Apparently so ...More than one!
Somehow I am beginning to have regrets about calling in the JAG team.
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M*A*S*H DIARY
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Somehow I am beginning to have regrets about calling in the JAG team.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
"Soldier first, lawyer always!" How can you go wrong with that!Apparently so ...
Somehow I am beginning to have regrets about calling in the JAG team.
Frank Petrexa
Tribune
View attachment 691192Oh! You mean Dougie! Yes, he and I go way back .... what a guy!
How did you put up with the ego?
RacingRodent
Consul
Her Grandmother hooked up with Custer, so she had already been advised to bite her lip and on no account tell him she had seen bigger.....oh you meant his arrogant self-conceit, my bad
Her Grandmother hooked up with Custer, so she had already been advised to bite her lip and on no account tell him she had seen bigger.....oh you meant his arrogant self-conceit, my bad
Giggle snort
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
I’m not sure about his grandmother who died in 1864 and therefore seemed not to know Custer. His father, Arthur MacArthur Jr., was a first lieutenant and adjutant of the 24th Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry Regiment. At the Battle of Missionary Ridge on November 25, 1863, during the Chattanooga Campaign, the 18-year-old MacArthur inspired his regiment by seizing and planting the regimental flag on the crest of Missionary Ridge at a particularly critical moment, shouting "On Wisconsin." For these actions, he was awarded the Medal of Honor. He and Douglas became the first father and son to be awarded the Medal of Honor. He eventual rose to the rank of Lieutenant General.Her Grandmother hooked up with Custer, so she had already been advised to bite her lip and on no account tell him she had seen bigger.....oh you meant his arrogant self-conceit, my bad
Do NOT trust anyone from Wisconsin!!!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
A military brat, Douglas MacArthur was born 26 January 1880, at Little Rock Barracks, Little Rock, Arkansas, to Arthur MacArthur, Jr., a U.S. Army captain, and his wife, Mary Pinkney Hardy MacArthur (nicknamed "Pinky")
And he smoked Missouri corn-cob pipes... A real gentleman!
That was late in arriving!!!View attachment 691217 Bucky is going to get you for that!
RacingRodent
Consul
Barb's Grandmother Custer's Little Big Horn, who seems to have died as a result but since when has that stopped one of our crux girls...or even slowed them down much?
Certain things run in my family...like complaining and being nailed naked to crosses ...goes all the way back to the Romans ...must be in the genes
Thanks RR for recalling that old Custer story
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Here is a video showing the Officers you and you brother drove. .37 is Himmler and .42 Heydrich frolicking at the Berghof!
https://www.sfgate.com/news/article/Eva-Braun-s-footage-of-Nazis-relaxing-Hitler-13756261.php
Morning of 5 April 1951
Dear Diary:
Today was my second day confined to quarters for busting Captain Tree in the chops. I really didn’t mind ... it meant I could lounge about all day without the annoying presence of my tent mates, Captains Tree, Wragg, Jolly and Goldman.
I woke just as they were all leaving for duty, and was about to slip out of bed and wish them a cheery goodbye, when I realized I was naked.
“Where the fuck are my clothes?” I screamed, ducking under my bed covers.
“Today is laundry day, Lieutenant Moore,” replied Wragg with a grin. “Sammy Kan, the Korean who does our laundry, came around this morning. We did you a favor and sent your clothes off with him.”
“But ... but ... I’m sure I was wearing something when I went to bed!” I stammered.
“We’re very thorough,” chimed in Captain Jolly. “If laundry is to be sent out ... might as well send all of it.”
“How’d you get them off of me while I was in bed?”
“We’re doctors,” laughed Captain Goldman. “Our hands and fingers are remarkably skilled and dexterous!”
“Bastards!”
“Doesn’t sound much like gratitude, does it?” sniffed Wragg, feigning a hurt look. “Try to relax and enjoy your day, Moore. Corporal Rodent will be around shortly to bring you some breakfast and Kan will have your laundry done by mid-afternoon. We’ll leave you now to your own devices. Be good. Cheerio!”
I stayed in bed and fumed for half an hour or so. Then ... cautiously ... I got up and ran around the tent, closing all the flaps so that no one could see in and checking everywhere for hidden cameras.
Having secured my privacy, I decided I’d take the opportunity to poke my nose in my tent mates’ belongings, hoping I could discover additional incriminating evidence against them to turn over to General Praetorius when he arrived.
I started with Captain Tree, rifling through his collection of nudist colony pictorial magazines, sampling a cup of hooch from his homemade still ... assembled from improperly lifted medical equipment ... and inventorying his so-called trophy rack. I also pinched an envelope full of Joan’s Horny Potion to submit for lab analysis.
Then I moved on to Captain Wragg, who turned out to be .... just as he claimed ... a scion of one of those old line English landed gentry families. I found some photos of the family’s country house, Cruxton Abbey, including some interior shots of four-poster beds and ... rather weirdly ... a fully-equipped cellar dungeon. There was also the family crest, which appeared to feature a naked woman hanging from a cross behind a distinguished, but rather foppish looking man dressed in blue and projecting the air of a man of letters. The assortment of hand-written poems at the bottom of Wragg’s footlocker read like accomplished works, although the subject matter was ... well ... off color, to say the least.
Captain Jolly’s possessions were few and could be best described as rather macabre, especially the long-handled scythe wrapped in a tattered black shroud which he kept beneath his bed, along with a full length black velveteen hooded-cape and an edited collection of tombstone epithets.
And then there was Goldman, whose footlocker contained ... buried beneath a number of self-help books on how to be funny .... an NYPD badge ... thus giving some credence to his claim to have formerly been a police detective, while also causing me to pause and wonder just what the fuck he did to get himself booted off the force. I decided I’d better tell General Praetorius to look into that matter.
At about that time Corporal Rodent turned up with my breakfast. I met him at the door and ordered him to back into the tent while keeping his eyes straight ahead as I was not wearing anything.
“Yes ma’am ... I mean sir ... whatever you say.”
“Don’t speak to me, you little twerp. Just set the tray down and vamous!”
“Not until I take your order for lunch,” he replied, holding a clipboard out in front of his chest.
I was just about to inquire as to what the menu choices might be when I spotted the mirror attached to the clipboard and the miniature camera pinned to his lapel.
With a fury that knew no bounds I took him by the collar and propelled him through the door of the tent without opening it first.
It was at that point, dear Diary, that in order to calm myself I settled onto my bed to pen this entry. I recorded all that I have set forth above, and began to feel a little better. After all, I had the tent to myself. My search for more incriminating evidence had borne fruit. Why not just try to relax. General Praetorius would be here soon enough ... and then ...oh my, what delicious thoughts of revenge danced in my head!
This called for a little celebration, I thought. Perhaps a little more of Tree’s hooch would go down well and help pass the time.
So I had one and then another, and ... well ... after that I lost count. And ... throwing caution to the winds ...and confident that the tent was free of Rodent’s hidden cameras ... I experimented with mixing in just a tiny bit of Joan’s potion.
I’ll tell you, dear Diary, how that turned out in my next entry.
Dear Diary:
Today was my second day confined to quarters for busting Captain Tree in the chops. I really didn’t mind ... it meant I could lounge about all day without the annoying presence of my tent mates, Captains Tree, Wragg, Jolly and Goldman.
I woke just as they were all leaving for duty, and was about to slip out of bed and wish them a cheery goodbye, when I realized I was naked.
“Where the fuck are my clothes?” I screamed, ducking under my bed covers.
“Today is laundry day, Lieutenant Moore,” replied Wragg with a grin. “Sammy Kan, the Korean who does our laundry, came around this morning. We did you a favor and sent your clothes off with him.”
“But ... but ... I’m sure I was wearing something when I went to bed!” I stammered.
“We’re very thorough,” chimed in Captain Jolly. “If laundry is to be sent out ... might as well send all of it.”
“How’d you get them off of me while I was in bed?”
“We’re doctors,” laughed Captain Goldman. “Our hands and fingers are remarkably skilled and dexterous!”
“Bastards!”
“Doesn’t sound much like gratitude, does it?” sniffed Wragg, feigning a hurt look. “Try to relax and enjoy your day, Moore. Corporal Rodent will be around shortly to bring you some breakfast and Kan will have your laundry done by mid-afternoon. We’ll leave you now to your own devices. Be good. Cheerio!”
I stayed in bed and fumed for half an hour or so. Then ... cautiously ... I got up and ran around the tent, closing all the flaps so that no one could see in and checking everywhere for hidden cameras.
Having secured my privacy, I decided I’d take the opportunity to poke my nose in my tent mates’ belongings, hoping I could discover additional incriminating evidence against them to turn over to General Praetorius when he arrived.
I started with Captain Tree, rifling through his collection of nudist colony pictorial magazines, sampling a cup of hooch from his homemade still ... assembled from improperly lifted medical equipment ... and inventorying his so-called trophy rack. I also pinched an envelope full of Joan’s Horny Potion to submit for lab analysis.
Then I moved on to Captain Wragg, who turned out to be .... just as he claimed ... a scion of one of those old line English landed gentry families. I found some photos of the family’s country house, Cruxton Abbey, including some interior shots of four-poster beds and ... rather weirdly ... a fully-equipped cellar dungeon. There was also the family crest, which appeared to feature a naked woman hanging from a cross behind a distinguished, but rather foppish looking man dressed in blue and projecting the air of a man of letters. The assortment of hand-written poems at the bottom of Wragg’s footlocker read like accomplished works, although the subject matter was ... well ... off color, to say the least.
Captain Jolly’s possessions were few and could be best described as rather macabre, especially the long-handled scythe wrapped in a tattered black shroud which he kept beneath his bed, along with a full length black velveteen hooded-cape and an edited collection of tombstone epithets.
And then there was Goldman, whose footlocker contained ... buried beneath a number of self-help books on how to be funny .... an NYPD badge ... thus giving some credence to his claim to have formerly been a police detective, while also causing me to pause and wonder just what the fuck he did to get himself booted off the force. I decided I’d better tell General Praetorius to look into that matter.
At about that time Corporal Rodent turned up with my breakfast. I met him at the door and ordered him to back into the tent while keeping his eyes straight ahead as I was not wearing anything.
“Yes ma’am ... I mean sir ... whatever you say.”
“Don’t speak to me, you little twerp. Just set the tray down and vamous!”
“Not until I take your order for lunch,” he replied, holding a clipboard out in front of his chest.
I was just about to inquire as to what the menu choices might be when I spotted the mirror attached to the clipboard and the miniature camera pinned to his lapel.
With a fury that knew no bounds I took him by the collar and propelled him through the door of the tent without opening it first.
It was at that point, dear Diary, that in order to calm myself I settled onto my bed to pen this entry. I recorded all that I have set forth above, and began to feel a little better. After all, I had the tent to myself. My search for more incriminating evidence had borne fruit. Why not just try to relax. General Praetorius would be here soon enough ... and then ...oh my, what delicious thoughts of revenge danced in my head!
This called for a little celebration, I thought. Perhaps a little more of Tree’s hooch would go down well and help pass the time.
So I had one and then another, and ... well ... after that I lost count. And ... throwing caution to the winds ...and confident that the tent was free of Rodent’s hidden cameras ... I experimented with mixing in just a tiny bit of Joan’s potion.
I’ll tell you, dear Diary, how that turned out in my next entry.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Your Roomates are cleanly and trying to be friendly.
That's why girls all strive to marry doctors
That's not quite open and above board. In fact, isn't that a violation of some military rule?
Any quaint old tomb rubbings? I understand Jolly enjoys rubbing while he's in a tomb!
Assaulting an enlisted man by an officer is a serious offence. Barb's rap sheet seems to to growing even as her bed sheet shrinks.
J
Juan1234
Guest
Great entry, Barb! Good thing you have such an honorable superior in General Praetorius. Otherwise, this could have ended badly for you!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Standard penalty is 3 months imprisonment at hard labor.
Why, thank you, Juan. It's nice to have one's quality recognized.