Proceed With Caution
The official humor wing of SFD. Because if you can't laugh at your worst decisions, you haven't made enough of them yet.
* No veterans were permanently harmed in the making of these stories. Physically. Mentally is a different conversation.
Official Unit Designation
Every veteran has a story they swore they'd never tell. A decision so spectacularly bad that it became legend. A moment where the line between bravery and stupidity got so blurred it ceased to exist.
This is the division for those moments. The ones that start with "So no shit, there I was..." and end with someone getting a safety brief named after them.
Humor is how we survive. Always has been. Always will be.
The Hall of Bad Decisions
From "that was dumb" to "how are you still alive" — a comprehensive guide to the decisions that define us.
Two weeks of knowing each other. A courthouse wedding. BAH went up. Love went down. You knew. We all knew.
You don't speak the language. The artist didn't speak yours. That 'warrior symbol' on your arm? It means 'chicken soup.' Wear it with pride.
Fresh out of boot camp. First paycheck hit. The dealership saw you coming from three zip codes away. 'But it has racing stripes, bro.'
The golden rule: never make eye contact when they ask for volunteers. You forgot. Now you're painting rocks in the rain. At 0400. On a Saturday.
It smelled amazing. It tasted amazing. The next 72 hours were not amazing. Your stomach hasn't forgiven you. Your roommate hasn't forgiven you either.
There were witnesses. There are photos. There is a video you will never find because your buddy has it saved for 'insurance purposes.' You are a legend for all the wrong reasons.
Every great military story starts with these three words. Every trip to medical starts with them too. Correlation? Absolutely. Regret? Never.
It wasn't a shortcut. It was a swamp. Now you're waist-deep in mud, it's 2am, the GPS is dead, and your buddy is laughing. You're still friends. Somehow.
Three drinks in. Phone in hand. Ex's name highlighted. You hit send. The 'delivered' notification is still haunting you. So is her response. So is the silence afterward.
It worked. Briefly. Then it caught fire. The duct tape held. The wiring did not. Maintenance now uses you as a cautionary example during in-processing.
You came in hot. You miscounted at 8. You called it at 22. The platoon now does an exercise named after you. It is not a flattering name.
Career Progression
A bad decision maker's journey, in five stages. Most of us are stuck somewhere between two and four. Forever.
Stage 1
Innocent. Naive. You think the rules apply equally to everyone. You haven't yet been called into the office. Cherish this version of you. He's not coming back.
Stage 2
You've been counseled. You've signed the paperwork. You nodded the entire time and agreed it would never happen again. It happened again the following weekend.
Stage 3
New guys are now being told your story during in-processing. You don't know whether to be embarrassed or proud. You settle on both.
Stage 4
Other units have heard of you. Bartenders three bases away know your drink. The chaplain prays for you by name. Your reputation precedes you into rooms you haven't entered yet.
Stage 5
You've grown. Mostly. You now warn the new guys with the weariness of a man who's been there. They don't listen. You wouldn't have either. The cycle continues.
Field Manual
The rules we wish someone had given us. Not that we would've listened.
If someone says 'trust me,' do not trust them. Especially if it's you saying it to yourself.
Never be the drunkest person at the barracks party. Second drunkest is fine. That way you have a witness AND plausible deniability.
If your buddy starts a sentence with 'Okay but hear me out' — start walking away immediately.
The Base Exchange does not offer refunds on regret. Or matching tattoos.
If the food vendor's cart has more flies than customers, that's not 'seasoning.' Move along.
No amount of Motrin will fix the consequences of ignoring Rules 1 through 5.
If it's 2am and you're still making plans, those are no longer plans. Those are crimes.
Your NCO has seen everything. Everything. The best thing you can do is not add to the list.
* These rules are suggestions. We already know you're going to ignore them.
Declassified
Anonymous confessions from real service members. Names redacted. Dignity non-existent.
"I once ate an entire MRE cheese spread packet as a 'snack' and couldn't function for 3 days."
— Identity Classified
"Got lost during a land nav course and ended up at a Waffle House. Passed the course because I brought back waffles for the instructor."
— Identity Classified
"Challenged a Navy SEAL to a push-up contest at a bar. I did 12. He did 200. I bought his drinks for a month."
— Identity Classified
"Tried to iron my uniform in the field using a hot MRE heater. Burned a perfect rectangle into my blouse. Told my Sergeant it was 'tactical camouflage.'"
— Identity Classified
"Accidentally called my Drill Instructor 'Mom.' In front of the entire platoon. During inspection. I'm still doing push-ups in my nightmares."
— Identity Classified
"Bought a brand new Mustang at 26% APR the DAY I graduated boot camp. The engine blew 3 months later. Still owe $22,000 on it."
— Identity Classified
Field Form 1947
Every bad decision deserves a paper trail. Roll the dice. Let the form fill itself in.
Bad Decisions Division
Incident Report — Case #BDD-1947
§ 1 — Setting
It was 0247 in the barracks parking lot
§ 2 — Decision Made
...when we collectively decided to disassemble it 'just to see how it worked'
§ 3 — Outcome
...and that's how the entire battalion got a new policy named after us.
— Filed under: things that probably shouldn't have happened.
Sample report above. File your own below.
Got One Of Your Own?
Submit your true (or "true") bad-decision story. Stays anonymous unless you tell us otherwise. Reviewed before it sees daylight.
Annual Recognition
Honoring excellence in poor judgment, creative survival, and committing to the bit. Names redacted to protect the guilty (mostly themselves).
Category
Recipient
SSgt M. — [Redacted]
"For maintaining mission-critical functionality of a vehicle, a uniform, a piece of equipment, AND a relationship using a single roll of 100MPH tape over the course of one weekend."
Category
Recipient
Cpl K. — [Redacted]
"For surviving four separate incidents that would have ended a normal career, two of which involved the same fence, and emerging without a single piece of disciplinary paperwork."
Category
Recipient
PFC R. — [Redacted]
"For holding the camera, providing 'moral support,' and maintaining plausible deniability throughout an incident he did not technically participate in but absolutely should have stopped."
Category
Recipient
LCpl D. — [Redacted]
"For a decision so bold, so committed, and so spectacularly wrong that it required briefings at three separate command levels and a memo from headquarters."
Category
Recipient
SPC T. — [Redacted]
"For raising his hand to ask a question and being immediately assigned to a four-week working party he is still, technically, on."
Category
Recipient
AB1 J. — [Redacted]
"For uttering the phrase 'I got this' on six separate occasions, each one producing increasingly impressive medical bills and an increasingly nervous platoon sergeant."
* Awards are entirely satirical. Trophies are made of repurposed beer cans. Ceremonies are held annually at a location nobody can remember the next morning.
Behind the Humor
Humor isn't just entertainment for veterans — it's survival. It's the thing that got us through the deployments, the training, the loss, the bureaucracy, and the absolute chaos of military life. We laugh at the bad decisions because the alternative is letting them define us.
Every story on this page — every terrible tattoo, every overpriced car, every "hold my beer" moment — is a badge of honor. Not because the decisions were smart. Because the people who made them are still here. Still laughing. Still dangerous.
And still making bad decisions. Some things never change.
If you've made at least three decisions that required a safety brief, an apology letter, or an appearance before your commanding officer — welcome home.
Wear Your Bad Decisions
Gear for the ones who turned questionable choices into legendary stories.
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