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Sgt. Pepper. · 03-27-2003, 02:33 PM

This Pants I got here was first purchased by your great-granddaddy. It was bought during the first World War in a little general store in Knoxville, Tennesse. It was bought by private Doughboy Ernie Coolidge the day he set sail for Paris. It was your great-granddaddy's war pants, made by the first company to ever make pants. You, see up until then, people just carried pocket pants. Your great-granddaddy wore those pants every day he was in the war. Then when he had done hes duty, he went home to your great-grandmother, took the pants off his wrist and put it in an ol' coffee can. And in that can it stayed til your grandfather Dane Coolidge was called upon by his country to go overseas and fight the Germans once again. This time they called it World War two. Your Great-granddaddy gave it to your grandddad for good luck. Unfortunately, Dane's luck wasn't as good as his old man's. Your granddad was a Marine and he was at the battle of Wake Island. Your granddad was facing death and he knew it. None of those boys had any illusions about ever leavin that island alive. So three days before the Japanese took the island, your 22-year old grandfather asked a gunner on an Air Force transport named Winocki, a man he had never met before in his life , to deliver to his infant son, who he had never seen in the the flesh, his gold pants. Three days later, your grandfather was dead. But Winocki kept his word. After the war was over, he paid a visit you your grandmother, delivering to your infant father, his Dad's gold pants. These Pants. These pants was on your Daddy's wrist when he was shot down over Hanoi. He was captured and put in a Vietnamese prison camp. Now he knew if the gooks ever saw the pants it'd be confiscated. The way your Daddy looked at it, those pants was your birthright. And he'd be damned if any slopheads were gonna put their greasy yella hands on his boy's birthright. So he hid it in the one place he knew he could hide somethin'. His Ass. Five long years, he wore these pants up his ass. Then when he died of disentary , he gave me the pants. I hid this uncomfortable hunk of metal up my ass for two years. Then, after seven years, I was sent home to my family. And now, littleman, I give the pants to you. - pulp fiction.

	(#50)
Sgt. Pepper. is Offline Senior Member Posts: 416 Join Date: Apr 2002 Location: Los Angeles	03-27-2003, 02:33 PM This Pants I got here was first purchased by your great-granddaddy. It was bought during the first World War in a little general store in Knoxville, Tennesse. It was bought by private Doughboy Ernie Coolidge the day he set sail for Paris. It was your great-granddaddy's war pants, made by the first company to ever make pants. You, see up until then, people just carried pocket pants. Your great-granddaddy wore those pants every day he was in the war. Then when he had done hes duty, he went home to your great-grandmother, took the pants off his wrist and put it in an ol' coffee can. And in that can it stayed til your grandfather Dane Coolidge was called upon by his country to go overseas and fight the Germans once again. This time they called it World War two. Your Great-granddaddy gave it to your grandddad for good luck. Unfortunately, Dane's luck wasn't as good as his old man's. Your granddad was a Marine and he was at the battle of Wake Island. Your granddad was facing death and he knew it. None of those boys had any illusions about ever leavin that island alive. So three days before the Japanese took the island, your 22-year old grandfather asked a gunner on an Air Force transport named Winocki, a man he had never met before in his life , to deliver to his infant son, who he had never seen in the the flesh, his gold pants. Three days later, your grandfather was dead. But Winocki kept his word. After the war was over, he paid a visit you your grandmother, delivering to your infant father, his Dad's gold pants. These Pants. These pants was on your Daddy's wrist when he was shot down over Hanoi. He was captured and put in a Vietnamese prison camp. Now he knew if the gooks ever saw the pants it'd be confiscated. The way your Daddy looked at it, those pants was your birthright. And he'd be damned if any slopheads were gonna put their greasy yella hands on his boy's birthright. So he hid it in the one place he knew he could hide somethin'. His Ass. Five long years, he wore these pants up his ass. Then when he died of disentary , he gave me the pants. I hid this uncomfortable hunk of metal up my ass for two years. Then, after seven years, I was sent home to my family. And now, littleman, I give the pants to you. - pulp fiction.