The Dining In Story

Updated: February 9, 2009




“Nick, I want you to make a skit for the Task Force Dining In.”

LTC Blowhard did not want to ask me to do this, because he hated to show any sign of weakness or need, however slight, but his desire to “win” the skit competition trumped that issue.

“Sir, every time I have done a skit, you have blasted me for going over the line. Are you sure you want me to do this?” I asked, more because I didn’t want to invest the time in doing a skit than because I was worried about the results.

“Yes, I want you to do it, but I want it to be tasteful,” he replied.

“Sir, I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Don’t do anything to embarrass me or the battalion. Remember you are an infantryman in a sea of Yellow right now (we were the only infantry battalion involved in an armor task force) and you have to represent us well. We want to stand out and have the best skit, but we shouldn’t have to apologize for anything at the end,” he said as he leaned in to accentuate the last part of that statement.

This was a land mine for me and I knew it. For years, I have lived by Ferris Bueller’s maxim “You can never go too far,” and that is at the heart of my ability to amuse people. LTC Blowhard was asking me to win the war for him, but he was unwilling to give me the equipment and support to do so.

As I pondered my comedic Vietnam, I thought I should try to push him towards one of the newbs. After all, I was a seasoned 1LT – this is 2LT territory.

“Sir, if you want me to do it, then I will, but I have to tell you that I don’t have any great ideas right now and I think the new lieutenants are looking for a way to shine and start building an identity for themselves,” I lied.

Suddenly Major Adams walked into the room outside LTC Blowhard’s office, screaming bloody murder to no one in particular. Major Adams was the Brigade XO, and he made it his job in life to make sure everyone else was miserable. No soldier was left alone, no motor pool vehicle remained uninspected, and no opportunity to perform a late night ambush visit to the barracks was spared. In short, the man interpreted the job as the Brigade Asshole and he reveled in it.

“Son-of-a-bitch…” LTC Blowhard said to no one in particular. “I need this like I need a kick in the balls.”

Adams knocked on the door. “Hey Sir, can I get a minute? The Brigade Commander is pretty pissed off.”

Ah, nice. Only one second into the conversation and he already had to invoke the Big Dawg’s name. We get it. You work for the Colonel, dickhead.

“Sure man, come on in,” Blowhard shouted over my shoulder. “Nick, we’ll pick this up when I get back. I want a skit. Stop by later.”

His last comment occurred just as Adams walked into the room.

Adams looked down at me as I was standing and said, “Yeah, beat it. Grownups have to talk, little man.”

I paused. Blowhard looked at me with those “Don’t do it you jackass” eyes that only the Old Man could muster, so I tucked my balls between my legs and walked out of the room.

I was pissed. I was used to the Army bravado and have plenty of ego, so I wasn’t “hurt” or anything like that, but I have always believed in a sense of justice in the world. I hated the fact that this guy walked around and treated everyone like shit. People were afraid of him because they didn’t want to incur his wrath. Then it hit me.

I was going to do a skit.

And I was going to get in trouble.

And it was all going to be worth it.

The Dining In 

Despite the fact that we were going to get crucified as a result of executing this skit, it took me all of about five Airborne seconds to convince my peeps that this was a good idea. As always, our battalion walked in like we owned the place, grabbed the tables right in front of the stage, and waited for the event to begin.

Once it started, we watched painful skit after painful skit – the normal “men dressed like women” or “Mock the Brigade Commander” skits were in abundance. Most people were drunk, so even though the execution was poor, laughter abounded. At last it was our turn.

I had composed a song for this festive occasion.

For those of you who are South Park fans, the melody of this tune is to the song, “Kyle’s Mom is a Bitch” by Eric Cartman. For those of you that have never seen it, I am including the YouTube link to this masterpiece at the bottom of the page.

The Battalion’s lieutenants hovered around the three microphones we had available and broke into the following little diddy:


Major Adams is a dick,

He’s a big fat dick,

He’s the biggest dick in the whole wide world,

He’s a stupid dick, if there ever was a dick,

He’s a dick to all the boys and girls.

On Monday He’s a dick

On Tuesday He’s a dick

And Wednesdays through Saturdays He’s a dick

Then on Sunday just to be different,

He’s a super king kong mega mega deeeeyock!

Have you ever met my friend Major Adams,

He’s the biggest dick in the whole wide world,

He’s a mean old dick and he has no hair,

He’s a dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick

Dick, dick dick dick dick dick dick

He’s a stupid dick, Major Adams is a dick,

And he’s such a dirty dick.

Talk to kids around the world,

It might go a little something like this…

[Sung in three different languages and we had different LTs in different costumes representative of said languages]

Have you ever met my friend Major Adams,

He’s the biggest dick in the whole wide world,

He’s a mean old dick, and he has no hair,

He’s a dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick

Dick, dick dick dick dick dick dick.

He’s a stupid dick, Major Adams is a dick,

And he’s such a dirty dick;

I really mean it,

Major Adams, He’s a big faaaaat, fuuuuuuucking deeeeeeyack!

Big old fat fuckin’ dick, Major Adams Mmmmmmmmmmm



Yeahhhhh, Chaaaaa

We had gone for the jugular and we had cut it wide open. From the moment we started singing, the room was dying in a crazy fit of laughter. We brought the house down. Through tears of laughter, everyone stared at us with that “Oh-my-God-this-is-so-awesome-but-you-retards-are-screwed” look on their faces. Adams was white with rage.

We finished and he rushed towards us.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” he directed to us in general and at me in particular.

Before I could respond, LTC Blowhard piped in with the biggest command voice he could muster. “Quit being a dick, Adams!”

The place erupted.

I had jumped on the trampoline to clear the fence, got into the house, and Jeannie had just saved me from Mr. Rooney.

Ferris remained, once again, unscathed.

The South Park inspiration:




  1. Curt

    September 29, 2009 at 7:45 am

    You, Sir, are my New Fucking Hero. *salutes smartly*

  2. bufftastic

    October 2, 2009 at 5:39 pm

    Epic. Just epic.

  3. Jimbo

    May 20, 2010 at 11:25 pm

    amazing work! ever thought about retiring to the Air Guard? you might’ve picked up an MSM and promoted to Captain pulling a stunt like that on my base.

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