Fred's Five-Hour Flank: How Two Marines Got Ambushed by a Ceiling Story

As any card-carrying member of the Wisecrack Warriors Society knows, we are a mobile bunch. We like to take the show on the road, visiting fellow vets to swap lies and spread… well, to quote our President, “Whatever it is we spread.” Usually, it’s a mix of bad jokes, high cholesterol, and enough sarcasm to power a small city.

Recently, the WWS road crew rolled up to a new spot to break bread (and donuts) with a fresh group of veterans. We were in "getting to know you" mode, which for vets is basically a polite interrogation: Branch? Years? MOS? Where’d they station you that you clearly didn't deserve?

I wandered over to a table where two Army vets, Jack and Fred, were holding court. Now, neither of these gentlemen had what you’d call "pristine" hearing—but let’s be honest, in this society, "pardon?" is our official greeting. I offered the traditional WWS tribute—coffee and donuts—the universal lubricant used to prime the pump before we start plying people with our trademark "questionable" stories.

The ice was broken. We found out Fred was a 20-year Army lifer, and Jack had done one enlistment, just like yours truly. It was all very civil. Very vanilla. Very... un-Wisecracker-like.

Then, the dynamic shifted.

One of our honorary members, a Marine Lt. Colonel, strolled over to say hello. That’s when Fred—who until this point had been playing the role of "The Quiet Professional"—decided it was time to drop the hammer.

Fred started telling a story about his post-service days building houses. He was working with a buddy whose son happened to be a Marine. They had a 6:00 AM start to put up a ceiling. Fred was there. The dad was there. The Marine?

The Marine rolled in five hours later.

By the time the young Jarhead showed up, the ceiling was already finished. Fred deadpanned the punchline: the kid was "mighty impressed" that two old Army guys could manage such a feat without the "elite" help of the United States Marine Corps.

It took a second to sink in. The Lt. Colonel and I looked at each other as the realization hit like a flashbang.

“Sir,” I said to the Colonel, “I think we’ve been wisecracked! He’s bagging on us!”

The table erupted. Fred had led two Marines right into a kill zone, and we never saw it coming. It was a masterclass in the deadpan roast. I looked at Fred and told him straight: “Sir, you got us. You are officially an honorary Wisecracker. You clearly understand exactly why we’re here.”

Of course, the Colonel and I had to add one "Universal Truth" to the conversation—not as Marines, but as sons. We informed Fred that regardless of branch, if we had shown up five hours late to a job site where our fathers were working, neither of us would have lived long enough to see the ceiling go up.

Fred just grinned. Mission accomplished.