The FINAL Edition

June 1976

THE FRONT PAGE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT LETTERS TO THE EDITOR EDITORIAL PAGE
THE DOWNFALL AND DESTRUCTION OF A SUPER-JEEP
GREAT MOMENTS IN MILITARY HISTORY PART ONE
PARTING SHOTS Home

THE FRONT PAGE Top
        Hi kids. The End is near, yes, once again this is Kouzin Kojak in his Kozmik Kitchen kooking up all sorts of kulinary morsels for you kiddies to feast your libidos on, but this time I must admit I am totally mesmerized by the fact that so many of you, (us), will soon depart my domain, or if you work the Priory Arms you can spell that Ptomaine”.
         I’m short, I admit it, I’d have to wear platform shoes to milk a cow right now, and I know that that isn’t as funny as the sctik about not being able to walk under a pregnant ant, but it was for the drunks at the club tonight. OK I can limbo dance under this typewriter, how about that! Can you do it?
        The truth is I am tired of cracking dull and tasteless nonsensical puns and jokes, as they sometimes tend to emulate anger which is returned in anger as if a 2 cent deposit-return Coca-Cola bottle, I feel that we need not display such witless, vengeful retorts as “You wrote that about me, well up your ass, buddy!”
        Indeed, the time has come for The Headset Herald to give you an example of skilled journalism, you know, a bit of savior faire, a little couth, taste, instead of the run-of-the-mill, lackadaisical, backwoods, cornball garbage that normally spews off of these humble presses, therefore we promise at least one, (1), serious literary attempt.
        But in the meantime, back to the trash. I’ve been looking around my room here and I can spot at minimum twenty different accounts of false advertising, or at least, we can safely say, misleading advertising, and I begin to wonder when Madison Avenue is going to come clean.
        Really now, Gillette Right Guard insists that it is the “family” deodorant, I as you, how many people do you know that seriously wants their family to smell like The Pittsburgh Steelers? There’s a bottle of after-shave lotion here that say it is all-purpose lotion and this quite plainly insists that it is not merely after-shave. This means you can use it for; sun-tan oil, Kool-Aid, furniture polish, shampoo, paint-thinner, brake fluid, detergent or even for that matter birth control.
        Last but not least is Wonder Bread, for which I have only one thing to say; my cousin Sydney (The Stud), insists that even he can’t make strong bodies twelve ways! Nuff Said!

(sex is almost like)
(love)
(only quicker)

You walked into Building 600
like you were skating on Welch’s Jam
your face was like a frozen tundra
you’re a criminal on the lam.
And you drooled all over the mirror
as you stopped to comb your hair.
And all the guys walking by
think that you shave with Nair, yeah
you shave with Nair.
and you’re so vain
you’re probably just another TSgt.
Carly (Simpler) Simon
(sister of Paul)

THE CREDITS
Editor in Chief—Mike Huskins
Heir Apparent—Doc Dan Acton
Heir Freshener—Tom “Bado” Bell
Heir Remover---Willie “Kojak” Williams
Special After-Effects—Jim Stanley

P.S. We certainly hope this edition will be a veritable Whitman’s Sampler of giggles and guffaws. Lord knows we’re trying. Nothing makes you people laugh anymore. I’d be willing to bet that if I came to a costume party dressed as a laxative none of you would even snicker. I’m tired of trying so this is the last whole headset herald, and it is dedicated to all of you leaving this summer.-----------SHORT!!!!!!!!!

MY LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT Top benefactors: Baker Flight Before I go into the sordid details of my own will, let me say the Mike Huskins, now departed to another world, has left a set of “ear weights” to Scott Swanson so that he will pick up even the heaviest dits that Mike, Lord bless him, will no longer be able to hear.

To Sgt. Stone I hereby bequeath one (1) copy of “Commanding Respect”, now I know a lot of X1’s will try to take Sgt. Stone for granite, but he is really a marble to behold, he may seem hard as rock at first, and may start off with a hard shales pitch but in due time you will be able to start with a clean slate, and the X1’s will eventually crystallize into boulder, smoother section.

To Bill Blackerby I leave the sheet music to “Oh Promise Me” and “I’m getting married in the Morning”, two hammering numbers he will undoubtedly need in the future.

To Lance Romance I leave a picture of Tarzan’s son and a cartoon of Yogi Bear, so he can distinguish between these and human beings.

To Scott Swanson I leave a copy of the record, “If I had a Hammer”, and a fish bowl filled with jelly beans, plus a schedule for the Base Nursery.

To Hogg Jackson I leave a four year supply of Tootsie Rolls, two freezers full of beef, a $5000 gift certificate to MacDonald’s, my meal card, a copy of Farmer’s Almanac, and a copy of Dr. Reuben’s Save Your Life Diet.

To Frank Willi I hereby bequeath three joy buzzers, a handful of straws to shoot spitballs with, a box of paper clips and a trash can full of Coke can tabs, plus sixteen roles of toilet tissue and a Whoopee cushion, keep em on their toes buddy!

To John Morgan I leave a pass key to all UK WAF barracks, a bottle of Cutty Sark and a book for junior contortionists in the hopes that he might someday learn to at least drink himself.

To MSgt Eakin I leave two museum pieces: my fatigue pants and three locks of my hair from 21 Dec 74, plus copies of all of my APR’s in the knowledge I wholly deserved every one of them.

To Danny Richardson I leave a teething ring and pacifier, (Debbie’s leaving next month) a bottle of No-Doze, and an instruction guide on how to cope with nocturnal fantasies.

To Debbie Koehler I bequeath a teddy bear, (that looks like Danny), a typewrite repair manual and a button that reads, “DR for Congress”.

To Dave Buckner I leave the book, “How to Guard a Harem Without Being a Eunuch” and a key guaranteed to open double locked doors.

To Dan Acton I leave a door with a triple lock.

To John Settler (Little Lance) I bequeath a lifetime supply of Lady Clairol, a comb a mirror and a pair of horn rimmed glasses in the hopes that he will try to look like anybody else.

To Glenn Moore I leave the prospect of working the middle aisle and a free ticket to see Bambi, also a buffer whose name I understand has been changed.

To John (Mike Rooney, Jr.) Warren and Bob (Bugs) Moran I leave two tickets to see the play, “the Odd Couple” and a photo of their wives posing with Troy Donahue in Hawaii.

To Martha Byerley I leave Tung Chou’s Chinese Cookbook and an option to burn it, plus a day return ticket to Mildenhall.

To Eileen Moore I leave a book and record Japanese self-taught in Sixty Days.

To Tom (Bado) Bell I leave a box of banjo strings and a set of TSgt Stripes that he will find useful in days to come.

To Nick Weber I leave two tickets for next year’s Wimbledon.

To all married couples on flight I leave tickets back to the USA on the QE II, give yourselves sometime to get adjusted to the American economy.

To Tom Smith I leave “the Desk” and a book entitled “How to Cope with X1’s and Mike Coyle”. Hope you don’t mind Tom but you can have it all.

To Bob Burger I leave the bill for all of the above, we all know he is independently wealth and has grown “fatter” from the Air Force.

Signed, Sealed and Delivered 22 June 76
F. Dean (Kouzin Kojak, Will-ie) Williams

LETTERS TO THE EDITOR Top

Dear Sirs,

    I used to be known as The Pied Piper of Hamlin, a fairly presumptuous title. Agreed? Rajah! However, that deal with the rats and brats got to be a mousey operation, still I haven’t gotten any credit from Hollywood to date.
    Who do you think recruited all them cheese eaters for Willard and Ben, and has Disney ever given me a dime’s worth of thanks for Mickey. My toughest cases were Mighty Mouse and Speedy Gonzalez, but I’m tired of trying to make an honest living.
    This upcoming break Hammer Night you will be comfortably trying to enhance mother nature progress by pouring double screwdrivers into some young delectable creature, when you will experience untold total horniness, and you will watch all of the women leave.
    You will hear a low melodic tune on flute and you will see all these luscious beauties following a 50 Cu. Ft. Norge Freezer Queen in leotards, that will be me and unless you immediately turn over all of your Budweiser reserves you will never see them again.
            Q. How do you fit 125 women into a used Jaguar?
            A. 75 in the back 50 in the front.
Sounds like a joke, well it ain’t!

Lance Romance

P.S. Music hat charm to soothe the savage breast, by jingo!

Dears Sirs,

Ponce de Leon can eat my shorts sautéed or broiled. I’m thinking of dying my hair gray or drawing crows feet under my eyes with an orange grease pencil. Pepsi Cola can think young all they want. Donny Osmond, how do you live with yourself?

Scott Swanson

Dear Sirs,

    I am Mark Barney’s wife and I wish to air a grievance over all the nasty things you said about my husband in the last edition.
    Did you take into consideration for one second that the TV was Mark’s sole source of joy and entertainment. Well, since he read that trash you wrote, he’s completely changed.
    He comes home from work brooding and sits in the corner sucking his thumb and I can’t even get him to look at the tube.
     Look at it from my side, OK? British TV is not all that great so I don’t mind him changing the channels, and as for the Cheez Whiz it at least keeps the houseflies out of the kitchen and bedroom
    Look, you guys, the truth is I can’t stand drinking the water over here, really I think the British must recycle their sewage through an auto grave yard to get it to taste so bad, and actually Mark never leaves any money at home, and well, I confess that I take a kitchen knife and dig around the back of the TV set for a little loose change to buy a Coke.
    Please don’t let Mark know about this, he thinks I’m abstaining, and I know it’s a bad habit. I sometimes believe he thinks I’m a camel and can go without drinking for days, but he’s never walked a mile for me yet!
    So, c’mon guys, apologize to him, and let’s get him back to his old lovable self. Ya want me to die of thirst or somethin’. Jeez.

Mrs. Mark B.

(Ed. Note – Hey, Barney, we are really sorry if we have upset you and your old lady really wields a mean meat cleaver…..Ta!)

EDITORIAL PAGE Top
        Have you noticed recently how I’ve forgotten to center a headline, pretty ridiculous isn’t it. But back to the main news and world events…now any of you who have been here for at least six months, I want you to get out of you chair (preferably after you’ve read this) and walk down the center aisle….what do you see? Now think about it, what becomes immediately evident after looking around at some of your peers…..that’s right you don’t know all that many of them and do you know why?….By God, Yes! They’re Jeeps….Yes! Those Post-Tech School Pygmies are everywhere just like cockroaches in your Grandma’s basement pantry.
        Hi there, Jeeps, Boys and Girls, this is your ol’ beer breathed pal Kojak the Klown, hey hey, and have I got a war story for you today, hey hey fun stuff, right kiddies, and not only that, there will be cartoons from Donald Puke, Mickey MSgt and maybe even a visit from Thumbelina the three day pass fairy, who will give door prizes to all the Mod Squad X1’s hey hey! so don’t go away boys and girls, cause right after this commercial for Swanson’s Frozen E-Z kiddies dinners we’ll begin our first war story for all the Jeepies in Creepers Land.
        You know kid, Socrates once said something to the effect that he couldn’t handle the kids of his generation. He could have if only he’d had Scott Swanson’s Frozen E-Z dinners, these little culinary alphabet blocks contains all you favorites like, boneless Kentucky Fried Chicken fragments, Enfamil mashed potatoes and Gerber’s pulverized corn, but as an added extra you get Creomulsion and Similac surprise for desert, doesn’t that make your taste buds do the old dress right routine.
        Well, I’m back again boys and girls, and now we get into (pandemonium breaks out in the peanut gallery) calm down kiddies, that’s right it’s war story time, and our first one comes from Ron Kabza who says that he surprised all of you childs, (peanut gallery emits oohs and ahhs) yes you’re right kids, childs is not a word and for being so good on your grammar we’re giving you all free Frank Willi wrist watches, the little man there is Frank and he sits at a typewriter thing, this being a digital wristwatch you can wait until the hour hits and see Frank poke in the correct time, isn’t that something. But as I was saying boys and girls, Mr. Kabza has been around the Kommie Kozmik Kitchen for a very long time and he says he is amazed at how we saunter in now adays, because he had to do the prisoner’s march when he was little.
        Now in his war story, he used to be the head bartender at the Annex when it used to be in the The Priory, this was when King George V was still in and the population of Luton was only 54 and yet still were at the top of division One.
        He goes on to say that at this time the pound was worth fifty dollars and that the pay of a MSgt was around Seventeen-fifty a year. “Those were the good old days,” Mr. Kabza says, “back then if a hammer asked you for 2 pence she didn’t want to call a cab, that was for the cab fare and a small get together in the Taj Mahal, 1 pence would easily get her home from here, and that’s from anywhere around Edinburgh or closer.”
        Now Kiddies our next war story is from Mr. McCloud who says, you kids have it easy. If you were in “the Brown Shoe” days, hey kids remember that cartoon we saw on those days with Mickey MSgt and Donald Puke, well anyway in the “Brown Shoe” days there were seventeen men to a 8’ x 6’ x 2’ room, you had to have a crease that would cut wood in your playthings and you had to spit shine your underwear. Not only that but at mealtime the mean old Sgt would select someone at random and spit in his eggs and make him swallow every mouthful while standing on his head and repetitiously reciting “I am a Dummy”.
        Well, boys and girls I’ve just gotten a notice here that says my Kozmik Kitchen is Kancelled, and as parting words I’d like to say that I’ve dearly loved meeting and knowing all you boys and girls, and even though I sometimes act like our naughty cartoon fish friend, Bass Todd and that though I sometimes go into my Karnival of Konniptions I wish you all the best in life and all the happiness and good weather that our friend SSgt Sun brings us for the rest of your lives. Thank you all and now Thumbelina the three day pass fairy will play The Star Spangled Banner on her cheeks with a teaspoon.   Bye Bye Boys and girls.

the Headset Herald

The Downfall and Destruction of a Super-Jeep Top by The Buck and Big Strick It is not out of lack of respect for the poor disheartened soul (Jerry Miller) who had these serious and unbearable consequences befall him that we feel it necessary to disclose such personal and embarrassing information but because we feel we owe it to our readers who trust in us to bring them up to date and first hand information. The information was brought to our news desk by two of Jerry’s co-workers who tried but tried in vain to keep secret (his lack of intelligence). Even his unsuspecting supervisor had no idea that it was not he (Jerry) but his cohorts that insured what little productivity that came from his position.
An anonymous letter to the Commander USAFSS sparked off the chain of events which have been unequalled and unsurpassed in the annals of military history. We have included here not only the initial letter but also the succeeding correspondence between Jerry and the men he feels he is being persecuted by.

Anonymous From a Member of Baker Flight…..

Dear Sir
This letter is in regards to the biggest jeep on Baker Flight… Jerry Miller. Due to his total lack of intelligence he has blundered through around seven months of total darkness. He has no concept what-so-ever as to the nature of the mission on the hill, even though he has supposedly been active in it for those previously mentioned seven months. Sir with all due respect I submit Jerry for termination of his duties on the Hill and request that he be charged with interfering with the mission. An offense punishable by extension of no less than 10 nor more than 20 years on the Sands to pull detail in the commissary for the duration of his sentence.
Anonymous

After Due consideration and A Visit from Col. Klear…..

Dear Sir
I Jerry Miller do hereby confirm that I will never again pretend to be an efficient X1. I also promise never again to break my coffee cup due to a total lack of coordination (my doctor said it would go away when I grew up), and last but not least I swear by unreadable copy that I will never again bleed mids.
Gerald (Super Jeep) Miller

After a Direct Order From Capt. Perish….

Dear Sir
Due to unforeseen circumstances I will not be able to maintain my promises that were earlier sent to you. One reason is simple…I will always bleed mids as it is my nature (similar to that of a Do-Do Bird). Secondly, my coordination problem is hereditary one, not from my parents but from my pet turtle. And lastly, I still can not figure out what an X1 is supposed to do.
Gerald (Do-Do bird) Miller

After A Minor Accident…..

Dear Sir
    Once again I appeal to you sense of Justice. Just because I smashed your garage door, ran over your daughter, hit you new Jaguar, and flushed you cat down the toilet, why have you chosen to pick on me.
       Leavenworth, Kansas
       Gerald (Remorseful) Miller

From The Arctic…..

Dear Sir
Thank you for allowing me to visit my mother but really sir, why was there an armed guard on me the whole time I was at the hospital. I can’t understand it Sir. I did not do anything that bad, did I Sir? Please allow me to return to Leavenworth. It is not that I dislike the Arctic. It really is a nice place Sir but since I have not got any clothes it is a little bit unpleasant here. Please give me one more chance Sir and I promise to never darken you country again.
Gerald (Have Mercy) Miller

Dear Sir
Thank you for giving me some United States soil for my very own. But really Sir, six feet on my face did make it a little difficult to breath. But I am not complaining Sir for I know you had a reason. But why did the guards shoot me in the head before they put dirt on. Honestly Sir you should know that that is the only place I am not vulnerable. For I have not got anything in there (my head) to lose. Thanks again for your consideration.
Gerald (Dumb Dead) Miller

(ed. note -- In the opinion of the author this was extremely harsh punishment although just. We submit this information to you readers for final analysis and hope you will draw the same conclusion as did the Board of Inquiry.)

GREAT MOMENTS IN MILITARY HISTORY PART ONE Top
A lot of people think that AFR 35-10 is a lot of nonsense and in modern times this may or may not be true. However if you had been serving under Gen. Pershing in World War One you would have thought otherwise believe me. For an on-the-spot report of why you might have thought differently we take you to the HQ of Pershing, which happens to be in a bordello somewhere near Del Rio, TX.

Aide: General Pershing, sir we seem to be having a little trouble in France.

Pershing: Who the &$%* are you, soldier, nurse! My head again, do something, you $&*%. (Nurse enters, places a leech on the bruised cranium of the general, then kisses the leech) Thank You!

Aide: God! What a hideous looking nurse!

Pershing: She’s not a nurse, she’s a prostitute.

Aide: Sir, you’re holed-up with a pack of harlots, how will this look in the history books?

Pershing: What’s better, being in some dysentery filled dirty fox hole in France with a bunch of half-naked, half-starved enlisted men?

Aide: Oh, by the way, Sir, we’re having a little trouble with the men in France, they’re being harassed by Cooties it seems.

Pershing: Shoot the damn foreigners!

Aide: Sir, I don’t thing you quite understand…..

Pershing: Damn it, soldier, I said shoot em!

(About six months later, Aide returns to HQ with a dead soldier)

Pershing: What the &$%* do you have there, soldier?

Aide: I believe it’s a dead soldier, Sir, if you will read above.

Pershing: Hmmm, I see, well why is he dead?

Aide: You see sir, you told us to shoot the cooties, and the cooties are literally in the Men’s hair and it’s very difficult to shoot these bugs without shooting the men as well.

Pershing: I’m glad I didn’t tell you to shoot crabs, only found out about those little buggers when I came to Del Rio.

Aide: Right, Sir, however if I may make a suggestion Sir, I think it best if we rid the men of cooties by shaving off all their hair.

Pershing: Why can’t you tear gas the little buggers?

Aide: I’m afraid that wouldn’t work sir, also it would probably not boost their morale very much.

Pershing: Why would I care what’s good for cooties morale?

Aide: I meant the men’s morale, Sir, not the cooties, well, anyway should I give the order to shave the men’s hair off?

Pershing: I don’t know, it’ll look damn silly in the history books. Nurse, my head’s better now, you slut. (Nurse removes withered leach from Pershing’s head, then fondles it next to her breast.) Well, if you’ve got to shave their heads then do it, but only the enlisted men, no officer in my outfit is going around looking like a bleached peach.

(At precisely that moment, an albino peach in a General’s uniform enters, doing a Turkey Trot to “On Moonlight Bay”.)

Aide: I see what you mean, sir, but we’ll have to shave the officers as well as the enlisted.

Pershing: My &%$* luck, OK do it, but be careful, and can’t you make that son-of-a-%&$*, soldier stand to attention?

Aide: I’m afraid not, Sir, it seems he’s dead.

Pershing: Oh!

(Two months later in the Aide’s tent in France)

Aide: Sir, it’s good to see you, our head shaving thing has really paid off. One congressman was so impressed he’s thinking of making it a military regulation, and the men’s morale went sky high after the first few, they were laughing and cajoling all through the trench……

Pershing: What about the &$*% cooties?

Frenchman: Zee cooteez, Zey are all vaneeshed, voila!

Pershing: Aide, shoot this damn foreigner.

Anyway, due to General Pershing’s heroics we now have AFR 35-10. We and our immediate supervisor’s salute you proudly.

THE PARTING SHOTS
(or Burn Down The Mission) Top
    You know this last edition was supposed to be a should lot longer than it is, Debbie will be furious when she finds out this is all there is to it) but if any of you think it’s easy please take my place. It’s very frustrating, you sit here write up something funny people come to you and say “that was a good point there”, what point damn it, that was supposed to be all out atomic hilarity and you say “good point”, and God only knows how lousy it is to watch someone reading something meant to be serious and they start to giggle, preceding a chuckle moving along to an outrageous guffaw and finally settling in totally to pandemonious hysterics. Well, I’m through with all that!
    You know that fellow who said, “‘tis better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all”, what a ridiculous mound of wax fruit that turned out to be. Christ that joker probably got his jollies by picking his nose with a salad fork in Trader Vic’s. Think about it, that guy probably never won anything, although he undoubtedly tried. He more than likely bought 50 of the dollar a shot raffle tickets for the pack of 8 individually wrapped cheese slices that Sigma Epsilon Mu from High Wycombe. To tell you the truth I believe they used that guy to stuff a mattress after he died, and it’s a good thing he did die too cause we don’t need any of that goody two shoes bull-rot these days. It was that kind of philosophy that put half of us into this awkward pre-Neanderthal organization to begin with.
    Well, anyway I don’t know what it could’ve won me, not even a toaster I grant you, but I’ve loved you all, in less than esoteric sense I assure you. I take that back I didn’t, repeat didn’t, love the men, not a one, they’re OK for being buddy buddy around the dorm but I personally wouldn’t think of such a thing, and how could I explain it to Mother. Anyway, I love you all and that’s all for now. Rats there I go again with that fuddy duddy nonsense, I lost a lot of respect by this one. I hope they did stuff the mattress.

Kojak

All things come to an end,
everything in it’s own time.
When I think of what I’m leaving behind
I stare at a wall
and go quietly out of my mind.

Darkened corners, partied evenings
cherished friends, perished meanings
regulations, hesitations
thoughts that leave me blind
in my own time.

But home is where the heart is
distance makes no difference
if you travel alone.
And pain is in the parting
when you find that life
is a house but not a home.

The evening stood on a wall
and swore at me laughing
as it does I grow incredibly small
I stare at it all
and wonder why I had to crawl.

Sheltered faces, ruined places
withered thoughts, forgotten traces
humiliation, migration
becoming harder to go
from people you know.

But home is where the heart is.