A short humourous break.
When we agreed to help our sergeant move to a new apartment, we didn’t know the elevator wasn’t working. So after hours of carrying heavy boxes and furniture up 11 floors, we were wiped out. And when the sergeant asked us to search for his favorite pot, no one moved.
“I’ll give a bottle of Scotch to whoever finds it,” he shouted.
Within minutes, a private found the pot.
“Good,” said the sarge. “Now look for the Scotch.”
An infantry brigade was training in the summer heat, learning methods to counter offensive tactics. That summer, the area had experienced an infestation of rattlesnakes. Officers and NCOs were given one magazine of live ammunition each to counter this danger, as several men had already been bitten.
So much ammunition was expended shooting, supposedly, at snakes that the post commander demanded that every officer and NCO who had shot at a snake present the dead snake as proof that the expenditure of rounds was justifiable.
The next day, the post commander entered his office and spotted a shoe box on his desk. He opened it, revealing a sleepy and sluggish, but very live, rattlesnake. Inside the box were twenty expended cartridges, and a short note. The note said, “I missed!”
- Received from Good Clean Fun (http://www.slonet.org/~tellswor)