Tag: jenkins (Page 8 of 9)

“General, have I done something to you, personally, to warrant this treatment?”

“Done something to me? Jenkins, you’re my favorite man.”

“I am? Then how do I make you hate me, sir?”

“Oh, many ways, Jenkins. Malingering. Bolshevism. That sort of thing. To be honest, the nitpickery on your end is getting on my last tit.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stay off that last tit, Jenkins! Dangerous place to be!”

“That’s what the scuttlebutt around the mess hall says, sir.”

“You should be thanking me for volunteering you for this.”

…

“Thank you?”

…

“Thank you, sir?”

“There’s my man! Think nothing of it, Jenkins. Now hop on the MD.”

“MCD?”

“Motorcycle of Death.”

“Ah. Sir, this is not a motorcycle. It is a scooter.”

“Nonsense, Jenkins. If it were a scooter, then it would be named the SD.”

“And, yet. It is a scooter, sir. You step over a motorcycle, you step through a scooter.”

“Well, there you go, Jenkins! You can’t step through this.”

“Only because someone welded a cannon onto it.”

“The fact remains, Jenkins.”

“Yes, sir. Now, a small question: that small leather pad bolted to the cannon–”

“That’s the seat.”

“–is that actually…ah. Yes, sir.”

“Looks comfy.”

“I’m to rest my testicles on the gun?”

“Well, you’ll be wearing your uniform.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No more naked soldiering around here. It was a pain-in-the-ass getting that wise ass with the weird name out of the tree.”

“Yossarian?”

“Yes, him. What kind of name is Yossarian?”

“It’s Yossarian’s name, sir.”

“Terrible name. Who could ever remember it? Now: Jenkins. That’s a solid name. I would trust your name with my wife, Jenkins.”

“How is the general’s wife, sir?”

“Conducting multiple affairs.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”

“For the best! Allows me to get on with winning the war.”

“Which war is this again, sir?”

“One of them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now forget about my wife’s constant cuckoldry and put that massive deathstick between your legs and drive to where people are and shoot them with your powerful meat.”

“I’ll just continue as if we were both sane, sir. This will not work. This does not work. This cannot work.”

“Give me one good reason, Jenkins.”

“Physics.”

“Pshaw. A Jewish science.”

“Sir, a gun this size needs a stable platform from which to fire.”

“And?”

“And a scooter is the mathematical opposite of a stable platform.”

“It’s got a kickstand.”

“Still, sir: very wobbly. Bad for aiming.”

“Well, obviously you secure the platform down.”

…

“You mean sit on it while it fires?”

“Like ballast.”

“Making my testicles part of the gun’s emplacement, sir?”

“Jenkins, when you joined up, your balls joined up, too.  We’re all making sacrifices. My wife is being plowed by friend and enemy alike, you need to rest your sack on a working bazooka. War is hell.”

“I thought hell was other people, sir.”

“Well, war is nothing but people, isn’t it? The tanks aren’t shooting each other. Can’t have a war without people, Jenkins.”

“Maybe we should try one time, sir.”

“Oh, no. Put too many people out of work. Unions would squawk. Now get on the MCD.”

“Sir, I bring up one further snag in design.”

“Jenkins, you’ve got more snags than a snaggletooth. Laugh at my witticism.”

“Ha, sir. The problem was this: if I ride into battle with such an enormous gun, won’t I become a primary target for the enemy?”

“If they’re any good at all at what they do, yes.”

“They are, sir.”

“Then, yes: you would draw their fire. That’s what the armor is for.”

“The small bits of tin by my knees, sir?”

“Yes, Jenkins: the armor.”

“What about my head, sir?”

“Quite frankly, I’d rather protect your knees than your head. I don’t have to have conversations like this with your knees.”

“Would that you could, sir. But while my knees are important, my head is vital.”

“You’ll have a helmet, obviously.”

“And my torso, sir?”

“Bullet-proof vest.”

“And my arms, sir?”

“You’ve got two.”

“I’m attached to both, sir.”

“Blast your eyes, Jenkins! Take them from their sockets, blast them, put them back, and live with the knowledge that your eyes have been blasted!”

“Yes, sir. I have no more complaints.”

“Thank Jesus and all the lesser, foreign gods.”

“Just one question.”

“What is it?”

“Where does the ammo go?”

“Backpack.”

…

“General, if I tell you I’m a homosexual, will you have me thrown out of the military, please?”

“Jenkins, if you tell me you’re a homosexual, I’ll make passionate love to you right on top of that scooter.”

“I did not see you countering in this manner, sir.”

“Nevertheless, Jenkins: here we are.”

…

…

…

“Be gentle, sir.”

“I’ll do no such thing, Jenkins.”

“General, this is yet another terrible idea.”

“You know, Jenkins: if the Army could weaponize your whining, then we’d have no need for these contraptions.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The H-1 is the future of warfare. You can swoop in over Charlie and shoot at him.”

“You can do that in a helicopter, sir.”

“Not nearly as cool-looking, Jenkins. Viet Cong get one look at this thing and they’ll shit in their pajamas.”

“I’m pretty sure they’ll just shoot me down. After they stop laughing, that is.”

“Nonsense, Jenkins. The Asiatic is superstitious. Hell, they might surrender to you as a god.”

“The Viet Cong has an air force, sir. They are not savages in loincloths.”

“I’m not concerned with their underwear, Jenkins, and you shouldn’t be, either. Hearts and minds is what we’re after.”

“By shooting them from a hover-platform?”

“Right. Shoot them in their hearts, or shoot them in their minds. Best places to shoot someone. Ends the discussion immediately, and saves the taxpayer on bullets.”

“Can we discuss the technical shortcomings of the…what did you call it, sir?”

“The H-1.”

“The H stands for?”

“Hover.”

“And the 1?”

“First one.”

“I had no idea it was a prototype, sir. I thought the production models all came with duct tape holding them together.”

“Jenkins, damn your persnickety nature: that is not regular duct tape. It’s military-grade.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Price.”

“Sir, I reiterate: this is a terrible idea. I have twelve minutes of fuel.”

“You’ll attack like a cheetah.”

“There’s no armor.”

“Lightness is a weapon, Jenkins.”

“And it doesn’t go more than ten feet off the ground.”

“Of course not. If it went any higher, then that fruity little Air Force of ours would get their manicured mitts into it.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Low and lethal, Jenkins! In and out. The gooks won’t know what hit them!”

“Oh, sir. Can we not call them that?”

“I shouldn’t call the slopes ‘gooks?’ Why the hell not? I’m a white man in charge, and we’re in the past. I can call literally anyone literally anything I like.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now do a loop-de-loop.”

“Not possible, sir.”

“Barrel roll!”

“Nope.”

“Well, what does it do?”

“Putters unsteadily and slowly. And if you turn too quickly, you fall off.”

“How quickly is too quickly?”

“At all. If you turn at all, you fall off.”

“You’d better bone up on your map skills, Jenkins.”

“And it has no weapons, sir. It is a weapons platform with no weapons.”

“You’re the weapon, Jenkins! You’ll have a machine gun or something.”

“Oh, right. Yes. Here’s the thing about that: guns produce recoil.”

“Get to the point, Jenkins.”

“Yes, sir: when you fire a gun from this thing while it’s in the air, it flies in the other direction. It’s almost as if the action produces an equal and opposite reaction.”

“I’m sure there’s a way around that.”

“Not in this universe, sir.”

“Well, is the blasted thing good for anything?”

“I can look down women’s blouses.”

“Oh? Room for two up there?”

“No, sir.”

“Then get the hell off. General’s going boobie-looking.”

“Yes, sir.”

When did the Brands’ prank meetings begin? A person could just, say, throw dogshit at a paramedic and consider his April Fool’s obligations fulfilled, but a Brand needs a prank that furthers their narrative and meshes with the core values, enticing the customers into a conversation about how the Brand can meet their needs.

I would assume that the prank meetings begin right after the new year, just like the tax meetings. There has to be a lot of brainstorming involved.

“What if we tell everyone our CEO murdered the president?”

“Get out, Jenkins.”

“There are no bad ideas in brainstorming!”

“Murdering the president is always a bad idea, jackass.”

A Brand’s prank needs to be laced with not only hilarity, but also virality: on April Fool’s Day, the 75% of the innertubes that aren’t actively pranking people are reporting on said prankery. How do we get our prank to trend? What’s the most appropriate hashtag for our prank? Can we get a celebrity to cameo in our prank?

But their hard work pays off, Enthusiasts. My God, the wit and wonder of these fine social media executives and their cross-platform fun! It’s like Shenaniganistan today and I want to live in this moment forever!

Oh, Netflix. Oh, Google and Hamburger Helper and all the other Brands. Thank you for this day, and the mirth you’ve made.