Lets face it, Lil's is becoming slightly left of gay. What we need to do is start again. After the first Gulf war, i was sent down to the Falklands. Clearly i had upset someone and they intended to pass me off to annoy the Crabs. This started from day one. As a fully confirmed steely eyed doer of death, i found their ways annoying to say the least. On a muster parade one morning, an RAF Warrant Officer asked me why my toecaps were not bulled. I informed him that my Squadron doesn't bull boots, we leave that to the foot guards. Fucking imbecile. Could he not see that i was a roughy, toughy, trained killer? Bullshit aside, MPA was full of bars and i spent most of the time trawling them, trying to get into the females rooms, or preferably their knickers. Needless to say i failed utterly. Clearly these crab birds were fearful of a bona fide warrior in their midst. Either that or they were fucking lesbians. One evening i was walking up the bloody long corridor, minding my own business smoking a fag. The following is an account of what happened next; Female Crab (From behind me) - "Put that cigarette out" Me - "Get stuffed" FC (Now in front of me) - "How dare you. I'm an RAF Police Officer" Me - "Fuck my luck. A pig in knickers" FC - "Do you know it's an offence to smoke in these corridors" Me - "Is it? I can't see any no smoking signs" FC - "You're standing underneath one. Put that bloody fag out" Me (takes a couple more pulls on fag and drops it on floor) - "There you go love." FC - "Don't fucking call me love. Show some respect. I'm reporting you. What's your name?" Me - "LCpl GS Table" FC - "You haven't heard the last of this. I'm watching you" Bully for you love. Anyhoo, as luck would have it i was in the air refuellers bar that night (the one with all the alarms in it) whereapon i spied on my power mad sweetheart sitting with some of her crab chums. Unfortunately for her, i was pissed and in the mood for mischief and revenge. I popped off to the karzi, took off a boot, removed a sock and proceded to lay a cable in it. Trying to curl one off into a sock is quite tricky, especially when you're pissing all over the place as well. After various yoga positions, i managed to leave a decent deposit in the sock and popped back to my oppos with what looked like the strangest sausage in the world. Moving my muckers to a safe distance i started to swing the sock around my head, a bit like David with his sling shot, although David didn't have particles of shit flying everywhere. When there was enough momentum, i launched the missile which flew across the bar and landed with a satisfying "Plop" sound on the coppers table. Being rozzers, their first reaction was to examine the item in front of them. "What the fuck is this?" enquired one. "Christ knows" said another. Another, much braver than the rest, pick up the mysterious sock shaped parcel with with his pen and examined it close up, only to fling it (to my utter delight) into the lap of the power mad bitch. "It's a fucking sock full of shit" he cried. The love of my life shot up as if someone had just shot a tazer up her fragrant starfish and in her haste to escape the stench, tripped over and banged her head on a chair, much to the amusement of my muckers. My point? There isn't one. I just wanted to share a dit with you. I'm off now to shove some fireworks up a cats arse.