<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791</id><updated>2010-01-19T16:41:01.736-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Gunner's Military Humor - USAFNS</title><subtitle type='html'>Send me your Military related jokes to: webmaster@usafns'.'com&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;

Note: Remove the single quotes (').</subtitle><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/humor.html'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/atom.xml'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>44</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-7778827018579654676</id><published>2009-02-23T14:29:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-23T14:33:57.049-05:00</updated><title type='text'>You gotta love the Marines</title><summary type='text'>In addition to communicating with the local Air Traffic Control facility, all aircraft in the Persian Gulf AOR are required to give the Iranian Air Defense Radar (military) a ten minute 'heads up' if they will be transiting Iranian airspace.This is a common procedure for commercial aircraft and involves giving them your call sign, transponder code, type aircraft, and points of origin and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/7778827018579654676'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/7778827018579654676'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2009/02/you-gotta-love-marines.html' title='You gotta love the Marines'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-55570098819306263</id><published>2007-10-22T19:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-22T19:37:26.399-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Naval Conference</title><summary type='text'>A U.S.  Navy Admiral was attending a naval conference that included Admirals from the U.S., English, Canadian, Australian and French Navies.   At a cocktail reception, he found himself standing with a large group of Officers that included personnel from most of those countries.  Everyone was chatting away in English as they sipped their drinks but a French admiral suddenly complained that, '</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/55570098819306263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/55570098819306263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/10/naval-conference.html' title='A Naval Conference'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-6515610011683307110</id><published>2007-10-22T19:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-22T19:36:45.342-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Conference in France</title><summary type='text'>Then there was a conference in France where a number of international engineers were taking part, including French and American.   During a break one of the French engineers came back into the room saying "Have you heard the latest dumb stunt Bush has done?  He has sent an aircraft carrier to Indonesia to help the tsunami victims.  What does he intended to do, bomb them?"A Boeing engineer stood </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/6515610011683307110'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/6515610011683307110'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/10/conference-in-france.html' title='Conference in France'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-317090935910196243</id><published>2007-10-22T19:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-22T19:38:30.346-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Colin Powell in England</title><summary type='text'>When in England at a fairly large conference, Colin Powell was asked by the Archbishop of Canterbury if our plans for Iraq were just an example of empire building' by George Bush.He answered by saying, "Over the years, the United States has sent many of its fine young men and women into great peril to fight for freedom beyond our borders. The only amount of land we have ever asked for in return </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/317090935910196243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/317090935910196243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/10/colin-powell-in-england.html' title='Colin Powell in England'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-7390108128145235469</id><published>2007-08-31T16:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-31T16:35:41.295-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pistol'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flask of whiskey'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Desert Storm'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='survival knife'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pilot'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='parachute'/><title type='text'>And the moral of the story is...</title><summary type='text'>And the moral of the story is...     The teacher gave her fifth grade class an assignment:  Get their parents to tell them a story with a moral at the end of it.     The next day the kids came back and one by one began to tell their stories.     "Tony, do you have a story to share?" "Yes ma'am. My daddy told a story about my Aunt Karen. She was a pilot in Desert Storm and her plane got hit. She </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/7390108128145235469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/7390108128145235469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/08/and-moral-of-story-is.html' title='And the moral of the story is...'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-5919039290260193447</id><published>2007-08-31T15:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-31T15:33:11.277-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='majors'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='recruit'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hogs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='colonels'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Captain'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wood'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='route marches'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sergeant'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='mash'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='feed'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Marine Corps'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='fire'/><title type='text'>Letter from a New Marine Recruit at MCRD San Diego</title><summary type='text'>Dear Ma and Pa,I am well. Hope you are. Tell Brother Walt and Brother Elmer the Marine Corps beats working for old man Minch by a mile. Tell them to join up quick before all of the places are filled.I was restless at first because you got to stay in bed till nearly 6 a.m. but I am getting so I like to sleep late. Tell Walt and Elmer all you do before breakfast is smooth your cot, and shine some </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/5919039290260193447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/5919039290260193447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/08/letter-from-new-marine-recruit-at-mcrd.html' title='Letter from a New Marine Recruit at MCRD San Diego'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-7494544545546742805</id><published>2007-07-16T17:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-31T15:19:49.577-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Navy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Air Force'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Control Tower'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='American Airlines'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Marine Corps'/><title type='text'>What time is it?</title><summary type='text'>On some air bases, the Air Force is on one side of the field and civilian aircraft use the other side of the field, with the control tower in the middle. One day the tower received a call from an aircraft asking, "What time is it?"The tower responded, "Who is calling?"The aircraft replied, "What difference does it make?"The tower replied, "It makes a lot of difference.If it is an American </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/7494544545546742805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/7494544545546742805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/07/what-time-is-it.html' title='What time is it?'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-9043496962066093021</id><published>2007-07-01T19:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-31T15:22:32.986-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='NAS Pensacola'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='World War II'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Zeroes'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Japanese'/><title type='text'>Brash Pilot</title><summary type='text'>    It  seems that a young man volunteered for military service during World War II.  He had such a high aptitude for aviation that he was sent right to Pensacola  Naval Air Station - skipping recruit training.    The  very first day at Pensacola he solos and is the best flier on  the base. All they could do was give him his gold wings and assign him  immediately to an aircraft carrier in the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/9043496962066093021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/9043496962066093021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/07/brash-pilot.html' title='Brash Pilot'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-3321094197206019817</id><published>2007-05-31T19:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-31T19:49:06.511-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fighter Pilot'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='F-16'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='C-130'/><title type='text'>Fighter Pilots</title><summary type='text'>A C-130 was flying on a mission when a cocky F-16 fighter pilot flew up next to him. The F-16 jock told the C-130 pilot, "watch this!" and promptly went into a barrel roll followed by a steep climb. He then finished with a sonic boom as he broke the sound barrier. The F-16 pilot asked the C-130 pilot what he thought of that. The C-130 pilot said, "That was impressive, but watch this!"  The C-130 </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/3321094197206019817'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/3321094197206019817'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/05/fighter-pilots.html' title='Fighter Pilots'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-2708618222379839172</id><published>2007-04-27T20:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-27T20:14:10.691-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='forward watch'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='seamanship'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='man overboard'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chief'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Landing Signal Officer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='OOD'/><title type='text'>Seamanship Test</title><summary type='text'>One time during the underway watch the OOD decided to test a Chief Petty Officer's seamanship. "Chief, what would you do if the forward watch fell off the side of the ship?""Easy, sir, I'd call 'Man Overboard' and follow the Man Overboard procedures.""What would you do if an officer fell overboard?""Hmmm," The Chief said, "Which one, sir?"</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/2708618222379839172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/2708618222379839172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/04/seamanship-test.html' title='Seamanship Test'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-393068554746932536</id><published>2007-04-25T15:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-25T15:52:25.558-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Seaman'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Sailors'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Bootcamp'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pansy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Liberal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Master Chief'/><title type='text'>The Master Chief</title><summary type='text'>The Master Chief noticed a new Seaman one day and barked at him to come in "What is your name?" was the first thing the Master Chief asked the new guy."John," the new guy replied. The Master Chief scowled, "Look, I don't know what kind of bleeding-heart, liberal pansy stuff they're teaching Sailors in Bootcamp today, but I don't call anyone by their first name. It breeds familiarity and that </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/393068554746932536'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/393068554746932536'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/04/master-chief.html' title='The Master Chief'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-2275631416019460318</id><published>2007-04-24T19:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-24T20:08:24.088-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Navy Chief'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Boatswain&apos;s Mate'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bartender'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='martini'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Veteran Bar'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Marines'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Master Chief'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Retired Chiefs'/><title type='text'>Veteran's Bar</title><summary type='text'>Four retired Navy Chief's are walking down the street window shopping. Then they turn a corner and see a sign that says "Veterans Bar" over thedoorway of an entry into an establishment that doesn't look all that well kept up. They look at each other then go in. On the inside, they realize inthis case, they could judge the 'book by it's cover'.The old bartender says in a voice that carries across </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/2275631416019460318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/2275631416019460318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/04/veterans-bar.html' title='Veteran&apos;s Bar'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-3032339200864430178</id><published>2007-04-01T17:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-01T17:53:28.273-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pan Am 747'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pilot'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Air Controller'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Frankfurt Airport'/><title type='text'>Air Contollers &amp; Pilots</title><summary type='text'>The German air controllers at Frankfurt Airport are renowned as a short-tempered lot. They not only expect one to know one's gate parking location, but how to get there without any assistance from them. So it was with some amusement that we (a Pan Am 747) listened to the following exchange between Frankfurt ground control and a British Airways 747, call sign Speedbird 206.Speedbird 206: " </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/3032339200864430178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/3032339200864430178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/04/air-contollers-pilots.html' title='Air Contollers &amp; Pilots'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-4171418471147858558</id><published>2007-03-17T13:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-03-17T12:44:16.805-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Bible'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Navy Chief'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='old preacher'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='whiskey'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Centerfold'/><title type='text'>Old Country Preacher's Son</title><summary type='text'>An old southern country preacher from  Georgia had a teenage son named  David and it was getting time the boy should  give some thought to choosing  a profession. Like many young men, the boy  didn't really know what he  wanted to do, and he didn't seem too concerned  about it.One day,  while the boy was away at school, his father decided  to try an experiment.  He went into the boy's room and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/4171418471147858558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/4171418471147858558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/03/old-country-preachers-son.html' title='Old Country Preacher&apos;s Son'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-1471514208201837170</id><published>2007-03-15T21:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-01T20:41:18.796-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Navy'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Seaman'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Petty Officer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Flagpole'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='CPO'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chief'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Naval Academy'/><title type='text'>Erecting a Flagpole</title><summary type='text'>One last class before graduation at the Naval Academy and the Instructor gave out one final assignment."Given one 20 foot metal pole, two bags of cement, a selection of shovels, a wheel barrow, and any other  tools you might find necessary, AND One Chief, one Petty Officer and a selection of Seamen, DESCRIBE The process you will take to erect the pole so that a flag hung from it can be seen from </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/1471514208201837170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/1471514208201837170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/03/erecting-flagpole.html' title='Erecting a Flagpole'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-2395111986431420911</id><published>2007-03-10T18:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-10T18:09:07.261-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='LSO'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='highline'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Landing Signal Officer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='USS Newport News (CA-148)'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='CWO2'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='CWO3'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='WO1'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Boatswain'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Chris Schmidt'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Da Nang'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='C. F. David'/><title type='text'>Ship's Boatswain in a Quandry</title><summary type='text'>I was a brand new pin-stripe WO1 serving with a CWO3 Boatswain on the USS Newport News (CA-148) in late 1967.  As we were about to pull into Da Nang harbor to take a two star admiral and his staff aboard (CTG 77.7.3 if I recall correctly).  Originally, the plan was to highline the admiral and his staff aboard.  But shortly after setting the highline detail, a low lying fog obscured visibility.  </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/2395111986431420911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/2395111986431420911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/03/ships-boatswain-in-quandry.html' title='Ship&apos;s Boatswain in a Quandry'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-864982733435027889</id><published>2007-02-25T17:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-25T17:56:43.887-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Major'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Lieutenant'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Captain'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Gunny'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Marine Corps'/><title type='text'>The Gunny sez...</title><summary type='text'>A group of Marine Corp Officers are standing around talking when a Lieutenant said, "I feel that making love is 80% fun and 20% work."Captain responded by saying, "No, I think that making love is more work than that. I would say that it is 60% fun and 40% work."Then a Major says, "No, making love is definitely way more work than  that. I would say that it is 20% fun and 80% work."They are all </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/864982733435027889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/864982733435027889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/02/gunny-sez.html' title='The Gunny sez...'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-1552643928638279620</id><published>2007-02-24T11:21:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-24T11:21:29.494-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Late for Work</title><summary type='text'>    He just couldn't seem  to get to work on time.  Every day he was 5, maybe  10 minutes  late.   He was very conscientious, very sharp and  very  productive.   This was a second career for the gentleman so the  Boss was   in a quandary about what to do about it.   Finally, he decided he needed  to talk to him  and called him into the office for a chat. "Bill, I have to tell you, I  like your </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/1552643928638279620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/1552643928638279620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/02/late-for-work.html' title='Late for Work'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-117150434843421998</id><published>2007-02-14T20:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-14T20:52:28.466-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Marine's Watch </title><summary type='text'>A Marine walks into a Beaufort SC bar and takes a seat next to a very  attractive woman.He gives her a quick glance then casually looks at his  watch for a moment.The woman looks at his wrist and remarks, "That's  some watch.I've never seen anything like it before. What is  it?""I just got this," he replies. "It's a new military issue.  It  has a small computer chip which has threat detection and</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/117150434843421998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/117150434843421998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/02/marines-watch.html' title='A Marine&apos;s Watch '/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-116899587244667773</id><published>2007-01-16T20:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-16T20:07:14.096-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Last Requests</title><summary type='text'>Bob Sheiffer, Tom Brokaw, Katie Couric and a tough old U.S. Marine sergeant were all captured by terrorists in Iraq. The leader of the terrorists told them that he would grant them each one last request before they were beheaded. Sheiffer said, "I'd like one last bowl of hot spicy chili." The leader nodded to an underling who left and returned with the chili. Sheiffer ate it and said, "Now I can </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/116899587244667773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/116899587244667773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/01/last-requests.html' title='Last Requests'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-116784826554078229</id><published>2007-01-03T13:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-03T13:20:02.303-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ma Bell and the Writer</title><summary type='text'>A man decided to write a book about famous churches around the military. He bought a plane ticket to Camp Lejeune, thinking he would start by working his way across the USA from south to north.  On his first day he was inside the Base Chapel taking photographs when he noticed a golden telephone mounted on the wall above a sign that read "$10,000 per call".  The man, being intrigued, asked a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/116784826554078229'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/116784826554078229'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2007/01/ma-bell-and-writer.html' title='Ma Bell and the Writer'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-113912949721316504</id><published>2006-02-05T03:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-05T08:41:33.876-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Gourmet application of MREs or How I Entertain a New Date</title><summary type='text'>If you don't get a laugh out of this one, you have no sense of  humor or have never eaten MREs!  -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------How I Entertain a New Date:I had a date the other night at my place. On the phone the day before, the girl asked me to "Cook her something she's never had before" for dinner. After many minutes of scratching my head </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/113912949721316504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/113912949721316504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2006/02/gourmet-application-of-mres-or-how-i.html' title='Gourmet application of MREs or How I Entertain a New Date'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-112912765874792834</id><published>2005-10-12T10:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-12T10:34:18.783-04:00</updated><title type='text'>NO SEX SINCE 1955 </title><summary type='text'>  NO SEX SINCE 1955  &lt;?XML:NAMESPACE PREFIX = O /&gt;     A crusty old Sergeant  Major found himself at a gala event,  hosted by a local liberal arts college. There was no shortage of  extremely young, idealistic ladies in  attendance, one of whom approached the Sergeant Major for  conversation.  She  said,  "Excuse me, Sergeant Major, but you seem to be a very serious man.  Is something  bothering </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/112912765874792834'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/112912765874792834'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2005/10/no-sex-since-1955.html' title='NO SEX SINCE 1955 '/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-112627331605318355</id><published>2005-09-09T09:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-09-09T09:41:56.096-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Maintenance Monkey</title><summary type='text'> A man walked into a pet store and was  looking at the animals on display. While he was there, a First Class  Petty Officer from the local Navy base  walked in and  said to the shopkeeper, "I'll take a maintenance  monkey,  please." The man nodded, went to a cage at the side of the store  and took out a monkey. He put a collar and leash on the animal and  handed it the PO1,  saying, "That'll be </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/112627331605318355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/112627331605318355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2005/09/maintenance-monkey.html' title='Maintenance Monkey'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948791.post-112543238428502497</id><published>2005-08-30T16:06:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-30T16:06:24.303-04:00</updated><title type='text'>War-Weary American Marine</title><summary type='text'>&lt;?/bigger&gt;&lt;?/bigger&gt;&lt;?/fontfamily&gt;The train  was quite crowded, so the U. S. Marine walked the entire length looking for a  seat, but the only seat left was taken by a well-dressed middle-aged French  woman's poodle.    The war-weary Marine asked, "Ma'am, may I have that  seat?"    The French woman just sniffed and said to no one in  particular, "Americans are so rude.    My little Fifi is using </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/112543238428502497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11948791/posts/default/112543238428502497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://www.usafns.com/milhumor/2005/08/war-weary-american-marine.html' title='War-Weary American Marine'/><author><name>~G</name><email>c.mitchell@suddenlink.net</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='00887308903382666901'/></author></entry></feed>