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withimpunityUnapologetic Generation Kill picspam time. Episode 3: Screwby.
“Lieutenant, sir, the main weapon on your point vehicle is unreliable. Given the prevailing climatic conditions, using this lubricant is like trying to butt fuck a virgin underage Phuket whore with chalk. KY is clearly called for, sir.”
Encino Man: Danger Close?
Lovell: Sir, danger-close is an artillery strike within six hundred meters of a friendly position.
Doc Bryan: That would be us.
Lovell: Two hundred meters, that's pretty much on top of our heads.
Doc Bryan: Dumb motherfucker, sir. Even the most boot-fucked Marine knows danger-close.
Griego: You're way outta line.
Rudy: There's no plan for this, Pap.
Pappy: For what?
Rudy: Strong-pointing a walled town with Humvees. It all feels so random, what we're doing. Running here, shooting. Running there, bombing. That might be a legit target burning over there, but it might be a school, Pap. I hope it's legit. I hope this is good karma. [pauses] Everything here is ancient, Pap. We're in an old, old place.
Pappy: Yep.
Brad: They stick around and manned those, we'd have been dead before we even saw them.
Ray: Dude, lighten up!
Brad: Then again the world wouldn't have to deal with the prospect of you returning to your cretinous daughter-fucking trailer-park red-state shithole, and producing mutant, Whiskey Tango, scrotum-faced, bucktoothed, zit-exploding progeny.
Trombley: Heads up.
Reporter: Is that the British paratroopers?
Godfather: No. We scrubbed their mission. We got here first.
Brad: Gentlemen. We just seized an airfield. That was pretty fuckin' ninja.
Ray: I'm just saying I'm surprised is all, Brad. I mean, aren't you surprised?
Brad: Shut the fuck up.
Ray: I mean I'm betting that they were thinking that they could just, you know, leave a fully-loaded supply truck laying around, just like you could anywhere in America, you know? I mean, you park your unlocked car in Detroit or Baltimore, I mean, your shit's gonna be there guaranteed when you get back from the day spa with your skin all exfoliated and shit, right? I mean, seriously, homes, why would our Iraqi brethren want four hundred pounds of C-4, claymores, and crates of M-16s? I mean, it just doesn't make any sense. Oh, wait! You know, they could be using all that C-4 for, like, a giant 4th of July celebration. What do you think, Brad?
Brad: I think it's time for you to shut the fuck up.
Doc Bryan: Shot by that asshole, Trombley, Brad. He's been zipped by 556 from Trombley's SAW.
Brad: Don't put this on Trombley. I'm responsible.
Doc Bryan: Yeah? Well, twenty other Marines rolled by them and didn't shoot. So why don't we bring Trombley here and see what he's done.
Brad: Don't say that, it was my order. What can I do here?
Bryan: Not a fucking thing apparently, Brad.
Now with bonus man!pain
THE END.
Quotes and most screencaps via http://afteraction.oxoniensis.org/
“Lieutenant, sir, the main weapon on your point vehicle is unreliable. Given the prevailing climatic conditions, using this lubricant is like trying to butt fuck a virgin underage Phuket whore with chalk. KY is clearly called for, sir.”
Encino Man: Danger Close?
Lovell: Sir, danger-close is an artillery strike within six hundred meters of a friendly position.
Doc Bryan: That would be us.
Lovell: Two hundred meters, that's pretty much on top of our heads.
Doc Bryan: Dumb motherfucker, sir. Even the most boot-fucked Marine knows danger-close.
Griego: You're way outta line.
Rudy: There's no plan for this, Pap.
Pappy: For what?
Rudy: Strong-pointing a walled town with Humvees. It all feels so random, what we're doing. Running here, shooting. Running there, bombing. That might be a legit target burning over there, but it might be a school, Pap. I hope it's legit. I hope this is good karma. [pauses] Everything here is ancient, Pap. We're in an old, old place.
Pappy: Yep.
Ray: Dude, lighten up!
Brad: Then again the world wouldn't have to deal with the prospect of you returning to your cretinous daughter-fucking trailer-park red-state shithole, and producing mutant, Whiskey Tango, scrotum-faced, bucktoothed, zit-exploding progeny.
Trombley: Heads up.
Reporter: Is that the British paratroopers?
Godfather: No. We scrubbed their mission. We got here first.
Brad: Gentlemen. We just seized an airfield. That was pretty fuckin' ninja.
Ray: I'm just saying I'm surprised is all, Brad. I mean, aren't you surprised?
Brad: Shut the fuck up.
Ray: I mean I'm betting that they were thinking that they could just, you know, leave a fully-loaded supply truck laying around, just like you could anywhere in America, you know? I mean, you park your unlocked car in Detroit or Baltimore, I mean, your shit's gonna be there guaranteed when you get back from the day spa with your skin all exfoliated and shit, right? I mean, seriously, homes, why would our Iraqi brethren want four hundred pounds of C-4, claymores, and crates of M-16s? I mean, it just doesn't make any sense. Oh, wait! You know, they could be using all that C-4 for, like, a giant 4th of July celebration. What do you think, Brad?
Brad: I think it's time for you to shut the fuck up.
Doc Bryan: Shot by that asshole, Trombley, Brad. He's been zipped by 556 from Trombley's SAW.
Brad: Don't put this on Trombley. I'm responsible.
Doc Bryan: Yeah? Well, twenty other Marines rolled by them and didn't shoot. So why don't we bring Trombley here and see what he's done.
Brad: Don't say that, it was my order. What can I do here?
Bryan: Not a fucking thing apparently, Brad.
Now with bonus man!pain
THE END.
Quotes and most screencaps via http://afteraction.oxoniensis.org/