The perils of a mis-aimed cocking.

Discussion in 'Diamond Lil's' started by guestm, Nov 29, 2011.

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  1. Yesterday afternoon I received a text message informing me that an old oppo had made a bit of a twat out of himself during a brief to a number of high ranking officers. In order to compound his misery I looked him up on dii and sent him a nice wordy email. (ok it was one word, in red and font size mahoosive).

    This morning I found myself on the blower explaining a case of mis identification to a very angry Warrant (who didn't know me) chucking one up about not enjoying opening the first email of the morning, whilst waiting to deliver another brief and seeing COCK glaring back at him and the whole briefing room. I did think about blaming someone using my login but didn't fancy a syops bumming too.

    I also asked why he opened it on a big screen in front of everyone and he explained that this is how he receives pertinent brief information and always checks before starting.


    After 5 minutes of being told that it was an offence to use Dii for such things he then told me that he was going to run me until my arse bled and his next call was going to be the rozzers followed by my boss and then the big dipper.

    So much for Dii ensuring the correct information getting to the correct people.

    Ten minutes after the phonecall ended I received another email from the same address It simply read:

    "waaaaaah!" Bet you shit yourself, COCK!

    Fucker had me already shining my shoes. Any other tales of your "hilarity" being reversed?
    Last edited by a moderator: Nov 29, 2011
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  2. Blackrat

    Blackrat War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer


    Kind of similar, but in the age before mass emails.

    A mucker of mine was known for his practical jokes. In fact, his entire army career was a massive one and he was the king of wind ups. One day, after standing outside the Sgt Majors office for the majority of the day (I was given a message the SSM wanted to see me and to wait outside his office until he called me in. The fucker was miles away for a couple of days and i stood there like a prick) i decided to get my own back on L/Cpl Joker. This took two phases. The first phase involved an internal memo being handed to him down the garages where the panzers were kept informing him of an important parcel which required a signature in the Regimental post room. Said post room was located half a mile away and was an arseache of a walk to be honest. Phase two was the parcel. This would contain something foul. Luckily, i knew the post room clerk pretty well and he was up for the crack. What could not be foreseen was an injured sprog.

    On the day of the windup, a sprog, who had damaged his knee on a tab, was in the Squadron office acting as the runner (Yep, runner. Him with the fucked knee). His main task was to distribute any post to the various troops and give out any memos. Unfortunately for me, L/Cpl Joker shared the same name with the OC Squadron. On seeing the internal memo all officially stamped etc, he naturally assumed it was for the boss and not some shitkicker from Manchester.

    On parade the next morning, the boss came out to address the Squadron. His words were something like this;

    "Gents. I appreciate a laugh as much as the next man but as you are well aware, i'm a busy man. Taking time off planning current and future deployments for a wild goose chase is not really on. I like treasure hunts, but i didn't like the one i was on yesterday. What am i on about? I received a memo yesterday informing me to present myself post haste to the Post room to take charge of an important parcel. On arrival, i was kept waiting for an hour and when the post room clerk let me in, he nearly jumped out of his skin for some reason. He then kept denying the parcel was for me stating there must have been some mistake. I produced the memo which ended the matter. He was still extremely reluctant. I now see why. On arriving home, my wife opened the parcel to be confronted with a pair of heavily shitted underpants, a hard core homosexual magazine and a note stating "Fuck you shit cunt". Let this be an end of the matter."

    All the while he said this, his eyes never left my face.
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  3. That is fucking mega.
  4. Blackrat

    Blackrat War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    It cost me a shit load of beer. The boss knew it wasn't meant for him but he made my life uncomfortable after that. God knows how he knew.
  5. The clerk!!! He was your weak link. He owes you no loyalty and was only doing you a favour. As he's not a co-conspirator, one steel-eyed look from yon CO would see him surrender completely and turn 'Queens Evidence'.

    The clerk did the equivalent of 'He made me do it' while pointing your way.

    Anyway, where'd you get the homo mag so quickly?
  6. Blackrat

    Blackrat War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    Not the clerk. He was sound. There were a couple of others that may well have proved a weak link.

    As for the mag, these things were freely available in German petrol stations and shops at the time. Honest.
  7. I once stuck my finger up a French taxi driver's clay pipe, mistaking him for my oppo.

    Does that count?
  8. Since when has a Frenchy counted?
  9. Bold of you to admit that that you were shafted MLP, what goes around comes around. :)
  10. Blackrat

    Blackrat War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    Was that the one where he was tying up the ski's on the roof rack?

    That was fucking hilarious.
  11. Yep. Had I spun that dit before? I must've been drunk, I usually am.
  12. Blackrat

    Blackrat War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    Bumped because i feel this thread could be ace.
  13. Blackrat

    Blackrat War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    And now it's in here;

    Pure fucking genius.
  14. Not really a cocking, but I'll post it here to get the thread going again.

    Some years back a new lad joined my mess, he was a likeable chap but a bit of an Essex wide boy, giving it large, calling everyone 'Geez' etc. Like I said he was a good lad. Unfortunately for him, he'd been put on a section with Richie, a skanking Comms rating with an unhealthy obsession with guns, hygiene problems and a mouth full of Sugar Puffs instead of teeth, of which he was particularly self conscious. A guaranteed way of flashing him up was to give him shit about the fact that his mouth looked like Boothill Cemetery.

    However Richie was not a man to be fucked with, he'd flash in a second and of all the people I ever met in the RN, he's one that I'll be least surprised to see on the front page of the papers one day, having brassed up a school or something. I fondly recall him leathering a lad with the mess phone and drawing blood, simply because he wasn't as much of an Oasis fan as he was.

    Anyway I digress, day two and me and Essex lad are milling around on the flight deck, Richie is ashore ditching gash or something. The Essex lad then remembers that he needs to tell Richie something, a message from the Chief perhaps? I don't remember, anyway something urgent that requires Richie's attention.

    Essex lad starts shouting in Richie's direction "Oi Geez!.......Mate!.....Oppo!.......Geezer!" Clearly he has forgotten Richie's name, he has only been onboard a day after all. He turns to me and says "here mate, what's that geezer's name again?" Before I could think through my actions, my inner cunt took over and I replied "Oh him? Yeah we call him 'Teeth' that's his nickname."

    Everyone on the flight deck then winced as the newbie started shouting at the top of his voice "Oi Teef! Yeah Teef! Come here mate, I need to talk to you."
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  15. On a similar vein, in Snoni in the mid 80's and there was an AH driver who was known as "Sniffles" due to his constant and fcuking annoying sniffing. Probably a severe case of rhinitis or a raving cokehead. Your call as to which one. New lad joined and overheard someone calling our wafu oppo "Sniffles" and thought that that was his official nickname to be used ......

    Broadsword, killick RP Fezz Parker shouts down to dockie "Oi Jan, catch this" as we come alongside Guzz and throw out the heaving lines. Baby dabber Norman Suffrin: "How do you know his name is Jan?"
  16. On one of my ships we had a fucking psychotic fat 3 badge AB gunner from Blackpool whose favourite pastimes were drinking until he shat himself and punching people in the face until they had to be medically discharged from service. For the purpose of this tale we shall call him 'clobber' Despite being a killing machine when aled up, he was hilariously funny to wind up as he would try and kill you in a drunken stupor, fall over and pass out but then forget about it the next day and be your bezzer again.

    On a run ashore in Liverpool we found him perilously drunk on his own in a bar at about 1400. Bitchtits, a young dabber messmate who was forever being a cunt decided he wanted some fun so fucked off with a big grin on his rats grid. About an hour later he arrived at our table with a brown paper bag and produced some superglue. When Clobber went outside for a tab, bitchtits liberally applied the superglue to Clobber's barstool and stood back and waited. Clobber came staggering back in, parked himself precariously on the bar stool and ordered some more meths or whatever it was that he lived on.

    After what seemed like an age of impatiently waiting for Clobber to try and stand up, Bitchtits got bored of waiting and said "Fuck it. It's time!" walked up to Clobber and called him a fat, sad cunt and poked him right in the eye. Clobber, enraged went to stand up but fell forward with a barstool stuck to his jeans. Bitchtits pissed himself and to be fair, so did we. That was until Clobber, in a quite superhuman feat of speed and strength, tore off his keks and launched himself at bitchtits at frankly inconceivable speed. I swear to God I heard the sound barrier being broken, although it might also have been Bitchtits' jaw. Within a nanosecond, Clobber was swiftly administering one of the most savage kickings I have ever, ever witnessed. It took about 12 people to get him out the door, sans trousers. It took far fewer to get Bitchtits to Royal Liverpool university hospital, sans consciousness.

    Epic backfire, funny as fuck.
    Last edited by a moderator: Jan 28, 2013
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  17. Beautiful.

    I knew a lad called Bitchtits too, 42 Rating, bit of a cunt. Real name C Hopper, which amusingly meant the name tags on his 8s shirts and ovies said 'CHOPPER'.

    Same chap?
  18. Can't remember his real name, would probably have remembered if he had chopper written on him though. He was a total cunt and a 42 rating though, could be.
  19. A Killick WE Tiff was down our mess for a bit, a bit of a throbber, always quick to remind everyone he'd be a PO soon and would get his revenge on everyone who'd 'bullied' him. Of course what he considered to be bullying was what most consider to be mild banter.

    His nickname was 'Chuck' no prizes for guessing his surname. Anyway for fun we started calling him 'Chucky Gayblade' why? I have no idea, it just rolls off the tongue nicely, he wasn't even gay, he even had quite a fit missus.

    Eventually he got so wound up by it, he complained to the hierarchy, citing that he was being severely victimised and bullied down the mess.

    One day while Chuck was on watch, the PO in charge of the mess, came down to deliver a stern bollocking. The PO was well liked and an ex member of the mess, it was obvious that the bollocking wasn't entirely sincere, but anyway, we were all ordered to stop using the nickname Chucky Gayblade or else.

    That evening when Chuck had returned to the mess, another killick came down the hatch greeting every single mess member by name, suffixing each of us with 'Gayblade'.

    "Alright Smudge Gayblade, Baz Gayblade, Ravers Gayblade, Jonesy Gayblade, Soapy Gayblade, Knocker Gayblade, Jock Gayblade, Taff Gayblade.........Oh alright Chuck."

    Eventually he had a nervous breakdown after someone armed with Tipex altered his SSEP surcoat from 'CONT' (short for Containment) to........well you know.
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