JOINT BASE LEWIS-MCCHORD, Wash. – A comical mixture of laziness and bureaucratic ineptitude on the part of disillusioned staff has resulted in the 1st Battalion of the 16th Combat Aviation Brigade being mandated to spend their entire $3.5 million quarterly budget in one week or lose all of the money.
“A matter of this criticality necessitated immediate action,” related Maj. Al Jacobs, Battalion Executive Officer, to Duffel Blog reporters. “Naturally I called all the company XOs in to a brainstorming meeting so I could quickly put the blame on them before the battalion commander came back from leave.”
With enough taxpayer money to support an entire infantry division in combat for a month, the budget for the aviation unit has been engorged to Jeffery Sinclair-ian dimensions thanks to the fuel consumption of the AH-64 Apache, constant maintenance issues, and widespread corruption and ‘gift-giving’ amongst senior officers.
“I want ideas, people!” growled Maj. Jacobs dramatically at the blank-faced officers seated on Louis XIV chairs around the hand-carved mahogany table, “Seriously, what haven’t we bought yet?”
1st Lt. Patrick O’Leary spoke up timidly, “We could really use a shredder for the offi-”
“Nerd!” interrupted Capt. Eric Robespierre, flexing creatine-inspired pectorals against his flight suit. “This is where the game gets fun! I’m talking Gulfstream-5! No more frequent flier BITCH miles for my boys!”
“Ring it up,” shouted Jacobs, “This is all going on the [Government Purchase Card]. Ring it up!”
After that, suggestions flew about the room fast and thick. A few minutes passed before Lt. O’Leary regained the floor. “Ok gents,” he said, reading off a hastily prepared list, “So far we have Chocolate Clone-a-Willies, a nude marble statue of Shakira, Oakleys ‘for every-fucking-body’, Xbox Live/Brazzers Subscriptions, 3,200 Fleshlights, hiring Jay-Z and Beyonce to perform at the battalion dining-in, and ‘you know those guitars that are like double guitars.'”
Fiddora tossed his head, “Fuck it, we’ll slingload the motherfucker!”
“Segways!” Maj. Jacobs made a frantic tick on his clipboard. “But only for O-1s and higher, fuck warrants!”
“Can we put gull-wing doors on our Humvees?” Fiddora asked.
“Don’t be a retard,” 1st Lt. Eric Meade cut him off, “I want custom bumper stickers with LT bars that say ‘My other ride is an Apache.'”
“Oooh! Ooo! I like it!” Jacobs hooted, “And underneath it says: ‘Cobras are for faaaaaaaags.'”
“Gold plated AKs!” Robespierre pounded a simian hand on the table. “We’ll tell them that it’s for foriegn training aids!”
“How about some of those new dick suckin– I mean, uh, Chinese mojo extraction machines!” exclaimed Jacobs. “They’d make a huge hit in the latrines!”
As of press time, the meeting had descended into a violent fistfight at the ill-advised suggestion that the money be returned to America taxpayers.
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