Funny stories

icnu01 · #1 07-03-2009, 03:06 PM

This is written by a friend from work. I thought they were pretty funny so I thought I'd share

Preface

I've been inspired to begin a written account of my life experiences after repeated making my friends soil their pants by retelling them my follies. Mainly the purpose of exploiting my humiliation is to brighten other people's days, that way my failures have some value, two things to consider before you read further. One, I hate to read so I'll probably be shittier as a writer. Two, I have no shame or standards so these tales will be uncensored. Not for the faint of heart or those who have any respect for me
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Andygetsahemorrhoidectomy

Occurred-June 2009
Written-June 2009

Hemorrhoids, I'm taking a huge risk making this the first chapter, considering the demographic of my friends and subscribers, who are like jackals to a handicapped bunny, taking every opportunity possible to exploit how gay I am. I can tell you right now, I did not get hemorrhoids due to any anal sex or any foreign objects repeatedly rammed in or around my ass.
Anyone in the military can attest to how bad it sucks to take a shit after a steady diet of MREs. Because of preservation and in order to increase the shelf life, the meals are dry as fock and high in sodium. After consuming a balanced diet of MREs you are guaranteed not to shit for at least two weeks, but when that unfortunate day rears its ugly prairie dogging head, you are in for a world of hurt. It Is like forcing a cinderblock through a pin hole, After 3 years of this delightful event, it is safe to say I've strained harder taking a shit than a strong man contestant has pulling a train. My isshole has stretched ten times more than its original size than an anaconda's mouth that is attempting to swallow an alligator. Between this and me spending hours sitting on the porcelain thrown doing my leisurely reading, I've developed the notorious hemorrhoids. That is not an exaggeration either, I've literally spent hours on the pot reading or sleeping. "Sleeping?" you ask. Well when I went through NavalHospitalCorpsmanSchool to get out of class I would just go and sit in the shitter and take a nap. I've also been known to do this at places of employment. But who knew the consequences of these actions would one day lead me down a path where I find myself in a bathroom stall lying on the floor, in fetal position, crying and cussing like a rape victim. It seems I've gotten ahead of myself let me Tarantino it for you,,.

So up to recently I've been living with hemorrhoids, no problem, I would just push them back in and move on. Well one day a Marine comes to Sick Call with complaints of blood in his stool, the Doc diagnosed him with internal hemorrhoids and suggest that he takes care of it before we get in country, because if one of them burst open then we'll have to med evac him out to Germany to get him taken care of, Well Doc's got my attention now! How lame would that be to have to be med evac'd out of war for having a bloody isshole? Between that and the fact that it feels like someone Is rubbing sand paper against my balloon knot when I run or go on a hump, I definitely need to get this taken care of now! So Doc sets me up for a surgery consult and I was given two options. We could either put a band around the roids or cut them out with a knife. The band has a 60% success rate and the knife has a 99% success rate, given my luck, I figured I better go with the knife. The Doc warns me about the pain but I tell him I'm a BAMF and I can handle it,
The day of reckoning approaches and I'm getting ready to go under, until I find out the method of preferred anesthesia is an epidural. At this point I am definitely freaked the fock out... a needle going into my spine is not a cool thing! After going over the risks and rewards I decide to go ahead with the procedure... best thing ever. I didn't even feel any pain when they inserted the cath, Afterwards I couldn't feel anything from the waist down. Well I felt pressure still but no pain. I can't recall much from the actual hemorrhoidectomy because I was so doped up, but I do remember being in the altar boy position for a while, feeling pressure inside my ass, and strangely having a boner at the same time,.,, I think I'm gonna need some therapy! Post-op wasn't too bad either, I still couldn't feel shit; I think I still had a boner and apparently I was trying to charge the nurses money for looking at my ass during their assessment, fast forward to the discharge and the wearing off of the Morphine... HOLY FoCK!!! I felt like I just walked off the scene Pulp Fiction, Deliverance, MysticRiver, or any other movie that has anal carriage in it. It feels like porcupines, which are the size of bears, have set up camp in my rectum, started a fire with magnesium, and hibernated, kicking in their sleep. I thought that was bad... until my first bowl movement. Let me say that was the most religious experience I've had in my entire life! For that hour was filled with Holy Shit, Goddamn Me, Mary Joseph fucking in a manger, and I believe at one point, I saw Jesus Christ Himself. He took the form in the tears that were streaming down my face. When I was done dropping the deuce, I had to take a gander at what seemed to be a NASA launching out of my ass only to find the disappointment of a toilet bowl that looked like a bloody crime scene and a Mr. Hankey the Christmas Poo that would only get a rating of 1.5 on ratemypoo.com. This would be the point where I curled up in fetal position, weeping, not just crying, but weeping, telling myself, "I did my best, I did my
best, I did my..."

By Andrew Law

icnu01 · #2 07-03-2009, 03:09 PM

another

Training Day

Occurred-May 2005 Written-June 2009
Before I joined the Marines as a Corpsman I was an Aviations Electronics striker, being that my home command was St. Louis, there wasn't much for me to do. So I volunteered for Funeral Honors as an Honor Guard. I was one of those guys where the uniform was immaculate, clean shaven, fresh haircut; I could pass any inspection any day with my eyes closed. I knew everything there was to know about the Navy... I was that guy. But I was still new to Funeral Honors so naturally I was assigned to a senior Petty Officer to show me the ropes and mentor me. The day started off natural, I checked in, we looked at our assignments, and we had two funerals that day. We did a dress rehearsal, I was going to be the one who folded the flag and he was going to present the flag to the family. Everything alluded to the fact that the day was pretty much going to be cake. Both funerals were arranged in East St. Louis, IL. My preceptor made a comment, "Hey, we have more than enough time between these two funerals to stop by the Hustler club and get a lap dance." I gave a courteous laugh as anybody would when their supervisor makes a joke. The day continues and we wrap up our first funeral.. piece of cake! A well dressed monkey can complete this task. We get back in the govie (government vehicle) and depart for what I thought was going to be the next funeral site. Unless Larry Flynt recently expired we were definitely not at the right location. We somehow manage to find our way to the Hustler Club, and if you had ever wondered if strip clubs close... the answer is yes. We apparently were too early for the single mothers and college students to take the stage, but fortunately for us the boutique was open so we decided to kill our time in there. Now keep in mind we are still in our full dress whites, and if you have ever seen a sailor in his whites you know how bad you stick out in a crowd. Imagine how bad we're sticking out in a sea of black dildos, latex bussies, vinyl blowup dolls, crotchless panties, and issless chaps. I'm still not sure what to make of the situation when my preceptor makes friends with the lady sitting behind the counter. Our conversation was mainly an exchange of what Ws like to be in the Navy and what it is like to work the register at a porno shop, Also what time do the strippers take the stage, After some small talk she decides to exhibit her patriotism by offering my preceptor and me a beer and a free showing in the Jack Shacks they have in the back room. I politely declined the beer, because anyone who has drank with me knows that I go from yellow to red in 6oz. My preceptor, who I later found out has a pre-existing condition, welcomed the invitation. When asked why I declined the offer, I explained, "We do have another funeral to attend and I'm a lightweight, so I don't think it's a good idea." He pats me on the back and says, "Don't worry. You'll get another chance to drink." Again, I gave the same courteous laugh not knowing what was in store for the rest of the day. He proceeds to slam the first beer and buys 3 more during our visit. By the time we leave for the second funeral, he is smashed! He's swerving from lane to lane and somehow we miraculously make it to our destination unscathed. We post up on the path were the pallbearers carry the casket to the grave, and as the funeral party exits the convoy weeping and consoling each other as you would expect them to, He slowly leans over to me and says, "The one in the pink looks like a total whore, I would totally punish her ass." I'm making a very poor attempt to maintain military bearing and contain my laughter. He proceeds to comment on her attire, how good it would feel to have her walk her heals over his scrotum, and how he would eat her out like an Ethiopian child at an Old Country Buffet. At this point I'm still at parade rest, almost in tears, I believe I did one of those things where you try to contain a hard laugh and a snot rocket comes out your nose, and I think I peed a little. When it was time for our portion of the ceremony as we approached the casket instead of the honor guard graceful glide, I would say he almost had a swagger in his step. But not the I'm cool swagger, more the drunken thinking I'm cool swagger. The exchange of the ensign was interesting to say the least but the best part was the presentation to the next of kin. To this day I'm not sure if the emotions of the moment were responsible for the tears or if it were the ketones in his breath. As we left the cemetery I am still in complete shock of what just happened, but before I could gather my thoughts, I found myself again at the threshold of the Hustler Club. Then he says to me with conviction, "See, I told you, you would have a chance to drink again!" as if I were questioning his integrity. Luckily for us the stage was open and we were the first and only patrons there, this was a Tuesday around noonish. I was elated that I did not have to carry on small talk with the boutique girl and get my dollar dances on, but I quickly learned that the strippers that work the day shift on weekdays really hate their life. From one stripper to another each one shared their life story with me, how their boyfriend doesn't know, how they're paying for med school, they're just taking care of their nine babies, etc. Trust me nothing kills a buzz of a lap dance more than when the girl in your lap is conspicuously grinding on you as an obligation and not for erotica. Finally I met a stripper that just did it because it paid well and... well, she just loved sex. And plus she thought that I was cute. So my preceptor being the great mentor that he was, paid for a private dance, and it was AWESOME!!! We were clothes burning so hard it was like we were in 8th grade again, then she was rubbing her face all in my crotch area, and the fabric that makes our dress whites is 90% polyester, so I could clearly disseminate that yes, she really was tilting at my clock. It was pretty much amazing. Fortunately the dance ended before I busted a 12 roper in my pants. I returned to the table with a pretty distinct look because it was as if everyone in the club simultaneously laughed. I don't remember the rest of the time in the club but I do remember as we left it was around 1500. We had just spent about S hours in a strip club! Then he asks me If I'm OK to drive. I ask him if he's fucking kidding me, I'm trashed. "dUCK!" he cries in disappointment, and proceeds into the driver seat. I take my place in the passenger seat and figure "If I'm gonna die, I'll do it in my sleep" and put the seat in full recline and rack out. The ride back to base was rough, it was during rush hour and for some strange reason I kept on getting woken up by a whiplash of hard breaking, for which I can only assume was from him passing out and almost rear ending someone in traffic. I shut my eyes tighter hoping that would help me sleep through this transgression. Then the inevitable happens. The sound of screeching tires accommodated with the crushing of metal. I look at him in a panic, "What the fuck man? What happened?"

I don't know, I thought it was in my car and Iguess I was using the brake as a clutch. duck the car won't start. I think I broke the transmission!"

Then he would open the door, stick his torso out like you would if you were puking, looking back staring, as if he wished it hard enough he would wake up from this nightmare. After gawking that the confused party behind us for two minutes he would close the door and attempt to start the car again. This pattern went on to what had seemed to be hours until finally I realized the RPMs were sitting at a grand. "Dude, the car won't start because it's already on!" Almost immediately he puts the car into drive and takes off! He says to me "Look back there and see if they're following us!"
"duck that! I don't want them to know what I look like. There are a hundred white dudes and only one Asian working on base today; they'll finger me out in a heartbeat!"
"What should we do?"
"Circle the base a few times and pull in!"
He did as we planned and when we pulled into parking lot, it seemed like a great idea at the time, but we backed into a tree blaming the damage to the govie on that. And I remember as we were leaving the govie, going back to our POVs he grabs my arm, pulls me in close, and with a glaze in his eyes he says, "What happens in the Stratus, stays in the Stratus." I concurred and went home to rack out. The next day I almost had forgotten what happened, until I laid eyes on my dress whites... They were covered with stripper dust (glitter) and in the groin area and the inner thighs, makeup and lipstick all over. Needless to say I had to call in due to a less than immaculate uniform. But that's not the bad part; the bad part was the look on the dry cleaning ladies face when I handed the uniform over. Priceless!!!

By Andrew Law

trailrider2 · #3 07-03-2009, 06:41 PM

I made it through the first one, good stuff, but the second one is killing me. Can you edit a space between each line? I keep reading the same line over and over. lol