youdneverknowit
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Joined: 10/21/2012
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Thought I would give a brief description about my time in the United States Marine Corps. This is probably just going to be some random freestyling here.
I enlisted in the Marine Corps at 19 because I was without direction and focus. I certainly got plenty of that... how to direct effective small arms fire at people who for whatsoever reason it was decided needed to stop respirating... and how to focus properly through the rear site aperture while discharging fire from an M-16. What I got out of the Marine Corps: Direction, focus, a piss poor attitude, cycnism, one hell of a physical appearance and condition, and a set of dress blues that was my chick magnet.
Spent Christmas Eve in dress blues one year at a karoke bar in North Los Angeles on a particular evening when the local girls who star in porn films are out, and the second half of the night is in broken memories, but if it was anything close to the first half... it was a really fun time.
How I joined... my buddy Andy and I were fed up with college at the time, and we were all high back then. We go down to the recruiter's office and told the SSgt on duty there... "Hey, we want to be Marines."
His response in typical USMC fashion with hands on the hips as some sort of modified "parade rest" authority position: "Out-fuckin-standing fellas. This is a start of a new chapter in your lives. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah... Can you go down and pass a urinalysis at MEPS today?"
Me: "Gulp. Uhhh... maybe...?!"
SSgt: "Well do you fellas want to wait a month and try to pass it then?"
Andy: "Uhh... no sir, you don't understand, if I can't pass it today, there's not a fuckin chance in hell I will pass it in a month."
---We waited three days, drank the county reservoir down below drought levels, and took these magic pills from GNC... then we went and passed the damn thing. Two months later, our asses were getting destroyed at a little known resort called Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego by several of a particular type of Marine who volunteered for the billet of sharing with recruits the truth on how buttfucked, shit-for-brained, complete dumbassed, shrink-wrapped dogshit, fucktarded assclownish, inbred laboratory experiments gone awry, etc etc etc etc... all recruits were. Such Marines are known as Drill Instructors. My buddy Andy actually may have had a relapse or something... maybe it was the resin-coated film of THC in his fuckin stupid skull... but he decided to inform our drill instructors after our platoon had just been informed yet again of how buttfuckin pathetic we all were and that we were all just a bunch of perfectly good blow jobs gone to waste in our mothers' vaginas rather than mouths because we would have made better protein additives to smoothies than we would ever make as Marines. Well... Andy stands up and says, "If Drill Instructor Sergeant B---- is so pissed off about the fact that his recruits all suck and that we're all worthless, maybe he should request orders off his Drill Instructor B-Billet and go recruit some better people to come here and become Marines." The Senior Drill Instructor stepped out of the duty hut upon hearing. Oh fuck, we were dead. They took us to the sand pits and thrashed us for hours. We island hopped the entire fucking depot.
It was a fun three months with hearing the word "Kill!" screamed by thousands of recruits everyday and basically hearing a bunch of "Aye aye Sir!" shouted at full volume hundreds upon hundreds of times each day. It's funny... they have this third party chow hall crew where they import these people to work. You get there and the first week you can't believe some of these ladies are actually touching your food. By the fourth week, you sneek off to the head at night to bust one out thinking of them loading your chow plate up with... whatever.
Then one day, we climb up this big fuckin hill (the reaper) on Edson Range at Camp Pendleton and the whole game is over... they hand us our Eagle, Globe, and Anchor (USMC emblem) and say, "Congratulations Marine," which btw... is the first time you're ever called "Marine." Somehow it means a lot more I guess if they call you 10,000 other expletives in the preceding 11 weeks while placing their boot into your ass with no lube a half dozen times per day. Someone could write an entire fuckin book on Marine Corps Recruit Training. It would best be defined as hell, but with a purpose. They're goal is to make you full of hate, piss & vinegar, motivation enough to end someone else's life... so in a nutshell: "Hell", and so... in an odd way, you become like this fully indoctrinated ambassador of hell. But the goal is more than representing 'hell' -- they want you to go out and distribute as much hell as possible, and when you think you've done everything... nope... still more hell to share.
There's so many fuckin stories... the phantom handjob jacker at Camp Horno. The young Marine who found that his "Ham Slices" from an MRE - if warmed, opened, and left in the packet - could be dug into the side of a foxhole and effectively utilized as more than a meal, then his buddy who wanted to 'try it out' after he was done. "Dude let me try it, come on man, move over!! You've been at it for a half hour!!" Of course, the at least dozen or so fights we got into at random places on the west coast of which we will never fully understand the causes.
And... the Marine Corps birthday ball in Vegas... 2005. Fuck... a... duck...
If it wasn't for the big green weenie up your ass all the time... I might have made it a career. There were great times, but most of the time, it was like trying to off-road a seatless huffy down the continental divide.
To all my comrades from the other services, OO-rah. To all my fellow Marines... Semper FUCKING Fidelis. To all my fellow grunts... 03 for life. Err.
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