Concerning FOBbits.

FOBbits are creatures who live in holes. These may either be physical, as in concrete bunkers, or mental, as in a total belief that every Iraqi is out to get them. Because of this second one, many of the FOBbits display DCSS, Delusional Combat Stress Syndrome.

A FOB, of course, is a Forward Operating Base. They are what once called a firebase before that term got too politically incorrect. A FOBbit then, is one who’s entire existence is lived out in one of these politically correct firebases. (see Sea-Monkeys)

Some will defend the FOBbit’s existence saying, “Without the support they provide we could not win the war.” This is entirely correct. I respect the poor little things whose only reason for getting up in the morning is to ensure I have bullets to blow the enemy away with. I respect them a hella lot more than some of my commanders.

However, there is a problem sometimes with FOBbits. Sometimes they begin to believe that THEY are the sole reason for existence. They sometimes believe I support them, or worse yet, my guys are nothing more than a nuisance to their continued existence. These self-important slugs sit in their offices and e-mail out demands, work 9 to 5, can’t do anything without a signature in triplicate and generally frown when you wear muddy boots into their…clean little lives.

BUT- for every one FOBbit whose ass graces a chair there is a Support Puke who goes out of their way to help those of us who wear muddy boots. Willy and Joe knew these guys and loved ‘em just like we do today. However, this article is concerning FOBbits…and so I’ll sweep out the good and retain the bad…for now.

To help you understand our little group has come up with some criteria to help you spot a FOBbit:

You may be a FOBbit if: (stolen, obviously, from an idea by Jeff Foxworthy)

You state your weapon is only for show.
Your weapon has either a sock in the mag well, or have a bag covering the whole damn thing.
You care what uniform arming status is.
You confuse thunder with incoming.
You have your own bunker.
Your body armor and helmet have to be dusted off before you put them on.
You travel to the Iraqi side of base escorted by three M1114s…in full battle rattle.
You live in your own secured compound, with private contract security guards, your own mess hall, your own laundry, your own trailers with real toilets, accessed only with a special photo ID you’ve created yourself…inside the FOB. (our higher headquarters).
You state, “This is only the second time I’ve left the IZ”…and you are in the mess hall…on TAJI FOB.
Someone has to show you how to clear your weapon.
You notice the food today at the mess hall is not too bad…rather than the slutty Air Force babes at the next table.
You rotate back to the states and no one notices…or cares.
You fasten your seatbelt.
You have to think about how to justify your CAB.
‘We got us a convoy!’ means a bunch of you are headed over to the MWR to watch a movie.
You think a safety brief is written on the side of a pack of razors.
All the girls at the beauty shop know your first name. (yes, Taji has a beauty shop)
You have never violated any part of General Order # 1.
You have never violated any part of AR 670-1.
You salute.
Your PT uniform is faded more than your DCUs.
Your DCUs are starched and pressed. (MAJ Clarke)
Those f****** advisors at the next table keep looking at you and laughing.
You turn in any illegal weapons you find.
You say, “Gee, I’d like to go with you on a mission sometime.”
You have no idea what MacDonnal’s is.
You brag about how many missions you’ve had…and it’s less than 20.
You brag about the ONE time you were blown up by an IED.
You think the CASH is that green crap in your wallet.
You start any sentence with, “Well, according to the regulation…”


Of course, there are entire organizations over here that are little colonies of FOBbits. These are have cute little names made up of letters to camouflage their FOBbitness. Let’s start at the top and work our way down, shall we?

MNC-I = Mostly Non-Competent Idiots
MNSTC-I = Mainly did Nothing to Support the Troops under our Command in Iraq
CMATT = Can’t Manage Anything Today or Tomorrow
CPATT = Can’t Possibly Attempt That Today
IAG = It’s Anyone’s Guess
BSU = Bull Sh*t, Usually

…and then there are organizations with names that have a different definition than what it sounds like;

Phoenix Academy (known to the non-FOBbits as the Emerald City) = Please don’t think we will Help you, Only thing that Exists in our minds is Not our subordinate units but If we can make our X-sistance more comfortable. Actually, C, A wall around our compound is A Demonstration that in Effect My comfort is more important than Yours.

Dutch- out