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No One Gives A Shit About CO’s ‘26.2’ Bumper Sticker


FORT BENNING, Ga. – Despite demonstrating a commendable tolerance for chafed nipples, sources confirmed today that no one in the 3rd Ranger Battalion gives a shit about Lt. Col. Donovan Studebaker running a fucking marathon.

Studebaker, who assumed command last month, admitted that the deafening indifference towards his locomotive prowess was a bit of a shock.

“At first I assumed everyone misheard me and thought I was talking about a Netflix marathon,” the colonel said. “Then I realized nobody cared. At all.”

Indeed, independent surveys conducted at the command revealed that general concern regarding Studebaker’s bipedal accomplishments ranked dead last, beneath even “Caitlin Jenner” and “Cecil the Lion.”

“Listen, real talk,” said Staff Sgt. Brody Hammer. “We’re in the business of shooting people in the goddamn face, not in the business of being fucking Kenyan.”

Even Studebaker’s KIA Soul, which proudly boasts of his racing milestones whenever he isn’t talking about them himself, has become something of a running joke in the battalion. The rodent-like transport, already ridiculed behind the commander’s back for its impractical design and horrible advertising campaign, has two bumper stickers reading “13.1” and “26.2,” in addition to a license plate frame that says, “I’d Rather Be Running,” which in turn holds the vanity plate, “RN4STRN.”

“Yeah, I’d rather be running – TRAIN!” jeered Sgt. Moose Claymore, prompting a chorus of oh snaps! and yea bois! from fellow Rangers.

The jab appeared to be lost on Studebaker.

“If I wanted to lose gains, I’d go for a run,” added Hammer, throwing in a lip of Tobaccosplode©. “I ain’t about losing no gains.”

At press time, a disconcerted Studebaker had assembled the battalion for a ten-kilometer formation run to build morale.

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  1. When I got to my first unit 3/17 FA Heavy in Nurnberg we had some old white haired pipe smoking geezer full bull (Colonel Crump )that was headed for his first star so nobody gave a shit who ran…we’d pass another company 60 feet outside the front gate of Merrell Barracks (Also known as the Gangster Hotel by the Germans) and stop and talk an hour and go to breakfast!…Run?…Hell no! The most we had to do is pick up and carry 20 little old 200 pound projectiles for a hundred yards followed by 70 pound cans of powder!

    Then all Hell broke loose! They renamed our unit to the 3/5th Field Artillery and we got a Red headed fucking Devil named Colonel Garrett Bourne…We got our asses run off and all he got was semi famous for blowing up empty trucks during Desert Storm!

  2. We don’t go out with girls anymore, we live the life of danger. We sit in the woods and play with ourselves, WEEEEE are the Rangers.

  3. In my experience all company commanders are either marathoners or suddenly in an all-day cannot be disturbed conference with Dolly Madison & Hostess on weigh-in day. I can’t recall ever seeing a battalion commander in a PT uniform, but I’ve heard rumors….

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