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!!!!!!!!!
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
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!)
the Headset Herald
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.)
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.
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.