DICKO – WE ALL HAD ONE By Jude Gonzalez, 8/9 RAR
In 8/9 RAR in the late ’80s me and my mate, Dicko were finally allowed to move out of the C Coy lines. The only place we could get was this shitbox nicknamed ‘The Pad’. We tried everywhere to get a rental place but no one would rent us a place as we were so young and AJs. The pad was the shittiest flat you’d ever see. It even had iron bars on the window! The shit that went down in that place was unbelievable. If I remember correctly, one of the B Coy boys drove through our wall in his 4×4 while trying to shine his spotlight into my room (while I was shagging some chick). There was one rule in that pad – if you came in, you had to bring a bottle of piss. Dicko, my flatmate, was a farken crazy bastard. If I remember correctly, he lost his virginity in the pad and caught the clap at the same time.
Most of the time he only ever had one eyebrow because one of the guys would shave it off when he passed out. One of his best efforts though was when he came home late one night from being on the piss and he spent an hour trying to cook a steak (as he had the munchies). The pisshead was so farked that he thought he had turned the stove on but he hadn’t. The next morning I woke up to find a plateful of blood and the Numpty had eaten the steak raw. He thought he’d cooked it.
I remember one day that he and I were so pissed at morning parade that the platoon NCOs got the CQMS to lock us in the company armoury to keep us away from the CSM. We spent most of the day asleep curled up next to SLRs. We got some extras for that one… The pad will be remembered for big drinking, dirty women, cars, fights, power pukes and hangovers… (memories). Looking back, I am now sure that there was a Dicko in every battalion. Without those mad fuckers like the Dickos of the world, the Army would have been really bloody boring.
The bursting radius of a hand grenade is always one foot greater than your jumping range.