It was late at night as the Pope, who had departed this world, was approaching the gates of heaven. There was no one around, but there was a small shack just prior to the gates with a light on. The Pope stepped into the shack and startled a young man half asleep sitting at a small gray desk.
“Excuse me” said the Pope, “but I’m supposed to check in here with St. Peter, but there is no one at the gate.”
“Yea, Yea” said the young man, “Where are your orders?”
“I don’t have any orders,” said the Pope.
“Well it’s too late to check in tonight anyhow.” said the young man, “Just go around to the back of the building, find a rack and dump your gear in a locker. St. Peter will be here in the morning and you can check in then.”
The Pope grabs his stuff and walks around the building only to find a WWII style open bay barracks. The racks are stacked three high and the only open one is all the way at the end of the building, and it’s on top. He drags his stuff to the end of the building, but there is no locker for him. He takes a deep breath, thinks about it for a minute and decides this is just one final test. He crawls up into the rack and falls asleep.
Suddenly he is awakened by a loud commotion outside the barracks. As he walks outside he sees a huge crowd of angels cheering and clapping as a gold convertible limousine approaches. As it draws nearer, the Pope sees a guy in a flight suit and Navy leather flight jacket in the back seat with a beautiful angel on each arm, a beer in his hand and he is smoking one of the biggest cigars the Pope has ever seen. The Pope turns to the young man who checked him in and asks, “Who is that guy?”
“A Naval Aviator,” the young man replies.
The Pope says, “I don’t get it. I worked hard all of my life to do God’s work on earth. As a young man I studied hard at the seminary, as a priest I labored hard to tend my flock and provide guidance when they strayed. I struggled as a bishop to serve the church and as Pope, I was able to attract more followers of the faith. Yet, when I reach heaven, St. Peter isn’t here to greet me. I have to carry my own bags. I’m stuck in the top rack of an open bay barracks and I don’t even have a locker for my bags!”
The young man looks at the Pope and says. “Look, we get a Pope every 20-30 years, but he is the only Naval Aviator who has ever made it!”
(H/T to ex-Airboss, who adds that they’re still waiting for their first NFO.)
heard it first/tell it often as a lawyer joke with Yiddish accent,
“Popes we get, but Lawyers?!!!”
Heh, good one Lex. Wonder what they do when a Marine shows up? Oh wait – we’re already there, guarding the streets and such. Guess we already have a permanent set of PCS orders waiting for us up there…
The Pope is taken to his quarters, a nice efficiency apartment overlooking a lovely green quadrangle, and he settles in. Friday night he heads for the club for a cooling libation and a little company. He’s sitting at the bar enjoying himself and in walks Saint Peter.
So, how are you doing? Saint Peter says. Are there any problems?
Well, said the Pope, everything is fine, except for that Marine who is out on the quadrangle every morning at dawn calling cadence, Hut, two tree, four, your left, hay-de-left…. He wakes me up each day.
Saint Peter says, well actually, that’s not a Marine. I’m in charge of admissions, and I can assure you that there are NO Marines here. I don’t care what their song says.
Well, then, asks the Pope, who is it making all that noise?
Saint Peter gives him a wink and says That’s the boss. He just wishes he was a Marine.
A variation on this theme is the one about the guy in the flowing white robe and long white beard who keeps pushing to the front of the line every day in the hospital cafeteria. “Just who IS that guy and who does he think he is?” said a new employee. “Oh,” said an old-timer, “That’s just God–thinks he’s a Doctor.”
Lex,
I have heard the joke before as well, but usually it refered to a Chief Petty Officer as the one with the big brass band, a huge stoogie, in the back of a pink drop top caddie with a whole slew of Olongapo hookers in it as well, and the trunk is packed full of San Miguel.
You know the reason Talking TACAN’s, I mean NFO’s don’t go to heaven? That is because they are already been there as part of thier training. They are supposed to be the little Jimmy Cricket voice in the pilot to say, “Don’t do Dumb Things!”, over the ICS just before the pilot starts to do some of thier pilot stuff. Most of the time the pilot listens, other times well for the rest of eternity the NFO will be going “I told you so” to the pilot. At least that is how it was explained to me by more then a few NFO’s.
The most common variation involves a Lawyer. We know that has to be fiction because no lawyer will ever make it.
In the Buddhist version of this joke, the Aviator finds out his pampered lifestyle means that he will come back as an Army infantry private.
Yeah, MajHarv, we’re the one’s who get to smile at the late arrivals.
Semper Fi, Mac…
Heard a variation ending with…”That’s the Boss – he wishes he was a Naval Aviator.”
Another one…
Q – What do the Pope and the Detroit Lions have in common?
A – They can both get a crowd of 50,000 to stand up and yell, “Jesus Christ!”
Brian
In the version I heard the Pope arrived at the pearly gates, was shown his quarters, and told to meet St. Peter immediately thereafter to get his tour of heaven.
He finds St. Peter, the two begin strolling the streets of Heaven. Gilded homes, golden streets, lyre and flute music abound as the cherubs dance and the angels sing praises.
Over in the corner, the arch-angels were smoking cigarettes and spray-painting the walls. But hey, what can ya do with them?
Finally St. Peter leads the Pope into a grand hall. Inside that hall are clocks. Shelf upon shelf of clocks, the tick-tock sound echoing. On each clock is a name.
“What is this place?” asks the Pope.
“It’s what we call the Hands of Time building. In this room, your time on Earth is measured. We may move the hands a bit for some reasons, but in general this is what The Creator has allowed you and this clock is placed here when you were born. When you sin, the hands advance one minute. At midnight, the Creator ends your time on Earth.”
“Interesting,” says the Pope. “I’d like to look up some old friends, if you don’t mind.”
The Pope walks a bit, looking at the names.
“Where is Senator Kennedy’s clock? I’ve always wondered how the Creator would view his votes in office vs. his works as a Catholic?”
St. Peter shows him the clock, the hands approaching midnight. Saddened, the Pope moves on.
“What about Barak Obama? He’s in charge of the USA now, please show me his time lasts beyond his term in office?”
St. Peter leads him to a clock that only shows 3:30pm, and the Pope sighs with relief that President Obama will have a long life in spite of that little smoking habit he’s kicking and the stress of the job.
“Anything else?” ask St. Peter?
“Well,” says the Pope, “I met a Naval Aviator once, call-sign Lex. I don’t know his real name. Would you happen to be able to find his clock?”
St. Peter checks his lists, scratches his head, walks to a shelf and where a clock should be is only a bit of dust and an empty slot.
The Pope queries, incredulous, “He has no clock?”
St. Peter checks his lists again and exclaims, “Oh, Lex! Yeah, I remember now. That’s his slot for the clock, but we had an emergency call about 20 years ago and had to drop-ship it to Hell. They’re using it as a fan.”
Sorry Lex, but it’s my joke, innit? And your blog, so the honors are yours.
— Max
While we’re submitting Pope jokes, I was once told by a person who probably knew better but still felt obligated to screw with the new guy that 20% of our fleet ballistic missiles were targeted at Salt Lake City, the Mormons being not only the best FBI agents but also the only group capable of forming a government-in-fact should the balloon go up. This was, of course, utter BS but when a senior chief says something to the young it seems as if from the mouth of God.
I mean, he was a senior chief. Must have apprenticed with Noah. Guy has to have a direct line on The Word, right?
So there’s this call made to Vatican City one evening. The Pope picks it up and it’s his Bishop in the USA.
“Your Holiness, I have good news and bad news.”
“Give me the good news” requests the Pope.
“Your holiness, the Messiah has returned. I’ve seen him with my own eyes. After over 200o years the prophecy and the promise have been fulfilled.”
The pope jumps to his feet. “That is wonderful!” he exclaims. “A thousand years of darkness have been ended and a thousand years of peace and harmony shall begin! I must meet the savior myself!”
“Yeah,” says the Bishop. “You want the bad news now?”
The Pope scorns, “What could be bad news if the messiah has returned?”
States the Bishop, “I’m in Salt Lake City.”
– Max
Max, a senior chief IS God – at least according to son who is a EODCS. His favorite is the story about the guy writing a book on religion in the military. In visiting chapels on various bases, representing all services, he finds one thing in common. In every chapel he finds a gold phone with an engraved sign which reads: “Talk to God – 3 minutes $20.
After visiting many facilities, he finally arranges to visit a navy ship. While waiting to see the Chaplain, a crusty chief walks by and offers to take him to the CPO Mess for coffee. Upon entering the mess, the writer spots another gold phone with a similar sign. Talk to God, 3 minutes, 10 cents. When asked about the disparity about the cost of the calls, the chief responded: Oh, probably because from here, it’s only a local call.”
I thought the conventional wisdom was that “There Are No Fighter Pilots in Hell”…
Amend last to read “NOT in Hell.”
I was reading a racing story in the Chicago Tribune sports section ar0und the time of the Indy 500. It related a version of Marine6’s joke. In that one, the race car driver goes to heaven and is told, “Sorry, no racing in Heaven, that’s all over.” Hm. Well, at least he’s in Heaven. Suddenly, an old man goes racing down the street blowing everyone away in an old open-wheel Indy car. “Who’s that?” “Oh, that’s God. He thinks he’s A.J. Foyt.”
The best part is that the sports writer said that he heard the joke told by one of the Pettys. To A. J. Foyt’s face.
Southern AP,
re: Jiminy Cricket
It’s no coincidence the IFT/RO sets the timer and keeps his left hand on the fuel dump pipe while on the ball (and watches the altimeter).
Marine6:
Oh there are no fighter pilots down in hell
Oh the place is full of queers, navigators, and bombardiers
But there are no fighter pilots down in hell.
The fellow who taught me that song also taught me how to play “Crud.”
xairboss (alias) E Yat,
My favorite story about a Senior Chief comes from a bubblehead friend of mine.
Seems there was this Senior Chief who had the amazing ability to take a full cup of joe from the galley all the way up the ladder to the top of the sail when the Skipper was conning the boat from there. Never a drop spilled, always hot, steaming, and ready to drink. No one ever questioned his skills, not could they figure out how he did it.
Then, one day, one of the Sonar techs happened to be standing at the base of the ladder going topside when the Senior Chief came by with a full cup of black joe for the Skipper. The Chief took two steps up the ladder, took a big swig outta the cup, then kept on climbing up.
Heh…
You know, when reading all of these jokes and sea stories it dawns on me like bursting through a solid overcast into the clear blue skies that civvies just don’t have as much fun as we current or ex mil types have/had. I don’t hear my techs standing around telling stories about “there I was in this computer room and you won’t believe….” or “when I was at Redmond I saw Bill Gates ….”. I always tell people when they thank me after learning I gave 22 years “no, thank you, because most days I just couldn’t believe someone would pay me to do what I loved”. Of course, there were also nights when they didn’t pay nearly enough!
But thanks for the stories – keeps the connection alive and makes our heritage stronger. Kind of a digital ready room, ya know. just need some dice.
G-man
You have a very valid point. The reason I come here is largely because I don’t have those stories and I live somewhat vicariously reading yours. Oh I have some pretty good tales from time in fraternity at college and one or two incidents at sales meetings that would rival any goings on in PI bars of old but there isn’t a blog for the small communities that exist in the civilian world.
As the military shrinks ever smaller as a percentage of the population I think something much large is being lost by way of community. Not sure what, if anything is to be done.
AW1Tim,
LMAO! I’ll never trust another CSM with a cup of coffee for me.
GEO6
OT6
The nearest group is the civvie pilots I now hang around with – there are some good story tellers there, and they all read Approach on-line so they are very familiar with Hornets, Prowlers, Seahawks, and gracious – even P-3s! I tell ‘em they pay for them, might as well know what they is getting fer their money!
While we’re on the Senior Chiefs and Heaven kick:
The golf loving SCPO and his wife passed at the same time and upon arrival at the Pearly Gates was met by Saint Peter. St Pete told them “I know how much you love golf and here we have a golf course that is a composite of all the greatest holes on earth. Jump in the golf cart and I’ll give you a tour.”
As the tour progressed the Senior Chief fumed and became grumpier at each succeeding hole. As they arrived at the 18th, his wife exclamed “I don’t understand your attitude! This is how we always dreamed Heaven would be…”
To which the he replied “Yeah, you and your damned bran muffins, I could have been here years ago!”
e-Yat,
The joke doesn’t say what T/M/S the heavenly aviator flew..I’d figure he was a long suffering Whale or Prowler driver used to herding ECMO types.
b2
B2,
You say that as if it were a bad thing.
After all, we brought the bananas.