Writer Contest: Story #2, The Dumbass Chronicles: Shocking
By RU Rob
My Brigade had just come out of the “Box” at the Joint Readiness Training Center (JRTC) in Ft. Polk, Louisiana. This was a 30 day rotation that involved getting a two- week pounding by the home-team Opposing Forces. Our rotation was no different than any other; we came, we saw, we got our asses kicked. Of course, our Chain of Command would try and blow smoke up our asses saying “Our Battalion was able to penetrate further on that Movement to Contact than any other this year!” But we all knew it was B.S. We had fun, did some great movements, and gained some great experience. But I digress…
Being in the light Infantry, you have to carry everything you need, so if you have a habit, particularly tobacco, you need to 1. Bring enough; and 2. Carry it. We had a guy in our platoon, every platoon has “that guy”, the one who never plans ahead, never has enough money and is always a mooch. Our guy was Smith (yes that was actually his name). Smith had a grand taste for Copenhagen Snuff, as a lot of Infantrymen do, but was convinced that he could get by for two weeks on three tins. On day two of the deployment he was out, by day two and a half, he was bumming. By the end of our time in the “box” we were all so pissed at him that we cut him off and he was fiending for a dip like a crack whore for the rock. Of course when we returned back to the marshalling area, his ATM card wouldn’t work so he didn’t have any money to buy his much desired rock!
The whole platoon was cleaning the MILES gear (as Nick explained in an earlier article, the Army’s version of Laser Tag) which is powered by a 9-volt battery. Now, for those of you who have had the illustrious opportunity to play with MILES gear, you know that at the end of it all there are 30 million 9-volt batteries lying around. They have to be removed from the gear and usually end up in someone’s pocket touching a coin and getting hot as hell. In our case, we had about 30 of these bad-boys lying around with nothing to do, so we in our Infantry ways decided to start connecting them together positive to negative to positive and so on, to try to see if we could increase the shocking power and… I’ll be damned if it didn’t work.
For the next 15-20 minutes we all took turns get the be-jesus shocked out of us and found that if we took rods from our rifle cleaning kits, held one in each hand, then touched it to the battery terminals, it was a shockingly good time. Each time we would add a battery to increase the value of the electrocution until we had a slew of batteries strewn across bunks.
Enter Smith asking everyone for a dip of Copenhagen (by the way, Smith is not the sharpest bayonet in the arms room). And everyone repeatedly says hell-no. Then the light bulb went off in my head. Oh my god, it was genius.
Me: : “Hey Smitty, you want an entire tin of Cope?”
Smitty: “Hell yeah, I need it bad!”
Me: “Ok, here is what you have to do; take those 9 batteries that are hooked together, touch them with those two cleaning rods and hold them to your nads.”
Smitty: “That’s it?”
Me: “That’s it!”
Smitty: “Shit, that’s too easy!”
The word spread like wild fire and soon it seemed like the entire company was inside the room just waiting for Smith to electrocute his testes. We positioned the batteries on two boxes set on end so that he wouldn’t have to dip too low. He was already in his shorts so dropping trou was not that big of an issue. At this point one would think that an entire room full of men staring at another mans balls would seem slightly gay…oh contraire, we were all laughing our asses off.
We were having one problem though. Every time he would make contact with the second post it would shock the hell out of his hands and he couldn’t keep contact which prevented him from making it over to his sack.
That small detail was not going to stop me from this caper. I quickly grabbed my NBC gloves (thick, black, rubber gloves that are supposed to keep chemicals and crap out, but in this case provided the needed insulation to prevent electric shock) checked them real quick against the batteries with the cleaning rods….Success!
Smitty started to get a little scared, but with 30-50, hell maybe even a hundred by then, Infantrymen screaming “do it you pussy” he got over it real quick. He takes a deep breath in, blows it out and silence fall across the room. Wearing the black rubber gloves he takes his left hand, makes contact with the post on the battery then swings the cleaning rod over to his left nut.
The anticipation is killing us all!
He then takes another breath, blows it out, makes contact with the right post of the battery and waits to make sure he isn’t going to be shocked again….nope, good to go. He slowly swings the other cleaning rod over to his right nut and….
Smitty goes flying back what seemed like ten feet, landing on the ground, holding his smoldering testicles and screaming out in pain. We unsympathetic bastards are literally pissing ourselves with laughter screaming and shouting; whooping and hollering. He actually did it, that dumb ass!
Smitty is now lying on the ground completely writhing in pain, tears flowing from his eyes. I kind of felt bad for him, for like a half a second, then continued with my torturous mocking. For the next couple of hours all we heard was how his balls ached. But at least he wasn’t asking for more dip.
The night was ending and he was yet again complaining about his balls, he said to me as he was putting in another dip, “man, I got to quit this shit.” I just looked at him, shrugged my shoulders and said “Ya think?”