The day I really did shit myself

Discussion in 'Diamond Lil's' started by stan_the_man, May 13, 2011.

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  1. Old Stan was in his scratcher off watch on May 25 1982 in the South Atlantic clad in my action overals dreaming of shagging anything in a skirt having been at sea for 2 months in defence watches without a run ashore and cracking off 2 wanks a day. Fcuk me action stations sounded got out of bed grabbed me anti flash and ressie off to to my off watch action station on the GDP to the 20mm ( Gun Direction Platform to you sprogs). Well fcuk me just as I got on the upperdeck the whole fcuking salvo of 3" rockets went off on the stbd side old Stan still half asleep thought it was an exocet inbound promptly crapped me pants big style and somehow made it to the GDP but before that smacked me fcuking shin against the harbour pins in the seaboat - didn't feel a fcuking thing (adrenalin is fcuking hoofing honest). Sadly 2 missiles hit Atlantic Conveyor and Coventry had been hit earlier in the day when I was on watch - can you believe the guy on Coventry on AAWC was still talking as she turned over brave bastard. We stood down after the shit had happened my steaming boots were full of blood from the harbour pin episode worse still was the stench from my nicks full of shit and had been there for over an hour. I know old Stan he's a boring cnut but now I'm retired I got fcuk all else to think about
  2. I fucking love you Stan, I wish you were my Dad.
  3. sgtpepperband

    sgtpepperband War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    Given his history, 2DD, he probably is... :twisted:
  4. Some remarkable similiarities..............hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
  5. My action station as Mk8 Gun Controller was by the UAA1 (electronic warfare kit)fcuk me if the stench of shit didn't erupt from my anmus evertime the fcuking alarm went off - shit gear but state of the art at the time, never had much trouble with bowel movements since.
  6. Well I'm glad you survived Stan, It's a twat like me would probably got your Keck's when they auctioned you kit. Yuk.
  7. You're a brave man Stan, for doing it and telling it like it was. Can't say what I would have done, never had to go to the situation you were in in my time.
  8. Stan is not a brave man, wrong place, wrong draft, wrong time, but proud as fcuk to have been there and share life changing experiences alongside guys I would have died for and a country which at the tme I was proud to serve. He he and fcuk me if I didn't enjoy it. Got so many shags when I got home my poor little knob looked like a fighting dogs ear for months, sympathy shags are the best there is
  9. Ninja_Stoker

    Ninja_Stoker War Hero Moderator

    Funnily enough one of our Gunners managed to follow-through when he was in the seacat director and a cannon shell bounced off the deck and struck a glancing blow on the back of the armoured seat.

    Apart from the obvious, there was otherwise not a mark on him when he strolled nonchalently past, walking like John Wayne after a rough night in the saddle.

    Seems to be fairly a fairly common occurence for Gunners. The rest of us just waited to see what passed through the side if the Gunners happened to miss. Covered in pooh or not, the Gunners were elevated to minior celebrity status by the rest of us, cowering below decks.
  10. Hey Ninja never envied the guys at the DC stations cos they never knew what the fcuk was coming their way, however, maybe thats not a bad thing eh!!!. Always felt safer when the inbound was coming from Port stupid cnut that I was I never thought the AM39 would get me on the Stbd side of the Ops Room!!
  11. Alas the dit about the day I shat myself (most recently) has nothing on yours. Since it's a Friday and I'm stuck here babysitting an empty factory until 6, I'll tell it anyway.

    Final training ex on Sennybridge. Shitty Welsh weather, rain/snow/sleat followed by more rain/snow/sleat. Everyone was absolutely ballbagged after mounting continuous OPs and going on little covert adventures around the training area. We RV'd with our sigs and HQ team, who had been living in the relative shelter and luxury of a thick forest. There was still a little snow on the deck, but it was the Burj al Arab compared to living in the OP. We were all mega happy to get some sleep.

    Due to the nature of the ex, there had been no decent food for the duration and it was ratpacks all round, mostly eaten cold while in the OPs. I'd managed to sneak a few packets of nuts into my bergen and had been supplementing my cold meat stew and potatoes with an assortment of cashews and pumpkin seeds. After a few days of this strange diet, things started to build up and take their toll on my innards.

    About 30 minutes into my first proper snooze in days, I felt a horrendous rumbling in my gut but decided to ignore it, foolishly opting for some harry head downers over giving my intestine a well earned stand easy. As I drifted in and out of sleep, I was occasionally awoken by the pain in my stomach, I lay in my nice warm dossbag, trying to ignore it as long as possible, maximising on my sleepy time.

    After another half an hour or so, I could take no more so I unzipped my gonk, fumbled about while trying to put on my body armour and helmet (had I not done, I would've received a proper shoeing from the patrol sgt). I grabbed the Jimpy which had become my bunk buddy for the past few days and started making my way to the shit pit (about 100 metres from my shell scrape). As I got there, I realised to my horror, that I had forgotten my issue pack of rat pack tissues (they aren't for blowing your nose). I ran back to my shell scrape and fucked about in the dark, trying to dig them out of my bergen. By this stage I was really touching cloth so I broke the number one rule and fucked the jimpy off to one side and ran as fast as I fucking could to the shit pit.

    I didn't make it. About half way there, a giant bum anaconda ejected itself from my hoop with such speed that it almost knocked me flat. I was wearing lycra cycling shorts as they kept the cold out, luckily they contained the worst of my arse's offerings and I penguin waddled to the nearest tree in order to administrate myself, deciding that it was already too late to bother with the poo pit.

    Realising that saving my pants was futile and not wanting to go through the hassle of removing my boots and trousers, I whipped out my bayonet and cut my shitty kecks from around my legs, cleaning up as best I could with the tissues. With an athletic flick, I hoyed the shorts containing the poo and the tissues, into the depths of the forest and pulled up my trousers, silently congratulating myself on a job well done. Just as I finished doing up my belt and scraping the last of the bum nuggets off my bayonet, I turned to see a young female sigs officer with her jaw dropped in absolute horror, her shell scrape was right on my path and she had witnessed the whole sordid affair from about 2 metres away.
  12. Fcuking He he, on my PO Gunners course back in 83 we had to do 2 weeks in the New Forest doing pongo stuff , patrols, OPs, and tactical CRAP old Stan didn't understand, one night we had to recce the opponents camp to get some "intel" Stan had the clansman radio plus the Light Machine Gun (LMG), there was deep undergrowth and Stan being thick as fcuk didn't retract the ariel so every 5 or 6 metres the ariel got snagged on something and as I crawled along it whipped fowards smacking me on the arse, it took weeks for the welts to disappear. We got ambushed and I had packed my fcuking bergen so badly that the sleeping mat on top prevented me from lifting my head to fire the fcuking gun so I put my face down and just pulled the trigger 4 magazines of blanks later we fcuked off for breakfast- bring on the Taliban pussers IS Platoon can't half kick arse -not

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