THE ADVENTURES OF REX THE WONDER ENGINEER:

REX AND THE BONECRUSHER

Rex, the Wonder Engineer, is in a strangely good mood. He sits quietly in the briefing room waiting for the numb-nuts Captain, his AC for today's local torture mission, to begin his ridiculously long, crushingly boring and useless mission brief.

Rex hasn't flown for about three weeks, after the new commander grounded his ass and gave him a LOR for fighting at the squadron Dining Out. Him and Joe the Boomer both got slammed. Hell, it wasn't Rex's fault. Joe threw up on his new mess dress and Rex kicked the living shit out of him right there in front of everybody, all of the wives and guests, the Wing Commander; he then beat the crap out of two young officers who tried to break up the melee. The Commander was not particularly amused, especially since after Joe's toupee flew off and landed in his wife's double Chivas. After things had calmed down a little bit, Rex dropped a frozen dog-turd in the grog bowl; the Wing Commander was the first one to spy this foreign object, but was shamed into drinking from the sacred bowl anyway. Rex was laughing so hard that he shat himself and had to be banished to the lobby.

Anyway, all of that shit is behind him now; he's been on his best behavior for weeks. Joe and him have made up and all that shit, and the DO said he could go on a trip if he flew some weekend locals. Fuck. Well, in walks his AC, Captain Needles, a fucking goober reject from some shit-job at HQAMC. The dude is absolutely clueless most of the time, but the copilot, Capt Jizz, is pretty safe, even though the bastard wrecks every car he gets into.

Joe, the Boomer, dickless wonder of SAC, destroyer of alert trucks, bone-headed fool responsible for thousands of damaged fighter canopies, looks into the room, turns around, and breaks wind loudly, exclaiming "Whee hee!, I think the old shit-fart separator may have failed on that one!" Rex looks up from the totally-fucked-up-flight plan, and sighs. The shit aint even funny any more. "Shut the fuck up and get out, you shit-stain, and get me the Goddamn box lunch menu when you come back from cleaning your asshole."

Just then, the Chief pilot of Squadron DOV walks in to the room. 6 foot 6 inches tall, 265 pounds off ass-kicking, pilot-eating pure-dee asshole sumbitch. Ugly as sin, and twice as mean, name of Claudius H. Bone, Major, USAF. The enlisted dudes call him the Bonecrusher. The other pilots call him the enemy. When the Captains sense a presence in the room, look up, and see the Crusher, they simultaneously leak urine, and begin to wither. Rex is also in awe of this particular officer. He's the only one in the squadron that can kick Rex's ass, and he busts pilots every week. He's rude and menacing, profane and Rex loves the way the other pilot dudes melt into goo when Crusher is around. Even the Commander doesn't fuck with the Bonecrusher.
The Crusher looks down at the two sad pilots and starts his well-rehearsed briefing:
"Why, Good Morning, cheesedicks. Glad to see you two reject homo flatus-brains are up this early to give me a reason to live. Both of you ass-wipes are getting a check ride. This will be the worst day of your life, to date. You other two shit-sticks are under observation, too. If you see these two fart-sniffers fucking up, let them flail. That is all. Now let me see that fucking flight plan". The Crusher grabs Capt Needles arm and hurls him out of his chair, sits himself down, and stares at Rex. "What the fuck are you looking at?" Says the ever respectful Rex. "Don't you fucking talk to me like that, you greasy piece of shit flight mechanic. Why don't you go outside and practice falling down and I'll be out in a minute to kick your smelly enlisted ass."

Rex shuts up and starts working on his paperwork, while Capt Needles mumbles something about needing to take a shit and quickly leaves the room. On his way out he motions for Rex to follow. Rex does, after leaving a little methane biscuit for the others to enjoy.

In the hallway, the captain looks as if he has been struck by lightning. "Rex, I'm fucked. I just got back from the desert and my pubs are all fucked up. The Enemy will take me out for sure. I'm considering suicide. Now, look. I know you and Joe have the master keys to the whole squadron. Open the Pubs room so I can get the last two dash-one changes. C'mon Rex, this shit aint even funny." Rex is grinning. "Hell, Cap'n, you are fucked indeed. I aint got them keys anymore (a lie) and I'd let ya use my pubs for the check, but they're fucked up too. You might as well call the Commander yourself and tell him your ass is Q-3."

But in any case, it's all too late. The Bonecrusher stomps out of the mission brief area, looks down the hall and sees the Captain and Rex. He lifts a helmet bag, the ACs helmet bag, which contains all of the outdated shit, and is covered with dozens of cheesy ATC class patches from when he was a FAIP, and fires it against the wall, binders and checklist pages flying everywhere.
When the Bonecrusher speaks, Captain Needles completely loses control of his bowels.
"You fucking piece of shit. You Goddamn turd-sucking, boot-licking staff weener grease-spot asshole fuck. Your ass is Q-3. Get out of my sight. Go home and dig a hole in your back yard and bury yourself. You suck. Your pubs suck. You will be lucky to get a job as shitter suck-truck operator for Continental airlines. Go away. You don't exist; your career is over. That is all."

Rex is astounded. Joe is grinning stupidly. The copilot has fainted and is gasping for air on the floor. "Sir, does this mean we're canceled? Because I gotta lot of shit I could be doing today."
The Major reaches down and grabs a handful of Rex's hair. "Go get your fucking pubs bag, vermin-breath, and we'll see if we're canceled or not"

NEXT: REX GOES TO THE HONKY TONK WITH MRS. BONECRUSHER