How I learned to stop worrying and love parades
“A pleasant morning to you, Miss Pearblossom.”
“Good morning, General Crusher.”
“I trust you had a good time this weekend?”
“Mmm, I did, but I got sunburned on Sunday afternoon.”
“Whereabouts?”
“All over…”
“Well, you just stay pretty, and later on I have some special lotion I can give you.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
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“Hello, Mandrake.”
“Morning, sir. A good day, I hope.”
“I hope so too, now that we’ve reached the end of the school year.”
“Yes, this place does seem to get a bit nicer after everyone has finished their finals. Just another day until the hat toss and the Thunderbirds.”
“Ah, yes, another group of fine young men, ready to leave the warmth and comfort of this fine aluminum womb. So who might this young man be?”
“Well, sir, this is Cadet Walker. He’s the gentleman who fell out of the parade yesterday.”
“Hmph, yes, I thought I spotted someone keel over for a bit. Well, son, what happened?”
“Sir, erm, uh, I wasn’t feeling very well yesterday.”
“I thought he said your name is ‘Walker’ and not ‘Madden’. Shit, talk about ‘master of the obvious’. So what the hell was wrong with you?”
“Yes, sir. Well, I… I’m not really comfortable talking about it, don’t I get a lawyer or something?”
“What the fuck, Walker!? No you don’t get a fucking lawyer for falling out of a goddamn parade in front of two thousand parents.”
“Uh, yes, sir. I… I was hung under– um, I mean over. Hung over. I was hung over, sir.”
“Christ, Walker, was that really that hard? Maybe harder than that soft little pecker of yours, but certainly not that hard. Hell, we’ve all been hung over multiple times in our lives. Isn’t that right, Mandrake?”
“Yes, sir… quite right…”
“Walker, I appreciate that you were trying to live up to your family name, I get that. God knows I certainly do. But as a future Air Force officer, you’re going to have to learn how to handle your duties while hung over. I’ve probably done at least two dozen sorties in my time where what I really wanted was another bloody Mary. But you know what? I hung in there! Sometimes I made convenient use of the oxygen bottle, but I fucking hung in there like a real man!”
“Yes, sir, hang in there, I think I got it.”
“Alright, now get out of here, you got another year before it’s your turn to toss your hat, and you’d better be ready for some long nights at the O Club in the not so distant future.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to be more careful in the future.”
“Major, what is it with these kids and not being able to handle their liquor?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir. I’m not too fond of hangovers myself. I try to avoid them if I can.”
“Hmph. Well, I wish there were some way we could work to help increase their tolerance. It’d be wonderful if we could find a way to have the occasional kegger.”
“I think they would rather enjoy that, sir.”
“Damn straight they would, and it would allow us to weed out the weaklings who can’t chug a beer like a pilot should. Imagine the travesty if we ever had a pilot who couldn’t chug his favorite ale or lager. Mandrake, as sure as Miss Pearblossom has a beautiful ass, if that day ever came, I think we’d lose our next war.”
“I hope that day never comes, sir. What a shame that would be.”
“Damn right, Mandrake! By the way, did I ever tell you I’ve never once been afflicted with Whiskey Dick?”
“No, sir. I don’t believe you did.”
“I’m quite proud of that, Mandrake. Why, I can down a dozen shots of Mr. Weed and the Little General can still salute a beautiful lady friend.”
“He sounds… quite able, sir.”
“He most certainly is. Why, back when I was in Germany, I met this cute fraulein named Greta. After a few drinks, she soon surrendered to my charms, and shortly afterwards I was showing her the power of the United States Air Force as if it were 1945. She was so sore in the morning, she couldn’t have goose stepped had she wanted to. And that wasn’t the only time she let the Little General occupy her territory.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t, sir.”