort of commotion over there. Let's check it out!" Jake said, pointing unnecessarily and jogging the six feet over to the crowd.
"I'm just saying," said Steven Whisp, Cheddar Company's token gay solider, frowning at the Jeep, "that they don't always have to be green! It'd just so institutional and wretched. Don't even get me started on the radio. AM? Hellooo! How about a little FM action? AM is sooo yesterday it gives me cramps."
"Hey, calm down bud," Jake said, patting the jumpy private on the shoulder. "We get to shoot Germans again today!"
"That's your answer to everything," sighed Steven, climbing into the Jeep, careful to keep his immaculately pressed and creased camo trousers from brushing the mud-splattered side of the vehicle.
Three stories up, a window exploded, showering the tarmac with shards of glass and one coffee mug. Major General Whack Buffalo shot out of the opening, his body stretched horizontally, fists forward, like an angry Superman. He hung in midair for what seemed like five seconds before tucking into a cannonball roll and crashing into the driver's seat of the Jeep below.
Randy Sourhill raised his hand.
"Do we get to ride in the Jeeps today, sir?" he asked, a dopey grin sprawled across his jaw like a drunk on the beach.
"Gritty shit gophers, son! How the damn do you think we're gonna kickslap ripsnatch our way into their front lines? In a fuck bus? Move the hell out!"
Cheddar Company filed out of the room, leaving the Major General to noisily dismantle the podium with his Winchester 12-gauge. Jake Toboggan pushed through the crowd and came up beside Randy. Jake and Randy were best friends and terrible soldiers.
"Hey! Didja hear that? Jeeps, man! Frickin' Jeeps!"
They exchanged a hi-five.
"Ow, geez, not so hard, willya?"
"Hand still hurt?" Jake asked, acting more concerned than he really was. His friend was tough. Nobody in Cheddar Company had been shot as often as ol' Randy. He was practically a cyborg, he had so much metal in him. Jake fought back a wave of jealousy.
"Yeah. And you know what? Someone really ought to print a warning on the outside of grenade boxes to warn you that they blow up when you pull the top off. They're sneaky, though. They don't blow up right away--they wait for you to put them back in your pocket," Randy said, shaking his bandaged hand like he'd just dropped a hot potato.
"Major General says the Germans and the Irish are advancing along the...something about a seaboard? I mean that's probably just some bullshit he's gotta pass down from the higher-ups, but what're the odds we'd be fighting the Germans today?" Jake snatched his trusty M1 Garand off the rack as he passed.
"He told us we were shooting Germans yesterday. We're probably going to have to shoot them today, too. Did you get any yesterday, by the way?" Randy said, pouring a handful of gumballs down the barrel of his rifle.
"Nuh uh. They kept ducking. I musta got a bag of really slow bullets."
"I know, right? I couldn't even aim half the time because I kept getting stuck on logs and stuff," Randy said.
Outside in the base's Jeep lot, a group of soldiers had grouped around one of the Jeeps.
"Seems to be some sort of commotion over there. Let's check it out!" Jake said, pointing unnecessarily and jogging the six feet over to the crowd.
"I'm just saying," said Steven Whisp, Cheddar Company's token gay solider, frowning at the Jeep, "that they don't always have to be green! It'd just so institutional and wretched. Don't even get me started on the radio. AM? Hellooo! How about a little FM action? AM is sooo yesterday it gives me cramps."
"Hey, calm down bud," Jake said, patting the jumpy private on the shoulder. "We get to shoot Germans again today!"
"That's your answer to everything," sighed Steven, climbing into the Jeep, careful to keep his immaculately pressed and creased camo trousers from brushing the mud-splattered side of the vehicle.
Three stories up, a window exploded, showering the tarmac with shards of glass and one coffee mug. Major General Whack Buffalo shot out of the opening, his body stretched horizontally, fists forward, like an angry Superman. He hung in midair for what seemed like five seconds before tucking into a cannonball roll and crashing into the driver's seat of the Jeep below.
"Daaaaammmn!" he cried, throwing the Jeep into gear and tearassing up to the front of the formation. "Fall the hell out!"
Through the cloud of dust kicked up by the Major's tires, Cheddar Company trekked. Jake and Randy were in the back seat of the last Jeep, with a pouty Steven in the passenger's seat up front. The driver was a nondescript private with blonde hair who was probably going to die. The enemy could be anywhere, Jake reminded his fellow soldiers.
"Even in this lunchbox," he whispered conspiratorially. He held it out at arm's length and squinted at it.
"Even in this lunchbox," he whispered conspiratorially. He held it out at arm's length and squinted at it.
"Oh, puh-leeeze," Steven lisped. He huffily applied some military-grade lip balm. "In that gaudy thing? It's got Mickey Mouse on it."
"I'm serious. They--ohmygod!"
The Jeep's front left wheel disintegrated in the landmine explosion, shredding the driver's seat and its unfortunate occupant. The blast lifted the front of the vehicle and threw it to the right. Jake, Randy and Steven were thrown from their seats as the Jeep pirhouetted on its rear bumper and ricochetted off a tree, finally coming to rest with a bang that drove its windsheild deep into the gravel road.
Jake stood up and brushed himself off, a shower of gravel and lug nuts pinging off of his helmet.
"Damn," he said. "Good thing that driver guy was expendable. Do you think the rest of the company saw that?"
Randy squinted into the scope of his Springfield rifle. "They're not too far ahead. They just crossed that bridge up north there a little way."
"Ah. They'll be back to pick us up in no time." Jake said matter-of-factly. He squatted with his back to a tree and went to work trying to pry open his mangled lunchbox.
"They just blew the bridge up."
"Um."
"Sweet Lana Turner! It's the Germans! They have us surrounded and most likely mean to do us severe harm!" squealed Steven in a bit of dialogue that was obviously written in at the last minute.
The foliage at the sides of the road suddenly bristled with Sturmgewehr 44 assault rifles and swastika-emblazoned helmets. The only sounds were the beating hearts of the stranded Cheddar Company, the crackle of the burning Jeep and a mournful breeze. A distant "fuuuuuuck!" drifted down from the north on that breeze, and Jake had to agree. They pretty much were.
...to be continued!
Jake stood up and brushed himself off, a shower of gravel and lug nuts pinging off of his helmet.
"Damn," he said. "Good thing that driver guy was expendable. Do you think the rest of the company saw that?"
Randy squinted into the scope of his Springfield rifle. "They're not too far ahead. They just crossed that bridge up north there a little way."
"Ah. They'll be back to pick us up in no time." Jake said matter-of-factly. He squatted with his back to a tree and went to work trying to pry open his mangled lunchbox.
"They just blew the bridge up."
"Um."
"Sweet Lana Turner! It's the Germans! They have us surrounded and most likely mean to do us severe harm!" squealed Steven in a bit of dialogue that was obviously written in at the last minute.
The foliage at the sides of the road suddenly bristled with Sturmgewehr 44 assault rifles and swastika-emblazoned helmets. The only sounds were the beating hearts of the stranded Cheddar Company, the crackle of the burning Jeep and a mournful breeze. A distant "fuuuuuuck!" drifted down from the north on that breeze, and Jake had to agree. They pretty much were.
...to be continued!
3 comments:
Ah, some funny stuff here.
"They're sneaky, though. They don't blow up right away--they wait for you to put them back in your pocket..."
"Nuh uh. They kept ducking. I musta got a bag of really slow bullets."
"Good thing that driver guy was expendable."
My personal favorites.
I agree those are some of the best parts.
I think there should be a game with characters like these guys. It would be Hilarious.
Dumbest and cussiest videogame-based characters in a ww2-themed post-adolescent videogame-derived blaagpost evurr!
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