So, now it seems we have questions about a number of high-ranking defense officials and their conduct both on and off the job. The list reads like a resume for a Clinton-era appointee.
Shady travel vouchers got now-Lt. Gen. Kip Ward booted from AFRICOM and a missing star in the bargain. He’ll probably end his career as some project manager, sequestered in a Pentagon sub-basement. Head of Joint LGBT affairs, probably. They say he overcharged $82,000 in travel expenses. Really, what kind of overcharging can you make in Africa? Maybe he got hotel upgrades to rooms with air conditioning. You ever been to Africa? It’s hot as shit, man. I don’t blame him.
Another travel brouhaha has erupted around Adm. Jim Stavridis. He’s only been warned and no real action has been taken. I mean, really, a wine dinner in France? You’re getting on him for charging that to Uncle Sugar? I can live with that. Rank has its privileges, Jack.
Now, as you can tell, I’m all for taking full advantage of the privileges and allowances allowed to me by virtue of the motherfuckin’ star on my motherfuckin’ chest. Just as these guys used their creative accounting techniques to fully explore the advantages of their rank, I too have pushed that shit to the limit.
Case in point: a proprietary satellite internet uplink for uninterrupted tactical information feeds without sacrificing bandwidth so Private Numbnuts can Skype with his dependopatomous wife. Added side bonus: streaming porn feed from the best sites and performers the world has to offer. From A for Asian Ladyboys to Z for Z-Jobs, I have it all in my solo command post for a little hand-to-gland combat.
Now, the latest two numbskulls to get caught with their hands in the cookie jar are Generals Dave “Peaches” Petraeus and John Allen. Long story short, they’re both wrapped up in some four-star cooze. That Paula Broadwell is one fine piece of ace. Same with that Jill Kelley chick. Good shit, man.
In all honesty, Allen probably didn’t even fuck Kelley. Something about her being an unpaid military social liason, whatever the fuck that is. I’d pay her for a social liason. With my dick. Let’s just say I’d be pretty happy to send rounds down her range, ya know?
But let’s face it, they are fucking amateurs when it comes to sexual misconduct. Sure, these mopes Petraeus and Allen got some high-dollar snatch rolling, but they’re totally out of the chain of command. Where’s the fun in that? There haven’t been any details released yet, but I bet these panty waists didn’t make the objects of their desires blow them while they were tearfully asking for transfers. That’s some good shit there, man. You want to talk exhilarating? Have some fresh, hot tears splash on your freshly waxed balls sometime. Nothing better.
As an aside, get your balls waxed at that AAFES concessionaire salon at Manas AB, Kyrgyzstan. I used to head up there about every other week to “conduct inspections.” The only inspections going on were hot Kyrgyz chicks on my smooth, hairless taint. They won’t give you a handy, but they’ll wax your naughty bits if you throw enough AAFES pogs at ‘em.
But I digress.
Another sure sign of their ineptitude is the fact they’re only involved with one chick each. Shit, man, I got five of them lined up. Four are officers that were under me when they were under me and the fifth is a civilian. That’s not just sexual misconduct, that’s a fucking harem, Jack.
Let’s face it, I’m up to my knees in pelt.
Finally, and most importantly, the only reason this came to light for Allen and Peaches is that these two broads starting firing emails back and forth being all catty and shit. Mine came out in the open when one of my fillies ran to the man to complain. I guess offering her plum assignments and a laissez-faire supervisory climate doesn’t count for much when you pull your dick out in response to requests for transfer. She still wants me. You can tell. I had a boner like a T-barrier when she testified at my Chapter 32 hearing. Oh well.
Oh and one more thing about Peaches, he wrote the book on COIN, huh? I got my own book on COIN, it’s called “Cock Out, Inserted Nightly.” Call my assistant, she’ll send you a copy with my mushroom stamp on it.
Alright, you cats keep your feet on the ground and reach for the anal lube. Uncle Jeffy is fuckin’ out.