Thursday, July 14, 2005
Time for the Thursday OTB Caption ContestTM
No Bull this time. I promise.
Winners will be announced Monday PM
Your Secretary of Defense wears combat boots.
“Begging your pardon, sir….we need your tie for a tourniquette.”
Don showed up a little over-dressed for bomb retreival duty
“Who let one rip? That’s an unknown unknown, son.”
“Yes, that rig would work in a crowd of yuppies, Mr. Secretary, but here it doesn’t blend in with anything.”
Mr. Secretary, I already told you, you’re going to have to eat MRE’s because the prisoner banquet is for the prisoners.
I’m thinkin we need more Cowbell….
Son, I’ve got to piss like a Russian race horse. Get me a Koran ASAP!
“Sir, the short list would be whips, hoods, leashes, shackles, fake menstrual blood, bras, panties, snarling dogs, a dancefloor and several cameras.”
Gunny: “What’s the matter, Pansy Boy? Life in the Pentagon too tough for ya? You want Gunny to wipe yer nose for ya? Drop and gimme 20, Crybaby!”
Rumsfeld: “[sigh] I love you, Mom.”
Sir, brown shoes do not go with that suit, sir. Also, no white after Labor Day, sir.
One of these things is not like the other ones, not like the other ones, not like the other ones…
This is the latest in combat businesswear: a kevlar asbestos matrix, with a stain-free coating. Not only does it protect you from IEDs and bullets, but your enemy’s blood wipes off with a damp cloth! Just because you’re at war doesn’t mean you should give up looking good!
Rummy: “Is that a ceramic plate in your vest, or are you just happy to see me?”
“Mr. Secretary, Valerie Plame is in my kevlar. You should see what the fella behind me is totin’.”
Rumsfeld seems like he should be the one with the kevlar vest.
Nice shoes Mr. Secretary.
Rummy – “I hear a voice and I wish I didn’t and in a minute I’m going to put my fingers in my ears and repeat ‘la la la la la la la’ for 5 minutes.”
Um, sir? XYZ, sir.
Mr. Secretary, with all due respect, your barn-door is open.
Sir, I know you brought your ass-kickin boots, but with all due respect, were late for the press conference.
Casually wearing his combat boots, Rumsfeld hoped that the troops would accept him as “one of them,” only in a suit that would cost “one of them” a month’s pay.
“Forget about the hummers, sir. After that meal, why aren’t you uparmoring the latrines?”
“You ever spend time in a Turkish prison, son?”
Forget about Don’t Ask…Don’t tell sir!!!
I love you man!!!!
Today will be a day long remembered. It has seen the death of Kenobi, and will soon see the end of the Rebellion
“Hey guys, you really think this cardboard cut-out of Rumsfeld will fool Zarqawi?”
“Seriously Sir, there’s no-one here for you to torture. You shouldn’t believe everything Ted Kennedy says.”
“Are you feeling okay, Sir. That bull’s horn must have hurt like hell.”
“I’m sorry some of the guys shit in your shoes, Sir. It’s just their way of saying ‘Hi’.”
“Don’t worry Sir, lots of guys get the runs after their first meal here. We call it Baghdad belly.”
Thinks: “Uh-oh! I hope I packed my Depends.”
Thinks: “Now where the hell am I again? Looks like Iraq. Afghanistan? Have we invaded Iran yet? Where the hell am I?”
“Sir, why do I have wear the suicide vest?”
“Son, I’ve been through the desert on a horse with no name,
And that’s why I’m standin’ here – my ass is in pain.”
“Son, if Brian O’Neill posts one more smart-aleck comment on here, I want you to go Abu Ghraib on his sorry ass, and that’s an order!”
“Sir Yes Sir!”
“Sir . . . Uhhh . . . When you say you’re in desperate need of a hummer, do you mean . . . ?”
Good! The emperor is not as forgiving as I am!
Rummy: I love the smell of molten sand in the morning…
“Well, Sir, first of all we tickle them with a feather. If that doesn’t work, we turn on the Aguillera. If that doesn’t do the trick, then we get Lindsey Lohan to rub her boobies up against them.”
“Now THAT is downright fiendish! Hah! You know Son, I almost feel sorry for those bastards. They don’t stand a chance against The Great Satan!”
“Where the hell are my shoes!?”
“Don’t worry Sir. We’ve got Veronica Mars on the case!”
“Sorry, Sir. Ok, so you are not seeking comfort food but comfort. Over here we call it something else and that would be available at the second tent on your right.”
“Son, remain nonchalant. David Hume Kennerly, the Pulitzer Prize winning photographer, is taking our picture and it could make us famous.”
“Sir, I’m already more famous than I care to be.”
“Nothing personal, sir, but you are ugly and your mother does dress you funny.”
“Our weapons are useless against the spacecraft, sir. There’s some sort of force field protecting the hull.”
…and after we tie their hands behind their backs sir, we lead them to their cells where we have half-clad, 19 year old, female personnel do a lap dance on them to “torture” and “degrade” them…but I’m sure you wouldn’t be interested.
Rummy: Carry on, son. If they can take it, I can.
“Sorry sir, but CONDIS’ leather dominatrix outfit…
did a little bit more for me.”
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