The Life of a Marine Corps Recruiter Part 3

So today I had sector training it’s kind of like getting taught how to be more dynamic at recruiting once a month. By a bunch of Master Sgts that think they could sell Nazi stuff to a Jewish guy. When it comes down to it though they couldn’t sell cup cakes to a fat kid. Well my SgtMaj comes to his chance to talk and of course we get told we lack leadership and that we need to tighten up and get back to the basics. How NCO’s these days are weak and can’t lead and all and all as everyone knows we have ruined the Marine Corps. Well I wanted to ask the question who ruined us but didn’t not for fear, but for the fact that would in some magic allow him the ability to point me out as the problem. Then I would get a what the fuck and that I suck which is usually like a broken record anymore so I didn’t. Still though who ruined us is my question and what I figured out in about 3 seconds after all this leadership started, was they did. They’re the ones that let those precious standards diminish and be tarnished. Now I am a no nonsense person and believe in The Corps if it’s ran the right way is a good organization. Right now though its like Tijuana though full of lawless dicks who only take care of those who suck there dick and stds guys who stick to the system but do nothing to help it get better but make other people infected so they don’t care.

Submitted by:  2807aListofLies

The Life of a Marine Corps Recruiter Part 2

Another day on the prowl and one step closer to seeing some more problems with the Marine Corps. Today at the Recruiting Station Headquarters I witness a young man do not 20 pull-ups not 18 pull-ups, but zero pull-ups. Well according to the MCEOB (big book your recruiter showed you with pretty tags) you have to do 2 to be allowed to DEP in. Well this young man still gets to dep and gets a ship date within a three months from now so how did we teach him anything considered Marine Corps Values??? First we taught him that we don’t hold people to a standard or accountable to be prepared. Then I’m guessing his run time is going to be fast paced 22:30 mile and a half. Oh but he’s only 9 mins off from passing so he will be good in 3 months to head for the Island. Because he is so determined and moto about being a Marine cause then he gonna have all the ladies. Yeah right he is just going to play Xbox in a barracks room instead of his moms basement. Then fall out of runs and do no pull ups while the 2nd award PFC who got busted down for underage drinking in the barracks still gets called a piece of shit, and should be a meretourious corporal. He had such shitty NCO’s though that none of them did the right thing when he was drunk and slapped the duty for even trying to log it in the green book of wrong. Then grab the young Marine toss him in his room and pt the shit out of him in the morning. Then explain the right and wrong times to do things. Well time to go find a young man or lady and tell the Marine Corps Story again.

Submitted by:  2807aListofLies

Personality Disorder (Everybody Lies)

Anyone who has had to deal with people between the ages of 17 and 24 on a daily basis knows that the youth of our nation, especially the males, can be accurately described as dishonest.  There are honest young men and women, but the task of identifying them is difficult to say the least.  Many young men will exaggerate or distort their own backgrounds in order to enhance their persona and create an image of themselves that is much tougher and more masculine than in reality.  This phenomenon can be observed anywhere young males gather, but is especially prevalent and obvious on or near military bases.

Boots fresh from, well, boot camp, spend their ten to thirty days back at home where they amaze friends, poolees, and family with tales of all the outstanding training they completed and the awesome friends they just made and how great their life is about to be.  What once were only rumors between recruits become facts as uncles and veterans buy them drinks and homeboys hand them 40’s.  What used to be “this kid mouthed off and the DI’s took him into the Duty Hut and he came back fine” becomes “yeah this one kid disrespected our Senior so they took him into the head and whupped his ass.  Then we gave him a blanket party that night like in Full Metal Jacket.”  This kind of exaggeration is only the beginning.

There are many Marines in the Corps, and their backgrounds and personalities, however full of shit they may be, are diverse.

The Cowboy:  He grew up “on a farm” which could mean anything from actually being raised on a ranch in Wyoming to growing up in Chicago.  Some of these Marines will say they are from rural communities but will know not one thing about agriculture or livestock.  They are easily recognized by the gigantic wad of tobacco in their mouth and their ridiculous attire:  Shitkickers, skin-tight Nut-Wranglers (complete with dip can ass circle), pearl snap button shirt (plaid or Native American design), fifty-gallon hat, and somewhere between three to seven pounds worth of motivation as a belt buckle (they will say it came from a silversmith and totally not that place right off base that sells ones that look amazingly similar).  The Cowboy will speak in a stereotypical “southern” accent and will most likely be heard loudly expelling racist and sexist jokes or telling fabricated tales based on violence towards animals, minorities, and women.
Cowboy’s Lie about:  Everything.  Don’t trust a word out of their dip-filled word hole.

The Gangster:  This reject will claim to be in a street gang (or recently out of one) but will have no tattoos, friends, pictures, or any other evidence.  Gangster Marines came from “the hood” which can be almost anywhere, including rural Idaho.  They are often seen wearing eccentric jewelry and…whatever the rappers are wearing these days, really.  This leads to them being heckled and sent home to change into proper attire, and can be very amusing for those in observance.  Marines falling into this category rarely listen to anything that is not considered rap, hip-hop, soul, or R&B, and will openly mock any other musician whom they believe would be physically inferior to (insert rapper’s name here).  The accents differ slightly, but often rely upon African American and Latino stereotypes (using the expletives “nigga” “ese” and “homes”).  The Gangster Marine will openly flaunt a false relationship with a known gang while also associating with a Gangster Marine from a rival street gang, often proving the background story of both to be false.
Gangster’s Lie about:  They did every kind of training possible and always had a snappy comeback.

The True Motivator:  The bane of every normal Marine’s existence.  The True Motivator does not care for trivial things like “logic” “intelligence” or “efficiency,” they only concern themselves with OORAH.  To them, the Corps is an infallible deity that provides them with everything they want and need.  So proud they are of being a part of the organization, they refer to it as if it were their possession.  True Motivators refuse to leave their bed without at least one EGA or USMC showing at all times.  All shirts require motivational symbols or phrases (preferably both), and will be tucked in regardless of T-Shirt status.  The more barbaric the practice, the more the True Motivator will enjoy ripping apart its dismissal with neanderthalesque logic.  Things such as physical beatings, IT, and horse shoes are apparently what made the Marine Corps so great in the past, in their eyes.  This type of individual will defend the Corps’ deficiencies with tired excuses and misinformed lies with his last breath.
True Motivators Lie about:  The Corps.  Everything about the Corps that is fucked up, they will try to twist and explain as an asset.

The Blue Falcon:  Falcons can be difficult to spot, as they are everywhere and take many forms.  The obvious Blue Falcon can be seen quietly attempting to blend in with a group while attempting to secure valuable information for his superiors.  The Blue Falcon wants you to believe he is “just one of the guys.”  Sometimes you may hear one asking where the big, underage booze festival will be this weekend.  Sometimes he may blend in well enough to find his way there and witness Marines misbehaving, all the while noting names and offenses.  Falcons appear to be stellar Marines to their superiors while acting like complete scumbags to everyone else.  Discerning observers can spot a Falcon by their proper civilian attire, fake smile, and evil intentions.  Boots be wary.
Blue Falcons Lie about:  How they got promoted.

That Fuckin’ Guy:  He wakes up every morning and is already a fucking mess.  He can eat, sleep, and breath relatively well if nothing is distracting him (I was going to list the things this guy can’t do right, but it would be faster to list what he can do).  Your Senior Lance Corporals will yell at you for even being around him because he is a magnet for shit-storms.  This fuckin’ guy will bum cigarettes and dip off of anyone dumb enough to let him leech, even on payday.  He is the one that fell through the cracks.  He is the reason Drill Instructors hate Recruiters.  If they knew how goddamned awful he turned out, his Senior and Heavy would cry themselves to sleep every night in shame at what they have allowed to enter their beloved Corps, and probably begin plotting his recruiter’s doom.  That Fuckin’ Guy can be seen in cammies or PT gear…probably in a working party, his room or in the lounge, as he is on permanent restriction from back-to-back NJP’s, failing field day, and generally being a shitty excuse for a Marine.  He has not and will not adapt to military life, and there is no amount of hazing that can help it.  He will inevitably become the “Company Pet” that requires supervision whilst eating, working, sleeping, and shitting probably.
That Fuckin’ Guy Lies about:  Tells everyone back home he is an awesome Marine and everyone loves him.

The False Motivator:  Sarcasm is their business, and business is…fucking infinite.  You want them to wear little green panties to run in?  Ok, but theirs are two sizes too small, so now you have to see hairy, pasty, pale legs AND bouncing man-junk.  Those dicks drawn all over everything?  These guys.  Some douche bag captain complained because the running cadence was absolutely filthy and demotivating?  These guys.  Their vocabulary consists of inside jokes, often trading traditionally accepted phrases for “fuck you.”  Example: — “Tuck that shirt in, Devil Dog!” — “Rah, gunny” or “Kill!”  False Motivators can often be found cursing their own existence and awaiting their EAS so they don’t have to do this shit anymore.
False Motivators Lie about:  How motivated we…ah fuck my life, I’m getting drunk.

The Commissioned Fool:  Some people, even the college educated, are just stupid.  The Commissioned Fool will have no clue what is going on at any given time.  He/she will be ditzy and probably adorable in some way, much like an inbred kitten, but otherwise basically useless.  As dumb as they may be, they will receive more awards than you and be treated way better, mostly because of that education.  Okay, solely based upon that education.  Keep in mind that college does not make a person smart.
Commissioned Fools Lie about:  However the fuck their absurdly stupid ass made it through college and OCS.

Murtaugh:  The Marine Corps prefers her victi…ahem, recruits to be on the younger end of the spectrum.  A Murtaugh is a Marine whom enlisted later in life than most, normally older than 24.  Murtaughs can be observed rarely because they are ghosts and make excellent skaters.  They see how the inefficiencies of micromanagement negatively affect mission accomplishment and troop welfare and sigh in exasperation as they are, in fact, too old for this shit.
Murtaughs Lie about:  Nothing, they are too old for that shit.

IT Guy:  Some Marines enter the Corps with a working knowledge of computers.  This guy will inevitably become the interim IT Guy for everyone and will normally pretend to either not know how to fix your problem because you are a dick or demand booze as payment for services rendered on your virus-filled-porn-box.  You may or may not ever see him outside of work because he is so over this Marine shit like omfg.  Much gay.  So moto.
IT Guys Lie about:  Your laptop took 12 minutes to fix, the rest of the week was spent rifling through your porn and laughing hysterically at the pathetic love letters you send your cheating ass girlfriend.  Ha, pwned.

Foreign Dude:  These guys come from all over.  They may be a part of your MOS school class or they may be US Marines that haven’t received their citizenship yet.  You will learn a lot about their culture and homeland, but the first thing they will probably teach you is how to curse in their native tongue.  Hands-on observers are encouraged to watch the Foreign Dude get uncomfortable when you ask him what the age of consent is in their country.
Foreign Dudes Lie about:  He didn’t teach you how to tell those girls they are pretty.  You just told them you have an elf pecker.

Many of the fibs these guys tell are pretty harmless.  However, some of them decide to take it a bit too far.  There is a code among military men and women that goes something like; If you don’t rate it, don’t wear it.  Much like falsely claiming to be in a street gang, lying about your military history to the wrong people can lead you into a big fat ass beating.  There are a few ways to gauge how full of shit an individual may be, but they aren’t fool-proof.  Bragging is a huge red flag.  I have yet to meet a Marine that was actually proud of killing another human being.  Plenty have defended their action as necessary to prevent their friends from dying, but not one so much as cracked a smile while talking about it.  If a guy is bragging about how awesome his career was and all the places he has been, chances are he is full of shit.  Keep in mind that almost anything out of a drunken fool’s mouth will be bullshit in the first place, and will be exaggerated bullshit with the addition of said alcohol.


Submitted by: “AAVPOG”

GI Bill Predators Part 2

For me it all started when I graduated college and I was looking into starting a new career. I heard on the local news that the University of Phoenix was sponsoring “Hire A Hero” career event. I was excited because I thought to myself that this is a great thing that all of the employers are doing for vets! I live in Phoenix, Arizona, and generally the community is very supportive of veterans, but what I did not know was it was all just smoke and mirrors. Anyways, I was filled with a new kindred spirit and was ready to show corporate America what I was made of.  So I put three-piece suit on and got to my car to attend the event. I was greeted at the door by some military rep’s that worked for the college and was asked to sign into the event. It was crowded.  I was in shock to see just how many unemployed vets there were.  Most were just left active duty out and the others were older and looking for work.  After signing in we were all lead to the third floor of the campus to the booths of employers that were ready to hire veterans.  This was then I realized I was looking at a sham. It was disgraceful to see cooperate America offering highly skilled vets a chance to work for them for 12 dollars an hire sweeping floors. Now don’t get me wrong, I am not too good for that, I am just saying I didn’t work my ass off for four years studying to get a college education to be offered some job I could have received right out of high school. There were legitimate employers there but not enough of them.  And of course there were the “motards” there from each branch of service there wanting to see if there were any of us that desperate to join the reserves. It was laughable to see so many people crowded around their booths! Moving forward to the next room I see a sight I have never seen. I witnessed booth after booth that was set up to scam vets. These are the for-profit education programs that you see on television and online.  At first I thought this was a joke. I mean all I heard all week is that there would be legitimate employers looking to hire veterans, and I all I see are some snake oil salesmen looking to shack me and other vets down for cash. Unfortunately I saw a bunch of veterans around these booths talking to them and I could not understand why?
Don’t they know what they are getting into? I guess Barnum and Baily were right: “There is a sucker born every minute in America”.   What is the Moral of this story?
I will tell you.  You are in charge of what you want to make out of your life. Civilians who never served a damn day in the service don’t know what our skill sets are. They have no idea how smart we are. They don’t care.  Don’t settle for less unless you have to. If you worked hard to achieve your dreams don’t fall victim to assholes that are going to low ball you! These skills to survive in the “Corporate” Gang Bang have to be learned. Now back to the topic…. For- profit universities are everywhere and their main targets are veterans and other service members and their loved ones.  For those wanting to know the truth about what they do and how they operate stay tuned… I will be giving all the details to each and everyone of you so you can make a decision that is going to have an effect on your new career change.  Stay tuned for part 3!

GI Bill Predators Part 1

Like most of you, I am a veteran that did my time and lived to tell about it.  I was with a unit with bad leadership and due to that I decided the Marine Corps was not something I wanted to do for a career.  After a long period of moving around to dead end job after dead end job, I decided to throw caution to the wind and earn my college education.  It was always my dream to accomplish this. Like many of you, I had many questions concerning educational benefits and how to use them.  I was fortunate to go to Arizona State University. The staff was very helpful and aided me in my pursuit of my own personal educational goals. Like many of you, I was unable to purse education on active duty because of “mission essential” bullshit.  That was then and this now…. These for-profit universities prey on unsuspecting service members both active duty, reserve and prior service. I am speaking on experience because I used to work for one of these companies and I can tell you that they are all run the same.  I was a recruiter for South University, which is a part of Education Management Corporation.  I can tell you that no one who works for these companies cares about your education; all they care about is the “Bottom Line.” Let me break they down barney style: they don’t give a good fuck about you or your education, all they care about is enrolling you in class and getting you on the hook for your benefits.  In the next couple of days I am going to be sharing a few stories with all of you concerning for profit schools and other “Veteran Friendly” scams that I have seen with my own two eyes. I want to alert as many of you as possible about what goes on to veterans in these situations, and what you can do to avoid being scammed. Don’t read into the hype about these schools being voted as “veteran friendly”. The only friendly thing they do is smile while they are fucking you out of the benefits that you worked so hard to earn.

Submitted by: thewittyone

The License Scam

Of the many opportunities available to military personnel, the authorization to operate multiple tons of sexy, deadly combat vehicles often appears to be a good selling point for recruiters.  Pictures and videos showing Marines performing awesome feats of high-precision military excellence in millions of dollars’ worth of ground equipment are showered upon young prospects and poolees, convincing them that they will soon get the chance to do donuts in their LAV while shooting bad guys and blowing up enemy tanks before hitting a sweet ramp and crashing through the front door of (contemporary evil dictator)’s fortified compound and delivering a case of good old American Whoop Ass right in his evil, terrorist face.  That is not quite how it works.  Most Marines never get to drive an HMMWV.


To operate a vehicle owned by the Marine Corps, the driver will need a license.  There is a license for every vehicle and there are multiple stamps or qualifications needed for the various configurations of the same equipment.  For example:  AAV Repairmen (2141) earn a Shop license for the three basic models of the AAV (P7, C7, R7).  The Shop license permits them to operate the vehicles within the confines of the maintenance areas only.  AAV Crewmen (1833) earn a Road license that permits them to operate the vehicle in every other condition (roadways, beaches, combat, etc.)  Tank and LAV operators/repairmen are similar,  separating their licenses by MOS.  For Motor Transport and Heavy Equipment MOS’s, there are several licenses that the operators and mechanics must receive, as their jobs are more versatile and often require them to be competent at operating (for Motor T) HMMWV’s, 7-tons, LVS’s, and (for H.E.) Bulldozers, cranes, and forklifts.  There are Shop and Road licenses for these as well.  While overseas, additional licenses or certifications may be required to operate vehicles on foreign roadways.  Marines from an MOS that does not work with these vehicles on a daily basis can get a license to operate, but they must first gain their command’s approval, which can be easy depending on their command’s need for operators, or it’s heinous ulterior motives.


What was the first piece of advice given to young people by older veterans?  Never volunteer for anything, right?  Regardless of the opinion on their current mental state, that is the most useful advice anyone can give you in regards to daily life in the United States Marine Corps.  That advice should especially be taken into account when one mistakenly believes that a license could improve their professional image and importance to their current chain of command.


I was one of those Marines dumb enough to forget such sage-like advice.


A month into my first year on Okinawa I noticed that some of the Lcpls seemed to never stand barracks duty.  Our battalion had a policy of allowing Marines with an HMMWV road license to be exempt from frequent Barracks Duty in exchange for the hardship of monthly Driver Duty and the possibility of being called upon to randomly serve as Duty Driver if someone fell (deathly) ill.  After standing Barracks Duty with a good number of shithead NCO’s until I was deemed “worthy” of a license (read: was promoted to Lcpl) I was allowed the opportunity to get that golden ticket to the skating rink.


One of our Sergeants and a couple of other Lcpls were getting their licenses, too.  Normally, this would be an awful ordeal due to three Lances having to put up with some dickhead NCO.  Luckily for us this particular NCO was Sgt. Skate.  He was close to his EAS and gave absolutely zero fucks under certain conditions.  Those conditions being; away from staff, officers, and motards.


The first week was all on Foster, which meant we had to take the first Green Line to get there and had to miss PT.  Short classes with plenty of breaks because the instructors didn’t want to be there any more than we did, like most classes in the Fleet that are outside of your parent unit.  Lunches were 1100-1300.  Some times the classes would get out around 1500 and we would be done for the day.  Field day?  Sorry Corporal, Sgt. Skate is coming through to inspect at 2000 because we have to be up for PT formation at 0530 with the company then catch the Green Line at 0700 and we are required to get a minimum of eight hours of sleep or we can’t get drive and get our licenses and that would make our unit look bad wouldn’t it, Corporal?  The second week was extra sweet because all we had to do was get up, check out a vehicle, then drive it around all day.  On base the first three days, off base the last two.


Not having driven anything for almost a year wasn’t the difficult part.  Adapting to driving on the other side of the road whilst avoiding suicidal civilians that lose their minds at the sight of any military vehicle was.  Few things in this world are more entertaining than the look on an unsuspecting Japanese businessman’s face as over 5,000 pounds of ugly, cheap, lowest-bidder garbage comes screeching to a halt within inches of his panicked, guilt-stricken, red-light-running teeth.


The privilege of being Duty Driver had its perks:  I spent way less days on duty and none on barracks duty.  It usually meant getting off work at 1100 to hang out at the Battalion building and run the admin guys to IPAC or wherever they felt like skating.  It meant 8 hours of “guaranteed, uninterrupted” sleep the night before (bahaha…yeah, I’ll get to that).  For once it was a chance to not have to walk everywhere like a bloody savage.  It was also a great learning experience.  “Supervising” the Marines on restriction that were cleaning the building usually consisted of leaning against a wall and earning my J.D. in Barracks Law.  Sometimes the OOD or SDO would be a raging motard and would insist that their Duty Lcpl and driver either clean, do MCI’s, or read something on the Commandant’s Reading List.  I would usually insist on practicing MCMAP with the A-Duty, but this only worked once.  Most of the time however, the OOD or SDO was just as bored and pissed at having to stand duty as everyone and they’d let us watch movies or sleep until he was ready to rack out.


The best SNCO’s to drive for were the ones who remembered being a young Marine.  They did their tours of the barracks by trusting the Duty NCO’s report and leaving instead of insisting on inspecting every lounge, hallway, and unlocked room.  They did what all men do when they are bored, they talked.  They reminisced about their days as a young idiot on Okinawa and how they got away with what they got away with.  They spilled the beans on why some staff and officers will never be promoted, and why others will.  Best of all, they would listen.  Not all, but some.  A fifteen year Staff Sergeant whom obviously has felt the ripping force of the Corps’ horned phallus tends to call “bullshit” when he sees it.  That new Platoon Sergeant abusing his authority?  Don’t worry, devil dog, he’s got this shit.  Your paperwork got “misplaced” in your company office somewhere?  Its cool, he’s got a couple buddies at IPAC (calls one on the spot).  Even if they aren’t in your CoC, they can fix problems.


Driving an HMMWV wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine.  It had it’s drawbacks.  That “8 hours of sleep” thing?  It was more of a suggestion.  Hearing an NCO hiss “I don’t give a fuck if you have duty, you’re not sleeping til I say your room is clean.  I’ll be back at 01” was very common.  Four hours of sleep is definitely not the same as eight, and being exhausted on duty just plain sucks.  Being the battalion Duty Driver wasn’t the only responsibility, however.


Having the off-base stamp on my license made me into a transportation asset to my command, and they exploited the shit out of that fact, especially when it came to training.  Our well-intentioned SNCO’s decided that Marines from my section were in need of some proper MOS training on AAV’s instead of just rebuilding the engines and transmissions all day, so they would schedule a Friday here and there for us to go up to another camp and work on their Amtracs.  This meant going to Motor T by 0430 to check out a vehicle and be at PT formation at 0530, then loading up everyone but the two Cpls and one Sgt that are LAV mechanics and no not one goddamned thing about AAV’s but insist upon making us wait until they can convince the Platoon Sergeant that five non-NCO’s cannot be trusted, then driving through heavy traffic slower than every other car on the road for a couple of hours while ignoring the wrong directions being screamed at my by Cpl Literallycannotreadaroadmap.  The training usually consisted of looking busy with the other mechanics while the LAV NCO’s walked around and did the exact same thing.  The drives back were usually peaceful because everyone would be asleep or too tired to give a shit about what anyone had to say.  This quiet, exhausted state sometimes led to me almost nodding off, which could have been extremely dangerous and has been known to happen to many Marines.  Nothing was learned and no amount of training was accomplished by anyone.  Not on purpose, at least.


I learned how to fix HMMWV’s by accident.  Let us not forget that as awesome as these vehicles may appear, they are only as effective as their maintainers allow them to be.  Let us also not forget that the people who maintain said vehicles are United States Marines.  On one trip up north, I had a fully loaded soft-back and was on the main highway when someone taps me on the shoulder and yells, “HEY I THINK YOU JUST LOST A BOLT.”  Confused, I keep driving and pay closer attention to see if I could feel any vibration, thumping, grinding, or other sign of possible failure, but heard and felt nothing.  A couple of OHSHITs later and another tap on my shoulder, accompanied by a car flying past me on the right, confirmed that my vehicle  was, in fact, dropping bolts onto the highway and bouncing them towards traffic.  I pull over, unload everyone, and set up the plastic “move over asshole there is a wreck or something up there” cones (the furthest of which was promptly destroyed by a speeding civilian the second I stepped away), and begin inspecting the HMMWV’s underside.  Two bolts were holding the differential cover on.  Two.  This was in 2004 when cell phones were popular but not everyone had one.  Not everyone meaning, in this instance, none of us.  We ended up stripping that truck for the better part of an hour before finding a couple of loose bolts that looked good enough to work for now, then duct-taped around them until they fit and pounded them into place, securing them with more duct tape.  Did it hold?


We got to a gas station just in time for the last bit of gear oil to drain out, and would later find out that three people reported us for going inside in uniform.  When we eventually arrived at the camp we were supposed to be going to, their Motor T laughed it off as if it were normal.  They couldn’t trade us vehicles, but they did manage to scrounge up enough replacement bolts to secure the cover.  I had to make the seal.  It wasn’t the fist time I would have to produce a field expedient replacement part.


I was once ordered to drive a boot from Kinser to Hansen to retrieve his issued gear from the barracks of the MEU detachment he had just returned from.  We were at a red light, about to pass one of the Kadena Air Base gates, when the passenger side of the windshield turned a light yellowish-green color and a thick cloud of sweet heat obscured everything in view.  My first thought:  Aliens.  It wasn’t aliens.  The coolant hose had burst and was diarrhea farting steam and antifreeze everywhere.  On our vehicle, on the ground, and on the cars around me.  Thinking it best to get off the road, I turned toward the Air Base and approached the guards.  It went something like this:


Air Force Guard:  What’s up?

Me:  Sup.  Where’s your Motor T?

AFG:  (bewildered expression)

Me:  (Fuck) I’m leaking antifreeze, where do you keep your hummers and trucks?

AFG:  Oh.  Um.  Let me grab…hold on.

-Second AFG appears-

AFG2:  Uh, what’s going on?

Me:  This vehicle is broken.  I need to get to where you keep your vehicles so that I can fix it and continue my mission.

AFG2:  Oh.  Uh, let me call someone real quick.

Me:  Wait, I have-

AFG2:  I’ll be right back.

Me:  …fuck.

-Several minutes and levels of pissed later-

AFG1:  I don’t think they can help.  Sorry.

Me:  Whatever, can I at least use the phone in the security hut to call my command and explain the situation?

AFG1:  Ah, well, um, ah, you see, uh, we’re not allowed to let anyone use the phone.  It’s for official guard stuff only.

Me:  Are you fucking serious?  Like, seriously, are you fucking with me right now?

AFG1:  Nah, sorry man.

Me:  This is official business, though.  We are on our way to Hansen to transport important equipment.  I need to use your phone to call my command so that they can send another vehicle for us.

AFG1:  No, Gate Guard business.  If it doesn’t have anything to do with us, we can’t let you use the phone.

Me:  Could you call my command and tell them what is going on then?  You are a gate guard, and I am at your gate seeking assistance.

AFG1:  (looks at other guard in air-conditioned booth)  No I don’t think we can do that.  It’s not an emergency.

Me:  A broken down vehicle IS an emergency.

AFG1:  Ok.  I have to go.

Me:  …

Dealing with those dickheads took so long the vehicle was almost cooled down enough to work on, so we started looting every crack and crevice for something that we could use to repair the split coolant tube.  There was a small tool kit in a plastic box, but there was nothing inside of use.  The duct tape holding that kit shut turned out to be the only thing we could find that might work, but it was old and mostly dried out and definitely would not work on its own.  I had a bunch of zip ties for…um…some reason…and decided to test my hypothesis that if I tightened them down enough around the edges of the tape-wrap, it would be watertight.  There was no way to test this without filling the reservoir first, but alas, there was no hose to be found.  This problem was solved by filling my camel-bak in the security booth’s bathroom sink then carefully pouring it in.  Many times.  All while these two Air Force douche bags sat in their air-conditioned booth giggling like school girls and refusing to help a brother out.


Fuck it, it worked.  We got to Hansen in the late afternoon, grabbed his gear, called our command and bitched about how utterly useless the Air Force is and how goddamned awful our Motor T was, then ran to Taco Bell.  I figured the least I could do for this poor guy having to go through that shit on his first day back was buy him a burrito.  The trip back took longer than expected.  Much longer.


I’ll be completely honest here and admit that I fucked up.  It was my responsibility to triple-check the map to make sure my A-Driver didn’t give me wrong directions, and I fucked up.  Literally, right from the start.  I turned left out of Hansen instead of right.  The countryside looked quite different going back, but we didn’t realize why until we got to Schwab.  Realizing how far gone we were, I pulled a U turn and headed back.  Maybe it was dusk settling, maybe it was exhaustion.  Hell, it was probably lack of attention to detail.  It doesn’t matter, we missed the turn.  Okinawa has a major highway that goes all the way around the island, 58.  English is everywhere on Okinawa, but not so much on street signs.  It is easy to stay on 58, though, as numbers are universal.  We followed 58 all the way around the bottom of the island and ended up stuck in traffic for over an hour twice.  We pulled into our battalion Motor T at around 1955ish.  The sergeant on duty was extremely pissed, but eventually calmed down enough to read the notes his staff left him about the Air Force guys being dicks and his piece of shit humvee being released while having maintenance issues and gave us no further trouble.


That license did not make me more important to my unit, it made me yet another checked box on a clipboard and allowed them to take an awesome training opportunity and turn it into a big old bag of shredded taints.

Okinawa Prison (Part 9)

The infamous “Motard.”

The following was borrowed from the internet site Urban Dictionary-

A alteration of the USMC term Moto. This word is used to describe some overbearing marine who is extremely loud and obnoxious all the time. He is so motivated even in the shittiest situations that everyone wants to kick him in the teeth.

Motards yell all the time, wear clothes with USMC logos all over them, have a ridiculous amount of USMC tattoos, and use the word oorah!excessively. They also like to call cadence while they walk around when not marching a platoon. A motard is usually some private or private first class who hasn’t even been deployed.
Marine 1: “It is 0500 on a Monday morning, it is raining, it is fucking freezing, and we have been standing in formation for 45min. Can it get any worse?”

Marine 2: “Oh my god, that motard over there won’t shut the fuck up!”


Yut yut! Oorah! Kill! Semper! Uhrrrr! Good to go! Tun Tavern! 1775! Do these words bring somewhat of a bad memory to you? Those words became part of a certain language that belonged to certain group of people. These kind of people had the same traits: stupid, motivated, pointed with their knife edge hand, had a high and tight, was usually from the mid west, had very little education, was all about criticizing uniforms, paid attention to stupid things, had no life. When I spent four years of my life unhappily in the Marine Corps I hated many things about it. But if I had to choose in a wide spectrum of choices things that I did not like with the USMC it would be too many; therefore I will not list them because I would write incessantly. If I had to choose one thing and one thing only that I hated in the Corps it would be the infamous “Motard.”

The motard was the epitome of how dumb the corps could make a human being. To me the motard is a loser usually from the mid west. This person grew up with nothing in his life. He did not play any sports, he did not travel, he did not hook up with beautiful women from around the world. He probably grew up in a farm town of about 250 population. The most this person would have to look forward to is a barn yard dance, a rodeo, or a tractor derby. This motard lived in his farm town his whole life and as a result has a very narrow aspect of life. He reserves no room for change and does not believe in the saying “different strokes for different folks.” Fast forward a couple of years, send this redneck to boot camp, give him a high and tight, give him something in his sad life to be proud of and now you have given birth to a motard.

To the motard the Marine Corps is everything. This motard had NOTHING in his life before and now he has “something.” This motard thinks that the USMC pays excellent because it is the most money he ever made in his life and now makes the decision that he is going to stay in for 20 years. Now this motard wants to prove that he is bad ass. He really wants to get promoted by being tough because he cannot do it intellectually. So what does the motard do? He starts doing dirty bitch shit like snitching on his fellow Marines that do things like underage drink, have women in the barracks, or even the ones that are dating junior ranks. This motard thinks that by snitching and correcting Marines on stupid shit will get him promoted.

I personally got out of the suck because of motards. I just could not stand them. They were so stupid. You have a nice state like CA were people are educated and professional and you have these idiots from farming towns across the nation coming over with their stupid proper civilian attires, high and tights, moto tattoos everywhere, their cars with excessive amounts of USMC stickers and they go out in town fucking everything up because they think that they are entitled because they went to boot camp or were deployed. I was embarrassed by motards because that was the image that civilians had on Marines. If a girl found out I was a Marine “and I tried very hard to hide it with my low reg and 5 o’clock shadow” she would automatically think things like “oh, you’re a devil dog? You must be stupid and just looking to fuck something. I’m not talking to you.” And on the other hand if I went to coast highway to get a hair cut vendors would approach me trying to sell me their shit thinking I was a stupid motard stupid enough to buy their stupid shit. I never wanted to be a civilian so bad.

Me and motards did not get along at all. Especially motards that go off the drill field or were going to the drill field. I remember one day I got a low reg haircut in Camp Pendleton. It was okay in Camp Pendleton as nobody said anything about it. Not even SgtMaj’s or Colonels. One time I remember I was driving down I-5 in San Diego CA to visit some family members down south and I had to stop at MCRD San Diego to get gas as it was the cheapest gas station there. I went to the gas station and this fucking old man with a mohawk, not even a high and tight, but a fucking mohawk was eye fucking me like I just had sex with his wife in his bed. I went to go put gas in my car and I could feel his stare burning through me. The motard said “who are you?!” I didn’t pay attention. “You in the blue shirt, who are you?!” I still did not turn around. “HEY IM TALKING TO YOU DEVIL DOG!” I turned slowly and said “You talking to me?” The motard then said “YES YOU NUM NUTS, I NEED TO TALK TO YOU DEVIL” I responded with “Oh, my name is not devil sir, my name is free_bird” he then proceeded to walk up and down looking at me and said “You have a shitty haircut devil dog!” I responded by saying “I just got it today sir” He then said “who you with!?” I said “Camp Pendleton” he then did the stupid DI look and screamed “OK smart ass, what unit you with!?” I gave him a fake unit and fake name and the motard proceeded by telling me “you stay right here Marine, I need to take down your name, rank, unit etc.” As the motard went to his truck to get a pen and paper I finished fueling my car and got in it and drove off. Simple as that.

I hate motards and I will always hate them. They are stupid and idiotic and perfect to be used as a tool for the government. The motard has no life as he never had one. He never learned anything in school and never had aspirations to do anything with his life. He never wanted to see the world or to travel. He never bothered to improve his English linguistic skills, never expanded his vernacular or even used proper syntax that educated people use. He always spoke with a southern country or Midwestern redneck accent and thought that if your were Mexican, black or Asian you were not American enough. To the motard his farm town was everything. He married his fat ass Midwestern girlfriend and now they live on base while the motard is at the shop screaming at Marines for having chipped chevrons his fat ugly redneck wife is at the commissary wearing some offensively revealing clothes that do not fit her and she is in the middle of the ice cream section screaming at her baby and not moving out of the way. This ladies and gentleman is 80% of the people that stay in the Marine Corps. The motards.

Stay tuned for part 10.

Okinawa Prison (Part 8)

What duty is it? CAMP SEVICES WHOOP WHOOP!!!!!

After I wrote part 7 of my series I gave a little insight about “motivation.” Now this time I was “motivated” to get the fuck out of my unit and go to camp services. I was a recently busted down private and I was sent to go to gate 1 camp services building. I went to camp services and what I saw blew my mind. In my group there was Major Ferguson who was in charge of us and was never at the office. The XO was LT. Taylor who was a cool ass LT that was always playing basketball with junior Marines. Our SNCO’s were SSGT. Barreto who was as laid back as you could imagine and SSGT. King who really did not give a shit about Marine Corps bullshit and she was always doing something with her kids. We had two NCO’s CPL. Monk who was a drunk and a partier but minded his own business. There was CPL. Ing who was actually from China and barely understood English. Now there were four other LCPL’s, one PFC and I was the only PVT. I arrived at this new duty station expecting to get fucked with. I came in and I was a ghost. Nobody paid me any attention. I got to meet the Major and he was a very nice christian guy that did not believe in slavery. I met the LT and started talking to him about the Lakers and the Celtics and he gave me a big insight about basketball, he even invited me to play one day. SSGT. Barreto had a sense of humor and when I cracked some jokes he laughed very hard. Now I saw the NCO’s were on the same level as the junior Marines as the junior Marines would not even refer to them by their rank. Only by name. My jaw dropped at how lax this unit was. I could not believe my mind. After I was introduced to the group I was dismissed on Friday at 1300! I could not believe it. I was dismissed early while my father unit was ordered to fielday and later run a boots, utes, flak run with 7-ton tow chains carried atop of the shoulders of squads of Marines. I saw that shit from far away and decided to go hang out at another Marines barracks just to avoid any flak.

I went out in town early as I did not sign the green duty book in the barracks and went out in town with out a libo buddy. I was a lot more comfortable that way as I went to Kokusai street in Naha and drank at an all Japanese bar with no motards in sight. I was in bliss. The following Monday my company was forming it up to form it up outside the barracks in the rain at 0445. I was still asleep. My roommates thought I was smoking crack because I was not getting ready but I told them that I belonged to another command and that I was TAD. Soon CPL. Briggs and CPL. Lovehandles came barging in my room and before they started to scream bloody murder I did a ninja roll off my rack, I somersaulted to my wall locker and whipped out my beautiful crisp TAD orders that I had in a waterproof plastic container and I exposed it to the two NCO’s faces just like someone would expose a cross to a couple of vampires. They quickly gasped and put their hands up to cover their faces and walked backwards and out they went. Later CPL. Briggs came back real friendly and told me that SGT. Nazi wanted to see me when they came back from PT so that I could clean a common area with the other Marines. I said “aye aye” and went back to sleep for another hour and a half while they went off to their 6 mile run. Guess what!? I slept in my cammies and only had my boots off and when I heard from a distance “ ALO RITA LAYO!!!!!! LEFTY RITA LO RIIIITE!!!!! LOOOOO RIIII LAYO!!!! WE LOVE TO DOUBLE TIME!!!!!! MMMMM YEAH, MMMMM GOOOOD!!!!!!!! MARINE CORPS!!!!!!!” I got awakened rudely and heard the foot steps from far away. I heard my company just like the Jews heard the Nazis marching in to Poland from far away with the Stuka planes and Panzer tanks. I literally felt the ground shake as my company was forming it up out side to do a cool down stretch. I jump out of my rack, put on my boots, took my cover in one had, my TAD orders in the other hand and I escaped out the fire emergency hatch that were at the sides of the barracks and I ran down the stairs and away from the enemy just like Rambo did in the movies.

Now let me tell you how great the chow hall is when nobody is there and you are the first one. I got the first dibs on pancakes, lucky charms, peaches, pears, nice hot omelets and I got to drink my favorite juice as it was fresh and in stock. I was eating all by myself in my favorite seat watching my favorite news channel with out fear of being late to company formation. I had to be at my new TAD unit at 0800 and not another minute early. I was eating my breakfast at 0700 and I made it out by 0730 while my father company was still cleaning the barracks for morning clean up. I caught the green line bus and made it to my new unit at 0750. Fully rested, fully fed, and I had time to get a cup of coffee. When I arrived I was even in more shock as nobody was there. I thought that I was at the wrong building and started freaking out and asked one of the Marines at the building if I was at the right one. He said yes and at the same time the Colonel from that building (not Col. Maximus) came in and I stood at attention and he said “carry on Marine” with a grin, shook my hand and patted me on the back. I was at the camp services office when I saw the PFC and LCPL’s roll in at 0810. TEN MINUTES LATE!!!!!!!! I thought that shit never happened in the Latrine Corpse but it did. For the first time I saw Marines come in late and not get killed for it. Later the CPL’s came in at 0820 all hung over with no desire to correct anybody but their own hangover. At 0840 the SNCO’s came in and just went to their desks to read their emails and did not even say a word. At 0900 LT. Taylor came in his basketball PT gear and went straight to his office to change over and talk on the phone. And who knows where the Major was. He was unseen. I was flabbergasted at how skate this unit was as everyone was just sitting down on couches smoking and joking.

Finally at 0930 the SNOC’s told us to look busy and gave us some 55 gallon trash bags and told us to go pick up trash around the beach line. Now let me tell you, Camp Kinser was extremely clean and there was hardly any trash at all. We all jumped in the little trash truck and drove to the beach. Then we were all walking by the beach just bullshitting, smoking and joking and laughing with no motard NCO in sight. It was bliss as it seemed like a vacation. What came next was surprise. We were off to chow at 1100 when the chow hall opened! And back to work at 1300! Two full hours of chow time and even some nap time. I was so happy to be in camp services and when we came back the office was empty and CPL. Monk told us to leave early at 1600! I was in total amazement and I thought to myself “I can get use to this!”

Stay tuned for part 9

Okinawa Prison (Part 7)

The truth about “Motivation.”

Let me give you a scenario. Say that you had a transport company that transported packages from CA to NY. You drive for hours on end non stop until you reach NY and then come back to CA. It takes two days to get to NY and two days to get back to CA. Driving four days straight on a truck will bring a toll to it. Now lets say that you had a green truck and a red truck. You really don’t want to waste your engine and tires etc. Now a rational thinker that is smart would alternate the trucks. One trip use the green truck and the next week use the red truck. That would save a lot of wear and tear for both trucks and your business would be lucrative. Now let’s look at how this business would be operated by the USMC way of doing things. The USMC would drive the red truck first and keep driving it. It sees how the red truck does a good job and decides to pile every king of job and work on it. It would drive that red truck to the fucking ground until it disintegrates and falls apart. The USMC would then junk that red truck and then commence to do the same thing to the green truck until it falls apart and it does not function anymore. The USMC will just junk the trucks and keep newer trucks shipping in and the cycle goes on and on etc.

That was the way I saw how the USMC treated it’s own Marines. When the higher ups would see a good Marine that had a good work ethic the higher ups would hold that Marine hostage and not let him take leave or go on libo or anything. If that Marine was good and he had a government license guess what? The higher ups will trap that Marine and have him do countless extra duties either in the barracks or at battalion. Meanwhile you have a “shit bag” Marine. This Marine does not do his work and does not like to PT. He is always late, his uniforms are shit and he has to get constantly reminded to shave, shower etc. The higher ups see this and say “we don’t want this shit bag, send him somewhere else. Give him a TAD or something, we don’t want him.” So then this “shit bag” gets assigned a cool duty like chow hall duty, camp guard, or armory duty. This “shit bag” works from 0730 to 1630 Monday through Friday with full chow time and weekends. This “shit bag” gets a cool duty where you just show up to work, do your job, then go home. Later when this Marine’s duty is complete he goes back to his unit and gets sent to another cool training like jungle warfare, mountain warfare, terrorism training, camp guard, or the range. Any of these cool training programs are way better than the unit as they do not know you and do not hold any grudges against you. Every time you go to a different training unit it’s a fresh start and you can get to know your higher ups on a personal level and vice versa. This causes your higher ups to respect you as a person rather than hold grudges for the mistakes you did in the past and you get to do a good job all over again. Pretty soon you have rapport with these new leaders and they motivate (not motardate) you to do your job as a professional.

Meanwhile the “shit hot” Marine that had aspirations to be a Sgt Maj like his dad or be a General one day, ran a 300 PFT, did all his MCI’s, shot expert on the rifle range, had a crisp clean uniform, always shaved, always got a haircut, respected his NCO’s, stood at parade rest whenever spoken two, was respectful to his fellow Marines, did not get drunk, PT’d on his own all the time, is kept hostage by the higher ups. This “shit hot” Marine is not allowed to go anywhere because his unit needs him. This “shit hot” Marine is constantly getting shit by the higher ups and is constantly getting endless duties for days on end. Pretty soon this Marine starts to get tired as any normal human being would. This Marine starts to see how the “shit bag” Marines never get duty because they were not forced to get a government license. Soon this Marine starts to get angry at why he gets more workload than the other Marines that do not give a shit. Soon this Marine starts to get angry at his superiors and request for some time off, leave, liberty or some other kind of duty. The superiors get angry and tell this “shit hot” Marine that he is not going anywhere. This “shit hot” Marine eventually loses his temper and fights back and argues with his higher ups. The higher ups see this and make it their mission to work this Marine to death and pile endless duties to this Marine for personal reasons rather than professional ones. Fast forward a year or two and this “shit hot” Marine is still a Lcpl with no NJP’s and never gets promoted because somewhere in the high office someone denies this Marine’s promotion. This Marine starts to see how his “shit bag” peers that didn’t give a fuck start to get promoted, and some of these “shit bag” Marines are fat and even had an NJP. Now lets look at the “shit bag” Marine that was TAD to the armory or to camp guard. He eventually gets promoted and eventually gets in charge. This “shit bag” Marine did it with very little effort. All the “shit bag” Marine had to do was show up to work and be able to pass his PFT and be able to shoot on the range. Throw in a couple of MCI’s (to which he already had the answers to courtesy of the cool NCO’s he befriended) and this “shit hot” Marine is bound to get promoted.

So you have a “Chesty Puller” Marine that is always working harder than the average Marine because he does a good job all the time. This Marine soon looses all aspirations to get promoted or to stay in because he just had enough of the bull shit. Meanwhile the “shit bag” Marine gets orders to a new unit as an NCO where nobody knows his past. He gets along with his junior Marines and even gets promoted to SGT because he stayed out of trouble. This Marine then hooks up with a money hungry babe out in town and gets married. Now this “shit bag” Marine gets to live off base, gets paid for being married and even gets his honey pregnant and gets more money for the kid. Soon this “shit bag” Marine sees how good he has it and guess what? He re enlists and makes a cool career out his military service with very little effort and is now in charge of other Marines.

Now lets look at the “shit hot” Lcpl that is now considered a “shit bag” because he hates the USMC. This former “shit hot” Marine gets tired of the bullshit, says “fuck the Marine Corps, I’m done” and gets out and never looks back. Wasted and burned out. Never wanting to talk about his military service ever again. This goes on and on all over the Marine Corps. Good Marines getting out and shitty Marines staying in. I quickly saw how the USMC treated it’s own and opted to be the “shit bag.”

I opted to be the “shit bag” because it was a lot easier. It was working smarter and not harder. Now don’t get me wrong, I did my job professionally but I did not give a shit about “espirit de corps.” I still ran my first class PFT and shot expert and did all my MCI’s but I would not do “extra” for no fucking reason at all. Especially not for the USMC. I learned the game and quickly adapted to the dark side. I became wise and saw through all the bullshit that the USMC would give it’s own people. To the eyes of the motards I was a “shit bag.” But through my own eyes I was just surviving and looking out for my best interest. I had to look out for myself as nobody else would. Nobody else would get me promoted or get me removed from a shitty unit other than myself. I would see how airmen in the Air Force loved their job and always extended in Okinawa. I would interview these airmen on gate 2 street in Kadena and they all showed me how they worked and executed their missions. They would go to work, work hard, go home and play hard and get rewarded for their effort. Marines just worked hard, worked hard, worked hard and then would go home to get fucked hard with no Vaseline. I quickly saw how the good got punished and the bad got rewarded. I quickly learned the saying “don’t volunteer for shit in the Marine Corps” and this was very true. I never volunteered for shit. If I was ordered to do something I would do my job and that was it, nothing more, nothing less and guess what? I got less and less duties and was ordered to do cool trainings in Okinawa. Even though I had one NJP I got promoted to E-4 and when I got out I was four points from Sergeant. The USMC begged me to stay in, offered me E-5, a duty station of my choice and $25,000. I still said “fuck no” to the career planner and told him that I would rather live under a bridge than to spend another minute in the suck.

Stay tuned for part 8 and I will tell you how Camp Guard saved me and my rank while my unit was constantly getting fucked with.

Okinawa Prison (Part 6)

The day I learned how to skate.

Wow! Now I am the lowest rank, in the shittiest branch, in the shittiest station of that branch. I was at the bottom of the totem pole with my recently NJP colleagues. We were restricted to the barracks, work, and the chow hall. That was it. No gym, no PX, nothing. We were like the new prisoners that were transported by a big bus into a big prison. All eyes were on us. All fingers were pointed at us as if we committed an atrocity of a crime. We were the restricted Marines of our battalion 3rd Marine Readiness Battalion 3rd FSSG Camp Kinser, Okinawa Japan, United States Marine Corps.

Restriction sucked. Period. I would of much rather been thrown in the brig. Now let me tell you what restriction consisted of. I had to sign in up at battalion every two hours. The battalion was at least two miles away from the barracks and I had to walk up there rain or shine and sign the paper that the SNCOIC had or else I would get burned. On the weekends you had to sign in at 0700, 0900, 1100, 1300, 1500, 1800, 2000, and finally 2200. On the weekdays I would sign in at 0700 if it was not a PT day, after work at 1800, 2000, and 2200. I had to walk and was not allowed to get rides, ride taxis, or even ride a bike. If the 1stSgt was a dick that day he would make us march to battalion, even walk up in fire teams. At 1800 everyday we had to do extra duties for the battalion which included sweeping, swabbing, cleaning the head and buffing the deck with a buffer for two hours. We had to do this for 60 days straight. Not to mention the PT, fielday and all the other extra bullshit that comes with a shitty unit. Work was the fun part as we would just sit all day looking for something to do and it was easy to look busy by picking up a broom and sweeping. It was going back to the barracks that sucked as the Nazis of the 4th deck were always looking for ways to administer their power.

We would walk to battalion every day. I remember it raining heavily to where my jungle boots would squish out bubbly water from the breathing holes in the side. I had to wrap my wallet in a trash bag so that it would not get wet. The ponchos were shit and they would not do a proper job in keeping the moisture out. Not to mention asshole NCO’s and SNCO’s would roll up in their car while they were warm listening to music and talk shit to us that our uniforms were not perfect or we were not marching in step and tell us to pick up the trash on the ground. Restriction was hard but Marines made it much, much harder. I don’t know if you guys know a term named “Stockholm Syndrome” but basically it’s when you are in a shitty situation for so long it becomes normal to you and later you become numb.

Being a boot ass PVT I was not used to the term “skate.” I never really knew how people skated or what they considered skating. To me I thought that skating was just a lazy person that did not want to work. But really skating is much deeper than that. Skating is when you “get” the Marine Corps and say “fuck you!” Skating is when the USMC pays money to make you do a job and you purposefully do not do it for spite of wasting the USMC money. Skating is when an NCO’s tells you to do something, you say “Oorah SGT.” pretend that you are going to do it, look back to see if the SGT is still there and then not do it. Eventually the SGT will scream and threaten but at the end of the day the SGT worked harder than the PVT and the mission did not get accomplished. I my friends learned quickly the beautiful art of skating.

I soon realized that the USMC was just an endless array of punishment, regardless of who you were or how well you did your job or how motivated you were. You were going to get punished excessively regardless. Somewhere in the Marine Corps Bible, under one of the Marine Corps commandments it says “thou shalt be punished for days on end for no reason.” I quickly got a whiff of the stink and quickly got into the “don’t give a shit” attitude. It was a lot less stressful to worry more about myself rather than my unit, Corps, or country.

The first time I wore my beautiful skates was when I got tired of marching with a platoon. I started going my separate way and would take a shortcut through the jungle by the PX and make it quicker to battalion. On the way I could hit the “roach coach” and buy me some refreshments and snacks for the 16 miles I had to walk to battalion. My NJP colleagues quickly saw what I was doing and decided to join my bandwagon. I was not rebellious, I just believed in working smarter and not harder and the USMC was all about the opposite. So I was like “fuck you USMC, I am getting mine.” After my couple of skates I went to the PX (I was only allowed to go there for haircuts). But guess what?! I would eat Pizza Hut, Taco Bell, Baskin 31 flavors and go to the PX video game section to play the up and coming games. As I walked out of the PX I saw a beautiful beach cruiser for sale. I saw a special that included a helmet with the bicycle. I bought the bike and started biking it to fucking restriction. WHOOOOOO! Was it a whole lot easier trekking those daily miles with my beautiful beach cruiser. It really had me thinking about how the invention of the wheel served society very well. Of course there was SGT. Nazi and SGT. Burn that would stop their cars and tell me to get off the bike and walk it. I would do it, but guess what? As soon as they were out of sight I would get back on, ring my bike bell and pedal to battalion.

After the first 30 days of restriction I was handling my punishment a lot better. I would use the excuse of my restriction to get me out of PT and fielday from my unit. When motherfuckers would form it up to play games they would tell me “where the fuck you going motherfucker!!!!” I would just show them my battalion sign in sheet and say “I need to go to restriction Sgt and execute my duties. Battalion is more important than Company!” I would pull that card all the time and I would get away with it. Later on me and my NJP colleagues kind of developed a clique just like the ones you see in prison movies. Later we all agreed on pitching in on taxis and riding them to restriction. This was sweet. We later started bringing snacks to battalion while we did our duties and we even got to play a little boombox while we cleaned the head. Especially if the SNCO was cool. I would use the “brown nose” method to butter up the SNCO and he would be nice and give us our duties and turn the other way. Sometimes we would just bullshit with the SNCO and get to watch whatever movies he was watching. Sometimes the SNCO was a motard that recently got off the drill field and we had to be on our toes, but I STILL managed to butter up the motard DI by simply asking him about certain drill movements and life on the drill field. I was so good at this that I even got the Colonel talking about his golden days in OCS and when he commanded a platoon in Desert Storm.

I was so good at skating that I could of seriously tried out for the Olympic figure skating team (just kidding). But I really saw the game and how it was played. I was a professional skater by now. After restriction was finally over I carried my civilian gear in my issued backpack and proceeded to change over immediately after I singed my last check in. We all called a taxi and proceeded to go to “whisper alley” to get some much needed pussy. We still managed to go to a small bar and responsibly drink without getting too wasted and went back to the barracks. I was in bliss but what came next was the lottery of bliss’. As soon as I came back to my unit my Msgt called me to his office and said that he gave me a Temporary Assigned Duty (TAD) with Camp Guard. These motherfuckers did nothing but guard armories, gates, and pick up trash (if there was any). Could you say “skate?” I quickly reached into my sea bag and brought out my beautiful skates and polished them ready for another adventure.

Stay tuned for Okinawa Prison (Part 7) and I will tell you about all the shit I got away with 😉

Conscientious Objection

Good & evil

This is a topic I am sure most people have never heard of before.  Conscientious (Con-she-en-shus) Objection is when a person’s beliefs and morals will not allow their participation in war.

I am a Conscientious Objector.  I am opposed to war.  A book that I highly recommend reading is linked to on the home page of this website called, “War is a Racket”.  It is written by Major General Smedley Butler USMC.

For further information you can visit the GI Rights Hotline and The Center on Conscience and War I found the Center through the GI Rights Hotline.

Many Marines view this as a cowardly stance to have and it is often viewed in a negative light.  To understand it is an entirely different mindset.  You have to break free of the indoctrination this current generation is dealt on a daily basis.

I am like every other man, I love action movies.  I love seeing the explosions, guns, and violence, but I have learned a significant fact.  It is a fictional portrayal where no actual human being, no brother or sister in Christ, no soul is killed.  You may say, “Well no duh, that’s common sense!”

But, I ask you, is it really?  Do you take into consideration why you are fighting whomever you are sent to fight?  Do you consider the irreparable damage you would do or have to do to those people mentally, emotionally, physically?  I mean to real people, like you, me, your brother, sister, mom, and dad.

Let’s take a moment to turn the tables and use our imagination.  Imagine if Russia set up camp in Washington State.  They are tired of the US and its imperialistic behavior and come to suppress the military activity closest to its land.  So now they are kicking in doors, patrolling, and placing checkpoints everywhere.  They take firearms, arrest people everywhere, then torture and kidnap people they claim are terrorists who are fighting back.

How would these American fighters be viewed from America’s perspectives?  They would be patriots.  They would be heroes.  They would be the rallying cry of everyone tired of the Russian’s oppression on American land!

What is really different between that situation and the Middle East?

Now mind you, this is a mindset to bring you away from the “idea” of glory and warfare.  You have to bring yourself away from the mindset that glory and doing the right thing are one and the same.  I have my own delusions of grandeur all the time (being a war hero), but then I remember all the slaughter would not be helping anyone or have any positive cause.

Conscientious Objection is being an objector to war.  Objection to the pointless slaughter for whatever reason, religion or politics is not the key point here.  Smedley Butler said it best and helps us to understand why war is morally wrong; it is essentially trading blood for money.

I am often confronted with the statement that there will always be men who want to hurt others, and that is entirely true!  But why does no one stop them?  If I were the vice president and the president wanted to start a war because he was upset with another nation, I would do everything to stop the madness of sending men to kill and be killed who had nothing to do with the politics involved!

An example I can use would be Germany, what if Hitler’s generals told him no?  What if they refused and removed him based on moral grounds from slaughtering all the Jews?  What if they refused to ignite a war across the Continent?  WWII would have never happened.  This same idea can be used with every atrocity in history.  What if those below said no?

One Conscientious Objector said during WWII that he would gladly kill Hitler but he was not going to slaughter people to do so!

When going through the process of becoming classified as a Conscientious Objector it is not about what you believe about wars past and hypothetical future wars, it is about war as you know it.  War as we all know it in this current generation has unfolded before us for the last decade.  I am not specifically saying that because I am against the invasion of the Middle East I am an Objector, I am saying because of how war is waged I am a Conscientious Objector.

Take a second to understand my statement.

Where I was my ROEs were as open ended as they could be.  Here is an explanation:  If anyone, woman, child, man, made the motion to jump into the compound we were to shoot them, visibly armed or not.  There would be no attempt to detain in the event either.  This clicked in me showing the true value of life, that these were other humans with souls and they didn’t matter to these warmongers who led us.

This was during the building of the new embassy in Tripoli after the mission in Benghazi was assaulted.  The White House was still lying about the event having happened because of some protest that got out of hand.  We were under the impression that a riot could happen any day.

There are numerous examples of how little life means in the war culture!  It’s not just the USMC, it’s not just the US DoD, it is all militaries that are cruel and merciless.  You have the sheep getting its skull beat in by a soldier with a baseball bat, the honorable marine gleefully throwing a puppy off a cliff, the prisoners excessively abused, humiliated, and tortured.

Don’t forget Collateral Murder where the Apache pilots had a free for all gunning down a crowd of men, two children and cameramen.

Prior to this event I got to see places and things that most Christians never get to see.  The unit I was with travelled and went places all over the Mediterranean Sea even making a brief stop in Israel.  These places changed me and this was where my beliefs grew, I became a growing Christian again after having delved head first into the evil of being a worldly warmonger in my younger years.

Jesus said to turn the other cheek, God commanded “Thou Shalt not Kill”, and Proverbs 3:30-32 “Strive not with a man without cause, if he hath done thee no harm. Envy not thou the oppressor, and choose none of his ways…”  These are a few of the references I understand now, that I could not comprehend years ago.

I have learned the value of life, that each person and animal deserves the chance to live.  No person is born racist or willful to indiscriminately harm others.  “The idea that some lives are worth less is the root of all that is wrong in the world.”

Being a Conscientious Objector is not pacifism nor cowardly.  It is being able to understand reality and have a true moral compass away from the indoctrination of glorified slaughter.  You can look to the non-aggression principle for help in understanding oppression and slaughter are wrong.

Conscientious Objection does not mean you will stand by and be killed willingly; you do not have to deny yourself the right to defend yourself, loved ones, or any victim.  To kill to protect the lives of innocents who are being oppressed, assaulted, or harmed around you is far different than armies or organizations fighting over greed and resources.

“Then said he unto them, But now, he that hath a purse, let him take it, and likewise his scrip: and he that hath no sword, let him sell his garment, and buy one.” Luke 22:36

Conscientious Objection is an advocacy of peace and diplomatic action in place of violence.  To defend one’s self against aggression is well within being a Conscientious Objector and a Christian.

I am a Conscientious Objector, I never want to have to kill anyone, I believe war is unnecessary, and I know war is unnecessary.  I will be one of the few who take the step to tell the world that I will not participate in their wars.


Below I will outline the process.

1. Before doing anything, contact a Counselor at the Center on Conscience and War.

  • They will help you to understand your beliefs and mindset by asking you different questions.
  • If you are 100% sure you are and they can see that, they will be more than willing to help.  If you are still on the fence they will help you to figure out where you stand.  Obviously they are a peace advocating organization so don’t expect them to appeal to your warmongering side.
  • Per Marine Corps Order 1306.16F you have to answer a select set of questions in a paper for your Conscientious Objector Application. (Summary of changes since June 2013)
  • They will recommend you complete these questions and help you to understand what the questions are asking before telling your command.
  • A good point to remember is that it is not politically based; it is based on your beliefs and/or morals.  No political arguments, nothing about media, no blasting the Marine Corps for anything they did to piss you off.
  • You will also determine what classification you want; they are 1-0 and 1-A-0.
  • 1-0 is separation because you cannot participate in anything war related. 1-A-0 is to be moved to another job that is not combat oriented. (These are basic descriptions; pages 8 and 9 of MCO 1306.16F have the full descriptions.)

(I worked on my paper for a month with 1 total revision before I had my beliefs organized in a sensible way.)

2. Once your paper is complete you will have to inform your chain of command you are a Conscientious Objector.

  • Be aware that you cannot claim this then go talking about war like it’s cool, participating in training concerning killing and training to kill in scenarios.  Continued participation will lead them to believe you are a liar and add an even more negative stigma to those like me.  DO NOT give in to peer-pressure!  Stand your ground!
  • This is often abused as an easy way out for reservists who are scared to deploy and that keeps a continued negative stigma going against those of us who believe this way.

3. Next they will set you up with an interview with a Chaplain so he can give an opinion of how sincere and deeply held your beliefs/morals appear.

  • Your counselor can prepare you with commonly asked questions.
  • The Chaplain is used because they tend to be one of the few guys who have a moral compass and can try to understand what you have to say.
  • This can happen fairly quickly, I had my interview a week after the initial claim of Conscientious Objector status.

4. You will be appointed an investigating officer (IO) to interview guys from your unit, your chain of command, and any other co-workers.

  • He will ask them about you, your attitude, any observable evidence etc.

5. The next step in the process is a Psych Evaluation.

  • This can be a relatively short interview.  He asks about how you feel, how your personal life is, and a range of other questions to determine if you’re ok mentally.
  • He is primarily looking for PTSD or something that would have a sudden trigger to cause you to want to be a Conscientious Objector.

6. Next you will be interviewed by your investigating officer.  He should be extremely thorough with the order so this process only needs to be completed once, it can be quite confusing and lengthy.

  • You will meet with him and he will ask you pointed questions.
  • You will need to remember that you don’t need to answer any political, hypothetical, or historical based questions.  You are to prove what you believe about war as YOU know it.
  • You will be allowed to bring in witnesses in person or even by phone and letters of support. Also, your counselor can listen by phone or be present.
  • My meeting was very informal.  It was the officer, my counselor on speaker phone, and we wore utilities.

7. After the interview he will type up his findings and submit it up the chain of command, Company CO, Battalion CO, Regimental CO, Division CO, G1, then HQUSMC will receive it, have a board for it, then decide what they think is best given what classification you have requested.

  • They cannot refuse 1-0 and give you 1-A-0 instead and vice versa.
  • The Commandant no longer has the authorization to deny you conscientious objector status, if he thinks you should be denied it is sent to the Secretary of the Navy for final review and determination.
  • As your package passes each CO they may choose to leave a letter of endorsement to say they agree or even disagree with you and what discharge they recommend for you.  It is also up to them to leave comments; if the endorsement letters are negative you should get the chance to write a rebuttal.
  • Discharge is based upon character of service, any NJPs, page 11s, etc.  These packages tend to be Honorable or General under Honorable.  In my case I have zero negative marks against myself and I would assume that guys who think like me have higher moral standards and stay out of trouble.  I received an Honorable classification.
  • When it comes to benefits the VA does not judge based on why you were discharged, they look at the type of discharge you receive.  (Be prepared to be degraded by peers, many people who are ignorant and do not want to understand will be very against you getting an honorable – because you didn’t finish the contract, not because of who you are in your heart, soul, and character.)

8. You must be persistent; you must constantly check in and find out where it is and its location.  Do not be annoying though, it can take two to three weeks at each level of command and you do not want to spotlight yourself for every working party and all menial tasks.

  • Get a copy of everything!  I have a few copies of the package all from different stages from corrections.  Anything that has to do with this application, GET A COPY!
  • DO NOT tell your command unless you are completely confident you have your ducks in a row and are ready to be interviewed.
  • One Conscientious Objector told his command before he had the questions answered and his thoughts sorted out and they had him to the Chaplain within the week unprepared.
  • Be ready for hiccups, something will be done wrong and it will have to have portions redone, it happened multiple times for me.
  • Be ready to be interrogated by higher-ups that see this.  Everyone in the battalion knew me and a few different sergeants and staff sergeants wanted to blindside me with a debate and try to catch me and twist my words (much like Jesus and Pharisees with their money and Caesar)
  • Be ready to be ridiculed by your peers.  You will be outcast and alone unless you have level headed guys that can understand some people believe differently than them.  Also be aware your chain of command may change the terminology they use when preparing for training by really indoctrinating that shooting back would be “self-defense” even though you would be the aggressor.
  • I have found that even combat vets agree with me to a certain extent and multiple combat vets blatantly told me they believe this decade of war in particular was pointless.  One vet even shook my hand and told me to keep at it.
  • While I am not a combat vet I learned from vets like the Iraq Vets against the War.  I take pride knowing that I can learn the lessons others had to learn through them – in other words, I never had to kill anyone to realize how wrong it is.
  • A question to ask is if your package is just for classification as a Conscientious Objector or if it includes the package for separation/job change or if your EAS date is just going to be changed once classification for 1-0 is determined.
  • This process has an average time from submittal to separation under 1-0 of 6 to 9 months


On a personal note what you can expect from your family depends on their character and love for you.

  • As a reawakened Christian actually following the teachings of Jesus Christ my mother is extremely proud of whom I have become, a complete 180 from the childish, selfish, immature, worldly warmonger I once was when I signed on.
  • Be prepared for negative opinions of any motivators/”government is god” types in your family and friends.  Many will not understand or even want to understand.
  • A common misconception for Christians is that in Romans it talks about governments are set in place by God.  This verse is often explained that all Christians should have unwavering loyalty.  The governments set in place by God are an enemy to evil and advocates for good.  I do not see a government following those standards in place over the United States or any other country.


This portion forward is more centered on my personal outlook.

If you are ok with war and want to go be some war hero but just hate the Marine Corps or military, do not abuse this and fake your way out, you will just be adding to the problem rather than fixing it.  When you are inevitably found out to be lying, your life will be that much worse off and you will help to ruin this for men like me.  If you have found a moral compass that tells you war is wrong and/or you found a religion you truly believe that advocates peace, then by all means go for it.  It’s a long rough path, but be strong.

For anyone who wants to still try to fake it through this consider other options first like the VEERP, early out for education, or just saving up a bunch of leave for terminal.  I don’t know how many types of separations there are because the manual for separations is apparently, from what I’ve heard, well hidden from the eyes of marines. (If you desperately need to see it talk to an IPAC/admin friend.)

This is a documentary on Conscientious Objectors in WW1 in Britain:

These are other Conscientious Objectors, American and Israeli:  (American)  (American)  (Israel) (Israel)

A page on facebook that has many horrifying pictures of what war is:

(For any Christians)

When dealing with dark times remember the Valley of the Shadow of Death and fearing no evil and how God led the Israelites out of Egypt, all the obstacles and hard times. If He sees you believe this in your heart, He will guide you on the path that will make you better. Also go to the Book of Daniel and read up on Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego or on Daniel trying to eat the different meal since the king’s food was corrupt.  (The Book of Daniel was what really showed me how I felt.)

You may agree; you may disagree; that is your right.  The Holy Ghost worked me into the decent and better man I am now and I am proud of who I have become.  This is information for anyone who feels they may be a Conscientious Objector and for anyone trying to figure out what Conscientious Objection even is.  It is also a good reference to anyone in a chain of command who may not have any idea what to do.

“To Hell with War”

-Major General Smedley Butler


Submitted by “Hooyut”

Is there Discrimination in the Marine Corps?

As the most elite fighting force in the United States’ massive military arsenal, the Marine Corps must uphold an image of professionalism at all times.  Marines are held to a higher standard because we proudly claim that we are the “tip of the spear.”  These higher standards ensure Marines always perform well in combat, their everyday jobs, and behave in a manner which is honorable, courteous, and respectful.  It takes hard work, but that is what it takes to be considered “professional.”


Any truly professional organization these days needs diversity.  People from significantly different backgrounds working together can produce amazing results and accomplish nearly anything imaginable.  One thing the Corps is good at is assembling groups of people from very dissimilar walks of life.  She is also very accepting of all people regardless of sex, religion, race, sexual preference, or nationality.




Many Marines are not so…accepting of other cultures/religions/preferences.  I say “many” instead of “some” because during my enlistment, I noticed that the discrimination was not limited to a few…”good” men (sorry).  Bigotry comes in the form of every rank and for varying reasons.  Sometimes it is a racist SNCO.  Other times it may be the elitist Captain that thinks all enlisted men are dirt poor mud farmers who should be treated as if they were serfs in medieval times.  Finding a religious zealot, however, is a very common occurrence.


One of the worst parts of being bullied or discriminated against is not the douche bag attempting to ruin your day, but the fact that other human beings that stood by and watched without so much as saying a word out of fear that they, too, will be engaged by this monster.  For United States Marines, men that have been bred to fight injustices, this should not be difficult.


This is the part where I tell you two stories.  The first tale deals with one way the Marine Corps did an amazing job at ridding herself of an ignorant piece of garbage that was detrimental to the health and safety of her Marines.  The second, a much less than inspiring anecdote.


I call this guy “Pfc Hank Hill” mostly because he looked, in fact, like a much younger Hank Hill.  He was from East Texas, wore glasses, and had zero ass.  I’m willing to bet that if you checked his medical record you would indeed find at least one entry regarding a narrow urethra.  He was also one of those boots that buys a cowboy hat, boots, and gigantic motard belt buckle the first time they see Oceanside, magically transforming them into a cowboy (even though they grew up nowhere within 50 miles of an actual horse.)  Hill liked to drink while he told racist stories about “bustin’ n***** heads” back home.  He also enjoyed harassing the shit out of anyone he didn’t think was white or manly enough.  Months of this went by while we constantly complained to our NCO’s, who did nothing but giggle and tell us that the Corps would work it out.  One of them told me something that may be a cliche but has always stuck with me:  “Give him enough rope, he’ll hang himself.”


He did.  Figuratively, of course.  We had a pretty diverse class.  We had a black guy, two Latinos, a middle eastern dude, and only four southerners (none of whom shared Hill’s views on race).  Hill decided one night to have a few too many.  Being shitface and feeling entitled to the lounge, he stalked around mumbling random slurs at whoever looked  towards him.  After a few minutes of this, Chuck, our bearded black angel stepped in and had a seat.  Hill did not like him for two reasons;  a) he was black and b) he had a no shave chit.  Hill lost his damned mind, which prompted Chuck to calmly tell him that if he did not calm down and stop making everyone uncomfortable, he would tell the duty.  Firewatch broke up the would-be fight that ensued and directed stumbly-ass into the squad bay to quiet him down.  This didn’t help.  As soon as he got into the squad bay, Hill stumbled towards Gomez’s rack and started up again with his white power bullshit.  Gomie did not like this one bit and informed us all that if we did not restrain Hill, he was going to end up at medical with a broken everything.  Firewatch and a couple other guys pulled Hill back towards his rack and tucked him in, so to speak.  Just about the time everyone was sighing with relief, dumbshit gets back up and starts telling Ram (our Indian devil) how much fun its going to be gunning down his “hojee fambly” (yes, I assume everything out of his mouth is misspelled).  Apparently, that last remark was enough to send Gomie over the edge, because before any of us realized what was going on, he had jumped up from his rack, walked up behind Hill, turned him around by his shoulder, and knocked him out cold with a right cross that fired and hit so fast most of us didn’t even see it happen.  Our initial relief and several seconds of cheering were fleeting.


The same NCO that told me about letting him hang himself was on Duty that night.  No one saw him walk in.  No one saw him walk out.  He didn’t say one word to us or anyone else, he simply watched Gomie deal with it then stepped back outside until Hill was tucked back into his rack.


Firewatch reports “all secure” to the Duty a few minutes later when he walks back in the dark squad bay.


Duty:  “Get me your squad leaders real fast.”


Firewatch complies, fetching them.


Duty:  “You want to tell me what that was all about?”


Squad leaders:  “Pfc don’t know, Corporal.”


Duty:  “If you make statements, we can get him an adsep.  If you don’t, that’s up to you.  Come talk to me when you figure it out.”


The squad leaders grabbed a few of us and we all talked it out.  To us, there was no place in the Corps for anyone that has proven themselves to be a racist.  They reported to the duty and dropped their statements, then we all stood by.


It only took a few days for him to be dropped from the course.  Our SNCO’s really stepped up and handled his shit like professionals.  He got some of the most glorious ass-chewings I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing.  When it comes to obvious racism, they tend to take that shit seriously and act quickly.  Not so fast are they to react however, when other types of bigotry are exposed.


I accidentally found a religion that clicked with the way I think and I fully embraced it.  I knew from the start that it would not be a popular subject to bring up, so I hid it for months.  My friends knew and didn’t care, they themselves being fucking weirdos that were very accepting of, well, weird shit.  We were also all very into tattoos.


One of the NCO’s I attended the advanced course for my MOS with was also shared an interest in tattoos, and he invited me to a hotel party where his artist friend was going to be.  I went, had a few beers, then said “fuck it” and got a tattoo on my chest.  I looked at it as a way to show pride for my religion and celebrate my success (IMC is for NCO’s, SNCO’s, and Officers, I was the first Lcpl to attend and graduate.)


The following Monday, we were in the smoke pit between classes when one of the Sgts asked to see my new tat, which he liked.  Word got around and the SSgts liked it too, as well as a Gunny (after he heard the explanation).  We were shooting the shit for a while when one of the Gunnies from Bn came down, asked to see it, then snatched me up for a counseling session.  He tried to chew my ass until one of my instructors swooped in and knife-handed him for fucking with one of his students.  My instructor then asked me for an explanation and had me stand by for a few.


When he returned he had a concerned look on his face that worried me.  He was holding paperwork, and that made me more nervous, as I had no idea what I might have done wrong, as is the case with most awkward encounters with SNCO’s.


The staff had all just been through the updated tattoo policy, something that my command in Okinawa had already made us sit through.  He handed me the paperwork, which turned out to be a photocopy of the Order and told me to read it.  After reading it, he asked me if I had any banned tattoos, piercings, or brands and I informed him that I did not.  He nodded then asked me to show him my newest tattoo, so I complied.  When asked about its meaning, I truthfully gave a full description of what it means, why I have it, and what my next two pieces were going to be, as they are of a similar nature.  Without questioning my integrity, he thanked me for my honesty and told me to get back to work and tell him if anyone bothered me about it again.


Unfortunately, the next time I got shit for it I was several thousand miles away.  Returning to my unit was pretty sweet.  I got back during a 96 and had a few days to catch up with all the friends I missed and assholes I didn’t.  Something odd had occurred, though.  Everyone kept asking to see my new ink, but I hadn’t told anyone about getting it since returning.  I asked my buddy about it finally and he told me that our Gunny had received an email from one of the Gunnies at School (yeah, it was the one that tried to chew me out) saying that I had gotten a banned tattoo and that I should be charged the second I report in.  We had a good laugh about that shit, because it was funny.


We get to work and I’m working on an engine, waiting on an NCO to drive me around to check in, when the office bitch tells me to go see the CWO.  I had not personally been introduced yet, so I figured he was one of those commanders that likes to actually meet the Marines he is commanding.  Nope.


I get into the maintenance office and he bursts out of his door, sweaty and pissed.  Without one molecule of tact, he instructs me to strip my upper half so he can get a good look at this awful tattoo.  I instantly knew how fucked up the situation was so I tossed off the blouse and green skivvy and stood at a nice, proud, proper parade rest while he yelled things like “MOTHERFUCKIN’ WHITE BOY” “NJP” “Page 11” and my personal favorite, “YOU DON’T LOVE JESUS, BOY?”  All of this happened as the office bitch and his bitches, a couple of NCO’s, and every SNCO in my platoon and our sister platoon stood silently by, looking completely shocked throughout this performance in its entirety.


He finished his tirade by ordering me to speak with the Company 1st Sgt, a salty old bastard that gave zero fucks about petty bullshit.  First Sgt pulls up the order, has me show him the ink, laughs, then asks me about it.  I explain again, he laughs more, then tells me to stand by and get ready to report to the CO.


The Major was one hell of an awesome guy.  It always felt like he wanted to tell the Staff and NCO’s to stop fucking with us and let us do our jobs.  He was also very understanding and was the CO for the old reserve station that used to be in my home town (small Corps, small world.)  I didn’t even have to explain it to him, he was a well-educated man and said he realized that a man’s religion doesn’t make him good or evil, it is what is inside of him.  He was also the only one in the company that knew what the symbols on my calf mean, and allowed me to affirm instead of swear when he promoted me to Cpl (he made sure his Marines took the oath of enlistment again and recited the NCO’s Creed when promoted to Cpl.)  After speaking with him, no one in the company ever fucked with me about my religion or tattoos again.


Is what I wished would have happened.  For a while, I was left alone to do my job and exist.  Until we got a new CO.  He was a mustang that loved enlisted guys, but he was one of those extremely busy guys that are never in the office.  That CWO called me out every single time we had a formation, class, or lecture that had anything to do with tattoos, religion, respect, racism, or uniform standards.  Chaplain’s coming to talk to us about the MWR programs?  Ha, shit no devil, he walked up behind me right before the chaplain entered the room and loudly ordered me out of the room because I “obviously couldn’t care less what a man of god has to say (his words, not mine).”  He also tried to fail my room for field day before a CG Inspection for “eccentric decoration” because I had a picture of a religious leader on my wall and claimed it was “prejudicial to good order and discipline” and that my choice was “unauthorized.”  It didn’t work, as far as I know there is no such thing as “eccentric decoration” and Marines are totally allowed to worship however they need, and there is no “authorized religion” list.


One of my NCO’s felt very similar to the CWO, but enlisted men are MUCH easier to deal with, as they have bosses that will actually do their job.  Corporal…let’s call him…Corporal Susan, because he was a bitch-ass.  Corporal Susan brings back a box of freshly minted dog tags and instructs a Lance to distribute them.  Mine come back correct for once (custom job by the Underground and I still have them, thanks boys!), but he of course wants to make sure his Marines are squared away, so he double checks us all after we have them.


“What the fuck is this shit, devil dog?”


“My identification tags, Corporal.”


“No, what the fuck is this shit?  You can’t have that!  That shit is illegal, its unauthorized!  That’s it, I’m sick of your shit, stand the fuck by!”


Yeah, a United States Marine tried to tell me that my religion was unauthorized and illegal…then attempted to charge me with an article 134, where he was stuck forever trying to figure out how to properly word “I don’t like his religion” without sounding like a moron.


Lots of words, I know, but there is a point to them.  That point being, if you are in any way different from the crowd, you will be “put on blast” so to speak, and it will be by the very men put in charge of your well-being.  In an institution that is supposed to be open to all races, sexual preferences, and beliefs, there are some extremely bigoted people.  Diversity is something that the Marine Corps has boasted about for quite a while now, but as diverse as it may be, there are still plenty of petty pieces of shit that believe they are superior simply due to their beliefs.  Part of being a good leader is evolving, adapting, and changing not only your methods but also the way you think.  Leaders need to accept their subordinates for who they are, not despise them for having unfamiliar beliefs.


Race and religion represent only a fraction of the things people discriminate against.  Is there sexual discrimination in the Marine Corps?  This…this is a touchy subject.  But the answer is yes, and it is everywhere.


Understand that discrimination towards females in the Marine Corps is a double-edged sword.  Females are routinely disrespected (rarely to their faces or within earshot) but are often treated with much more respect if that makes sense to you (it does if you have a sister or if your mom is a total bitch).  This, as always, depends on the unit they are attached to.


My unit in Okinawa was integrated.  We had a female SSgt and a couple of Lcpls usually, and there were more throughout the battalion.  Back in those days they were known as “WM’s”, “Women Marines” or “Walking Mattresses.”  Sexist much?  Yeah, just wait.  Males were constantly reminded that those Marines were female and that we should never, ever, ever, under any circumstances, rape them.  Like, ever.  NCO’s inspecting for field day always talked about having to be careful not to fuck with them and to let a female NCO play games with them, never a male.  Yes, they weren’t allowed to haze females, only males.  But a female sergeant sure as fuck could come into your room and keep your penis-having devil dog ass up till 0300 without anyone batting an eye.  Female Marines have different PFT standards due to the fact that men and women are built differently, and this fact is often used by male Marines to disparage their efforts during PT.  Females in my unit were not treated as harshly as males were for falling out of runs, rarely getting a page 11 while males would receive this paperwork and be put on remedial PT (and for the record, if I had a period, I would have exploited that shit as well.)


Now for the part that fucks with me to this day, and probably will until this shit stops happening.  We had two females, a Lcpl and a Pfc (the latter had just been busted down for having a relationship with a Sgt in her last unit…also on Okinawa but on a different camp).  They were drunk when two NCO’s showed up, a Sgt and a Cpl, and decided that they wanted to party too.  The Sgt was married, so his NJP was a bit harsher.  He was soon a Lance, as was the Cpl.  The really shitty part was they used the Pfc’s bad reputation to keep the rape charges from sticking to either one, and both females got charged and busted down for fraternization.  Yes, they were raped and then punished for reporting it.


This happens more than Marines will admit, and they often pull the “she was drinking with some Marines, what did she expect to happen?”  Know what she expected?  She expected her Marines to protect her.  She expected her NCO’s to look out for her.  She expected her brothers to act like professionals, not drunken frat boys looking to get a piece of free pussy.


Both of these Marines were treated like absolute shit after this.  They were known as sluts and whores, the bitches that fucked up poor Sgt Daterapist’s illustrious five-year career.  “Man, all he wanted was a little strange…bitch could have just put out she didn’t have to cry rape like that…”  When you actually hear another human being say something like that out loud after knowing what happened, it is very difficult to resist the urge to punch their fucking teeth down their throat.  They were standing extra duty, put on every working party imaginable, forced to field day throughout their restriction (60 days) and PT’d constantly.  Their lives were hell because they opened their mouths and told the truth about being sexually assaulted by their superiors, both of whom ended their enlistment as Corporals.


Women are definitely discriminated against in the Marines.  Not by the Corps, but by the Marines themselves.  Policies cannot be enforced if commanders are willing to throw females under the bus to protect the image of their unit and the victims are afraid to step forward and speak up. They are often too scared to report these crimes because they have seen what happens to other females that don’t comply with the rape culture bullshit.


No matter how awful the treatment of personnel can get, I would have to say that I truly feel for any openly gay male enlisted Marines right now.  The few times I encountered the true homophobia of United States Marines, I was appalled.  For bloodthirsty, hardened war machines, these men acted as if they were children.  Mean, stupid children.


On an average day, a Marine might use the word “gay” sixty times, mostly describing arbitrary NCO orders.  They will call each other “fag” and “faggot” a lot, like most young men these days.  This seems normal at first, until you leave base and end up in Palm Springs outside a bar with a few of them.  I have seen many a devil dog grow instantly, aggressively angry the second they see an effeminate guy walking around in jean shorts and high heels.  Here are some words that I have actually heard out of Marines’ mouths around/about members of the LGBT community:


“Git ‘way frum me faggit or Ima bust yer shit!”

“If that tranny fuck sez sumthin’ ta me Im gunna fuck its worl up.”

“I think Lcpl Quietguy is a queer, keep and eye on him for me, I don’t want no faggots in my Corps.”

“I heard Lcpl Notabrute was talking to some guy in a club.  Think its enough to get him charged?”

“Don’t do that faggot shit around me.  I hate that faggot shit!”


To me, that is some seriously fucked up shit.  I would almost have to assume that openly gay males have similar problems to females:  a slight break on the hazing and bullshit punishment in exchange for no one taking them seriously and constant allegations that they only got where they are because they throated a few gallons of Commissioned Cocksauce, but knowing Marines as well as I do, they will probably be hazed much harder in addition to said allegations.


No one is safe from discrimination, though.  Like I said, the Marine Corps is a diverse organization with many differing ideologies, philosophies, and beliefs, many of which contradict each other.  You will meet good ole boys that believe White is Right.  You will meet black guys that hate all white people, and you will meet brown guys that hate all white people.  You might meet an Asian guy that hates everybody.  You will definitely meet men that hate homosexuals, and you will meet men that you won’t find out are gay until years after your enlistment ends.  There are christians that hate muslims that hate jews that hate wiccans that hate vegans that hate lesbians that hate men that hate satanists.  Most of the Marines I worked with couldn’t care less as long as you did your job and didn’t cause trouble, but there are some really awful pieces of shit out there that need to be flushed, as they are leaving a nasty brown stain on the beautiful porcelain toilet bowl that is the United States Marine Corps.

Let’s Play Why is it Hazing?

My goal here is to attempt explaining the Marine Corps Order regarding Hazing and provide some examples for context.  There is often confusion as to what can be defined as hazing, as the Marines have a tendency to push the envelope as far as possible when it comes to this particular subject and fight it with every base-less logic they can come up with in order to keep each other out of trouble and save their unit’s reputation.

The Marine Corps Order on Hazing (MCO 1700.28B 1700.28B.pdf) can be a Marine’s best friend.  It is one of the few Orders that were written to increase the quality of life for everyone.

Not everyone clearly understands the Order, however.  The examples used in many classes are only of an extreme nature, most pointing to the “blood-winging” video released in the 1990’s.  Hazing can be much less violent and much more discrete than that, and the Order clearly states this fact.

According to Section 2 of the Order, hazing is “any conduct whereby a military member or members, regardless of Service or rank, without proper authority causes another military member or members, regardless of Service or rank, to suffer or be exposed to any activity which is cruel, abusive, humiliating, oppressive, demeaning, or harmful.”  It goes further, stating that “soliciting or coercing another to perpetrate any such activity” is also considered hazing.

So what is considered hazing?  Well, following the Order again, “hazing need not involve physical contact between military members; it can be verbal or psychological in nature.”   What this means is that hazing is not just assaulting the new guy, it is also terrorizing him by ANY other means.

Specific examples in the Order are:  “physically striking another to inflict pain outside of a supervised training exercise; piercing another’s skin in any manner (such as “pinning,” “tacking on,” or “blood wing(ing),”); verbally berating another for the sole purpose of belittling or humiliating; encouraging another to excessively consume alcohol or encouraging another to engage in illegal, harmful, or dangerous acts; playing abusive or ridiculous tricks; threatening or offering violence or bodily harm to another; branding; taping; tattooing; shaving; greasing; painting; requiring excessive physical exercise beyond what is required to meet standards; or the forced consumption of food, alcohol, drugs, or any other substance.”

Hazing is not always an NCO treating their Marines like shit.  Section 2d states that hazing can also occur “between peers or involve actions toward senior military personnel by those junior in rank or grade to them.”  Although rare, this does happen, usually to a young officer or NCO.

With such a broad description, many leaders question what is NOT considered hazing.  To their question, refer to Section 2e:  “Properly administered EMI…is not hazing; it provides a tool for small unit leaders to increase proficiency of the unit or individuals in assigned duties.”  It also states that an EMI (Extra Military Instruction) is required to be applied logically and that and is not to be used as a punishment, but as a way to positively correct a carefully identified deficiency.  An EMI may not last longer than two hours per day, must be held immediately prior to or following the work day (if conditions do not allow, the EMI must take place at a different REASONABLE time), may not last longer than it takes to correct the deficiency, should not be conducted on the member’s Sabbath, and may not be used to deprive someone of the normal liberty that they would be otherwise entitled (member can turn to liberty after completion of EMI.)  Only the CO or OIC have the authority to assign EMI after normal working hours, but they also have the authority to delegate this power to officers and NCO’s whose duties include training.

The policy very clearly states in Section 3a that hazing is unlawful, prohibited, will not be tolerated in Marine units or detachments, will not be condoned or ignored, and that it is every Marine’s responsibility to ensure that it does not occur in any form on any level.  Violating, attempting to violate, or persuading others to violate the Order are also prohibited.  Marines found to be violating the Order may also be subject to other violations of the UCMJ such as Articles 80 (Attempts), 81 (conspiracy), 92 (violation of a lawful general order), 93 (cruelty and maltreatment), 124 (maiming), 128 (assault), 133 (conduct unbecoming an officer and gentleman), and 134 (general article).

Reprisals or revenge schemes that in any way come from hazing allegations are strictly prohibited.  Victims of hazing are to report all incidents and evidence thereof to their CO immediately.  Commanders are required to conduct a preliminary investigation into every report and all personnel are required to exhibit extreme caution and sensitivity throughout the proceedings to minimize re-victimization.  Investigations are to be focused on the environment that fostered hazing while attempting to prevent future incidents.  Commanders must provide advocacy services for their subordinates and closely monitor victims for stress reactions associated with physical and psychological abuse.

What does all of that mean?  It means you should be able to perform your duties as a Marine without having to worry about being subjected to humiliating forms of torture for things such as being late to work or getting promoted to a higher rank.  It means you don’t need to live in fear.

To put this into context, here are some examples that could be considered hazing by the current Order:

That SNCO that humiliated you in front of the entire company by telling you that you are a worthless piece of shit that doesn’t belong in his beloved Corps because you failed field day has hazed you.
Why is it hazing?  Screaming that kind of vitriol at you was not constructive, did not correct a deficiency, was humiliating, and degraded your reputation in front of your peers.

You were five minutes late for PT formation so Sgt Motardovez woke you up at 0500 on Saturday and PT’d you for three hours.
Why is it hazing?  Physical Training can not be used as a punishment, and running does not correct the problem of you being late.

A senior Lcpl instructed you to go to the tool room and request a boltstretcher, 50 feet of shore line, a can of A-I-R, bottle of blinker fluid, Prick E-5, or any other imaginary object.
Why is it hazing?  Although hilarious and tame by Marine standards, they are purposely sending you on a “dummy” mission in order to humiliate you, and possibly get you a hardcore ass-chewing (if the tool room NCO is a Sergeant…)

You partied a little too hard and passed out…then your fellow Lcpls stripped you naked and drew penises all over you.
Why is it hazing?  Once again, pointless humiliation, and Marines are supposed to be better than that.

You are a Cpl and your Sgt just told you to fail Pfc Bootballs and Lcpl BouttoEAS for field day because one is a boot and the other is a shitbag.
Why is it hazing?  Conspiring to haze someone is still hazing.

Cpl Fuckface and Cpl Roidrage kick your door in and inform you that if you attempt to complain about Sgt Dickbrain’s hazing you, they will beat the bloody shit out of you.
Why is it hazing?  They are intimidating you for speaking out, and that is an act of reprisal.

Cpl PFT thought you didn’t sound off enough, so he took you into one of the storage containers and IT’d you boot camp style.
Why is it hazing?  Incentive Training (IT) is only authorized at Marine Corps Recruit Depots.

One of your SNCO’s referred to you as an extremely disrespectful derogatory term for someone of your background (race, religion, sex, orientation, etc.) in formation, during a class, or in public.
Why is it hazing?  Not only is this humiliating, it is attempting to turn you into an outcast among your peers.

The following section is about hazing on social media sites and the internet.

Your NCO or another fellow Marine took pictures of you and posted them on the internet for the purpose of making fun of your appearance.
Why is it hazing?  Posting pictures, even in an unofficial capacity, that may bring discredit upon the Marine Corps is in direct violation of the Marine Corps Policy on Social Media Guidance [] and the Marines Social Media Handbook [[1].pdf].  Attempting to humiliate another service member is hazing.

A picture you posted of yourself ended up on another website and active duty Marines have posted offensive derogatory comments.
Why is it hazing?  Quoting the Social Media Guidance document: “Marines should avoid offensive and inappropriate behavior that
could bring discredit upon themselves and the Marine Corps. This
behavior includes posting any defamatory, libelous, obscene, abusive,
threatening, racially or ethnically hateful, or otherwise offensive or
illegal information or material
.”  Also, this can be seen as an act of humiliation.

One of your pictures ended up on another website and one of your fellow Marines posted your name or other personal information.
Why is it hazing?  From the Social Media Guide:  “Marines should be extremely judicious when disclosing personal details
on the Internet, and should not release personal identifiable
information (PII) that could be used to distinguish their individual
identity or that of another Marine.”  Giving out your personal information can open the door for criminals or anyone else to harass, defame, or humiliate you.

Another Marine created a fake social media profile, used your pictures, and is pretending to be you.
Why is it hazing? They are trying to defame or humiliate you and possibly sabotage your career.  Social Media Guidance states that Marines “should not disguise, impersonate or otherwise misrepresent their identity or affiliation with the Marine Corps.”

There are too many possibilities to list, but pay attention because if you witness it you must report it.  It IS your responsibility.  Hazing is such a huge problem mainly because no one speaks out about it until it is too late.  The best advice I can give is this:  If you think you are the victim of hazing, research the Order and speak with a peer that you trust, then report and document EVERYTHING.  How often you have barracks duty, the frequency of your addition to working parties, how often you fail field day, your work load increase, literally everything.  Finding witnesses helps, if you can get them to man up and step forward with you.  If someone threatens you to drop it or else, report them too.  Whatever you do, do not let them think they can control you with fear, because that is how this shit spreads and sticks around.  Some members of your unit will try that macho bravado brotherhood bullshit and call you a bitch or a pussy.  Let them.  Your SNCO’s and officers will let your NCO’s know not to fuck with you because you will, in fact, not stand up for that bullshit, and those NCO’s will comply whether they like it or not.  If you get to a new unit, that reputation will follow you, but it won’t be bad.  Most of the guys will understand the situation and give you respect for standing up for yourself like an adult.

Hopefully Helpful Links:
Marine Corps Order on Hazing 1700.28B.pdf
Marines Social Media Guidance
Marines Social Media Handbook[1].pdf

Submitted by: AAVPOG

Your favorite “NCO Can’t Do His Job” story

Meritorious promotion boards are a joke.  They are the military equivalent of a beauty pageant.  Marines that excel at PT, uniform maintenance, and false motivation compete for a promotion instead of a tiara.  Many Marines do not like or respect these NCO’s due to the fact that they often cannot perform their MOS properly for someone who is in the position of a working supervisor.

Of the many Marines that I met whom could not perform their job but were meritoriously promoted, Corporal Dickbag was my least favorite.  He was Motor T and came to Okinawa as a Lance fresh from school.  Being a squad leader at boot camp and the guide at school, of course he was more motarded than most boots, and loved to show that shit in front of Staff.  This, along with his 300 PFT, caught their attention and within months he was being prepped for a board.

He won.  Everyone in his section, senior Lances and Corporals alike, hated him and complained about his inability to turn a wrench, so he was made into their paperwork bitch.  If you know much about Marines, you know that the most useless guys are often the most moto and full of shit.

Our battalion loved to cross-train since we had Motor T and a 4th echelon (read: rebuilding shit) shop.  One of the other companies sent a few boots to learn how to do a rack adjustment on an LVS and we needed someone to properly teach them.  Should we have one of the Lance Corporals who have been to advanced school, or should we grab an NCO because…um…he’s an NCO and it would make us look better?  Obviously grab someone that definitely knows what they are doing, right?

Diesel engines have a tendency to “run away” under the right conditions.  When this happens, fuel and air are sucked into the combustion chambers at an accelerating rate, possibly ending in catastrophic failure.  The LVS engine is equipped with a turbocharger, making this possibility much more dangerous but easier to deal with:  Putting a clipboard over the turbo to cut the air supply shuts it down very quickly.  Anyone who has been trained to do this kind of work knows this.

While teaching boots how to adjust this LVS, by reading off a checklist on a clipboard mind you, the engine starts to run away.  Corporal Dickbag panics, looking to his paperwork for answers as one of our Lcpls that happened to be nearby yelled to him to cut off the air.  Dickbag, holding his clipboard in one hand, snatches a handful of rags with the other and shoves his fist into the air shredding 120,000+rpm spinning blades of the turbocharger.  He pulled back a stump.

Put your left hand flat on a table then cover your fingers only from the last knuckle on your index finger to the first knuckle on your pinky.  That is what he lost.

He went TAD soon after that, then passed the recon indoc when his hand healed.  I saw him with a recon platoon in Thailand the next year during Cobra Gold.  They called him Stumpy.

That engine did stop, though, and it was sent to our shop to rebuild.

An Open Letter: Apologies for Field Day

Dear Backbone of the Marine Corps (the ACTUAL one),

I’m going to start by apologizing to you for the behavior of myself and your other NCO’s during Field Day.  While we DO have to make sure your room is clean, we DON’T have to be total cocks about it.  The Marine Corps has a certain set of standards for everything that…well…um…nobody really knows 100% what those standards for dust are…but…uh…standards, devil!

Shit, sorry.  I forgot how to think for myself for a moment.

I’m sorry I pulled your bed, nightstands, and wardrobes away from the wall and made you clean behind them.  I knew Gunny wasn’t going to check back there, but Sgt. Nazi told us we had to keep you up until at least 0200 because you didn’t sound off loud enough last Monday during PT.

I’m sorry I stuck my greasy finger on your mirror while pointing out the salt-grain-sized spot in the corner and smudged it all the way across.  That, admittedly, was a dick move.

I’m sorry I swiped my finger along that little crack where the back of the toilet meets the floor.  Not only was that completely unnecessary, I’m pretty sure that’s how I got Hepatitis.

I’m sorry I opened your unsecured wall locker, threatened to steal all of your shit, then telling you that you are the reason that there are thieves in the Marine Corps.  To be completely honest, there are thieves in the Marine Corps because we have a legacy of stealing shit and calling it “acquiring.”

I’m sorry I tossed that little bit of dirt I palmed under your shoe display and failed you for it.  Staff Sergeant Reprisal showed me that one.

I’m sorry I made you all stand out in formation for thirty-seven minutes while the other NCO’s and I stood around bullshitting about who we were going to fail, why, and what for.  I know you could have used that time to work on your room, even though it would have failed anyways because Top doesn’t want any of you to get in trouble this weekend while he’s the SDO.

I’m sorry I kept you up until 0330 when you had driver duty the next day.  I know how much it sucks to have to drive the SDO, OOD, and Bn Admin guys around all day and night on three hours of sleep, and I know the Order states that drivers must be permitted to sleep for 8 hours prior to duty to keep them from falling asleep behind the wheel and killing someone, but you fell out of that run a few weeks ago and Sgt Motard thinks this will help you become a better Marine.  Also, I apologize for chewing your ass for disrespect and talking back then threatening you with NJP when you politely reminded me that you had duty.

I’m sorry I got drunk and kicked your door in a couple of hours after I told you you could sleep.  That…there is no explanation for that.  Sorry.

I’m sorry I let Sgt Bumblefuck snatch you up for that working party.  Had I known the acidic substance he chose to use to attempt cleaning the sidewalks would only make a bigger, permanent mess, I would have acquired the keys to the haz-mat locker before he could get his stupid, fat fingers on them.

I’m sorry I volunteered you for morning cleanup last week.  I thought I heard you whisper something in formation, turns out it was Cpl Fucktard!

I’m sorry I yelled, “and none of you better have a fucked up shoe display like Lcpl (totally your name dude) here!”  That was totally pointless, your shoe display was actually quite lovely, devil nuts.

I’m sorry I inspected your room while drinking a beer.  I forgot we told you guys you couldn’t drink during Field Day.

Lastly, I would like to apologize for the following, less specific offenses:

Playing lookout for Sgt Spartan while he hazed you and your roommate.
Making you field day knowing full well that Gunny told us this week was general cleanup with no inspection.
Failing you for “dust.”  Look at it as your introduction to Article 134.
Tracking dirt, mud, and rocks into your room from my boots then chewing your ass for it.
Farting in your freshly Febreze-bombed hamster cage of a room right before Sgt Sillypants came through to inspect.
Terrorizing your sleeping roommate.  I know he’s TAD and hates you for what we do.
Fucking with you the night before you went on leave.
Fucking with you the night before 72’s and 96’s.
Fucking with you in general.  It isn’t nice, and we don’t have to do it.

In closing, I would like to apologize to all future Marines that have to deal with shit head NCO’s on Field Day.  Maybe someday we can all band together and make Field Day a not-so-shitty experience for all Marines.

Love (in a begrudging, hateful way),

Your NCO, 1369, USMC

Submitted by: AAVPOG

The Illusion of Training

Recruiters often speak of the awesome training that Marines will receive during their enlistment.  From cooks to admin clerks to LAV mechanics, Marines are said to be the best trained troops America has to offer.  But wait a sec, doesn’t the Corps have an extremely tight budget?  Yes, and that tiny budget casts a ridiculously large shadow across advancement opportunities across the board.  But, but, but aren’t Marines really good at making the best of a bad situation and adapting and overcoming and all that?  Well…yes and no.  Yes, Marines are pretty good at working with a shoestring budget, but the Corps is not.  Much like a college student, Marines can sustain themselves on booze and ramen.  The Corps however, is one hell of an expensive date, and she don’t put out, you do.  But before I start bashing the Marine Corps for its horribly deficient training programs, I must first explain a little about the futility to certain types of training.

There are many ways to try to “harden” a man.  The tried and true methodology for Marines has for many years been “stress these motherfuckers out so much that they literally lose all fucks about their health.”  It has had…limited success.  At MCRD recruits are screamed at, insulted, hazed, and tortured until they lose their individuality and therefore care much less about their own lives.  Many boots are willing to jump on a grenade just to avoid disappointing their Drill Instructors.  Notice I didn’t say, “to save lives.”  The fear of disappointing one’s superiors is equal to or greater than death itself;  if you die, you die a hero, if you disappoint, you are a shitbag for life.  There are much more effective ways of producing warriors, but warriors are not what the Corps wants.  They want robots.  Killing machines.  Your Drill Instructors may even refer to you as such.

Truthfully, there is no proven way to turn a young man into a warrior.  Warriors are born, they are not created.  You can’t infuse backbone into a man if he was raised without one.  Boot camp will not help you grow a pair of big, shiny, golden testicles if you don’t have the starter kit, kiddo.  No amount of training will ever be 100% effective.

The effectiveness of Marine Corps training programs often comes into question, mainly by those participating in said programs.  Effectiveness and readiness are affected negatively from the lack of proper materials regularly.  Budget cutbacks do not help this.  Marines are often forced to train with substitute training materials such as:  Imaginary rifles, imaginary targets, imaginary ammunition, imaginary lives.  Required annual training and qualifications such as rifle and pistol normally get pushed back until the last minute because…well usually its because someone is being a lazy buddy fucker and blocking junior enlisted from being promoted.  Gas mask qual?  Ha, good fucking luck with that if you’re a POG.  Well, at least they always make sure to pick instructors that are really good right?

In a word:  FUCKNO.  Example:  I was a range coach on 29 Palms for two weeks.  Wanna know what my qualifications were?  I had a rifle expert badge.  There was no training, it was “Corporal, you have an expert badge?  Good, you’re the range coach for Gunny Schmuckatelli and whoever the fuck else needs to qual this time.  Good to go?”  That’s like saying, “Hey Devil, you can pass a PFT, right?  Good, administer this SNCO’s required-for-his-career qualification test and if he fails it will totally somehow be your fault.  Good to go?”

Instructors, like every other Marine Corps leader, vary in quality and effectiveness.  There are many excellent instructors throughout the Marine Corps, most of them belonging to MOS schools.  Instructors at the school battalions, from what I have experienced and been told, are generally very motivated (not motarded) and effective.  That being said, there are some real bastards out there as well.  Burn happy Staff await unwitting Privates and Pfc’s around every corner, ecstatic over the prospect of raping another Marine’s career from the get-go.  The Marine Corps policy of “push them through, they’ll fix them in the Fleet” applies here as thickly as it blankets boot camp, unfortunately, resulting in many Marines either not fully grasping the concept of what their job entails and some that couldn’t perform properly at all.  It isn’t all bad, but there are many drawbacks to being under-funded that need to be explored and repaired in order to fix these glaring deficiencies.

–What you should know about the gas chamber specifically–

You might get to hit the gas chamber on time every year in a POG unit, but you must realize that there will be a remedial class that lasts all fucking morning and the freaky NBC guys giving the class will murder you with VX if you ask questions because a) they do this every fucking week (or more often), and b) QUESTIONS MAKE CLASSES LAST LONGER YOU STUPID INCONSIDERATE BUDDY FUCKER!!!  They will answer even the saltiest of Pfc’s questions with a pissed off stare and a repeated statement from the power point through teeth so gritted in anger they may shatter.  You may or may not have to break the seal on that bad boy when you physically hit the chamber and the hazy shit starts happening.  When I was on Okinawa we weren’t required to break the seal, but if you didn’t you were a pussy.  Remember that when you fill out your Final Physical paperwork because they graciously provided a space for you to check because if you broke that seal, congratulations dumbass, you just exposed yourself to CS.  The NBC guys know this, and they will laugh at you as you cough every drop of slime from your nasty little grape.  Also, remember to wash your hands before you touch your no-no.  I swear to fuck, there is ALWAYS one guy that goes off to take a piss and starts screaming about how it feels like his dick is on fire, and not from the HSV this time.–

What you can expect from Marine Corps training in general:

The training the Marine Corps provides can be very useful in your MOS and sometimes in the civilian world, but do not count on any state-of-the-art technological wonders.  The most common tool used by Marine Corps instructors of almost any billet is Power Point.  Your texts at MOS school will likely be photocopies of the power point presentation along with the same file in outline form and a shit load of pages that will be “intentionally left blank” because the government fucking LOVES to waste paper, all bound in a three-ring binder.  What did you expect, a fucking textbook?  Hahahahaha, you haven’t learned anything yet, have you?  Technically, your training materials will tell you everything you need to know about your MOS.  Technically.  Most likely, it will be horribly outdated and include references to technology that doesn’t even exist anymore.  Everything will be broken down in such detail that you may go mad trying to figure out if they are fucking kidding you.  As detailed as your training will be, it will be insufficient, and you will data-dump everything the SECOND you report in to your first permanent duty station.

What you should know about using your training if you were dumb enough to enlist:

Some of it will matter, some of it won’t.  No one will care that you are a rifle expert unless your new job is SWAT sniper.  Ah, I see you’ve received training in stabbing people with a bayonet, sorry but that particular job skill isn’t quite what we’re looking for.  If you go in as an Admin Clerk, leave out the part about your HMMV license unless the job requires you to drive an HMMV.  If you don’t like the job you get when you enlist, you can always to go college when you get out and change fields.  If you do enjoy your job you can always get out and go to school for something that is close to what you did.  For instance, if you were in Motor T and you loved turning a wrench, you can go get your degree in Auto Tech, Diesel, Manufacturing, or something similar.  Bonus:  Technical and vocational career instructors like veterans because we understand the material, take the shit seriously, have useful experience that THEY can learn from, and we’re not eighteen year old douchebags (we’re much more mature douchebags.)  Put that degree in a fat black pot, toss in some experience, throw in a dash of DD214 and you finally may have yourself a future, young one.

Or, you could always do the reasonable thing and GO TO FUCKING COLLEGE LIKE A SMART PERSON!


Submitted by “AAVPOG”

The Dog and Pony Show Survival Guide

Dog and Pony Show:  A term used in the US Armed Forces to describe an event, often of arbitrary significance, which caters to the narcissistic needs of superiors.  DnP’s are often disguised as Change of Command ceremonies, Family Fun Days, random events when civilians get access to bases en masse, or anything with “General” in the name.  Vehicles, equipment, gear, weapons, and personnel are often positioned with a great amount of strategery to simultaneously highlight the more positive aspects of military life while downplaying the negative.*

*Note:  You won’t often see civilians tour an occupied USMC barracks due to the lethal cloud of alcohol, smoke, cursing, and hate that surrounds enlisted Marines.

As a United States Marine, you will learn all about the DnP.  In detail (you poor, poor, boot bastard).  The Marine Corps loves a good dog and pony show the way she loves her classes.  The longer, slower, hotter, and mind-numbingly-boring the better.  Officers and lucky civilians get to look at all the pretty devil dogs in their adorable uniforms, standing in those big grid formations of meat and camouflage, their feet creating a low, thunderous rumble with each carefully measured step.  Hell, if they’re lucky enough they’ll get to see those poor, sweaty bastards play with their rifles, salute, or scream some ridiculous chant really loudly in unison (OMG I sooo hope they say that “hooah” thing!!).  After this awesome display of patriotsturbation, they will get the chance to shuffle around (for-goddamned-ever) whilst staring blankly at whatever vehicle or equipment display has been thrown together by the least creative SNCO or officer who got voluntold to make a bunch of ugly piles of shit look presentable.  Nothing like proving to generals and civilians that you do…something…uh, productive?…with all that fat tax money they keep throwing at you.

The DnP starts early, as do most things in the Marine Corps.  For example, let’s say there will be a ceremony on the parade deck at 1000 that will last until 1130 (will actually end around 1220), followed by a guided tour that ends at a glorious display of “guns n’ hummers n’ tanks n’ ‘Merica,” with a grande finale of you and all of your buddies discretely getting face-raped by an NCO (after they’ve been properly face-raped by a SNCO.) after all of the civvies and people with shiny shit take off.  You know by now that if the ceremony starts at 1000, formation should be around 0915-0930ish.  Unfortunately, you forgot how special of an occasion this is.  A FUCKING GENERAL MIGHT BE HERE!  Formation is at 0900 the day before.  You will be told to field day your shop and equipment, company/battalion offices, parking lots, barracks, barracks, and barracks.  You might also field day the barracks.  The most fully-functioning-looking vehicles, gear, and equipment are scrubbed clean, painted (if needed) and cleaned again.  If it is a vehicle, it will probably break down for no reason overnight or seven seconds after you start it up the next morning when it needs to be staged for display (yes, you will have to prepare another vehicle if you can’t tow yours in and pull a Weekend at Bernie’s).  The actual ceremony starts at 1000 and the uniform is cammies (you lucky turd) but you need your rifle, and it must be spotless.  Your first inspection will be…yesterday afternoon for the rifle and last night after field day ended around 2342 for the uniform you wear every single day.  Your first one for today, though, will be at 0730, right after PT and field day inspection.

Check out your rifle from the Armory Clusterfuck yet?  Good, now stand the fuck by, devil nuts, shit is about to get…just…just awful.  By 0900 you will be in formation getting your final ass-chewing/impromptu arbitrary inspection, and so will all the other companies or battalions (depending on the scale of this assrapery).  Whichever dick head NCO that has been instructed to “post” out front while the Staff and Oscars bullshit behind formation will inevitably put everyone at the POA for several minutes at a time to keep you from getting too complacent while standing at parade rest with a rifle in 110 degree Okinawan humidity, then get tired himself and “At Ease” your asses for a few moments.  This process will repeat until about thirty seconds before the Little Old Man decides to kick shit off.  Guys will walk around showing off their big stick covered in their favorite pretty fabric samples, the band will drop some fat patriotic beats, and a few older gentlemen will jerk each other off for a while.  This process, especially the congratsturbating, can take an extremely long time, and you will likely find yourself thinking some of the following thoughts:

“Jesusfuckingchrist it is hot as fuck out here.  God damn it.”
“I should have joined the Air Force.”
“Welp, Jones just passed out.  SILVER BULLET!”
“How fucking long can this shit possibly go on?”
“Are they not sweating their balls off up there, too?”
“I need to piss.  So.  Bad.”
“Fuck.  My.  Life.  Fuck it so, so hard.”
“That’s two down for Bravo Company.  They must not hydrate over there.”
“What the fuck are they talking about?”
“Oh dear Lord Jesus his fucking wife is giving a goddamned speech now??”
“Sax player just went down, I wonder if they’ll play ‘Another One Bites the Dust?'”
“I should have joined the Air Force.”
“Third row, fifth seat from the left.  I would smash that SO hard.”
“Shit my left hand wasn’t perfectly straight for a moment, I wonder which NCO is going to jump my ass for that…”
“Okay…slowly…gently…oh thank fuck, I thought that drop of sweat was going to tickle my taint forever.”
“Fuck, I’m going to have to buy more socks.  You can’t wash this much sweat out.”
“I should have joined the Air Force.”

Eventually, after the Generals decide that enough Marines have succumbed to heat stroke, the faggy pride parade comes to an abrupt and uneventful end with some civilians awkwardly trying to decide whether or not it would be proper form to cheer or just go home and pretend they didn’t just watch a handful of America’s finest young men sustain heat injuries for their amusement.  If you are one of the lucky ones, you will be either sent back to work or released for liberty, if you are extremely lucky.  If you have been chosen to provide assistance to the buttfuckery that is the Dog and Pony Show Working Party Extravaganza, then you about to go for a ride, my friend.

Get ready for the ultimate test in keeping your composure, for you are about to embark on an insane journey of self-discovery that will stretch the limits of your imagination far beyond any line you may think you have crossed.  No, not really.  You are about to be asked a series of very, very stupid questions, though.  Very stupid.  Here are some of the most common, followed by the appropriate/inappropriate response:

Question:  “What is this big thing?  Some kind of tank?”
Appropriate Response:  “This is an AAV.  Marines use these to assault beaches.”
Inappropriate Response:  “This is an AAV.  Marines use these to make grunts pass out and throw up from the huge, toxic exhaust leak that every single one of them has.”

Q:  “Do you like being in the Marines?”
AR:  “I love it.  I get to defend my country while earning college credit and gaining useful experience.”

Q:  “I bet you have to be pretty smart to work on these, huh?”
AR:  “The Marine Corps only accepts the best and brightest, sir.”
IR:  “One of my NCO’s lost half his left hand by sticking it in the turbocharger.”

Q:  “I was in during the 60’s/70’s/80’s/90’s, is it still the good old Corps I remember?”
AR:  “Better than ever.  We pride ourselves on our willingness and ability to evolve as a professional institution.”
IR:  “Yep, still racist as fuck-all and infinitely homoerotic despite being shamefully homophobic.  The only big change is we went from physical abuse to mental and emotional abuse.  Much more effective.”

Q:  “How awesome is it that you get to use this stuff like every day?”
AR:  “I won’t lie, one of the best perks of the job is getting to drive this magnificent beast.”
IR”  “I fucking hate this piece of shit.  Its always deadlined, it leaks every fluid imaginable constantly, it stinks like sweaty grunt taints and puke, and I hope you die an extremely painful death.”

Q:  “How do you start this thing?”  (AAV)
AR:  “It can be a bit complicated, would you like to check out the turret?  It has guns…”
IR:  “Flip that big switch that says ‘Master’ then push the button that says ‘Start’ until it…uh, you know.  Starts.”

Q:  “How do you start this thing?”  (HMMV)
AR:  “Gosh, my Sergeant must have the keys…”
IR:  “Ha, check this out.  See that switch?  Turn it.  Boom, you just started it.  Now get the fuck out, I’m hitting the drive thru, biatch!”

Q:  “…”
AR:  (Smiles) “Good afternoon.”

After the civilians, generals, and other assorted riffraff leave, you are basically done with all of this stressful garbage.   Ha, I kid.  It is either dusk by now or full on darkness time, and you need to get that equipment back to its proper place, devil dog.  Also, it will need to be clean.  Duh.  Spend the rest of your Friday cleaning your shit and prepare to get fucked again, because you will probably be put on duty for causing the CO so much embarrassment by allowing your equipment to be in such horrific condition during a DnP.

Now go back to the bricks, hate your life, rinse with alcohol, repeat.


Submitted by “AAVPOG”

Okinawa Prison (Part 5)

Last time I left off I was being ushered by Cpl. Asshole to Battalion SncoIc to get me documented for underage drinking. I was documented in the green book and escorted back to my barracks room to pass out like a light. After I passed out at around 1200 I was awakened again at 0400 with kicks to the door and ordered to get in green on green, glowbelt and camelback to go out side for a PT run. We all got ready and went to the parking lot to form it up. I was not feeling good at all. I felt like I got ran over by a truck and I was very dehydrated and in no shape to go PT. Sgt. Nazi came out like a bat out of hell and started to talk all this kind of shit to us in formation. He was talking about stuff like “you motherfuckers are given an inch and take a mile,” he would walk up and down the formation like a drill instructor and say shit like “you are a fucking disgrace, you are an embarrassment to the MarineCorps, you are this, that etc etc.” He then called us to attention and said “Right Face!!!” We all knew what was coming next. “Forwaaaaard….March!” We knew that we were in for a long run because apparently I was not the only one that got caught underage drinking that weekend.

We take off running at around 0445. It was a hot Okinawa morning and it was very humid. The humidity of Okinawa is comparable to that of Vietnam or Thailand. It is always wet. You go outside to throw the trash out and you come back covered in sweat. It is not a place for those that are out of shape. In Okinawa you are two things. You are a drunk or you are a PT stud. Reason for that is that there is a lot of down time on base. You are stuck on base, there really is not that much work to do so the games and horseplay is increased by a bit. You could either sit in the barracks and play video games, watch movies, go to church, go to the PX, try to hit on a female Marine that already has a platoon of her own, or you could get stupid drunk or you can hit the gym and try to get as big and strong as you can get. Most Marines opted for the last two. A lot of Marines were drunks and a lot of Marines were PT studs. Sgt. Nazi was a definite PT stud as he always PT’d. He never warmed up just sprinted and sprinted for miles. He ran an 18 minute PFT but he also had endurance for days and he knew how to run Marines to the ground.

We take off running and Sgt. Nazi is sprinting. I already feel like shit after the first couple of feet and I feel like throwing up. After the first mile I cannot keep up and fall out. A lot of us fell out and Sgt. Nazi would just pick us up and take us on another sprint. We ended up sprinting for 6 miles and we were in formation getting our asses chewed again. Sgt. Nazi pulled me aside and started to chew my ass. I couldn’t take it anymore and I bent over and just puked everything that was in my stomach.

After the run it was ass chewing after ass chewing from the Cpl’s to the CO. It was the same rhetoric over and over “why did you guys drink, why did you guys drink, why did you guys drink?” Over and over. It turns out that six of us got caught that weekend underage drinking. I was not the only one. That week was hell as the 1st. Sgt and the CO would PT us to the dirt and make us do fieldays every day. We also had to do midnight formations in which we had to make accountability everyday at midnight. The next weekend four Marines got caught underage drinking and even one got arrested by PMO. Our Company was in it for this time. The Colonel had enough of us and proceeded to NJP us the next Monday.

We all stood outside the Company office. After we all signed our confession statements of the crimes that we committed. We were all guilty of consuming alcohol under the age of 21. It is okay to give your life up while you are under the age of 21 but it is not okay to consume the fermented beverages. Col. Maximus was not you average looking Colonel. He was around 6 foot 6, 240 pounds and he looked like Spock from Star Trek. He was know for burning Marines to the stake and we were ordered to stand outside the Company classroom. I could hear a lot of people in the classroom as if they were waiting for something big to happen. What they were waiting for was a public NJP. It was made public to show young Marines what happens when you disobey a direct order. Colonel Maximus arrives and orders Marines in. One by one the Lcpl’s turn into PFC’s and the PFC’s turn into PVT’s. I was one of the PFC’s that was busted down to private. I was ordered in and all the Marines from two companies were there to watch. I stepped in front of the Colonel and he followed to read my statement and accused me of the crime. He then proceeded to take my rank, my pay, and order me to 60 days restrictions with extra duties. We all stood outside the classroom and took our ranks off. I game my chevrons to the newly busted down PFC. As we all stood there we wondered how bad it was going to get. We had restriction to follow and we also had bullshit from our Company to put up with. It was going to get bad and it was just the tip of the ice berg.

Stay tuned for part 6

Submitted by: free_bird

Saved by An Act of Dumbassity

I was an AAV mechanic from 02-06.  Two years on Okinawa and one in the Stumps.  When I left the island they sent me stateside a month early because my next unit was supposed to be gearing up to deploy, but when I got there plans had been changed and they were getting ready to go to the Rock for “6” months and decided it would be better for me to stay in the Marine Corps’s sandy asshole to attend Corporal’s Course, which I understood seeing as how I was promoted to Cpl the day before I left Japan.

I never got to attend Corporal’s Course even after numerous attempts to get the rear-party CO (LT) to permit it.  My CWO, SNCOs, and Sgts all seemed to think it was the perfect time but according to the LT we wouldn’t have enough Marines to stand Duty at the barracks, so it would be better to wait until we got a couple more Corporals.  We didn’t.  We got five new guys from School Bn, one of whom was a Private with a severe alcohol problem and was basically waiting to get separated out.  Three Corporals meant barracks duty twice a week in addition to moto PT (MWF) and our actual jobs all while babysitting the dozen or so guys that were getting kicked out for various reasons and getting multiple ass chewings every day about our inability to micromanage the lives of these grown men.

The breaking point in my mind came a while after one of the guys awaiting his separation got caught doing something when it was drunk out and that LT lost his damned mind.  I am not exaggerating when I say he put us into full lock-down mode.  No civilian attire, field day every day for a week (until the Staff on Oki put an end to it when they found out he wasn’t even showing up to the inspections), uniform inspections, classes on alcohol and drug abuse, those goddamned formations at 2200 just to make sure everyone is there, and making us, no shit, recording in the green Duty Log when Marines entered and exited the lounge, duty hut, laundry room, and when they left and returned to their rooms.  There really is an official green duty log somewhere on file in the Stumps full of shit like, “2357 – Cpl XXXXXXX left the lounge, returned to his room to prepare for sleep,” “0423 – DNCO leaves Duty Hut to uirnate,” “0425 – DNCO returns to Duty Hut from urinating.”  This kind of ridiculous mass-punishment did no one any good at all.  Morale dropped noticeably by the day.

A few months later the LT seemed to be trying to make up for it by having a forced fun day at Six Flags, where absolutely no one wanted to waste their Saturday.  Some would think that your unit cannot “force” you to spend your cash on a ticket to an amusement park, but you would be wrong (try telling those fuckers you have no desire to attend the ball and watch them eye-fuck your soul before they lose their mind all over your face).  Going was almost better than the alternative, as that was going into work and completing the Financial Management MCI (yes, of course even if you’ve turned it in years ago)…because if you don’t want to go to Six Flags or don’t have the money to go, you obviously need to reevaluate your life, Devil Dog.  None of the Staff seemed to be able to do anything.  They obviously gave a shit because they were in constant communication with the guys on deployment, but they often said there was nothing they could do other than put up with it until the company made its glorious return.  We didn’t count on the separating guys to accidentally save us.

My Duty Hut smelled bad, like someone over-nuked a pile of frozen garlic bread.  It made me a little hungry so I asked the Duty Pfc to post for a few so I could drop a deuce and microwave us some burritos.  When I returned there was another DNCO grilling my DPfc about the stink, so we get to shooting the shit about how goddamned awful Twentynine is and fucking Comm School boots blah blah fuck Duty blah and he stops out of nowhere and laughs a little then says, “This is stupid, but one of my Marines says he smelled some weed.”  We both laughed a hearty “no fucking way” laugh and decided that from our combined pre-Marine Corps experience, that there was no way what we were smelling was good ole cannabis, shot a few more minutes worth of shit and he went away.

A short amount of moments passed and I was standing in the doorway of the lounge passively watching Wonder Showzen when the OOD popped in to do what OOD’s do when they are bored; check on the DNCO’s.  Reported all secure and all that happy horseshit and he, too, goes away, so I focus my attention back to my thoughts of freedom.  Within minutes he returns with the Duty from upstairs, whom looks completely horrified.  He interrupts the Magic Duty Dance immediately after he cuts his return salute and I’m mid sentence with, “Do you smell that?”

Completely confused for that excruciatingly long half-second, I respond with, “The burritos, sir?”

“No.  Pot,” he fires back.

“I believe it smelled like burnt garlic bread earlier, sir.  I don’t think we smelled any pot, though.”

The upstairs Duty’s next statement cloned my own, as did my DPfc’s, which of course, led to a round of questioning mostly pertaining to how we would have any idea what marijuana smelled like if we were active duty Marines.  Professionalism died a little that day as a silver bar, two Corporals, and a PFC laughing like drunk hyenas.  All of us casually agreed that whatever it was, it was definitely not marijuana.  However, he believed that we should post our DPfc’s and tour with him for Integrity’s sake.

If you have been up at 0anything on a Saturday when the OOD shows up, you know that if you are caught existing you will probably be snatched up for a quick police call or some other dumb shit.  Of course, almost no one would answer their door.  They must have either been passed out or off base, sir (chuckles).  The few that do answer are either boots that don’t know any better or smart terminals that crack their door with an open beer and a shit eating grin.

Unfortunately, one of our separating Marines temporarily blacked out that portion of the brain that tells you not to do something obviously stupid and he was outside of his room smoking a cigarette.  No big deal, “hey Devil, smoke pit.”  “Aye, Corporal.”  Thus was not the case this time around.  Had he shut his door, he would have never been caught and we would have been fucked for many more weeks until our company returned.

As he is walking away towards the smoke pit, the OOD catches a whiff of that burnt garlic bread stink and realizes where it was coming from:  This smoking Marine’s room.  He calls ole boy back over to us and asks him what he’s cooking.  Poor guy looked so confused it was almost a confession.  I tried to butt in with, “Is that garlic bread?” while the other Duty does the same as we both realize where this could go and how badly it could go for all of us if it turned out this dude had actually been stupid enough to burn weed in the barracks.  He told the OOD that he had been nuking some leftovers from the night before, and even pulled out some smelly ass, garlic-heavy shit from How-How’s (I think that was the name of the place) from the trash.  Waves of “holyfuckingshitthatwasclose” washed over us as the OOD laughed it off and allowed us to keep Dutying it up on our own.  For a while.

An hour later PMO rolls up with a fucking K9.  I don’t know the details because I’ve been told everything from the OOD causally joking about it and someone overreacting to some random visiting girlfriend calling PMO from her cell in one of the rooms, but somehow they got involved and shit got real.  Fast.

Unwritten SOP was that if PMO ever pulls into the barracks, you get that SDO on the phone and to the barracks NOW.  DPfc knew this and was frantically punching numbers and screaming at the SDO’s Dpfc to “get him the fuck down here PMO!  PMO! K9’s!  Shits going down, son!” as I was greeting the OOD (of course, without the ‘all secure,’ shit was obviously not secure) and Sgt. 5-0 and his buddy Cpl. K9.  Shit was halted on the spot until SDO pulled in ready to rip souls from bodies.  Doors were assaulted with fists and voices, then more intelligently, the correct keys, until every Marine in the building was made aware of the search.  Door to door they sniffed, starting on the bottom deck.  They only made it through a few rooms before that puppy signaled Cpl K9 that he smelled some of that sweet, sweet plant material.  Wall lockers were opened, cabinets were thrown open and emptied, drawers pulled out, and general chaos was unleashed upon this poor guy’s room.  And the didn’t find shit.  PMO take off, OOD tours by himself for a few minutes, and the SDO and I are talking to the Marine who’s room was destroyed.

I can’t say that I was close to this guy or even that I was a good friend of his.  I can say that even if his heart wasn’t in the Marine Corps anymore, he was still one hell of a great guy to be around.  He was that ultra-laid back dude in your unit that never lost his shit because he didn’t seem to have one to give in the first place.  He knew that the civilian world could be just as bad, if not worse, than life in the Corps because he had been there, so he never really complained much no matter how bad shit got.  That day, though, proved to be too much.

Once the OOD and PMO were out of earshot, he looked the SDO in the eye and told him that he had just smoked a little joint in the bathroom right before they rolled in.  His deadpan expression made this at first seem like a joke, but he didn’t laugh.  No one laughed.  We followed him to the head where he pulled out a small metal ashtray with the tiniest joint roach I have ever seen perched on one of the corners.  This guy was already getting separated and didn’t have to tell on himself, but he did.  I don’t know if he wanted to help facilitate his early release, to get out of going to the field that next week, add time on from the new paperwork that would have to be filled out, if he internally lost it for a few moments, or if he had a very interesting take on integrity.

If he would have told me, I don’t know if I would have turned him in, and I think he knew that.  He knew I had a bit of disdain for the guys that were getting kicked out, as well as a good amount of apathy.  I think that is why he told the SDO, so that he would be forced to follow through with procedure.  The SDO wasn’t really all that mad, though.  He seemed to be amused by the fact that the K9 couldn’t find a roach and impressed by the guy’s honesty, albeit maybe a bit misplaced given his situation.  As it would turn out, that situation saved us a lot of hassle over the next few weeks.

We couldn’t be locked down any harder than we already were, so there really wasn’t anything further the LT could do to us as punishment for allowing one of his Marines to momentarily exercise free will.  It didn’t matter, though.  Enlisted men sometimes speak in hushed tones of a mystical act of nature referred to as “relieved of command.”  It is not known to me if this is truly what happened to our temporary commander, or if he let the CWO and staff take over while he disappeared into his hobbit hole (or whatever officers live in.)  Life quickly got exponentially better for a while.

This of course led to company-wide piss tests.  I don’t know if it is true but I was told even the Marines ACROSS THE FUCKING OCEAN had to drop trou and push a few drops out as well.  Yes, there were more NJP’s.

The extreme knee-jerk reactions are what killed the last of my will to reenlist.  Okinawa was bad enough with their Liberty Cards, ORM worksheets every weekend regardless of if we left base, libo buddies and games, I was not going to be treated like a prisoner while on the very soil I was supposed to be giving my youth for.  I no longer wanted to be part of an organization that refuses to train Marines that want to be leaders by making excuses about not having enough fucking Duty NCO’s.  I no longer wanted to be part of an organization that allowed “leaders” to turn their subordinates into micromanaged slaves with absolutely no freedom simply because one of them fucked up all by himself.  I wanted no part in an organization that is so cripplingly bureaucratic that they put their most educated Marines in jobs that have nothing to do with their training because “we need an NCO to fill that slot.”(like putting your Duty Expert mechanic as the Haz-Mat guy, Safety NCO, SACO, etc.)  I couldn’t stand the thought of staying in an organization that doesn’t allow individuals that are detrimental to morale and safety to get the fuck out and allow our units to train, evolve, and function properly without having to allot hours for full-time adult baby-sitting personnel.  When the reenlistment man came a-knockin’ on my door, he already knew better than to hand me a package and had a beer with me instead.

Submitted by: AAVPOG