Wardrobe Malfunction

Battlefield Wardrobe Malfunction
by JamesE82


Right after Olga 'n me took care of that Nazi business, I knew I had to get outta the city. It wasn't that I'd wailed on someone who didn't exactly deserve it, mind you, and just how mucha what I gave her was undeserved is debatable, if you ask me. What I didn't like was how chummy we were gettin'. I mean me, the Crimson Conservative, havin' the champion of the godless, murderous ideology that's killed millions and nearly got America nuked, me havin' her at my mercy, and not finishin' the job? I had her stomped halfway into the concrete, and what did I do? Uhg, where's my Jack?

That's better. So I let the Communist go... what's that? Well yeah, I'm here at her wedding--she invited me! Huh? Well, I guess she recognizes a true superheroine when she sees one, and knows that me tryin' to kill her all those times wasn't nothin' personal. Yeah, I also tried to kill her on this island... you gonna let me tell my story or not?

I needed a break, time to relax, you know? So as soon as I can I head to Afghanistan, and end up not too far from Jalalabad--yeah, Jalalabad, can you believe the goofy names they come up with over there? I figured that if things got slow, I'd head over the Khyber Pass into Pakistan and see what was what. Well, things didn't get slow; the convoy I was gettin' a ride from--uh, this is all unofficial, got me? This company, who shall remain nameless, took one look at me and the commander wanted me around. The area was poppin', lotsa explosions a ways off, and we were headed in that direction, with not too much air support in our future, based on what the radio was reporting. Can ya blame him for wantin' me to tag along? Dame like me comes in handy in a nasty situation, and after the roadside bomb hit, yeah, things got nasty...

Long story short, I'd just emptied my M61 Vulcan--that's a Gatling gun, if ya don't know. It's made by General Electric, who I'm no fan of, with that puke Jeff Imelt doin' all that business with Iran, and Ecomagination? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? But the lead I sent flyin' did the job just fine. Not the greatest Gatling I've ever fired, no sir, but there's a couple dozen Taliban in "Paradise" right now who'd tell ya it did the trick that day. My bottle's empty, and no, I don't want any more of that Elvin Blood, or whatever Al's handin' out!

Anyway, the men are cheerin' and whoopin' it up, and just as I'm takin' a bow, boom! I get some muscle spasms in my back, except I see a shadow goin' over me at the same time, and I realize someone's jumped over me! Me! Even takin' a bow, your average fella just can't do that! I straighten up and look at the guy, who's landed about twenty feet in front of me.

Now, it was headed towards nightfall, and all the smoke was mixin' in the dying light to make the sky get that piss-look to it. Like that Mountain Dew Republicat's always drinking. Republicat? She's my roommate back home; likes sweet soda and that Starbuck's puke. Anyway, right off I can see this Arab's got a blade that ain't glowin' because it's catching the sunlight, it's glowin' because the guy's one of those Ahibaz freaks. Ahibaz? They call themselves that 'cause it's Zabiha backwards, and Zabiha means how those losers have to slaughter their animals or something. I'm an American, what do I care how some camel jockey slaughters his goat before he eats it? Well, in this case, I guess it's important, 'cause the Zabiha thing says you've gotta kill the animal you're gonna eat nice 'n quick--they treat their animals better'n they treat their women... you ever see a dame get stoned to death because she wouldn't have sex with her husband? Where's that fuckin' wine Bardak's giving away...

All right, that's better. Yeah, those Ahibaz have knives that're blessed by demons, and these assassins have powers as long as they only kill infidels the opposite of the Zabiha way. They like to make it slow, and right now, I'm lookin' at one of 'em right in front of me, and the Vulcan in my hand is empty. What? Of course I was only holdin' it with one hand, it's just a Gatling gun! Only a gun that's empty ain't really a gun, it's a hunk of metal, so I put the hunk to good use and throw it at the little freak, and what does he do? He beats everything by jumpin' into the air, pushin' offa the damn thing as it was flyin' towards him, and coming at me! I duck, but again, I get more slices in my back, and now I feel the blood coming. Yeah, don't tell no one, but the Muslim-magic in his blade was scratchin' me--nothing bad, mind you, but enough to break my skin, which is sayin' something!

I yell at the boys to let me handle this, and make it clear that while the gentlemanly thing would be to help a dame out in this situation, I'm one dame who don't want it. So they stay back and start roarin' like the crowd at Ebbets Field when the Dodgers--oops, showin' my age there. When did they move to California? Anyway, with the soldiers cheerin' me on, I decide to put on a show, ya know? I figure I'll shoot the hoodoo blade outta the hajji's hand, box him for a while, then finish him off with a fancy wrestlin' move; fold him in half and then crumple him up, ya know? So I pull this Desert Eagle out, turn, and start to take aim, when kerblooey!

You know what that son of a bitch Ahibaz did? He couldn't even die right, and he took a fine firearm with him, to boot! Just as I'm bringing my gun up he lunges, and lunges blade-first. Picture that a minute, and now think on the odds of the tip of that bastard's blade stickin' right into the barrel of my Eagle! So that's the end of him, the end of my gun, and the end of the fight. I'm damn disappointed, but the fellas are cheerin', so I turn and start to take another bow, but suddenly feel that somethin' ain't right. This may sound funny, what with it bein' Arabia and the sun ain't down yet, but I feel a bit chilly, and as I'm bendin' to show my gratitude to the audience, I can tell I don't have the, um, support I usually do... in the chest area.

Yeah, there I am, standin' in front of the entire convoy, bare-titted! Nothin' on me from the waist up 'cept some road dust and the residue from my gun exploding in my hand! Turns out the slices from the Ahibaz's blade and the blast from the Eagle was enough to finish my tank top. I tell ya, if I thought they were cheerin' me before, now it was like... why hell, it was like a pack of horny soldiers were gettin' an eye full of my goods, 'cause that's just what they were doin'! For a second I'm self-conscious, as I'm a modest dame, ya know? Then I figure there's no harm; I was gonna put on a show anyway, but the hajji dyin' so quick canceled that performance, so I took my hands down...

After a while they got me a new top; this huge guy, a former college wrestling champion, musta been six-foot eight, he gives me the tank top he was wearin'. Damn tight fit, but do you think they had a problem with that? Me? Of course not, I was havin' a blast! The only problem was, I smelled like that cheap Axe man-perfume for the rest of the day. Well, there was another problem, too... did you know that some of those pocket-telephones... cell phones, that's right. Some of those cell phones have cameras built into 'em? Well, if you wanna picture to go along with my story, head to that pervert interweb place, the Angel Falls babe-watch one...

So after that I kick around the region for a while, and eventually cause enough of a ruckus that some generals say I oughta take off. They say it appreciative-like, but I can tell the heat's comin' down on 'em, and I figure a couple thousand dead Pashtun pussies is enough for--what's that? Well, I lost count after a while, but yeah, I figure I took care of about two-thousand of 'em in under a week... why? That wine gettin' to you?

You're lookin' like I did when I got back and found Olga's wedding invitation waitin' for me, kinda peaked, ya know?

--The End--

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An example of what one may hear when speaking to the Crimson Conservative at a social function. An appropriate story for a wedding? Perhaps not, but what else does she have to talk about? Pretty tame for her, when you think about it...

Well, I did it again, just sat down and typed a story (or a scene, rather) as it came to me. First time I added a story to go along with a picture, too. I almost said "little" story, but Connie can go on, can't she? Anyway, I felt that Supro's amazing picture deserved something to go along with it, and is it just me, or does Connie look good dirty?

outdid himself in the creation of this picture, and made Connie look both hot and cute at the same time, something that is hard enough to do with a regular woman, and a much more difficult task when my girl is the subject. Head over to his page if you want a very affordable piece of artwork for yourself.
is where Connie told this tale of bullets and boobs, during the wedding reception of 's Olga and 's Maia. owns "Al," better known as General Bardak, who provided "Elvin" wine to the party... or at least that's what Connie thinks he called it. I wrote this story, and the Crimson Conservative is (c) 2009 to me.

Comments welcome, even if it's to lament the soldier with the cell phone's good taste in only posting that PG-13 picture of Connie...