RTFU

Stunt Double Justice by RU Nick

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Updated: August 25, 2009

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Stunt Double Justice

There are two important things that everyone should know about me.

1) I can hurl my body through the air and land on most any surface without injuring myself.

2) I hate assholes.

Until that fateful day, these two things seemed completely unrelated.

I’m ahead of myself.

Assholes come in many forms: there’s the know-it-all frat boy asshole, the stoner hippie righteous protest asshole, the complain about everything to the waitress asshole, the standard issue Hollywood asshole, and then of course there is the entire United States Congress. All of these assholes are easy to identify, vilify, and hate. It is the trained eye, however, that can identify an Asshole Wolf in Hot Chick Sheep’s clothing, and it is the wily vet indeed that will call that particular species to task.

My first encounter with this species, Assholious Hottes Maximus, was at West Point. Every year West Point has an event called SCUSA. It’s basically a chance for geeks from other geek schools to get together, argue policy, and possibly hook up. At any other campus it would be as lame as Model UN, but at Castle Grayskull it was a major event because it meant civilian chicks would be roaming around the barracks for a week and you might get a chance to look at, talk to, or if you were really lucky, smell one of them. Rumors abounded that some cadets actually hooked up with these girls, but they are largely unsubstantiated.

My junior (or Cow)year, “Brenda”, one of the hottest girls we had ever seen, was assigned to our barracks. She was from an Ivy League University in New England.

At first we were giddy! We were a collective barracks of Golems following around our “precious” in the hopes that she might acknowledge our presence…we of course tried to be cool about it. You know, act like we didn’t care that she was there – just a “day at the office” for us. While none of us got any closer to dating her, we were okay with this arrangement, as any additional XX chromosomes was a good thing. Then she started actually talking to us and ruined it.

Brenda, an ardent pacifist and spoiled rich kid, made it very clear to everyone that would listen that the military was the bane of existence for a civilized society and that we were nothing more than a bunch of “ignorant children planning on murdering innocent people”.

My buddy Joe and I actually engaged her on this at first, with a genuine attempt to explain that, you know, the military did a whole bunch of good things, and that, gosh, perhaps everyone that signed up to serve was not an ignorant child bent on murder.

She countered that we simply didn’t know any better, and that had we been provided with opportunity and a stronger family growing up, we would have made better choices.

I explained to her that Joe and I came from phenomenal supportive families and that we had ample opportunities to attend other universities.

Brenda: Why didn’t you go somewhere else then?

Me: Because I wanted to come here.

Brenda: But that’s ridiculous. You’re supposed to go to college to become educated.

Me: What do you think we do here?

Brenda: Nothing worthwhile.

I resisted the urge to tell her that I was heavily courted by the school she was currently attending after writing and submitting a ridiculous essay to them entitled “What is Goofy, anyway?” reference the Disney character. West Point would have literally pissed on this essay.

Nick: Did I get in?

West Point: *zip* *splatter* *zip*

Joe and I could take no more and disengaged from the foul beast that was Brenda, but no matter where we went, she plagued our day. Her voice, which once seemed mellifluous and perky, was now shrill and piercing. That she was allowed to reside in our barracks was a constant reminder that assholes not only existed, but also managed to succeed. This seemed like a grave injustice.

    The Last Straw


I was sitting at my computer working some math problem I was too dumb to understand, when Joe busted into the room pissed off. Apparently she was in the hallway on the payphone with her boyfriend complaining loudly about the Army and her current lot in life. She also had interrupted some training a squad leader was performing with their plebes because she felt they “were too loud”.

Enough was enough, but what could we do?

Suddenly it hit Joe. He and I were going to get into a fight. A big fight.

You might be thinking WTF? How does that help?

Sometimes people have their head so far up their own asses that reason and even proof to the contrary will have no effect. In those cases, it is important to recognize that you cannot beat them – joining them is the only path to victory. We were going to play right into her biggest fears and stereotypes. We were about to become those killers she was whining about.

    Some things are worth fake fighting for…

I walked out to the payphones and grabbed one uncomfortably close to Brenda. I fake dialed a number and began whispering in a cheesy “I love you snookums” voice. I started detailing what I was going to do to snookums explicitly so that it was awkward as hell for anyone in ear shot.

Suddenly Joe busted around the corner.

Joe: That better not be my sister Kate!

Me: Dude, I love her!

Joe: I told you not to ever fucking talk to her again!

Me: Fuck you. That’s not your call!

Joe rushed me like a demon from hell, picking up a trash can along the way, and hit me across the back with it. I fell forward into the phone. He quickly grabbed me by my hair and smashed my face into the phone several times before I “managed” to turn on him. Joe had placed Ketchup on his hand in advance so I now had “blood” all over my face.

Brenda was screaming bloody murder to her metrosexual boyfriend on the phone.

We then proceeded to faux beat the living shit out of each other, knocking over chairs, tables, and everything we could along the way. Tears were streaming down Brenda’s face as she sobbed into the phone that we were going to kill each other and maybe her in our rage.

I charged Joe and he ducked under me. As he did, I leapt and did a dive rollout over him as he stood up (thanks Judo) making it appear that he had just thrown me six feet into the air. As this is one of my favorite party tricks, I knew it looked awesome and scary as I hit the tile floor and landed precariously close to the stairs. Wincing and holding my arm, I sat up so that my back faced the staircase.

Me: Joe, you broke my fucking arm man.

Joe: Fuck you, Nick. It ends tonight!

With that statement, Joe kicked me square in the chest knocking me down the flight of stairs. Thanks to my other roommate Josh who taught me stunt double tricks which included falling down stairs (different story), I was able to roll down the stairs with ease, ensuring that I landed at the base with my chin to the ground and my neck bent at an odd angle.

To the layman, or at least to pacifist assholes from Ivy League schools, it appeared I was dead.

Brenda was practically fetal, proclaiming that she was next, that we were animals, etc., etc.

Joe looked her right in the eye.

Joe: He had it coming.

Then Brenda noticed no other cadets had so much as moved during the entire event.

Brenda: Oh my God! What the hell is wrong with you people!?

Then everyone started laughing.

I hopped up with a big ass smirk on my face and jogged up the stairs. I was going to be in pain in the morning, but it had been so worth it.

Brenda let out a shrill scream and turned her heel and went into the room she was staying in, slamming the door behind her.

Me: Your school sucks!

Joe: Yeah, it does!

Me: Well done, my friend.

Joe: Thanks man, good dive roll out.

Me: It’s what I do.

Joe: That sister shit was a bit over the line.

Me: Dude, your sister is hot.

Joe hit me.

It actually hurt.

There’s probably a moral in here somewhere, but for the life of me I can’t find it.

What I do know is that the military doesn’t take shit anymore. Vietnam changed that. You want to hate the President and Congress for policy, get after it. You want to shit on us, we may just stage a big fake fight in front of you while you talk to your boyfriend on the fucking phone.

You play with the bull you get the horns.

I have no idea what I’m talking about right now, but I can tell you this: That shit was funny.

Comments

comments

3 Comments

  1. Becky

    August 26, 2009 at 12:55 am

    That’s some funny stuff! That’s why I appreciated being around and being a Cadet. I couldn’t stand those SCUSA people either! I wonder what she thinks now?

  2. mindy1

    August 26, 2009 at 8:15 am

    LOLOLOLOL XD good move 🙂

  3. CCO

    August 26, 2009 at 9:20 pm

    That was probably better than the time my buddy in college made nitrogen tri-iodine and blew up his own door lock!

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