Attack Suite Stories From Hook ’13

Overheard in the Attack Squadron Suite at HOOK ’13, Reno/Sparks, Nevada, September 5-7, 2013

From the Hanoi Hilton Cons:

Toward the end, it became apparent that the gomers knew that it would all be over. There was quite a crowd of Yankee Air Pirates gathered, and, unlike the old tap code days, lots of open visiting and talking going on. It was noticed that one little gomer was hanging around the edge of groups, obviously trying to listen. Finally, he tentatively approached a group, took his right index finger and pointed to his lips. Speak Engrish? (well, that’s Jap, but the best I can do). Ah, he is hedging his bets, wants to learn English. Sure! One of closer Americans bent down to gomer face level, took HIS right index finger, and up close pointed at his own nose. Ass… Hole. Ass…Hole. Gomer tried saying that. Then, the Merkin pointed to his own ear in the same manner. Pee…nis. Pee..nis.
The teacher did not explain that it wasn’t Oxford English.

Two Marine Grunt stories, circa 1966.

Grunt came back to the World that was 1966. One of his high school friends from his previous life came to see him. Friend was known as “Skinny Jim” for very objective reasons, and he was scared to death of the draft. Figgering Grunt, here, had gone thru and understood the Process some, he axed him wot he could do to get rejected. Well, sez grunt, you need to borrow your sister’s bra and get a sun tan. Now, don’t wear it to the induction physical or anything like that, but it should do the trick. OK, I’ll try it. Time came, Skinny Jim got to endure the humiliation of standing in line with a bunch of other inductees and some pointed commentary. Then, he got rejected for being too skinny.
Grunt figgered this was a free humiliation, and the little shit never saw it coming,

Brand new 17 year old grunt, just outta boot camp with his first outfit, had his grizzled squad leader come up to him one Saturday morning. Get yourself squared away, put on your Class A’s, get a dopp kid, and meet me in 15 minutes. Hell, kid didn’t know anything but to click heels and go do it. Ol’ squad leader, something like 38 years old Salty, got them on a bus, and they jumped on the train and rocketed up to San Francisco. Click heels and go along. Get out of the train station and ax first hippie they see, how do you get to Height and Ashbury? Suspicious answer was why do you wanna know? Just tell us how to get there. Hippie did, and they went. In the middle of Flowers In Your Hair district, Old Salty axed corralled another hippie. We are tired of doing what we’vbe been doing and wanna go to Canada and need help. Hippie says, wait one. He goes off and brings back a couple of older dudes, who clap them on the back, say we can help you, but it will take a couple of days to set this up. We better hide you til then. So they lead the two up to the third story of a flop house across from the Hungry I. Word gets around, and they get lots of love and attention. This little blonde hippy chick comes to the young Jarboon and wraps herself around him. I know you are hurting from what you’ve been doing…. And so. The next morning, he wakes up with two nekkid hippie chicks draped across him. Old Salt is kicking him in the foot, already dressed in best AJ Squared Away fashion. Git up. Get cleaned up and squared away, We’re leaving in 15 minutes. Kid clicks heels and does so. In the meantime, a crowd of hippies gather. What’s wrong, what are you doing. Old Salt growls Git outt our way. We got things to do and people to kill.
Jarboons yet another ONE. Hippies yet another ZERO.

There were a thousand stories in the Big City. Chaps, if you weren’t there, it was a great one.