My Bezzy Oppo

Discussion in 'Diamond Lil's' started by 2_deck_dash, Jun 9, 2010.

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  1. This is a thread dedicated to my bezzy oppo. He’s not dead or anything, I just think he deserves a thread all to himself. We first met at Raleigh, we joined on the same day but were put in different divisions so we didn’t really speak to each other until about week 4 when we started carrying out raiding missions into each other’s blocks. I remember one such mission when myself and 3 other oppos from my division snuck across to their room in the dead of night armed with pillows and steaming bats intent on spreading terror amongst their ranks. During the ensuing melee I realised that all the lads from their division were not directing their anger at us but upon one of their own, a complete chopper of an ex sea cadet. Having developed a distinct hatred for this individual ever since he gobbed off at me for having gash boots, I too started to batter this bellend with my pillow. One of their lads turned to me with a grin on his face and in a strong but educated scouse accent said; ‘’I see you cunts can’t stand this cock either!’’

    And so it was that I met Bob. Our paths crossed a few times over the following few weeks, usually during mass brawls between my division and his but sometimes just in the NAAFI while buying nutty and porn. We clicked straight away. Our shared love of mocking retards seemed to draw us together somehow and when it was announced that we would both be going to Collingwood together after training, I knew much chaos and banter would ensue.

    After a brief period of leave we arrived at Collingwood to begin phase 2 and were both put in a mess together with two other lads. Slowly but surely we all developed an alcohol problem, as most 16 year old matelots do in part 2 training. Having a fairly small amount of cash between us, we quickly took to drinking tramp’s piss cider in order to fuel our adventures, usually procured from Asda opposite the base. One particular drink that I recall with fond memories was ‘Hardcore’ brewed in Toxteth, at 14% ABV and just £1.47 for a 70cl bottle, it definitely sorted you out.

    Hardcore definitely put us on the road to great things, in fact the NAAFI roof chicken throwing contest, indoor moped motocross, rubber road skateboarding, Mcdonald’s drive thru minus car, bread pallet sledging and Inglefield Hall vomit fight were all sparked by this wonderful tipple. More about those adventures later on.

    It was during BSSC that I realised that maybe the drinking was getting a little out of hand. Allow me to regale you with the epic tale that is ‘the day of vomit.’
     
  2. The day of vomit.

    On day one of the course it had been explained to us that if at any point any of us turned up minging, we would be back classed and face extreme consequences. Clearly Bob and I took this to mean; ‘get as minging as you want just don’t get caught.’ As was the norm on Thursday nights, we scraped together what coinage we could and headed over to Asda. The rest of the night is a little hazy but I awoke the next day to find the mess trashed. Feeling a little fragile, I ran to the heads and unleashed a giant hangover poo or HOP as we had come to call them. Unfortunately it’s shear size and texture ensured that it would not flush.

    Bearing in mind as phase 2 sprogs, our room was inspected every day, it would be very unwise to leave a giant floater lurking in the bog. Realising that it was Friday and our weekend leave could be in jeopardy, in my drunken state of panic, I went elbow deep and tried to break the fcuker up. This only served to induce vomit. As Bob stepped out of the shower he walked into the cubicle to see me with my arm down the shitter whilst spewing up all over myself. This caused him to fall on the floor with laughter. To be fair I would have laughed at him in the same situation.

    We hastily cleaned up the mess threw our stuff together and boarded the bus to Excellent for the final day of our course. Being ‘cool’ we sat at the back of the bus and tried to catch a few Z’s. On waking up at Excellent, Bob produced a bottle of Lemonade from his grip and we shared it. On taking a large gulp, Bob gagged and projectile vommed foamy Sprite all over me and the back of the bus. For the second time in a little over an hour, I was covered in spew, this time it wasn’t my own though. As we got off the bus Bob thought it would probably be polite to inform the bus driver that someone had left a nasty surprise on the back seat for him. For some reason this enraged the driver and he chased us away. Managing to hide in a changing room, I cleaned myself up as best I could and we headed to the classroom, trying to avoid anyone of any importance, in case they would spot that we were both still mullered and had re-decorated one of HM’s coaches.

    After about an hour of watching old sea survival videos, presented by David Jason in his pre fame days, Bob decided it was time to go and do another little sick. He asked the instructor if he could visit the heads, to which the instructor replied; ‘’stand easy is in 20 minutes shippers, can’t you wait til then?’’ Thinking on his feet and in the subtlest possible way, Bob replied; ‘’no I’m gonna spew all over this desk.’’ As he ran out of the door, the instructor handed him a sick bag from the lifeboat contents display that was set up in the corner of the room. The entire class sat in silence as we listened to Bob running down the corridor, spewing up along the way.

    Now for those of you who have never met Bob, you won’t know that he is possibly the loudest person ever to produce a sick. We are talking noise of such epic proportions that people called Huey turn up from miles away asking who is shouting their name. The noise of this began to upset my fragile stomach, and the sudden thought that I was sat in vomit soaked festering clothes, started to get the bile rising. I smartly stood up and explained that I better go and check on Bob as he sounded a little rough. The PO agreed and I belted out of the door, following Bob’s heaving sounds down the corridor to the nearest heads. Upon bursting through the door, I saw Bob with his head down the only trap, I barged him out of the way and topped up the bog with my own yellowy offering.

    I can tell you now that you haven’t experienced true friendship until you have stood side by side with a man, throwing up into the same toilet. We attempted to clean the trap as much as we could but ended up blocking the bowl with all the loo roll we had used. It overflowed, completely flooding the room. As Bob and I emerged, ankle deep in piss and vomit, with each other’s sick on our trousers, I realised then that I had found a true friend for life.
     
  3. Did you eventually go on to have children together?
     
  4. If sh1t p1ss and vomit forge friendships then me and most of the NHS have thousands of bezzy friends. 8O :?
     
  5. Which brings me nicely on to our next adventure, the Joanna’s piss fight.

    One evening we were led astray by two of the bigger boys and got the ferry across to Pompey and hit route Bravo. Being sproglodites, we only had Cinderella leave so we arranged our pits with pillows to look like they were occupied for the midnight pit checks. I even had a curly scouse wig, a previous joke mocking Bob’s heritage, which I placed on the pillow to look like my head. It was perfect, on walking in to the room, the duty PO would flash a torch in the direction of the bed, see the duvet with a lump under it and the hair and be off on his way satisfied that we were tucked up in our pits.

    After the usual few pubs we inevitably ended up in the Portsmouth Flotilla RN School of Dancing, Jo’s. Drinking £4 bottles of ‘Champagne’ and chatting up the fatties we were having a ball. After a while I headed to the bogs for a piss. Noticing Bob propped against the wall having a particularly relaxing slash I decided to sneak up behind him and push him gently into the piss trench of the urinal. Stumbling slightly, he put his foot in the gulley of urine and we both laughed at how much of a cunt I was. Little did I realise, Bob had taken this to heart and was already planning his revenge.

    After a few more bottles of trampagne, feeling considerably smashed now and having broken the seal, I staggered to the heads for another piss. As I balanced myself on the edge of the piss trench, I felt a strong push and immediately lost my footing, I slipped over and landed in the trench just as I started to piss myself. Lying face down in 3 inches of piss, urinal cakes and chewing gum while I felt my own piss soaking my trousers, really was one of the highlights of our friendship. I stood up and flashed at Bob a bit, but realised that it was an accident. I tried as best I could to clean myself but there is little you can do when you are literally soaked in the urine of every matelot ever to have darkened the door of Jo’s. I said my goodbyes to the fatties and made the slow and lonely walk to the taxi rank. After being turned down by 3 or 4 legit cabbies due to my general gopping appearance and odour, a dodgy Somalian offered to take me back for an extortionate fee. With few options, I took his offer.

    On returning to base, I had a dhoby and climbed into my pit with the effigy of myself I had arranged earlier. Just as I started to dose off, I heard Bob return. He is a creature of habit old Bob and I knew that he would soon head to the goffer machine to get a can of Sprite before he went to bed. I snuck out behind him and as he drunkenly operated the machine, I stood behind him and pissed all over his back and legs. He was so minging, he didn’t even notice. I snuck back to bed satisfied that I had exacted my revenge.
     
  6. When do you two get around to doing stuff that other matelots don't?
     
  7. When they booked a room together
     
  8. That reminds me of the time when Bob and I tied up the LHOM and bundled him in the cleaning gear cupboard while filming it in the style of that dead Aussie fcukwit Steve Irwin.
     
  9. Steve Irwin shakes were funny.
     
  10. Not as funny as BM80 shakes.
    [​IMG]
     
  11. That's not a BM80, this is:
    [​IMG]
     
  12. Sorry my mistake it's been a while since I have had to do any manual labour, which was the one you used to crank up by hand that gave you a shock? I think it was yellow.
     
  13. It was yellow, I can't remember what it was called though. I gaffed WE off at the first opportunity because it was dull. I'm off down Wickes to find one.
     
  14. :sleepy1:
     
  15. This is the second best thread deviation ever.
     
  16. What was the first?
     
  17. Are you thinking of a Metrohm? Insulation/continuity tester. Could kick out 50V (continuity) or 500V (insulation). Didn't need winding up though
     
  18. Some spam thread that turned into a sexual harassment case. It was good.

    Merohm, doesn't ring any bells. Seriously, I'm off to wickes, I'll be back in a bit.
     
  19. sgtpepperband

    sgtpepperband War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    As opposed to "porn fluke" which is when you go for a frap in the Aft' crapper with your well-used and ancient copy of 'Penthouse' tucked inside your starboard sock, only to luckily find this month's 'Fiesta' accidentally left by the previous occupant on the overboard discharge valve, moments after he'd bought it from Dean the Newsagent ("the big, fat f*ck in the little red truck") to read during Stand Easy, with his strawberry Yazoo milkshake and chunky Kitkat... :twisted:
     
  20. As said before, he's thinking of a bridge meggar. Metrohm's were grey but came in a yellow case. They were 250v and 500v versions. The later (80's) versions could test voltage as well.

    Now the AVO 7x and 8x.........
     

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