A Semi-Historical Account of a Theoretical USNA Mule Heist
Buck and Too-tall were two midshipmen at the United States Naval Academy. Both were selected for the USNA BUD/S pipeline, which meant that both were really good at running, really good at swimming, and really bad at talking to girls. This led to a level of grumpiness commonly associated with Navy midshipmen suffering from high-levels of sexual frustration. Symptoms included: general irritability, poor-decision making, and the random onset of boners.
Buck was particularly ornery one morning while ironing and folding his underwear. “Dude, this is bullshit,” he raged, neatly tucking the underwear into his drawer. “Why’re we folding underwear when we should be planning to snatch the Army’s mule? Those fuckers stole our goat like eighteen times.”
“Dude, I know,” Too-tall responded, picking up a basketball from the floor. “You’re so right. They took it, like, at least twenty times.”
Lavender stopped brushing his teeth. “It’s more like ten.”
“Dude, Lavender, no one asked you.”
“Dude, seriously,” Buck said, before fist-bumping Too-tall. “We should do it. We’d be legends.”
“Impossible,” Lavender said, mouth full of spit. “A goat’s like a hundred pounds. A mule’s at least ten times that. The logistics alone—”
“Dude, stop doing math,” Too-tall said, twirling the basketball. “It’s too early.”
“Yeah, Lavender, why don’t you go jerk-off, or something?” Buck said.
Lavender loved jerking off. His favorite lube to accomplish his twice-daily goal was a lavender scented moisturizer from Aveeno. It helped him relax. “Don’t waste your time,” he said, swallowing his spit. “The last time they tried was like thirty years ago. And it took them like two years of planning. We’re two weeks away.”
“We need to steal that fucking donkey,” Buck said.
“Technically, mules aren’t donkeys,” Lavender replied. He resumed brushing his teeth and walked out of the room.
Buck punched his palm and sulked at the edge of his bed. “Damn, it’s our last year and we never stole the donkey,” he said, hanging his head. “We could’ve been legends. We could’ve gotten the Order of the Mule.”
The Order of the Mule, a prize awarded just once in its storied history, seemed out of grasp for these young midshipmen. They shuffled from their dormitories and began the week preceding the week leading to the Army Navy game. The week was packed with tedium and exhaustion. The midshipmen spent their days folding laundry, studying remedial math, and practicing for the march-on, mostly because the Naval Academy sucked at marching on. Buck remained adamant and determined.
The idea of becoming a legend motivated him to the point of exhaustion. In the middle of another sleepless night, he was struck by a bolt of genius. He sat up in bed and called the only other genius legend he knew, Cousin Frankie from Philly.
Cousin Frankie worked at Philly’s only redeemable institution: Delilah’s Den. Being a nighttime bouncer at this fine institution of dancing enabled Cousins Frankie to enjoy rather relaxed days. His carefree afternoons were spent eating Jersey Mike’s, smoking Marlboro Reds, and taunting 15 year old boys while playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare online.
He truly excelled at Call of Duty: Modern Warfare online. In fact, Cousin Frankie hit the max military rank of 55 with such incredible speed, he believed himself qualified to operate with Seal Team 6. He was so confident of his skillset, he often called the BUD/S quarterdeck and offered to work as a paid consultant. On that particular evening, he was returning home from work, driving in his beloved IROC-Z, when his phone rang.
Cousin Frankie answered his Android. Buck whispered hello. Cousin Frankie hunched over the wheel and chain-smoked as Buck shared his dream of becoming a legend. Both agreed that it was an excellent dream, as it would help them achieve legendary status amongst the Navy SEALs. In agreement, they devised a plan to meet at a farm in Pennsylvania.
Farmer Dan, the farm’s owner, owed Cousin Frankie a favor after he helped him out during a raucous all-you-can-eat-Christmas-Eve-steak-dinner at Delilah’s. The next morning, Cousin Frankie called Farmer Dan, and Farmer Dan agreed to help. Later that weekend, Buck, Too-tall, and Lavender drove to the desolate mule farm.
The farm’s entrance was guarded by several rotted fence-posts. The gravel crackled as they drove up the long dirt road to a dilapidated blue house with a crooked porch. There, cousin Frankie was leaning against his much beloved IROC-Z while discussing the weather with Farmer Dan, a graying 70 year old Navy vet with a pot-belly and Wolverine-type hair.
The five gathered around Frankie’s car and Buck shared his intricate strategy. They would tackle the mule’s handlers in the stadium’s parking-lot and drive off into the smog-ridden Philly sunset. Lavender doubted this plan. Cousin Frankie sliced the air with his hand, silencing all doubts. He explained that they could never be stopped. The triple-threat of his expert tactical knowledge, Buck and Too-tall’s exceptional athleticism, and the indomitable speed of his IROC -Z would surely overcome all obstacles.
Lavender was still not convinced.
“Guy, relax, that’s why I brought these,” Cousin Frankie said, unlocking his trunk. He grabbed a large gray blanket and unfolded it on the car’s hood. Under the fabric were a tranquilizer gun, one tranquilizer dart, two tasers, a pipe, several balaclavas, Red Bulls, 5-hour energy pills, and a pair of chest-plate carriers with groin protectors.
“Why do we need these?” Lavender asked, pointing at the Ranger-green plate carriers.
“What if there’s snipers?” Cousin Frankie replied.
Everyone but Lavender nodded in agreement.
Since Buck was obviously going to lead the insertion team, he strapped one of the plate carriers onto his chest. Too-tall lengthened the straps of the other plate carrier and slipped it over his head. Cousin Frankie loaded the tranquilizer gun while Farmer Dan explained to the boys how they should handle a mule. He suggested that they practice on one of his tamer animals, eventually working their way up to Old Betty, his meanest mule. The boys discussed this plan, and rejected it. They decided that they didn’t have time to mess around. They needed to practice the mule-napping like it was the real thing.
Farmer Dan thought not very long on this, and nodded in agreement. He brought Old Betty from the farm and led her to the car. The animal balked when Too-tall attempted to take the reins, but Farmer Dan calmed her down, gently rubbing her neck while whispering softly in her ear. Farmer Dan handed Too-tall the reins when they heard a sweet call.
Farmer Dan’s stripper wife, Kandy, came out of the house holding a pitcher of lemonade. She called to them again from the shade of their crooked porch. Thirsty, Farmer Dan strolled to get a glass of lemonade from his busty, young wife who was unnaturally tan. She wore a tiny, red cowgirl dress exposing her long, athletic legs. Too-tall popped wood.
The painful erection bothered him immensely as it pressed against his pants. He attempted to adjust the boner, but the groin plate blocked his right hand, forcing him to drop the reins and use both his hands to comfortably rearrange his erection. Old Betty glanced over her shoulder to see Buck practicing his stealthy approach. She mule-kicked him in the chest plate.
Buck shot like a laser into the IROC-Z, denting the door. He crumpled unconscious to the ground as the mule charged. Old Betty began kicking the car, hitting it with such force, the car appeared to lift off the ground. Cousin Frankie screeched at the sight of his beloved IROC-Z losing its aerodynamic perfection. Too-tall stood frozen with his hands seemingly stuck to his balls.
Thinking quickly, Lavender grasped the reins and began speaking softly to the mule while petting her neck. His kind words and lavender scent calmed the animal and the two looked one another in the eyes. A dart struck Lavender’s hand. He looked at the metal dart. Then he looked at the mule. He looked at the dart. He looked at the mule. He passed out and headbutted the mule.
Old Betty shook its snout and redoubled its effort, kicking the IROC-Z with true relish. A sobbing Cousin Frankie tossed the tranq gun and grabbed the pipe from the blanket. Holding it over his head, he charged like a samurai running with a sword. He shook violently and twitched vigorously. Teeth clattering, he dropped the pipe and collapsed to the ground shaking. Farmer Dan holstered the taser and approached Old Betty, calming her down. Old Betty fired one last kick and shattered the IROC’s irreplaceable grill.
Several lemonades later, with one ceramic plate broken, the only tranquilizer shot, and the indomitable speed of their aerodynamic getaway car irreparably damaged, it was decided that perhaps they were not entirely prepared to kidnap a donkey. Lavender slept the remaining weekend and was later reprimanded for not ironing his underwear. Buck received several broken ribs and a shattered dream, while Too-tall, unable to comprehend how Farmer Dan ended up with Kandy, suffered from severe cognitive dissonance. Symptoms included: stress, confusion and denial. But perhaps the worst outcome of all was poor Cousin Frankie, who, after being tased, could no longer hold electronic devices. Sadly, he was forced to abandon both Call of Duty and his dream of advising the U.S. Navy SEALS.
