You gotta throw something in to shake it up, like Godzilla crashing through the roof. I don't know what that would do with "Leadership or Professional Development"....
Actually, just forget it.
Case Study: The Soul Plane Incident
- Thread starter Marauder06
- Start date
Actually, just forget it.
policemedic
Verified SWAT
Guys, I can see what Mara is doing here. What she's doing is using classic misdirection. You see, we all think it's a strip club. Then she comes out and says "oh woe is me, my plots are predictable" and then BAM. Cheech Marin comes in and it turns into The Titty Twister.
Rodin is more in the theme of this one...
and Rodin needs to crush Douchet after we find out what stupidity he has gotten into.... Or Gort, Gort could crush Douchet, or burn him up with his lasers....
and Rodin needs to crush Douchet after we find out what stupidity he has gotten into.... Or Gort, Gort could crush Douchet, or burn him up with his lasers....
I disagree. I think being eaten by a vampire stripper is much more in line with the nature of the story.
“I hope it’s not a stripper,” you mutter. “I hope it is!” Captain Jones enthusiastically responds. As the bartender approaches the microphone, you lean over to MSG Rush. “What happened?” you ask. “NCO business, sir,” he answers. You’re getting tired of that answer. “What KIND of NCO business?” you ask, a bit more firmly.
“That Air Force NCO that was in here a little bit ago told me Douchet was drunk and acting stupid out on that little gondola we saw him in on the way over here. He said something to one of the females walking by and she called the MPs. The NCO was giving me a heads up that I might want to do something with him before he got picked up and put in the slammer.”
“So what happened?”
“I went over to him and told him to quit acting like an ass clown and come with me. He said “make me.” So I did,” he continues. Dammit, you never should have left a clown like Douchet unsupervised. “Well what the hell did you do with him?” you ask, getting up from the table. Rush puts a hand on your arm. “It’s all good sir, the customs office at the terminal has a little holding area, I put him in there to cool off. The cops said they’d keep an eye on him until we came back.” You figure you better get over there any way, but with a clash of symbols and a cloud of “smoke,” the floor show begins.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” says the bartender, microphone in hand, “I present to you, the jewel of the Spanish crown, the lovely Esmerelda!” Esmerelda takes the stage in a billowing red dress, with a halter top cut to reveal a sleek and well-toned midriff, bare arms, and a generous helping of bosom. Clutching a black and red scarf in both hands, she launches into belly-dancing routine that draws strongly from both Arabic and Spanish cultures. Her routine is quite impressive, and between her gyrations and the beer, you completely forget about Douchet for a minute.
Esmerelda’s dance ends to thunderous applause. Remembering Douchet, you pat MSG Rush on the arm and point towards the door. He glances at his watch at jumps up- it’s almost time for manifest! Rush whistles loudly and circles his hand over his head. The members of your flight tumble out of the club, in a hurry to make it back to the terminal in time for the manifest call. Fortunately the terminal was directly across the street from the club. As roll is called, everyone is present- except Douchet, and MSG Rush doesn’t seem to concerned about it. After the last name is called, you notice Rush clutching his stomach. “What’s the matter, Douchet didn’t kick your ass, did he?” you joke. Rush doesn’t look like he’s in a joking mood. “I think it’s the food. I feel really sick,” he says. “Maybe you shouldn’t have eaten four plates worth of the local food and drunk half a pitcher of beer,” you tease back. While the Air Force brings the buses around, you and Rush go to get Douchet. He’s in the terminal security’s office, sleeping on a bench under the watchful eye of one of the Security Forces. “No problem,” the guard says when you thank him and leave with a drowsy but otherwise pretty cooperative Douchet.
Waiting for the bus outside in the sun, you notice how hot it is. A lot of other people are looking a but uncomfortable too. Fortunately, you don’t have to wait for long. The Air Force buses pull up and your flight begins to load, for what will hopefully be the last leg of a very long trip. As your Soldiers board, you give each of them two of the Ambien from the bottle Doc Cho gave you before you left Iraq. Most Soldiers pop the pills as they get on the bus. You see MSG Rush putting his into a pocket. “Not going to take your pills?” you ask him. “I want to make sure we’re good before I pop these. They put me out like a light,” he responds. “Look, it’s a five-minute flight to the aircraft and the medicine won’t kick in until at least a half-hour after we’re in the air,” you counter. MSG Rush looks pale and sweaty. “You’re not looking so good brother,” you continue, “ a little sleep might be just what the doctor ordered.” Convinced, MSG Rush downs his Ambien as the buses approach the plane that will FINALLY take you home.
“That Air Force NCO that was in here a little bit ago told me Douchet was drunk and acting stupid out on that little gondola we saw him in on the way over here. He said something to one of the females walking by and she called the MPs. The NCO was giving me a heads up that I might want to do something with him before he got picked up and put in the slammer.”
“So what happened?”
“I went over to him and told him to quit acting like an ass clown and come with me. He said “make me.” So I did,” he continues. Dammit, you never should have left a clown like Douchet unsupervised. “Well what the hell did you do with him?” you ask, getting up from the table. Rush puts a hand on your arm. “It’s all good sir, the customs office at the terminal has a little holding area, I put him in there to cool off. The cops said they’d keep an eye on him until we came back.” You figure you better get over there any way, but with a clash of symbols and a cloud of “smoke,” the floor show begins.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” says the bartender, microphone in hand, “I present to you, the jewel of the Spanish crown, the lovely Esmerelda!” Esmerelda takes the stage in a billowing red dress, with a halter top cut to reveal a sleek and well-toned midriff, bare arms, and a generous helping of bosom. Clutching a black and red scarf in both hands, she launches into belly-dancing routine that draws strongly from both Arabic and Spanish cultures. Her routine is quite impressive, and between her gyrations and the beer, you completely forget about Douchet for a minute.
Esmerelda’s dance ends to thunderous applause. Remembering Douchet, you pat MSG Rush on the arm and point towards the door. He glances at his watch at jumps up- it’s almost time for manifest! Rush whistles loudly and circles his hand over his head. The members of your flight tumble out of the club, in a hurry to make it back to the terminal in time for the manifest call. Fortunately the terminal was directly across the street from the club. As roll is called, everyone is present- except Douchet, and MSG Rush doesn’t seem to concerned about it. After the last name is called, you notice Rush clutching his stomach. “What’s the matter, Douchet didn’t kick your ass, did he?” you joke. Rush doesn’t look like he’s in a joking mood. “I think it’s the food. I feel really sick,” he says. “Maybe you shouldn’t have eaten four plates worth of the local food and drunk half a pitcher of beer,” you tease back. While the Air Force brings the buses around, you and Rush go to get Douchet. He’s in the terminal security’s office, sleeping on a bench under the watchful eye of one of the Security Forces. “No problem,” the guard says when you thank him and leave with a drowsy but otherwise pretty cooperative Douchet.
Waiting for the bus outside in the sun, you notice how hot it is. A lot of other people are looking a but uncomfortable too. Fortunately, you don’t have to wait for long. The Air Force buses pull up and your flight begins to load, for what will hopefully be the last leg of a very long trip. As your Soldiers board, you give each of them two of the Ambien from the bottle Doc Cho gave you before you left Iraq. Most Soldiers pop the pills as they get on the bus. You see MSG Rush putting his into a pocket. “Not going to take your pills?” you ask him. “I want to make sure we’re good before I pop these. They put me out like a light,” he responds. “Look, it’s a five-minute flight to the aircraft and the medicine won’t kick in until at least a half-hour after we’re in the air,” you counter. MSG Rush looks pale and sweaty. “You’re not looking so good brother,” you continue, “ a little sleep might be just what the doctor ordered.” Convinced, MSG Rush downs his Ambien as the buses approach the plane that will FINALLY take you home.
Oh sure, NOW you tell me ;)
Somebody has food poisoning or apendicitis... hope you have good medical support on your flight.
Leave Douchet in jail.
Leave Douchet in jail.
Dame
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Somebody or everybody.
Swashbuckler
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Dun dun dun...
Yeah, I hope so too. Maybe the ODA has a competent 18D onboard.
That sure would suck, wouldn't it?
:)
LibraryLady
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I prefer to think of it as "creating suspense." :)
The good news is, this story is almost over.
LibraryLady
Verified Military
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I'm waiting for the snakes to crawl out of the pallets - medical emergencies and venomous snakes, armed So-Jahs!, Douchet in restraints.... this could get kewl... maybe somebody could spontaneously immolate or explode...
:eek::-"
Swashbuckler
Unverified
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I'm waiting for the snakes to crawl out of the pallets - medical emergencies and venomous snakes, armed So-Jahs!, Douchet in restraints.... this could get kewl... maybe somebody could spontaneously immolate or explode...
Carry on
The confined quarters of the bus, combined with the heat and the overpowering smell of jet fuel, are enough to make you a bit nauseous. You come to a halt a short distance away from the C5, and an Airman wearing a yellow reflective belt over his shoulder and carrying a handheld radio gets onboard. He makes an announcement that the plane is finishing fueling and you’ll board shortly. As he departs, you notice a Soldier walk down the lowered ramp of the plane and wave in the general direction of the buses. This must be “JB,” the ODA team member who was left behind to watch the “cargo” in the plane. An arm extends from a lowered window in one of the other buses, and a middle finger goes up. JB sees it, smiles, then, turns and disappears back into the plane.
It sure is taking a long time to fuel up this airplane… if this goes on much longer, the pleasant buzz you have from the Scotch and beer is going to wear off, and you’re going to need to take that Ambien after all. The heat is becoming oppressive. Even with the engine running and the air conditioning on full-blast, the bus is like an oven. Despite repeated requests from the passengers, the drivers will neither return to the terminal nor let anyone off the bus. Apparently there is a fuel spill; the reasoning is that it’s too dangerous to allow people off because there might be a fire, but you can’t go back to the terminal because they might get it cleaned up shortly and you’ll need to be on your way so another aircraft can land.
The minutes tick by slowly, and you begin to feel more and more queasy. The only person who seems unconcerned about the heat is MSG Rush, who has somehow managed to fall fast asleep. You decide to give it five more minutes before you “strongly urge” the drivers to take you back to the terminal. That’s when it starts...
It sure is taking a long time to fuel up this airplane… if this goes on much longer, the pleasant buzz you have from the Scotch and beer is going to wear off, and you’re going to need to take that Ambien after all. The heat is becoming oppressive. Even with the engine running and the air conditioning on full-blast, the bus is like an oven. Despite repeated requests from the passengers, the drivers will neither return to the terminal nor let anyone off the bus. Apparently there is a fuel spill; the reasoning is that it’s too dangerous to allow people off because there might be a fire, but you can’t go back to the terminal because they might get it cleaned up shortly and you’ll need to be on your way so another aircraft can land.
The minutes tick by slowly, and you begin to feel more and more queasy. The only person who seems unconcerned about the heat is MSG Rush, who has somehow managed to fall fast asleep. You decide to give it five more minutes before you “strongly urge” the drivers to take you back to the terminal. That’s when it starts...
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