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Authors: Keith Fennell
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extra: a life-size mannequin named Private Lonely. Private Lonely had been a member of this army reserve unit for years, possibly decades, and he had become its mascot. Lonely was an iconic figure â some might even say a legend.
After a hard dayâs training, it was decided that the guys would have a few beers before getting an early night. It didnât take long for this theory to break down and it was Buster who led the charge. Obviously not prepared to wait for dinner, the big man took the cap off the biggest jar of pasta sauce available and proceeded to skol the entire contents. It was probably the greediest thing I have ever witnessed, and he devoured the lot without spilling a single drop.
And he didnât stop there. Obviously famished, and egged on by our laughs, he grabbed a second bottle of sauce â a smaller one â and gulped that down as well. I was intrigued by how the litre-plus of sauce, mixed with several litres of beer, was sitting inside that stomach of his. If heâd been able to keep it down, it would have been both gross and strangely impressive. As it was, it was pretty much just gross. His bodyâs rejection of the rich cocktail was truly disgusting to behold, but the fact that he didnât let it affect his appetite for more beers made us laugh all the harder.
It was at about this time that Private Lonely joined the party. In full ceremonial uniform he was obviously overdressed for the occasion, and the constant dumb smile on his face seemed to us like a provocation from the start. After some discussion, we agreed that Lonely looked uptight, so the boys encouraged him to relax a little by removing his tie, unbuttoning his collar and strapping a can of VB to his right hand. It was definitely an improvement. Jimmy pointed out that Lonely had a large cavity in the centre of his back and we quickly adopted it as a place to store our empty beer cans. Lonely didnât appear overly concerned and just kept on smiling.
Over the next few hours Lonely really came out of his shell. He became the life of the party. He also sported several new tattoos, courtesy of a whiteboard marker that someone found. There was much hilarity, but at this point Lonely could still have been transformed back to his old, pristine self in a couple of minutes. This would soon not be the case.
My recollection is that Private Lonely became increasingly boisterous under the influence of alcohol and began to pick fights. Iâm pretty sure the boys would back me up on that. Itâs all a bit hazy, but at some point in the ensuing altercations, Lonelyâs nose was bitten off. We had now passed the point of no return. How in the hell do you replace a mannequinâs nose? We couldnât even find the bloody thing. Perhaps Buster found it lying on the floor and ate it?
It was then that I noticed all these cool swords hanging on the wall. I stood on a stool and eased one out of its scabbard. As I applied the tip to Lonelyâs neck and straightened my arm, poised to strike, one of the boys placed a restraining hand on my soldier.
âGive it here, mate,â he said. âIf Iâm going to lose my job over this, then at least let me have the satisfaction of taking the prickâs head off.â
The warrior calmly draws his sword behind his head and strengthens his grip around the handle. The sword does not waver and is held upright, while the elbow of the lower arm points directly at the target â the neck of the enemy. The warrior, whose body is at 45 degrees to his prey, draws in one final breath and focuses all of his energy onto the point of impact. Then, in an instant, the blade slices the air in deathly silence and removes the head in one clean motion.
If this was the way a samurai warrior beheaded an opponent, then I guess it is fair to say that Iâve witnessed the complete opposite.
This guy took his place behind Private Lonely and looked a little off-balance from the
After a hard dayâs training, it was decided that the guys would have a few beers before getting an early night. It didnât take long for this theory to break down and it was Buster who led the charge. Obviously not prepared to wait for dinner, the big man took the cap off the biggest jar of pasta sauce available and proceeded to skol the entire contents. It was probably the greediest thing I have ever witnessed, and he devoured the lot without spilling a single drop.
And he didnât stop there. Obviously famished, and egged on by our laughs, he grabbed a second bottle of sauce â a smaller one â and gulped that down as well. I was intrigued by how the litre-plus of sauce, mixed with several litres of beer, was sitting inside that stomach of his. If heâd been able to keep it down, it would have been both gross and strangely impressive. As it was, it was pretty much just gross. His bodyâs rejection of the rich cocktail was truly disgusting to behold, but the fact that he didnât let it affect his appetite for more beers made us laugh all the harder.
It was at about this time that Private Lonely joined the party. In full ceremonial uniform he was obviously overdressed for the occasion, and the constant dumb smile on his face seemed to us like a provocation from the start. After some discussion, we agreed that Lonely looked uptight, so the boys encouraged him to relax a little by removing his tie, unbuttoning his collar and strapping a can of VB to his right hand. It was definitely an improvement. Jimmy pointed out that Lonely had a large cavity in the centre of his back and we quickly adopted it as a place to store our empty beer cans. Lonely didnât appear overly concerned and just kept on smiling.
Over the next few hours Lonely really came out of his shell. He became the life of the party. He also sported several new tattoos, courtesy of a whiteboard marker that someone found. There was much hilarity, but at this point Lonely could still have been transformed back to his old, pristine self in a couple of minutes. This would soon not be the case.
My recollection is that Private Lonely became increasingly boisterous under the influence of alcohol and began to pick fights. Iâm pretty sure the boys would back me up on that. Itâs all a bit hazy, but at some point in the ensuing altercations, Lonelyâs nose was bitten off. We had now passed the point of no return. How in the hell do you replace a mannequinâs nose? We couldnât even find the bloody thing. Perhaps Buster found it lying on the floor and ate it?
It was then that I noticed all these cool swords hanging on the wall. I stood on a stool and eased one out of its scabbard. As I applied the tip to Lonelyâs neck and straightened my arm, poised to strike, one of the boys placed a restraining hand on my soldier.
âGive it here, mate,â he said. âIf Iâm going to lose my job over this, then at least let me have the satisfaction of taking the prickâs head off.â
The warrior calmly draws his sword behind his head and strengthens his grip around the handle. The sword does not waver and is held upright, while the elbow of the lower arm points directly at the target â the neck of the enemy. The warrior, whose body is at 45 degrees to his prey, draws in one final breath and focuses all of his energy onto the point of impact. Then, in an instant, the blade slices the air in deathly silence and removes the head in one clean motion.
If this was the way a samurai warrior beheaded an opponent, then I guess it is fair to say that Iâve witnessed the complete opposite.
This guy took his place behind Private Lonely and looked a little off-balance from the
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