sharpshooter
02-22-2017, 01:45 PM
The rain had stopped and there was a big puddle in front of the bar just outside the American Legion Post.
A rumpled old Army ground-pounder was standing near the edge, with a fishing line in the puddle.
A curious young Marine fighter pilot came over to him and asked what he was doing.
"Fishing," the old sergeant simply said.
"Poor old loon," the Marine officer thought to himself, and invited the old Army infantryman into the bar for a drink.
As he felt he should start a conversation while they were sipping their spirits, the young jet pilot winked at another pilot and asked, "How many have you caught today?"
"You're number 14," the old sergeant answered, taking another sip from his double shot of 12 year old Scotch, "2 Air Force, 3 Navy and 9 Marines.”
A rumpled old Army ground-pounder was standing near the edge, with a fishing line in the puddle.
A curious young Marine fighter pilot came over to him and asked what he was doing.
"Fishing," the old sergeant simply said.
"Poor old loon," the Marine officer thought to himself, and invited the old Army infantryman into the bar for a drink.
As he felt he should start a conversation while they were sipping their spirits, the young jet pilot winked at another pilot and asked, "How many have you caught today?"
"You're number 14," the old sergeant answered, taking another sip from his double shot of 12 year old Scotch, "2 Air Force, 3 Navy and 9 Marines.”