Re: Laxative cake
Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears is a surefire thing. The latest I've read on Amazon's reviews page is this :
To preface this, I will state that it is not good to upset anyone in the military supply network. This is especially true for a supply NCO (non-commissioned officer) who can be both creative and vindictive to those who earn his ire.
One of my biggest pet peeves was troopies who walked into my supply room and decided to go through things on my counter or desk. It is for this reason that I purchased two bags of these sweet little revenge snacks.
I briefed my minions that morning that the snacks were to be unsullied by their hands. I told them that I would know and it would not go unpunished by both myself and the higher powers. They thought I was joking, but decided to not test my authority before my eyes.
With that said, I placed the bowl on the back part of the counter just in reach of anyone loitering inside my supply room. The rules were posted for all to see when they came in. So, they were warned. A large sign that said, “If you touch my stuff, you will be punished.” They decided to test me, I guess.
On this weekend, we were set to do general cleaning and maintenance within the Battalion. So, my desk was rather busy (Battalion Headquarters supply room). I was in and out of my office all day. However, I made sure to take general measurements of my bowl of horror every time I came back.
Shortly before lunch, my unholy wrath began to strike. My supply room is one door down from the latrines and the row of male commodes is on the other side of the wall from my desk. It was the first, but was not the last.
It was initially heralded by the sound of Gabriel’s trumpet escaping the sphincter of one poor soul. He hit the latrine and sounded as if he kicked the stall door open. For the next thirty minutes, I listened to the sounds of a live humpback whale being butchered by a blind man wielding a chainsaw.
It was not long before another troop, this time a female, made her way to the latrine. She came from the indoor pistol range and had to cross in front of my door. I saw a pale woman with sweat streaking her face. She was hobbling with one hand on the wall for support and the other on her stomach praying for just a little more time.
For lunch, I ripped into an MRE (the Army brown bag lunch) and listened to the ever-growing chorus of those who had so far snuck down half of my bowl of brightly-colored Improvised Colon Explosive Devices. I was not sure if the other side of the building was seeing the same activity in the latrines, but the smell reached my door by the end of lunch. Good thing I was stationed with an Infantry unit for the first four years of my career, so I was accustomed to bad odors.
One of my minions did not return from lunch, so I volunteered another to perform a possibly suicidal scouting mission into the male latrine in search of my wayward soul. He was there, and had been since the beginning of lunch.
By 15:00 (3:pM), I was told that the unit was being locked down and there was an emergency meeting in the Battalion briefing room. I had a suspicion of the reason, but attended as I was ordered to do so. By this time, my bowl of gelatinous bowel howitzer ammunition was one quarter filled.
The meeting began slightly off schedule. At 15:22, the Sergeant Major walked into the room and looked as if he had just performed a three-day combat operation without sleep. The Battalion X.O. walked in not long after and looked as if he had been intimately assaulted by a rather insistent horse. I used all of my military bearing to keep from cracking a joke about cavalry officers walking bow-legged.
The Battalion Surgeon walked in and told us that there was a high chance that the unit had come in contact with a strange stomach bug. Roughly half of the battalion was complaining of stomach cramps and explosive diarrhea. It seemed to mostly be affecting HHC (the headquarters) and C Co. (the company that was on the same side of the building as us—also the medics). Until symptoms cleared up, the unit was in lock-down and cleaning mode.
I went back to my supply room with the intent to bag up the remaining evidence of my involvement only to find that the bowl was missing. My minions were too wrapped up to notice anything, though. So, I began a search for the evidence that would probably land me in front of a firing squad.
The empty bowl was located in the admin offices. Someone found it and decided to liberate it from my supply room for the only group that I didn’t want to upset. But, they had already consumed the remainder of the biological weapons. As I left with the bowl, I heard the familiar sound of incoming fire from the senior pay clerk’s desk, followed shortly after by what sounded like Lamaze breathing.
That weekend, the entire building was cleaned from one side to the other. MREs were consumed in the hopes of plugging the torrential flood of liquid terror and every door and window was opened with fans going over a cup of pinesol in every room. Three-quarters of the enlisted and half of the officers were hit with the mystery stomach bug and the medical supply room was in desperate need of more I.V. kits.
I don’t know if my message got across, but it was definitely an entertaining weekend.
Biting the hand that feeds IT
