Rorke’s Drift



Many a time it is said (by me for the first time) that honor surrounds a battlefield and that men rise tall to the challenge of surviving a certain death. 

Wtf. Who wants to be shot in the head or up the butthole. The only reason you can’t run is because you don’t want to be shot up the ass or hung by your mates for cowardice.

I am the young British soldier on “Tour” in Africa.

Thank goodness they put me in a bright red uniform so none of the Zulus can spot me from 4 miles away. 

My morale is high as I can crap on a bush and I have excellent chow consisting of virtually fuck all and some bully beef. The water is clean and delicious and allows my butt to squeeze out a liquid not dissimilar to the water I drank. Luckily I have triple ply bogroll. Not.

I love walking as well. Yippy. I get to push a cart which weights 3 tons with 5 other guys also dressed nicely in red with white belts. I also have to carry other stuff on my back which weighs about 42kgs. I also get to wear a nice White hat which I love a lot.  

I love my gun. Ok my rifle. Not only do I have to carry the thing but I get to shoot it a lot. I can shoot two small balls a minute which is very good. 

I want a fucken horse. At least if it dies I can eat it. However I am a private and I have more chance of buttfucking the Zulu king than being allowed to sit on a horse. 

We were all very positive when a battle kicked off because we knew the enemy could see us clearly from our very camouflaged red uniforms so they wouldn’t get confused and attack some other fucktards army by mistake. 

I couldn’t run and had absolutely no fucken choice. Our odds were good. Shoot a lot with your rifle thing or get a spear from a Zulu warrior through your eye. Getting it through your eye could get you a medal, through your butthole, not. 

Luckily I was sent on a very special mission to a field hospital (not really a hospital) at Rourkes drift. Sounds like an excellent Irish pub. It wasn’t.

I walked, well marched to the spot. Excellent walk. Loved it. 

Shortly after we arrived we got to do a lot of exercise filling bags with sand then carrying the 30kg things and some heavy as shit tins about 150 meters but the really cool part was that we got to build a wall. A lot of walls actually. You know when you played games with other little kids at home well this was absolutely not anything like it, at fucken all. 

I needed a shit regularly as the water was still leaking out my butthole. I was quite hot but luckily I had my entire uniform to keep me amazed with my chosen profession. 

Quite a few of my mates had the plague. I am still not sure how they got that. Luckily for them as I mentioned previously we had an excellent hospital at the Rourkes drift place. It resembled a horse or cattle barn with lots of little rooms full of character. The best thing about the hospital was you could lie down and die there. 

We also had a church which as I now reflect must have been put there by a very canny Irishman or the Lord himself. 

A number of hours later we were forced to attend a Zulu dance thrown by about 4 thousand Zulus who actually looked rather pissed with us. Not sure why. Not only did they throw the dance but they threw a lot of spears as well. A fuck load. They must have spent 17 years making all those things or maybe they imported them from China. 

They also lit a braai, well very similar to one except they used the thatch as a firelighter unfortunately whilst we were still resting in the now very warm hospital. It may well have been the first modern attempt to smoke humans. 

I did quite a lot of ducking and diving and a lot of squats that night and my thighs were bloody sore the next day. I have never exercised so much in one night. I had to Shoot my rifle a lot as well. It was so hot that I had visions of sticking it up my butthole to rebore my asshole to remove my piles.

I watched quite a number of my mates killed and ripped apart by nasty looking axe things. I envied them.

There was no Burger King here. 

The next day the Zulus left to go to a different Irish pub. Thank goodness because they trashed this one and killed quite a few of my mates. 

Luckily my beautiful red uniform was glistening even more with the blood of all my mates who died for fuck all. 

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