THE THREE MUSKETEERS By John Bergmans, 4 RAR/NZ
Charlie, Dogs, Vic, me and a heap of other blokes were on the grog in this bar in Vungers. We’d been drinking all day. Mama-San, the bar girls and even some Vietnamese blokes were all pissed as newts. Music was playing – you know the type – Vietnamese trying to sing American songs, all out of tune, mind you. Anyway, Daryl decided he’d add a bit of fun to the proceedings by hopping onto a table and doing a striptease in front of everyone. Not content with that, he then leant forward, shoved a bit of newspaper in his arse and lit it. He then did the dance of the “Flaming Arseholes”. With all this jumping and leaning over, the table began to collapse, sending Daryl flying face first into the lap of a bar girl. As he fell, he grabbed hold of the ceiling fan, which didn’t take his weight, and pulled it and the rice paper ceiling down. There we all were, still sitting at the bar with our heads poking out of the rubble and with sparks flying everywhere from exposed and shorting-out power lines, still drinking.
“Another quiet day”.
