A Collection of Classic Dits


War Hero
Book Reviewer
There have been some bloody hilarious posts in Lil's over the years, and i am making it my task, when i have some time free, to track them down and post them here. The originators will, of course, be given the credit that they are due. Some of these dit's can be found (no doubt) in the Greatest Threads bit, but i thought a collection of the odd pearler in here may bring about the glory days of Lil's. Let's get started then.

Ahh the subtle art of revenge.

We had an absolutely mental LHOM down my mess for quite a while, his name was Skid, partly because his surname was the same as what Sir Steve Redgrave does to boats, but mostly because he spent his time fishing goodies out of the gash net and he resembled the creature from the dump. It was even rumoured that Skid would spend his evenings hammocked down amongst the rotting gash bags reading a book watching the sun set with a few tinnys.

Inevitably Skid stank, not due to poor personal hygiene but more to do with the amount of time he spent sifting through the gash, putting food waste into the ogin and crushing all other waste in those tin buckets. Skid's method of man management was extreme to say the least. He would walk around the messdeck, gathering up anything that took his fancy and ditching it over the side. This included photos of loved ones, digital cameras that had been left on charge with a full deployment's worth of phots on etc.

One evening in Singers, I returned from ashore and quietly took off my drinking rig, stowing it on a vacant rack in my gulch in order to not awaken my oppos with the crashing of locker doors etc. Since we were alongside this was perfectly acceptable and considered to be good drills for not disturbing the watchkeeper's sleep. I awoke the next day to find it gone. Now I'm a fairly fashionable chap and I take pride in my appearance, I had a nice Ralph Lauren polo shirt, some decent jeans and a very nice pair of Paul Smith boots, to wake up in the morning and find them all missing didn't put me in the best of moods.

On enquiring with a few other lads, it appeared they too had stuff missing, this included a couple of senior killicks who were less than impressed. We all turned to Skid as he sat in the corner of the mess festering away in a foetid pair of shorts and an ancient deployment T shirt from a long decommissioned ship. ''Oh Skid'' We enquired, ''where the fcuk is our stuff?''

Skid simply replied that we shouldn't have left stuff loafing and it had all been ditched. Despite our valid point that it was considered good drills to neatly stow stuff on vacant pits while alongside, the Skid was having none of it, stating the classic line that all shite LHOMs say when they are wrong; ''my mess, my rules''. A few of us searched around the ship for our stuff but appeared that it had been carted away by the gash lorry and wasn't going to be recovered.

We had a meeting and hatched our plan for revenge. Over the following weeks we kept watch on the Skid, whenever his back was turned, someone would nick whatever it was he had put down, even for just a second, this included everything from paint brushes to tabs to his towell when he went for a dhobi. All of his belongings were slowly gathered and placed in an old kit bag, the man literally couldn't go for a piss without something disappearing. He never twigged though and always just put it down to absent mindedness.

After a few weeks, the kit bag became full of his junk and the climax of our plan came into play. We were in company with an Aussie frigate and the Skid had been tasked as Seaboat Coxswain for the day. He had to make a visit over there to deliver some officers or some such, so we gave him the kit bag full of his shite as well, with a tag on it addressed to the skipper of the Aussie ship. Off he went delivering his special package to Aussies.

I would have loved to have seen the look on the Aussie skippers face when he emptied the kit bag in puzzlement at why the 'Poms' had sent him a bag of dirty 8's shirts, mugs, packets of tabs, wet towels and gash civvies.


War Hero
Book Reviewer
Both the above post and this one are taken from the Revenge on Seniors thread.

We've all been there. You know, that situation where you've been made to look a total and utter twat by one of your seniors/DS. Each person who has been in this situation has, in their head, planned revenge. I'll get you started.

As Junior Leaders, we got our fair share of shite and beats (no childrens act as such in '89) from our DS, as we were the leaders of the future. A bit like Dan Dare if you will, but without the panache and the eyebrows (the crab cnut). On one field exercise (we spent virtually all our time in the field, hence the nickname "Cabbages") i fell foul of an evil Sergeant, who for OPSEC reasons will be known as Smith. Now Smith didn't like me, calling me a "Cocky London ******" because of one incident, as follows.

Imagine the scene, it's freezing on one of the Catterick training areas and young JL Cpl Blackrat is making a brew with his last packet of coffee. Smith comes over to me and says "Making a brew are we sonny?" I replied in the affirmative and he states "I can't find me mug" hinting that he wanted my brew. I was dead against giving him a swig as he was, in my opinion, an unclean type and had halitosis that could have revived a corpse. However, stating this outright would have been signing my death warrant. Politely i said " Would you like a bit Sgt?" to which he replied "Do bears shit in the woods?". Quick as flash i quipped "Not in these woods they don't!" Smith stared at me, growled, decked me with a straight right and walked off with my brew. 10 minutes later, he threw the mug back at me and it bounced off my head. Quite frankly, i was going to kill the ******.

Later that evening, i volunteered to do stag at 0200hrs as i had planned my revenge. Being on compo for the last three days, i had yet to vacate my bowels, and my body was telling me the time was imminent. At 0200hrs, i took up position in the forward trench and waited for around 10 minutes. I knew where Smith's basha was at the other end of the Platoon harbour area. As stealthy as a gurkha who needs one more ear to complete his necklace, i moved to the swines basha. Just outside his route in, i took off my webbing, laid my weapon upon it, dropped my combats and kecks and proceeded to curl out a nest of dogs eggs by his head.

This is not as easy as it sounds. When you have a compo crap, your hoop stretches like someone who has attended a party with Barrymore and the cable you lay has the same dimensions as an Anaconda. It doesn't help when you are giggling inanely to yourself either. Anyhoo, i finished the deed and placed my used tissues into the boots of said Sgt Smith. Looking down, i was astounded to find that the thing i had just laid could have been hollowed out by Bear Grylls and used as a canoe. I moved back to my stag position and waited for the inevitable fall out.

At stand to a few hours later, i could hear an almighty scream from the other end of the harbour area. It sounded like someone screaming "Which one of you ***** has put shit roll in my boots? Someone is going to die!" This was nothing to the noise of him exiting his basha with a scream of "Arrrrrggghhh! I've just put my hand in a massive shit. I'm going to find this ****** and kill him, so help me i will"

Needless to say, no-one had the stones to own up, but everyone found it hilarious, even the other DS. I was still laughing when the ******* tabbed us for ten miles in full kit.

I feel better getting that off my chest now.

Any other examples?


War Hero
Book Reviewer


War Hero
Book Reviewer
Taken from the Back to Basics thread.

I walked into the block washrooms in Germany one Sunday morning to find, ramrod straight with no kinks, a turd balancing between the hot and cold water taps on the boot cleaning sink. The distance between said taps was approximately 30cms. I still wonder to this day how this was done. Did the offender squat over the taps to commit the deed? (clearly moving forward to drape said steamer on said taps). Did he shite on some cardboard and drape the poo over them? Was it removed from the karzi and manipulated onto the plinth using his oppo's racing spoons? It was such an amazing sight, it was still there three days later. It was a Turner prize winner without a doubt. Even the Squadron OC came along and had a shufti and stated that impressive as this specimen was, he saw a chum of his lay a cable the size of a reticulated Python in Belize, and then looked on as a pig came along and scoffed it.


War Hero
Book Reviewer
Stan. Back to Basics thread.

Officer of the Day HMS York Rosyth some of the grunters decided to have a run ashore in Edinburgh, off down Rose street they trundled.
Some jockenese porridge wog hears there accents and slips a crippler drug cocktail into DWEOs wet, 10 minutes later he goes fcuking bulgy eyeballed, sweaty and starts to shake like a shitting dog. Before the est of the grunters could stop him he'd done a runner out of the boozer. Dweo wa a bit of a Bear Grylls type chap avid survival mag reader, its fcuking November and freezing and forwhater reason his drug addled mind dcides he should take all of his clothes off and hide. -10 in an alleyway lost his clothes some remembering an article he read in a mag he takes an enormous shit and smears his entire body in it hoping it would form an airtight seal around his body to retain the body heat.
Someones raises the alarm probably from the stench and the police arrive then pass him onto the provost. I as OOD get a phone call about 2330 from the Provost Marshall I he asks my name and I say CPO S I need to speak to an officer immediately he states I say sorry but there's none onboard there all on a run ashore. After a pause he says Chief cleer the flightdeck area I only want you at the gangway.
15 minutes later it appears - a shit covered naked DWEO escorted by two crushers and the PM still rather groggy he smiles at me which cracked all the dried excrement on his face and says sorry Stan. PM says get him showered and into his bunk and tell no one except the XO and MAA tomorrow - good oldStan can't keep a secret the whole fcuking ships company knew by breakfast, poor old DWEO held left the ship shortly afterwards and he was actually a fcuking nice guy.


War Hero
Book Reviewer
Wet Blobby - Back to Basics thread.

Gang plank dit......

Whilst a young thruster cruising around the Oggin on that famous old cruise liner HMS Fearless we docked at Sevastapol. Awesome run ashore, beer, wine vodka all at stupidly low prices, 3 whores cost a fiver the Russian empire was crumbling, we'd just won the cold war and the russians hadn't really grasped capatalism so it was good times. The only down side was as we where the first British warship to visit the place the ship was stuffed full of Brass and important people. We were allowed "cinderella" leave and had to go ashore in uniform, Lovats for us booties, spangly sailing suits for jack and we had to be back on board by midnight.

It all went well for the first few hours but things got out of hand. The Russians didn't have alot of money so would try and flog us anything and everything. That quaint little ceremony that jack does at odd times of the day when the sun is normally still high in the sky "sunset" was particully amusing because 5 minutes after it ended we'd have a queue of russian jacks flogging their ships flag.... I got one..

With so much brass hanging around and vodka flowing there was a constant stream of high ranking officers getting piped on and off the ship, the poor gang plank sentries and the OOW etc where getting run ragged, one night about 1ish this russian admiral comes sauntering towards the ship, big hat, chest full of medals, the full regalia. The gang plank sentries obviously got a bit worried and decided that full naval protocol should be observed and called out the watch who formed a gaurd of honour as the OOW and the ranking matelot dusted themselves down and began piping the admiral on board. Well, the Admiral was struggling with the plank,one step forward two backwards. He made it to the top to be met with a crisp salute, as he staggered through the gaurd of honour he spoke. In a lovely scouse accent he thanked the lads for turning out but insisted there really was no need.

Poor sod went straight down to the cells, he'd bought the uniform in the pub off some fella who thought he'd make a few bucks selling his fathers gear. Poor jack was so proud of his new uniform he decided to wear it home.


War Hero
Book Reviewer
Monty experimenting.

It's been a long summer leave, I've been back from my holiday a while, all my selfish mates have jobs or are in prison, the missus is out soliciting and the kids are in the cellar, so I have to find ways of filling my day.

Anyway, whilst out for a run today, I saw a number of extremely hot chicks doing the same, nicely toned in tiny little shorts, sweat glistening off their tanned calves, brilliant. As I was passing the Angel of the North though, I saw two fat ugly middle aged dudes holding hands, one then proceeded to delicatley stroke the small of his oppos back "ooh look" thought I "Gayers".

Now, it was a long run and my ipod charge had died so my mind began to work overtime, why? Why? with all these amazing chicks around do dudes fancy dudes? Women are AWESOME they have tits and fannys and no beards and nice legs and they just rock. Why wouldn't you want to have sex with as many of them as possible?

At home, this conundrum continued to bug me, then I had a Eureka moment "ASS-LOVE!" It is the only explanation, I like a good ring dhoby plus I know chicks that dig it too, perhaps some blokes just love it up their ricker so much that they can't be arsed with chicks.

So, in the bath I tested the theory by ramming a finger up my hoop... nothing, I tried having a **** at the same time.. nothing, it just felt like trying to have a **** whilst needing a big sh1t. I decided that finger was too small so tried to cram a foamburst can up there, no joy. So I concluded that my theory was rubbish and fcuked it off.

I then proceeded upstairs and put on a pair of my missus jeans, one of her t-shirts and tied a desert shemagh around my neck to complete "the look" and tried watching X factor, Big Brother, a Brittney Spears bio on E! and some Gok Wan, I even tried watching some Tennis but no, I still just wanted to go and rag some bird. The internet provided some gay porn but that just made my laugh and I kept getting distracted by littlemissspunkguzzler69 from Sunderland IM'ing me to meet up for a fcuk and to show me her webcam vids.

So my dabble with homosexuality has come to an end, and sorry, it just isn't for me. You can't say I haven't tried though, and feel I have an improved understanding of our beef brethren.

I just don't like dudes.


War Hero
Book Reviewer
2_Deck_Dash - Back to Basics

In our juvenile days, myself and a few of the other OMs from my mess had a game which involved sticking your finger into your mate's hoop and shouting HQ1! (The telephone number for HQ1 on a 42 is 0 for those who aren't aware.)

Anyway, this childish (and slightly gay come to think of it) game kept us all amused for many months, one would have to be particularly vigilant when going up or down a ladder, as you could quite easily end up with a digit up your jacksy while your oppo stood at the bottom of the ladder shouting HQ1 in your ear.

Fast forward a few months to the RN ski champs, I'm sat in the back of a French taxi gazing out of the window and waiting for my oppo to get in the cab. He's fumbling around trying to put his skis on the roof rack and as he turns around I have a perfect shot at his un-guarded ricker through the open window. So I lick a finger and ram it as hard as I ******* can into his arse, I feel it go right through his trousers and deep into his hoop, at least up to the second knuckle, I shout HQ1, feeling proud of my achievement, but slightly puzzled as to why he had been so foolish as to turn his un-guarded arse to me.

I then look around to see my mate sat next to me laughing. Turns out he'd sorted his skis out ages ago and it was actually the cab driver fumbling about with the roof rack who I'd just violated.

It was an awkward journey after that.


War Hero
Book Reviewer
A compilation of JonnoJonno quotes compiled by his own stalker, The Reverend. A bit spooky really.

You could always spend it with your fingers down your throat, puking up all those pies. You fat grotter.

Any man who forgets to Donkey punch his missus every time she looks like she is getting fat has no place on this forum.

Nearly as funny as Schindler's List. That whore in the red coat really gets it.

Whenever you are questioned by a woman, kick her in the teeth and rape her father.

If violence, and a little diversionary rape would help (and I get my expenses) I'm in.

I've got a toddler seat, but it's gaffa-taped to my sex swing.

You have failed in life.

I'd rather have a reference from Osama Bin Laden.

I'd rather be an action man toy or a coon than that gummy retard wearing the H4H band

That's bloody marvellous that is; you have one little session at the glory hole of a Soho lavatory and all of a sudden it's 'gay this' 'gay that'.

I have it on good authority that your chopper looks like an amputated baby's arm, and the bellend looks like the stump

It would be a futile jesture however, and I would almost certainly have to resort back to my usual methods to instill discipline in my house; shouting and hammers.

I've groomed most of the Newbies into doing vile acts with me in the back of my transit van.

If it works you owe me sex.

The main thing that seperates you from this apple in front of me, is that I have no intention of cumming inside my apple before chopping it in half and eating it.

I'd just like to say that if she goes missing within the next few days it almost certainly wasn't me.

I just beat my missus slightly less on Valentine's day. Money can't buy the sweet look of gratitude smiling toothlessly from her bruised face.

Man up you fairy; who cares what she 'lets' you do.

You don't mind if I smuggle your corpse into a gypsy funeral caravan and watch you go up in smoke surrounded by the wordly possessions of a stinking pikey?

I hope your children die.

I bummed someone with your name in Bristol once. She was lovely.

Danni rocks and will defo be into *******.

I'd feel better if I was in a sound proof room with your mother, a length of razorwire and a bucket of viagra.

They all sound the same when they have my Hermes silk tie wrapped around their porcelain-white throats.

I'd sell it to the Iranians and bugger off with my profits to Gambia, to shag AIDS ridden whores

I'll do her for you mate. I reckon I could give enough kink to either kill her or convert her into the bleary-eyed, rocking-back-and-forth kind of wet blanket you'll prefer.

I had a GF who used to come if you let her lick your eyeballs. That was some crazy shit, and it ended when one day she nearly sucked one of my eye ball out. Knocking her out was a bit of a downer to the love.

If you put a baby into a food-processor it is best to have the blades running first, otherwise it just spins around the bowl screaming.

We have a huge bonfire once a month, and burn coons. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm toasty.

If you're not allergic to latex, razor wire, excrement and have no particular phobias around needles, gang rape or cement, I'll take you on.

If only people realised that Hitler was the Holy Spirit.

Try a conehead ****; just before you're about to come, get your mum to change hands

Get your carer to take your head wand off, you dibbling spastic.

You can't even lick a school girls's bum in exchange for a haribo these days. It's an outrage.

I only came to this site to groom junior sailors and pick up some tips from the Royals on date rape.

I'm a hero, but only because I happily bare-back Kenyan hookers and enjoy nothing more than going down on gypsies on the blob.

Don't worry love; if you're as fit as I think, and hope, you'll spend most of your time at sea with your arse stuck out of your bunk space, being rear-ended by all hands

She's got 'Down's mother' written all over her face

She won't fully decompose for a good number of weeks mate. Her cadaver still has potential so get your vinegar strokes in quick; she'll get even slimmer dead

If you let me lick your bum I'll cook you dinner

Don't knock it; the more fatties there are out there the less competition us athletically minded folk will have on the pull!

Probably better to kill yourself you short-sighted throbber

I like 'em skinny and ill looking

We haven't met yet. Are you the site bike?

I want to pull your arms off then shit in your sister's vagina whilst your entire family look-on from their piano-wire nooses, suspended from the roof beams of your burnt-out home.

You could always just play him along by asking if he is into kinky stuff. When he asks like what, smash him to near unconsciousness and shit in his mouth. Walk away saying 'same time next week lover?'

Find two tramps, one more infirm than the other. Give the infirm one a can of special brew, and the stronger of the two a cheap Opinel knife. Sit back and watch

It's friday so it has to be fish and chips. Once you have eaten that you can still go to McDonalds and have a crafty **** whilst looking at Primark-clad peasants
I just stop beating her quite so hard through the festive season. The smile peaking through her toothless grid, and the drying of her eyes for the first time in 11 months and 3 weeks is a picture to behold.

If you can make a 17 year old scouse EasyJet stewardess cry, then you have all the bullying credentials you need to make a crab burst into tears. And as we know, all that takes is a swift kick in the **** and the theft of her 4 carat gold hoop earrings

9 out of 10 of all striking postmen should be upended into their pallet-burning oil drum fires at the gates of their depot. I even skiff my own letter box flap I hate them that much. I wish cancer upon all of them

Never met a dyslexic who couldn't spell the condition. I wager you are pulling that card to cover up the fact that you're just thick as mince.

She looks like the sort of mong a sex club drags in for bukkake night when the doctor's wife has got a coldsore. Dreadful specimen.

On the same trip I was sucked-off by a history of art student round the back of a Gustav Klimt exhibition.

"who gets date raped?"

One tablet (of dubious origin), a game of roulette using bottles of Smirnoff Ice, and an arse the size of a windsock the next day. A game you can play with strangers aswell.

I have rather a wonderful penis aswell, and after a couple of viagra I can knock a croquet hoop into a slate snooker table

It was late, I was drunk and my sister was 6 months gone with my child.

I only came on here to compare the contents of my rape kit with people who almost certainly have more international experience in this matter.

Clubbing kids and hookers in Rotherham and playfully massaging their kydneys with my distended man meat comes a close second to a dirty, sexually ambiguous naval type windmilling through a Eastern Asian school playground.

So far I have a hammer, sweets, a crochet hook and a wonderful gaffa tape that could restrain a 23 stone single mother in a chip shop.

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