How a typical Safety Brief would go on Friday before released for the
weekend in the Military;
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FORM IT UP! 1st Sgt's Enroute!
1st Sgt. >>
Bring it in. Take a knee.
Meach, flutterkicks - go. "aye 1st Sgt."
There seems to be some misunderstanding about my "Open Door Policy". While
I've got all of you here, in this rain, I'll try to clarify that policy.
...
1. I don't want to talk to you, so don't use that open door to come chat.
2. I don't care about your opinions on the news, politics, or popular
culture, so don't use that open door to come enlighten me.
3. I don't care about your kids, so don't come bring me pictures.
4. I am here to enforce discipline, to see you improve as a hunter of men,
and to cull you from the herd if you fail to advance.
5. My door is open, but you had better have something significant to discuss
with me, or I'll kick a field goal with your nutsack without spilling my
coffee or caring about your feelings on the matter.
While I'm in this happy mood, let's discuss the penis-shaped trench dug into
the grass in front of Division. I have nothing solid that leads me to a
culprit, but my gut is telling me that he's doing flutterkicks behind me.
Well played, Meach. Well played. Stop grinning, you quivering pile of donkey
vomit.
I plan to spend this weekend the way I spend most weekends: by turning beer
into urine. You nose-picking clowns can't seem to stay out of trouble
though, so we need to have these little chats. Pay attention, or we'll spend
some quality time together. I hate quality time.
Don't do dudes.
Don't drink and drive.
Don't beat your wife.
Don't let your wife beat you.
Don't do drugs.
If you get into a drunken brawl this weekend, win.
If you don't win, escape, then never let me find out.
If you fail in both of these, I'm sending you to 2nd brigade. You'll fit
right in over there.
Meach, recover.
Now get the hell out of my AO you tick turds!
Errah!
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ROFL!










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