The Further Adventures Of Motor-Pool Mickey

by thoughtsonthedead

AN AIR FORCE BASE IN THE EARLY SIXTIES

“Airman Hart!”

“Yes, Sargent?”

“What did you do to your uniform?”

“Do you mean the crotch horns?”

“I do. I do mean the crotch horns, Airman.”

“They’re musical instruments, Sarge.”

“Fine, but you’ve been wearing them for three days: some of the officers have noticed and I’ve been getting phone calls. Also, you keep blasting them off in the mess hall. Plus, and I don’t think I’ve properly underlined this particular concept enough with you, this is the military. We all wear the same thing. 90% of being the military is wearing the same thing, waking up early, and posture.”

“I have excellent posture.”

“You do, Airman Hart. And you wake up early. All we have to master are uniforms.”

“Can I wear the night uniform?”

“There is no night uniform.”

“T-shirt and boxers issued by Uncle Sam. Everybody wears it sleep. Sounds like a uniform to me.”

“That’s not a uniform, Airman.”

“You’re not a uniform!”

“KP, Sarge?”

“Don’t get potato peel on your crotch horns.”

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