Leadership Starts at the Bottom

Please note that I had never been a squad leader, and was – very briefly – in charge of a fire team. As a corporal in charge of the Bn Safety Office for 8th ESB, the CO informed the companies that only a SSgt or higher was worthy of reporting to me on safety matters. Before long (WAY before long), I was promtoed to Sgt, and then made the Platoon Sgt in charge of the S-4. If this wasn’t a sign of madness, then I don’t know what is. But one thing can be discerned from all of it, and it’s that leadership starts at the bottom.

And now for a little story.


If this was a site about ethics in general I’d throw a good number of groups under the bus. But this is about the USMC, which has commercials about how in the heart of every marine is a promise kept (so sign up Evangelical Christians!), and this one where everything looks totally badass. I’m not kidding, either. Watch that commercial and tell me you don’t want to be a fucking marine blowing shit up, executing Port Arms, and even being one of those old vets just sitting around, likely because your knees don’t work so good after 11 years of carrying boxes around a warehouse when you were 19 to 30-years-old.

Opposite the amazing marketing machine the Corps is, is the day-to-day bullshit and outright lies you have to bear witness to when you’re a hard-working, dedicated patriot, or some kid just trying to earn a paycheck to give a good life to your wife and baby.

But enough with the generalities.

This is a story about

  • An out-of-standard Sgt who forged official orders for his married girlfriend, a Cpl, so she could change apartment complexes before her husband got home from Iraq, and
  • A thieving PFC who worked in the same office as that Sgt

And our adventure to see who should be accountable for the things they did.

PFC YoungAndStupid

PFC YoungAndStupid had the qualities a Plt Sgt looks for: He could PT and didn’t mouth off. I was in charge of the S-4 (meaning I had only 4 people directly above me, a SSgt, GySgt, Lt and Captain) when this and another PCF came in. Immediately, they told me that their previous unit’s NCO would call me to disparage them.

Now, it’s a sad fact that when the S-4 needs a body it often gets people who just failed a drug test, or someone who is unpopular. This is how people are deemed to end up on duty rosters more often than others, and it’s also how “the roster got messed up” when you want training. The S-4 is in charge of moving people and gear across whole oceans, so, obviously, send the worst people if you can help it.

I assured the PFCs that this was a clean slate.

“Besides,” I told them, “in about two weeks you’re going to reveal yourself for what you are, anyway.”


Well, weeks later PFC YoungAndStupid lifted a set of golf clubs from the bed of a marine’s pickup. This was found out when that marine went to a nearby pawn shop to replace the set, finding his own.

“Why did you steal those clubs?” I asked him one day, privately.

“Don’t know, Sarn’t. Wanted a set of golf clubs, I guess.”

“YoungAndStupid, you already have golf clubs. Plus, if you wanted them, you wouldn’t have pawned them off.”

“Oh yeah,” he said like he’d just realized that was a bad story.

As I said, things would be revealed. The PFC hardly ever said anything because he must have learned not to talk. Half of what he said was untrue; the other half was offensive, such as not believing a female could be President of the United States. The Base Commander was a woman as was the Co CO, but that was his belief, and, to date, it’s unproven, so maybe I’m the asshole here.

For his crime the PFC lost pay and was restricted to the barracks.

Sgt Terminal & Cpl CheaterPants

Cpl CheaterPants’ husband, Sgt DUI, was in Iraq when I arrived at the unit. Most details I have are secondhand so I’ll just say that she wanted very badly to change apartments before he got home, but you can’t break a lease without orders, so she presented a set to her landlord who followed up with the command, and it was found out that they were fake..…so where did she get them?

That evening, myself and the GySgt were kept at the office until 9:00PM. The fallout settled after she spoke to the Bn Chaplain for about 3 hours – a shrewd move if I ever saw one.

In the end Sgt Terminal took the rap he should have, suffering shame and worry, but no loss of pay or rank, and no barracks restriction. Cpl CheaterPants came out unscathed if not unblemished.

NCO Antics Continue

As parents we know that consequences can create results. For example, PFC YoungAndStupid learned that stealing didn’t pay. The following year he also learned the importance of punctuality when he got a Page 11 after being written up about 6 times for being late. He did the crimes, and he did the time.

Cpl CheaterPants, on the other hand, would try to be in charge, telling marines that PT was cancelled when it wasn’t, and volunteering to man the phone, which was necessary in the S-4, but not her place to decide. It was causing confusion, so I finally just had to give her a verbal ass-handing about her place in the platoon.

Meanwhile, Sgt Terminal was in Iraq and had been ordered by Lt Citadel never to speak with Cpl CheaterPants again. So he set up a fake email account under the name Serial Killer (I’m not making this up), and then began emailing to CheaterPants’ military email account. I shit you not, this idiot created an account with the name Serial Killer, and began conversing with a federal military member.

His first email (I swear, I’m not making this up):


Dear Number 2:

This is Number 1. You are to write to Number 1 on only this account. All transmissions are to be destroyed after reading. Together Number 1 and Number 2 will work to take down Petty Officer and Afro Man…….


And it goes on from there.

Number 1 is Sgt Terminal, Number 2 is CheaterPants, Petty Officer is me, and Afro Man is the SSgt I shared an office with, who had shown open disdain for Sgt Terminal, and refused to suffer fools and morons as a general rule.

After about a month of nonsense that alternated between mild paranoia, daily updates about nothing, and complaints about Petty Officer and Afro Man, I read what I determined to be the end of the line.


Dear Number 2:

Number 1 wants Number 2 to know that Number 1 is very proud of Number 2. Number 2 is doing a fine job of taking down Afro Man and Petty Officer……..


The operation was over. These two brainiacs weren’t hurting anyone, but they had been given a direct order not to talk to each other. And, frankly, calling a black guy Afro Man when he wasn’t a cover artist for the rapper of the same name is racist, and calling me Petty Officer when I’d done 150 days outside the wire in Falluja is just laughable, and very bad for Cpl CheaterPants because she was actually starting to believe I was more like a sailor, and therefore stood in a lower regard.

I compiled the emails, and when Lt Citadel came to my office I gave them to her.

“How did you get this?” she asked.

“I stole it,” I told her, “over the course of about a month.”

“Okay,” she replied, looking to the SSgt I shared an office with, “you can’t do that.”

“You told him not to talk to her; they’re still talking.”

“I’ll address it,” she concluded. “Get rid of all this.”

She left.

“Close the door,” SSgt Afro Man said. I did. “Are you out of your mind?”

Honestly, I was. Due to my wife’s reserve activation I was a single parent on a Marine Corps schedule. Also, prior to this, I’d taken action against a line unit with some terrible leadership, and was simply done taking crap from anyone anymore.

“You can’t do that. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I did.

“Good. Now I’m going home.” As he left I heard him from the hallway, “p-fff. Afro Man! Fucking idiots.”

Sgt Terminal’s Final Days

Upon coming home from a successful deployment Sgt Terminal was selected for SSgt, but where justice failed, karma prevailed. He was overweight. Despite it being 2008, the year that even Sgts Major were getting re-enlistment bonuses, marines still needed to be in standard.

He was awarded a NAM, thanked for his service, and summarily dismissed from duty.

Cpl CheaterPants’ Final Days

When CheaterPants couldn’t weasel out of training, she began refusing to do so. I was told that counseling her off the bat would look like I was singling her out, but that if I kept a PT log of everyone’s progress, then her deferments to training could be sent to the Co Office where they would handle it.

So I began keeping track. She must’ve gotten word, and went from trying to win a contest that didn’t exist to seeing what she could do to escape the punishment she was earning, successfully moving to the S-3.

Half my headaches were gone.

Later, 3 LCpls informed me that she’d gotten drunk at a party on base housing and told people that I was getting Court Martialed for being a coward in combat, that I had “abandoned my marines” while under fire. I asked them to put it in writing, but they wouldn’t, so I did nothing. She also spread a weak rumor that I wasn’t a 1371 (combat engineer) and some boot-ass LCpl took the bait, got smarmy with me, and I dressed him down in front his company and mine.

Alas, Cpl CheaterPants being in the S-3 really was perfect for her, for in the S-3 you can input PFT results, raising your cutting score. She was going to be promoted to Sgt and get a re-enlistment bonus of $34,500. The night before her promotion she must have been feeling especially excellent, because she drank herself stupid – so stupid that her friend called for help. When she woke up at 10:00AM the morning of her promotion to Sgt it was in the OOD hut wearing a set of olive drab USMC sweats.

As the Bn Safety Manager I had to interview her, and it was determined (at her insistence) that it was not an accident. Her friend panicked; “that’s all,” she said. And that was all. Until she saw the Bn CO who non-rec’d her for promotion.

From what I heard she was told that if she stayed in it would be more than the non-rec Page 11 she was getting, and the very last I heard from her she was yelling in the hallway about how she had gotten fucked over.

Where Are They Now?

I tried to look up these NCOs who seemed like Teflon to formal punishment, but found nearly nothing. No LinkdIn page, no Facebook, no seat on corporate or charitable boards, or personal blogs. Cpl CheaterPants is no longer married to Sgt DUI, but that’s all I know about either of them.

As for me, it would be more than a year before the S-4 had a Sgt more junior than I. While I grew into the role that was required, I’d had more experience as the captain of my high school tennis team (10 weeks) than I had as even a fire team leader prior to being in charge of an entire platoon. Senior to me was Sgt Terminal with 12 years in, then Sgt SingleDad, who had just had back surgery, hence his time in the S-4, then Sgt B&E, who was soon sentenced to the brig for breaking and entering a USMC warehouse. In addition to them was a Sgt and SSgt in the armory, both of whom were technically under me.

And, as I mentioned in the beginning, on my first day as safety manager, LtCol Buffalo told all of 8th ESB that “a Staff Sergeant or higher in each company will report to Corporal Pascale.” It was the craziest shit anyone had ever heard.

“Thieves Edition”: Marine’s Never Lie, Cheat or Steal

We were in the locker room for swim qual – gear a-ready – when the instructor told us to leave everything and follow him to the pool – leaving the gear adrift. [Sorry not to build suspense into the scene of the crime, but the real story comes in a bit]. Returning to the locker room, my Kevlar helmet and that of a corporal’s was gone. We continued with our training.

Back at our company we had to fill out a missing gear form so as not to be helmet-less in combat. The corporal and I had to see the Company XO, Lt. Gremlin, named as such because she resembled the sexy gremlin in the classic holiday film, “Gremlins 2.”

Waiting outside her hatch the banal conversation between she and the corporal was brief, and concluded with her signing off on his new Kevlar helmet. All seemed well with the world. He left, I entered, stood at attention, reported in, and was then put at ease, which really meant modified parade rest, so I was not actually at ease; nor should I have been.

“Why are you here?” she asked, displeased.

“My helmet was stolen at the pool.”

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“I was told to fill out this form and see you,” I answered – feet shoulder-length apart, hands behind my back, which is a truly appropriate position for a verbal slapping.

“So,” continuing with all questions and no answers, “you think you shouldn’t be held responsible for losing your gear?”

And that’s how it went. She concluded that even though the corporal and I were in the same place at the same time for the same incident that he should have his helmet replaced, but I should have to pay for a new one.

She dismissed me. My platoon sergeant, the one I reference in the “Tradition” story, got a helmet for me.

Lt. Gremlin the Thief

Now, Lt. Gremlin didn’t just get her name because of her appearance. Honestly, the sexy gremlin in that movie was kind of hot; I mean, she was certainly down to get down, and wasn’t shy to make her feelings known. Lt. Gremlin earned this nickname for being repugnant, just as others earned good ones with their virtue.

Standing outside the company office around this time she is talking to SSgt BadAdvice about a fender bender she had been in. Out loud, in front of many junior marines, she is trying to talk through how she can parlay her minor accident into major repairs, which some people – like claims adjustors – would call insurance fraud.

What, does she think she’s not responsible for fixing her own car?

Does she think someone else should pay for things that are hers?

She did.

FSNB: Proof the Corps Couldn’t Care Less

Fleet Marine Life talks about Fort Sill National Bank, as does RipOffReport, and PissedConsumer.

In a nutshell, it’s a shitty bank that every recruit on Parris Island is set up with for their direct deposit. By funneling tens-of-thousands of captive recruits to this hellhole the USMC is damaging both troop welfare and mission accomplishment. Low-income troops losing money to needless fees hurts their focus as a fighting force, and poor finances can lead to someone losing their security clearance.

FSNB = Fees-Fees-Fees

For the privilege of having an account, they charge needless fees knowing full well you can’t change your banking until your graduate, and a good portion of people do not do so right away because they don’t want to spend part of family day at Navy Federal Credit Union opening an account.

I have had two experiences with FSNB. Upon trying to close the account at MOS school they said I was overdrawn and charged me a fee for it. I sent them a check for the NSF overdraft, and they said I was still overdrawn because of the monthly fee hitting, prompting another NSF fee, so the account could not be closed. I sent them another check and told them to close the account, and that a copy of the letter was given to my command.

A few years later my wife went to close an account she had when we moved to Camp Lejeune. She went to the branch at Wal-mart and they cut her a check.

FSNB Will Overdraw You

“Show me the balance on the account,” she said, suspecting something fishy.

Now she was overdrawn. This fucking asshole overdrew the account on her so that there would be an NSF fee, then a monthly fee, which would prompt another NSF fee. So my wife gave her the difference and asked for a receipt, plus a printout of the statement showing that the balance was at zero.

“You don’t want that,” lady-banker-fuck told my wife.

“Of course I do.”

“If you take a paper statement, you could lose it, and then your personal information will just be out there.”

“It’s already out there. Con artists like you have it.”

After some cajoling she got a receipt for the deposit, bringing the balance up to zero, plus a statement showing the balance at zero.

“I want to speak to your manager,” my wife said, “I’m going to make a complaint about what you did.”

The manager told her that to make a complaint she had to call customer service from a phone on the wall.

If the USMC Cared, They’d Have Already Done Something

Fort Sill National Bank is not the worst bank in the world, nor is lady-banker-fuck the worst banker in the world, but this is the exclusive bank for marine recruits on Parris Island (and probably soldiers at Fort Sill, Oklahoma), and it is one way that the Marine Corps is actively ensuring that the lowest paid troops are being victimized by a financial institution. These young troops make very little money, live far from home, and endure great hardships. All the while this bank is stealing from them.

If anyone has something positive to say, please share. I’d love to hear something good about the bank, and not that it donates money to something, because that donation is funded in full by the fees scraped off the top of a marine recruit’s meager paycheck.

I’ll be forwarding the link for this post to people at FSNB and MCRD PI, and suggest you do the same.

My experience so far in the USMC

When I began my four-year degree program at North Carolina State
University, I wanted something more in life than just a 9-5 job. I had this
clear vision of leaving a positive impact on the world, this grand plan that
through selfless sacrifice and pure love for my country, I could once again
restore the patriotism that has been lost and over come the anti-American
sentiment that had become so prevalent in the United States as well as the
world. I wanted my future wife and children to be proud of what I had
accomplished, not a false sense of love and lack of respect because I have a
well paying job and I can buy shiny things, so I found the United States Marine

The day I graduated with my bachelor’s degree, the first thing I did, the
VERY FIRST THING was drive to the local Officer Selection Office in Raleigh,
North Carolina. I immediately began the paperwork process and challenged myself everyday to lower my run time and increase the maximum amount of pull-ups I was able to preform. My initial PFT score was around 250, with a
horrible run time. Within a few months, the score increased by nearly 30 points, with me doing well over 20 pull-ups; something I’ve never been able to do in my life. I was running almost every day at a local park that had great terrain for pushing my endurance to the max.

While I was enrolled in the Officer Selection Program, the Captain told
me very bluntly that I would not be able to participate in Active Duty OCS
since the USMC cancelled a few training sessions for them due to the budget
cuts. The USMC was downsizing drastically and the only thing I would be able to join (at my age 27) was the officer reserves. Although my heart was
set on active duty, I decided that my best bet was to join the ranks of the reserve
officers as he had suggested. I continued to train on my own time and worked as much as I could to save up money after college. After a year went by, the Captain told me that it would be hard to get me in the USMC at all.

I told him that this was something I really wanted, so he suggested I
talked to an enlisted recruiter. Upon his advice, I spoke with a Staff Sergeant who got me going with the enlisted paperwork. I told him that my wish was to go Intel, but he said that the job slots for that were taken, so he recommended I signed for a job that was available and he could make the switch later. I signed, like a naïve fool, believing the words of this marine; after all, marines don’t lie,
right? My ship out date was originally scheduled for December 15th

In August of 2014, my girlfriend was forced to move to Woodbridge, Virginia
by her parents. I followed her with the consent from both Captain and the Staff Sergeant. In September, my package was finally submitted to face my first officer selection board. I had high hopes because I thought I had proved my dedication to the Marine Corps by enlisting, making the package shine that much brighter. I called Captain about a week later and he said that I was not selected.

While I was upset, I still had hope: there was another selection board in
November. In the meantime though, I kept in touch with the enlisted side, asking them nearly every week if they had the Intel job for me yet.

Finally, November rolled around and I called Captain up and asked him about the board. I should have known something was wrong when he said “I haven’t heard from you in a while; you still are trying to join?” after explaining to him how much I have been training, he told me he would let me know the results of the package as soon as he hears anything at all. I never heard from him again; instead, it was the staff sergeant who informed me that I did not make the cut and I was very upset.
So, going with plan B, I asked the staff sergeant if he had secured my Intel slot. He replied “No, but I’ll make it happen before December”

About a month before I shipped out, I had already put in notice at my job, told my landlord my last day that I would be living at my residence and even sold my car to pay off the remaining debt I had on my credit card; my confidence and trust in the staff sergeant to secure my Intel slot was so strong because he was a United States Marine.  He was the symbol of honor, courage and commitment; he was a hero to me along with all the other men and women who wore the eagle, globe and anchor.

December 9th, I drove down to North Carolina to get ready to leave for boot camp. My family was so proud of me, and my girlfriend was too; she supported the hell out of me and still does to this day. I love her with all of my heart and soul.

I spoke with a new staff sergeant of Cary, North Carolina. The first thing he did was apologize to me for the previous staff sergeant who was there. I was told that he never once tried to reserve my desired Intel job, and that I never got it, but I was given a reassuring “Don’t worry, Avionics is a great job field, you’ll love it”

At this point, several red flags popped up, and I felt sick.

I thought to myself “I gave up everything based on the words of this Marine, and I was lied to. I have no job, no place to live and no vehicle aside from a motorcycle to ride in the beginning of winter near DC. What am I going to do?”

Reluctantly, I went to MEPS and prepared to ship out on Monday, the 15th. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t enjoy myself…I even started smoking…something I’ve never done before in my life, but it helped a little with the massive amount of stress.

Monday eventually came, and I found myself sitting in a chair at the processing center, asking myself “What the fuck am I doing? Do I want this? Can I trust these people?!” The answer I concluded was “No, I can’t trust anything unless its documented on paper”.

I spoke with the MEPS liaison and told him if I can’t get Intel, then I will still join, but as a reservist only. After many attempts to convince me to ship out under my Avionics contract, including promises of “I’ll make a personal phone call just for you when you get to Parris Island and I’ll make sure you get Intel myself”, I turned them down and said I wouldn’t go unless they promised me in writing there that I would be given Intel. Needless to say, they wouldn’t do it, so they
called Ssgt over a speaker phone while I was sitting and waiting, “What
do you mean that stupid mother fucker won’t ship out?! That fucking piece of

I should have known right then and there what character he was…but again, I
wanted to believe in the uniform and its meaning, so like an idiot, I chalked it up to him just overreacting out of stress, or frustration and I didn’t take his words serious. Hell, we’ve all taken things out of proportion when they don’t go the right way…so I wrote it off.

I left MEPS, contacted my former employer and landlord and they graciously
helped me out in my situation.

Before I left to go back to DC, I stopped at the enlisted office in Cary, NC to get going on my reservist contract. When I arrived, Ssgt greeted me warmly, apologizing for the problems.  When I told him I wanted the reserves, he tried to convince me to stay active duty. I told him it was either Intel or reserves, so he actively sought out an Intel contract for me while he said he was working on my reserve paperwork. I was told that I would ship out on March 3rd, 2015 for the reserves as an open contract out of NC.

When I left North Carolina, my father wouldn’t speak to me. He viewed me as
a fraud and a coward (although he has never served in any branch.

My mother and I went for a walk around the local park, and she began crying, saying that she wanted my existence to be special, and she really thought I was going to join and how proud she was of me. I told her that I still was joining but as a reservist if they could not get me an Intel contract. Seeing her cry broke my fucking heart and mentally ruined me for the next two and a half months before I joined. I felt like the piece of shit my father made me out to be, so I started drinking heavily and continued the tobacco use.

My girlfriend drove me back to Virginia, saying that she loves me no matter what path I choose in life. I knew she was disappointed as well, but I knew her love was strong enough to overcome anything as it has so far proved to be.

I left North Carolina with about 300 dollars in my bank account and lived dirt poor, not even being able to pay my landlord for the first month of me returning. Him being enlisted Army personnel understood what I went through; he is a good man.

When I arrived back in Virginia, I visited an officer selection office based on the recommendation of my girlfriend to see what exactly happened with my officer package. I’m glad she convinced me to go, because I found out, through the Officer Selection Office in Fairfax Virginia, that my Officer Package was NEVER EVEN SUBMITTED! Captain was lying to me about sending it. Why? I’m not sure. Perhaps it was because my GPA was a lousy 2.1 when I graduated, rendering it not very competitive, or because I was now living hundreds of miles away from the Raleigh Officer Selection Office. You know, I would have been upset if he said he didn’t want to submit it, but I would have gotten over it and worked with the enlisted side. Instead, I waited a year and a half for nothing. I wasted time and effort. I didn’t actively seek out a career with my degree based on believing that I would become a marine in the very near future; instead I waited tables, barely scraping by. That’s not Captain’s fault though; I should have sought out a better paying job. I was just stupid. Had the Captain told me that I was not going to be accepted, I would have done something with my life, whether enlisting or finding a private sector career, rather than playing the food industry game.

On January 12th, Ssgt contacted me saying he got me the job I wanted. I signed my job SOU and felt great. I saw what I wanted in writing and I proceeded to believe him. I told my landlord and employer once again that I had a new ship date set for February 9th.

When that weekend finally rolled around, I once again came back to NC, and my father thought I was going to back out again. I ignored him, and spent as much time with my family as I could, as well as my girlfriend. Since I didn’t have much money, I decided on selling more of my possessions. When I shipped to Parris Island, I felt scared as hell as if i made a horrible decision, as most recruits probably do.

Once on the Island, within 24 hours, I was told that I did not qualify for Intel because of past drug use, which I had waivers for. Before I left, when I first told the enlisted side I wanted Intel, I asked them many times about these waivers, ensuring they would not hinder me from getting the job I wanted. They lied and said they wouldn’t as long as I was honest, which I was. There were no moment of truth discrepancies, nor any information from them, which I tried to conceal; I was open and honest since day one.

While on the Island, I was told I was given the new MOS of Data, and that although it was a four year contract for that job and since I signed a 5 year MOS contract for a job I never received, I was obligated serve a 5 year contract. This bullshit was later reversed by a gunnery sergeant allowing me to serve a 4 year term instead.

I requested to be a reservist and explained my situation with what I had to deal
with, but he denied it saying “I’ll give you a 4 year contract, but I’m not allowing you to become a reservist.”

Since this happened, I’ve lost nearly all motivation to succeed. Who can I trust? The organization that I once thought stood for such high principles such as honor and trust has been shattered. I wake up everyday regretting my stupidity for not using my God-given logic and detecting the bullshit when it is clearing being observed by my five human senses. Now, I’m stuck. There is no reversing it, there is no way out until my time is up without potentially fucking my careers in the civilian world.

I’ve since contacted a military lawyer, seeing if there is anyway for me to become a reservist, but there seems to be no clear option for it.

While at MCT, I’ve asked my combat instructors for help, but it fell on deaf ears; they didn’t care either. Is that what the USMC is about? This once shimmering image of righteousness, tarnished by the majority of marines I’ve come into contact with makes me question the very essence of human compassion and the belief that man is born good (in the sense that a man will use his goodwill to fight off selfish temptations and self promotion when a sacrifice of innocence must be made to achieve it). Perhaps they thought what they were doing was right, that I would become a better man out of this experience (maybe I will…I’m just disillusioned and bitter now), but my better judgment tells me different. I know better now. I know that a uniform or a symbol does not make a bad person good.

So now I’m stuck in Twentynine Palms, California, training for a job I really have no desire in learning except for when I get out, there will be a well paying job in the private sector waiting for me. I’ve tried to convince myself that I want to go Officer still; but I don’t. I don’t even work out anymore like I used to. Hell, I am 5’9 and was 170lbs and 10-12% body fat before I joined and I have photos proving my fitness. Now I’m a meager 155 and struggle during every PT session. My fucking soul has been ripped apart from my body, amalgamating it into a conglomerate of 18-year-old children who have no self-discipline and are constantly ruining my freedom for me by screwing something up, resulting in mass punishment.

I’ve become an empty vessel, and no matter how much I try to pull something
up inside me, I find nothing, Void begets void.

This is my experience so far in the USMC.


So what would make this all better? What would turn my life around and make
living enjoyable once again? Being given what I was promised isn’t enough anymore. I don’t want Intel. I don’t want the 5-year commitment. I don’t want anything but to either be given the option of being a reservist or just getting out. That’s all I want; that’s what I feel I am entitled to based off of the lies and games I’ve had to put up with since my feet stood on top of the yellow footprints.
But hey, that’s life right? You can’t always get what you want. And as another
marine put it: “The USMC is a shit-sandwich. Yeah, they’ll dress it up for you
sometimes by throwing on lettuce, tomatoes, maybe some bacon…but you’re still
eating a shit sandwich.”

Only 3 and 1/2 more long years left.

Whoever created this site has done a wonderful thing for all of my fellow marines

who have no one to relate to or vent to. Really, thank you.

“Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris”

Submitted by: Abdiel

Entry 1: The REAL bootcamp

To whoever runs this site: I, like many before me, was a motivated individual who wanted to join an organization that I thought held the same values as me. I wanted to something great with my life and be part of something that money could not buy. I have two college degrees (a BA and an AA) and enlisted anyway because I did not make the cut for OCS (gpa wise). After joining the USMC, I quickly found out what this government organization is all about.

I occasionally write about this in a personal document to see if my opinion will ever change, however I don’t think it will… My emotion, intellect and motivation…my very SOUL has been lost upon joining the USMC.

Here are a few of the things I’ve written since bootcamp. Hopefully it will reveal to those wishing to join what the Honor, Courage and Commitment is REALLY about.
Use it or not, edit what you like, I don’t care. It just feels good to vent to someone other than my wife, friends or family. Thank you for this site, it will help me through my few years of hell.


-=Entry 1: The REAL bootcamp=-

“…Everyday is a struggle to wake up…even though I’ve finally obtained a morsel of the dream that I thought I once wanted.  To serve in the United States Marine Corps has been a very difficult thing to do.

Some of you without military service probably think its nothing but grueling physical training…shooting guns, working out, strategizing how to eradicate the enemy…or let me put it in the terms how it was verbally taught to me: “The mission of the Marine Corps rifle squad is to locate, close with and destroy the enemy by fire and close combat.”

The mission of the Marine Corps is to exploit, demoralize and humiliate the subordinate through drivel void of intellect, tedious labor accomplishing nothing and bumper-sticker slogans designed to create a hive mentality absent of commonsense and logic.

-That is my personal experience, not even a year in; perhaps it will change.

The most frustrating thing is dealing with enlisted superiors who lack the mental capacity to boil a fucking egg.  Many of them are selfish liars savagely bent on self-promotion through the slave-like labor of young skulls full of mush.

The sergeants and up (E5+) try to present themselves as military gods, despite their lack of combat experience or education.  Some of them treat us the way they do because they say it will toughen us up, others continue the cycle of shit because they went through it, thus finding the need to perpetuate it; that’s logical…right?

Instead of being competent, compassionate and possessing a mentor-like personality, they succumb to the ignorant ways that they were taught, be it in the Corps or during their youth.
It’s unbearable.

The officer side is much different from what I observe.  The officers (most of them, there are a few shit bags, don’t get me wrong…) have a vivid desire to mold their enlisted counterparts into being productive marines while reflecting the gentleman chivalry that the Corps supposedly prides itself on.

Officers use logic.  Officers use courtesy.  Officers can speak proper English.  The officer personality is what every enlisted marine should strive to act like.  Semper Fidelis (always faithful) should extend across the board.  The Non Commissioned Officers and Staff Non Commissioned Officers should be required to tow the line of the Marine Corps standards, yet many of them seem to fall well short of it.  Why?

And to top it off, the Enlisted ranks shit-talk the officers when they’re not around, claiming that a Marine Corps Officer is less of a Marine than they are.  Common phrases like “Don’t call me sir, I work for a living” (An enlisted Marine must refer to all officers as sir, and all superior enlisted Marines by their ranks…so to call an enlisted Marine a “sir” is highly offensive to them for some reason be it out of jealousy or unwarranted pride.)

Returning to what I initially started out with in the beginning of this entry, I’ll describe the average day for me beginning with boot camp.  This is for all of you desiring to become part of the world’s most elite fighting force.

1.) You will wake up every morning at 4am.  You will get yelled at and fucked with for about an hour while you’re cleaning the same shit you cleaned the night before you went to sleep.

2.) After being told what a piece of shit you are for that first waking hour, you will then march in formation to the dining hall (chow hall). Pray to God that its not winter when you go, because you will not be allowed to wear gloves or winter apparel despite it being 20 degrees outside…the sergeants though will, of course, be dressed for whatever weather the recruit depot throws at them.  On the march to the chow hall, you will be expected to preform drill movements (those fancy tricks you see Marines doing with their rifles on those commercials brainwashing that your purpose in life is to wear that sexy uniform).  If ONE of you fucks up a drill movement, you will be marched back to the squad bay (living quarters) and then try again.  Keep in mind; if it is winter, your hands will go numb.  Good luck preforming the proper movements…   I cannot tell you how many recruits I’ve seen contract pneumonia…

3.) Upon arriving at the chow hall, you will be treated like shit and fucked with while you eat. I’ve personally witnessed recruits being forced to walk around in circles with food in their hands while other favored recruits are allowed to indulge.  Once you’re finished eating, repeat step 2 in reverse.

4.) So now you’re back at the squad bay, can you guess what you’re doing next?  Cleaning again for another hour or so.  Yeah, the same shit you cleaned earlier, while getting fucked with and ridiculed for sneezing without permission.

5.) After the morning clean up is finished, its time to start training right? Wrong. Whatever the event of the day is, you’ll be stuck outside waiting for hours to do this one even that takes 15 minutes to accomplish.  Get used to it.  The majority of your time is spent sitting around with your dick in your hand.  Government efficiency, right?

6.) So by the time you’re done, its time to get lunch chow.  Repeat steps 2 and 3 again. Oh and pray to God that you’re not early for any meal.  You and your platoon could be the best damn recruits to ever grace the recruit depot…if the drill instructors have free time, they unleash their frustration of being in that shit-hole on you.  You’ll be doing creative things like running in whatever direction the drill instructor points or holding your rifle in one arm parallel to the deck (floor) until its time to eat.  What does this do?  I would say teach you not to fuck up, but if you aren’t fucking up and are still getting punished…why try not to fuck up if the end result is the same?  Positive reinforcement? Ha! What a crock of shit.

7.) So now that the chaos of the morning is over, and you’ve eaten lunch, depending upon what phase of training you’re in, you’ll either have classes on sexual harassment, sexual assault or hazing/fraternization.  Classes on combat support? Few and far between.  These classes suck too.  They are dry as hell and so common fucking sense that an autistic monkey could grasp the concept within the first minute of the “course”…yet you’ll be sitting there for 2-3 hours…being taught how you’re a rapist because some dumb cunt decided that she regretted spreading her legs open for you the night before.  You think that shit in college is rough?  How like one in four men will rape a girl?  Please, according to the Marine Corps, we’re all rapists that just haven’t been given the opportunity to molest the innocent yet.

8.) By now, its almost dinner chow.  Guess what we’re going to do… Yep, repeat steps 2 and 3 once more.

9.) After the last chow of the day, we’re finally back at the squad-bay which seems like heaven…in some sick way…  Get ready to clean weapons that you’ve never shot for 1-2 hours.  In addition to that, get ready to clean that same shit you cleaned earlier in the morning…again…

10.) Now its hygiene time.  You’ll get anywhere from 1 minute to 5 minutes to clean yourself up.  Shower, shave, brush your teeth, dry yourself off…everything in about 5 minutes.  You’re going to smell horrible still even after, and if you’re unlucky enough, you’ll develop some painful rashes and sores on your body in places you were not able to fully clean.

For God’s sake though, don’t go to the Corpsmen (Navy medical staff).  If you have ANY infection or tender area on your battered body, get ready to spend anywhere from an extra week to a year on the island depending upon the severity of your problem.  They don’t care about your mental state, or how it will crush your motivation to not graduate on time.  Uncle Sam wants to make sure his product, YOU, are 100% fit to do whatever bitch work he deems fit.

11.) Now, the best part of the day has arrived.  Mail time.  If you never cared about letters from relatives, you’ll be singing a different tune by this point.  Just knowing that someone gives a shit about you will help you make it through the day.  Believe me, they say that the DI’s (drill instructors) care about you deep down, but the majority of them don’t.  No, really, they don’t.  They’re just there to do their job and get the hell home.

My advice? Save EVERY letter you get. It will help greatly on days you do not receive mail.

12.) After you survived the soul-sucking day, its almost time for sleep…after you clean the same shit you did the whole day once more.  You’ll finish cleaning, and then you’ll get about 5 minutes for a group prayer.  At 8pm you’ll be in bed to go to sleep.  One thing I cannot complain about is that you really do get 8 hours of sleep, unless you’re fire watch, then you get 6-7 hours.  Take advantage of as much sleep as you can, because tomorrow is going to be the exact same thing.  THE EXACT SAME THING!

You’ll learn to daydream.  You’ll learn to stack rocks and blades of grass on top of each other to build little structures in the dirt while you await orders to do some other bullshit training exercise.  Who is qualified to be a United States Marine? Everyone. Who can make it through boot camp? Anyone. Who can become part of the few and the proud?  All of us.

Think long and hard before you join. Hell, if you’re a big moto-fuck like I was before getting in, thinking that every negative thing you read online is written by some pussy who couldn’t cut it, then go reserves.  Retain at least some of your freedom.  Just be sure its really what you want and do your homework on the job you’re signing up for…then again, that’s an issue in itself…actually getting the job…

I was promised intel. I even signed a job SOU for it and scored phenomenally well on my DLAB, only to have it taken away within less than 24 hours of bootcamp. I was then placed as an open contract.

Who am I?  An older private first class (E2) with a bachelor’s degree in Political Science and associate’s degree in Liberal Arts.  The USMC was always a dream of mine; now it’s my perpetual nightmare…”

—–And here is a message to my wife (who supported me joining) detailing my frustration with the USMC—-

“They (enlisted Marines) have an insipid intellect, and they do not care to educate themselves.  They are content with mediocrity and they always try to pass responsibility off on someone else so they are not held accountable.  They BLAST garbage pop-music in the barracks which details the extent of the brain power, and they waste their money on frivolous things such as expensive cars, basket ball shoes and flashy material possessions to give them the illusion that they are something more than they are.

I hate people like that.  I hate the need for attention and the endless thirst for popularity.  I hate the hive mind, and I hate not thinking for myself.  I’m the freak here.  I’m the outcast who is different because I don’t conform to their simple mindset, and I’m so damn proud of that.  Sometimes I wonder if I’m different because I choose to be different.  I wonder if all this mental rebellion I have is because I like being the outlier of the group.  I wonder these things, but then I always return to my conclusion that I’m not.  I’m different because I care about educating myself and acting like a gentleman.  I might not know all the bullshit jargon of the Marine Corps, but I am me.  I know what class is, and yet I’m humble. I know when to bite my tongue, and I (even though I don’t like to) know when I need to speak up.

I thought the USMC would give me some relief to the rotting American culture of materialism and popularity contests, but this is just high school all over again, and I hate it. Do you know what its like to wake up, knowing that your day is going to be filled with emptiness? Knowing that someone is going to bitch at you merely so they can seem like they have power in front of their superiors?  Knowing that the person to the left and right of you has the intelligence of a fruit fly?

If you have no idea, but would like to experience it because you’re a masochist, then please, join the USMC.  As soon as you open your eyes up in the morning (at 4am), the first thing you’ll think is “God damnit… …I’m still here…”

Submitted by: Abdiel

The “Title” “Marine” is Given, not Earned

As a teen in highschool, I didn’t know what I wanted to do when I graduated. So I decided joning the military would give me some time to decide and maybe even some money for school, or possibly even making it my career. I lived in a large military city of mostly Navy personnel so after seeing those cool marine commercials I decided to “challenge” myself and “try” to become one of the few & proud instead of just another sailor. I went to the recruiter and said I wanted to join when I graduated and the process began. I entered the dep program 5 months before my ship date. We didn’t have computers and internet at the time so it was done the old fashioned pen and paper way. I took the asvab. If I remember, I scored around 66 and the minimum is 35. I then went to the meps for the physical eval & such. It was determined that I was a good candidate since I was a normal healthy kid with just a few extra pounds. Finally after months of waiting, my ship date arrived. One last stop at the meps and it was off to basic training. When I first arrived, I fully expected the games and BS to happen. As I progressed through the different phases I came to realize that the “few” and the “proud” was just hype. I noticed many recruits who just couldn’t make the grade. Dropping out of runs, failing knowledge tests, unking on the range, etc but they were always given multiple chances to redo them. Several tried to quit but they were told they had to honor their contract & that was what really made me think. Anyone with half a brain, and a few minimum requirements could be given the title.
From the corpse FB page:
Anonymous asked, “How do you prepare for boot camp?”
To be a Marine is to become an elite and strategic warrior.
An “elite” and “strategic” warrior? Hmm. Let me see…..what does it take to “earn” the title and become one if the “elite.”
18 years of age
Legal US citizen
High school diploma
Minimum asvab score of 35
Reasonably good health
Sign the dotted line and swear an oath
3 pull ups
50 crunches in 2 minutes
Run 3 miles in 28:00 or less
Hit the target 75% of the time
Tolerate the bullshit for 90 short days and presto, The title of marine is given to you. (I kind of took Ninjas words where he said the title is really given & not earned)
If you fail any of these at boot camp you are given multiple chances to try again. Why would an “elite” force want that? Maybe its all just marketing BS to lure unsuspecting kids to something where they really just need warm bodies to perform grunt work. I fell for the hype. Recruiters don’t necessarily lie, but they’re not exactly Paul Harvey who will tell you “the REST of the story.” So there. The title is given. Its harder to quit than graduate. For those motards that call people pussies, non-hackers, wimps, quitters etc, maybe so but they quit and or got out because it was nothing like what they were told by their recruiters and other marines. I’ve also asked this question a few times. If the corpse is so great, then why do so few stay in and become lifers? My platoon graduated 63 and to my knowledge, only 3 served for 20. A few reenlisted once but the vast majority served their 4 and got out. Most of the ones I keep in contact with have very successful lives and families yet we were told we wouldn’t amount to anything by the corpse. I challenge anyone to prove me wrong that the title is given.
Submitted by: MasterLcpl

Why I decided to get out

In case some lifer thinks I’m a cry baby, I was SGT. in for 9 years with the intention of of staying for 20. Even after I saw through the bullshit I wanted to stay. I was in a Bulk Fuel company, most of our equipment was warehoused. The only orders I ever got was keep the troops busy. They were sweeping the parking lot twice a day, wiping imaginary dirt off equipment and straighten the hose rack twice a week. Winter and summer I had to keep them   outside while SNCOs stay inside. In one of the coldest winter North Carolina had, my platoon was outside stringing camouflage nets for summer So much for the Marine Corps taking care of their own. I foolishly thought taking care of the troops was part my job.

My C.O. wouldn’t recommend me for D.I. school, he said I would make a better instructor for reserves. The Parris Island board disqualify me for 2 office hours I had 6 years before for drinking. I got orders for Parris Island after three weeks in D.I. school I,m out for psychological reason. That was all over the company before I got back, and I thought my SRB. was confidential. I wasn’t the first person in the company that was put out of D.I. school. I wasn’t the first person  that year, but I had committed a sin.

There were a set a brothers in the platoon, they both stupid and assholes. They enlisted on the jail or Marine Corps choice. I asked why can’t they just be put out. They would have danced to the back gate for a U.D.  No we couldn’t do that it would make the company look bad. They went U.A. and while they were drunk and high. They ran their car into a tree both of them were dead. A Staff Sgt stood in front of the platoon he said he was glad they were dead and if he had been there, he would made sure they were dead. He was writing their parents to tell what assholes and shit birds  they were and make sure they wouldn’t get the insurance money. No officer or StaffNCO. called him on what he said. I followed him to the platoon office, I ask why would he want to torture the family like that. He said why do you care. I said they were in my platoon I’m suppose to care.

A few months later a kid came to me asked for a 96 so he could go home for sister’s wedding. He had used up all his leave time. I went to the platoon SGT. I explained the problem. His answer was Fuck him tell to go U.A. I blew up okay I tell one of the best men in platoon to go U.A. and when he’s standing in front of the C.O. I’ll be standing with him I’ll say you told him to go U.A. I went to the Lt. got the 96 and got screamed at for jumping chain command.

After that I decided it wasn’t worth it to stay in.

Submitted by: Fairhaired Kidd

Corporal Punishment

The only people who think the Marine Corps sexual assault programs work are people who have never been sexually assaulted in the Marine Corps.

Before I begin I would like to add that this blog will also touch on the subject of how commands deal with suicidal ideations and depression as one lead to the other in my case as well as many others. I am three weeks from going on terminal leave, and couldn’t be happier and this is a huge part as to why. I never submitted a re-enlistment package and I actually tried to VERP, but my MOS couldn’t at the time.

It started after boot camp. I went on boot leave and was raped by a former mentor of mine from my old rescue squad. I was truly devastated the Marine Corps made me feel like I was as tough as they come after boot camp, but that night did away with that mentality. I withdrew from people and tried to deal with it on my own. The result was I got bullied and made fun of a lot by my Marine peers. I do not hold a grudge over this anymore however, because I realized an inevitable problem in the USMC which is age. 18 year old kids fresh out of high school don’t know how to deal with real adult issues and its not their fault and no class is going to teach someone empathy, understanding, or compassion like experience would. two years later I finally decide to talk to someone, of course I cant talk to a friend or other Marine, because then it would be an open case. This is a huge flaw in the system as well. what happens is if you begin to talk about anything possibly deep the Marines literally would take their fingers plug their ears and say lalalala. They don’t want to be in trouble if they don’t report it, but also don’t want to deal with it or be a part of it either. The only people I cold see was the chaplain and UVA. The UVA gave me a military one source card. By the way military one source does not cover sexual assault specifically, the only thing it is good for is to talk to a stranger over the phone about your problems, because your command and friends can’t. So after that I went to the chaplain, which I didn’t want to because he tries to shove Jesus down your throat and repeats himself over and over, because he is a Korean guy who barely speaks English. Meanwhile in the 1st Sgt’s office my platoon sgt who never asked even how I was doing before is being ripped a new one, because a Marine of his is talking to the chaplain and he don’t know why. Later that day I am held well past working hours until I tell him why I went to see the chaplain. I can’t tell him, because the circumstances but he doesn’t care he just wants to cover his ass. after about three or four hours of what felt like interrogation I tell him. The next day I am called into 1st sgt’s office with the UVA present explaining that it is now an open case, because someone reported it, Caugh gunny fuckface because no one else knew. I was immediately alienated and told that I needed to heal. That I was broke and needed to recover. They moved me out of my PTP cycle to a holding platoon where I mowed lawns and other odd jobs. When we did unit PT I wasn’t allowed to participate just watch. When we went on hikes I was given a blue rubber rifle instead of a real one. I became so depressed I started contemplating suicide. I was denied the opportunity to see a real therapist. I saw one on base but he wasn’t licensed and was some old guy prob vet at the family recourse center who basically would relate every issue I brought up to how much a Marine I was and stupid shooting references etc. I requested mass and the Battalion CO saw to it that I got counciling off base. I then tuned out all the Marines around me focused on my workouts at the time boxing was my outlet and my therapy. After a year and being ripped to shreds cus I worked out so much from anger the 1st Sgt told me I was now fixed. I then got to go on a deployment however immediately following the deployment my security clearance gets revoked from me being suicidal before. Even though I did everything I was supposed to and sought help on my own. I didn’t ask for attention, in fact almost no one knew. I didn’t want to stop PT, in fact I worked out about 4 hours a day. I just wanted to be a Marine. The paperwork took a while so that explained the delay affect. to sum it up they took my clearance away with so little time left there really isn’t anything I could do about it. I never had a NJP, only 1 page 11 for not doing homework once, and 1 speeding ticket. I have done nothing wrong the only thing I did was ask for help when I needed it. I now have three weeks left and I cant wait to be done. I have made peace with what happened to me, but the way I was treated like a criminal for being a rape victim still to this day haunts me. I don’t know how many others can relate but this is my story, and is a large part of the reason I too hate the USMC.

Submitted by: Corporal Punishment

Rants of a Boot Marine Part V: Still Slowly Dying

Today was supposed to be the start of a great weekend. I had it all planned out: a camping trip with the Church youth group I volunteer with on the weekends, not having to deal with morning colors or any of the mediocrity of base life as a single Marine.

But it all came crashing down when a Sergeant from my work section comes back, telling me I failed field day. I was dumbfounded, I was pissed, I wanted to punch the wall. This didn’t sense at all as I had made sure EVERYTHING was wiped down. In the paradise air station located in San Diego, field day inspections involved NCO’s and the duties walking into random barracks rooms while everyone is at work, making sure that the room is organized, and that it didn’t smell bad.

Some people straight up suck at cleaning even with this rather lax policy, but my Sgt, being from the groundside, said that dust was all over the place. This was after my Corporal had already done a pre field day inspection, saying that I was good to go.

To make it worst, I asked if I could just do a re-inspection at the end of the work day just so that I could continue with the camping trip. They didn’t take it into consideration, telling me to clean again, prepare to report to the duty in my Chucks, and that I better suck it the hell up because I was also about to not get a decent amount of time for chow anytime soon.

I sit here after wiping down everything again, wondering why it’s completely unfair. Yeah, I sound like I’m whining, but I like to voice out the fact that this is utter BS.

Even my Cpl thought that this was BS, but because it would make it unfair for other members in the unit that failed too, I couldn’t make that camping trip. Talk about going UA but it’s not worth it for something that I volunteer for.

If they ever told me, do your four and get out, thinking that I would feel bad or whatever, fine, I’m actually happy. Because I plan to freaking VEERP a year earlier that my original EAS.

I don’t care if I have been on a deployment, you end up in a place the United States has no business in to begin with, you work crappy hours, and things like family fall apart at home. Sure you can get more money, but is it worth six months to a year of your time doing something you don’t like?

Call it not embracing the suck, but people have to realize that the stack of ribbons that you wear on your uniform don’t mean anything once you get out, but only a memorabilia of what you done. Some people deploy not for a patriotic sense, but because they want to increase their ribbon count, “slay bodies”, and have bragging rights of how they went to “Hajiland”, traveling all over the place.

To make it worse for those motivators out there, I don’t even care about being promoted. Those who think that rank means everything, don’t realize that experience trumps everything including rank. To show some examples, I’ve seen a Marine with a Tan Belt beat the crap out of a Marine with a Green Belt in MCMAP, a Captain falling out of a ruck run while a PFC was leading it at Basic Reconnaissance Course, and my own Sgt (the same one that failed me at Field Day today) getting a slow ass PFT run time, while ranting about how I should do more pull ups.

In the past recent months, I’ve experienced more stupidity, double standards, and the suicide of my friend and fellow unit member, which was viewed by almost a majority of the squadron, with little to no connection.

In the inside, I feel like I’m slowly wasting away, wondering why I am stuck now at a dead end admin job, waiting for the day where I am eligible to put in that VEERP package.

Submitted by: Anonymous 

Escape from Okitraz, Part 3

When I was sentenced to The Rock the “Liberty Card” policy had yet to be invented. As a result, my colleagues and I didn’t have to worry about making it back to our cells before bed-check.

After a few months of muttering about the bullshit, all the while becoming increasingly miserable, I decided that it was time to fight back. Being a firm believer in the fact that a person should know the regulations he was going to be governed by, I had read all sorts of MCOs, as well as DOD, USFJ, MARFORPAC, and innumerable other orders and regulations. Most of them were loosely interpreted stateside, but rigorously enforced on The Rock. I decided that the best part of the dagger in my back was that it cut in both directions.

A few marines, tired of 2 $10 haircuts a week on a $240 paycheck, started shaving their heads. The SNCOs immediately started reprimanding and counseling these marines, because their haircuts were “eccentric”. The next week, several of them showed up, still bald. When a particular MGySgt dragged them to his office to write them up on charges (he wasn’t recommending Ninja Punches, either. He was going to court-martial these men) one of them proceeded to reach in to his pocket and produce the page of the order that stated “While male marines are not required to clip their hair to the scalp except while undergoing recruit training, this order does not prevent any male marine from clipping his hair to the scalp should he so desire.” Left staring impotently into the face of 4 marines who all-of-a-sudden knew the rules, he made them sweep the entire complex before sending them home without supper.

All of a sudden, environmental was aware that the HVAC shop in avionics was performing unlicensed automotive air conditioning service, as well as repairing the air conditioner in the managers’ office at the USO on Futenma (it happened the Avionics Officer’s wife worked there) in direct violation of environmental regulations and MCOs against enlisted “personal servitude”.

The three marines in the squadron who the command had decided were “crazy” went to their various mental appointments at Lester and quietly let slip that they had no idea why they were there, that their appointments had been made for them, and their gunny had told them to be there.

The squadron had a “Restriction room” where they locked up marines on restriction after an NJP. I mean they literally locked them inside this room. They let them out for 5 minutes, once an hour, if they wanted to smoke and use the restroom. (This may be overinflated, I never spent any time in it, and marines have been known to embellish).

Once it became known to the Office of the Judge Advocate General that a squadron commander was imprisoning marines in a locked room (not only illegal, but dangerous as the marines only egress in the event of a fire was a 3rd floor window) they at least had to stop locking the door and let them use the bathroom when they needed to.

We all know that the duty driver is supposed to be rested, and we all know that SNCOs don’t care. They will continue to fuck with that driver as much as they want (even more so if he/she asserts that they need sleep so they can drive in the morning. There is nobody in the entire maween corps who cares about this.

On the other hand, a handful of Japanese citizens found out that the Americans were making marines drive these enormous vehicles on their public streets without any sleep. I hadn’t quite planned on politicians getting involved, but it was amusing nonetheless.

At first, the officers had no idea how all this information was reaching the marines. A handful of printed pages, distributed to the right people in the right bars can make a hell of a difference, once you know who to hand them to.

Needless to say, once some people ran their mouths, they weren’t very happy with me once they found out. The threats and under-the-table torments began to leach from the offices on the flight line. The officers and senior enlisted didn’t like being hit over the head with their own rule books, especially by a “shitbag Lance Corporal”. Those rules were not meant to be applied to officers, and those that were, they said, had to be flexible enough to “allow officers to properly manage their men”

They demanded to know why I felt that I felt I “got to do what the hell I wanted” and “didn’t have to follow the same rules as other marines”. I told them that I did have to follow the same rules as other marines, but the regulations were very clear that this included them as well. According the the Commandant, as well as other generals and the Chief of Naval Aviation, these were the rules. I didn’t write them and, as marines and men of integrity, they should be enforcing them with equal vigor.

Needless to say, this was not what they wanted to hear.

Submitted by: Billiam201

Peanut Butter Platoon

Back in the day when I was with my good old unit we had this asshole Corporal that everyone hated. I’m not gonna us any real names to lets call him Corporal Fuckface, anyway Corporal Fuckface had this habit of going through peoples rooms and eating food while they were gone. He was able to do so because he was the BEQ manager and had a master key. It pissed everybody off but no one could say anything. One day me and my roommate came up with the idea to fuck with the food.

Being the nasty little fucking marines that we were, we came up with the brilliant idea of having the entire platoon bust a load in a jar of peanut butter, (which was his favorite). Of course we had to put our high school educated minds to work and figure out how to convince everyone to do this with out some overly motivated boot ratting on us trying to look good for promotion. We also had the task of finding a jar of peanut butter big enough that could hide 30 loads of jizz, thanks Costco.

Surprisingly it wasn’t difficult to convince everyone to participate , and after a couple days we had 28 generous donors. We mixed it up to the point where you couldn’t tell, and put it in the fridge. The next days we went to work to do more mindless shit as usual, and waited to see him at formation. When our dear Corporal Fuckface finally showed up I was ready for him to kill me and the roommate, as I was positive he noticed the taste of jizz from his weekends clubbing in Hollywood, but he stood there talking as usual, the following week went on to be some of my fondest memories from the Corps.

Every time he would fuck with us, every time he would break shit in our rooms during field day, ever time he would yell at us in front of the officers trying to look good, our faces hurt from holding in the laughter knowing that he had a mouthful of 1st platoons jizz . He finished the entire jar in a week, still left it empty in the fridge when he was done…. asshole. Moral of the story, dont’ t eat peoples fucking peanut butter. THE END

Submitted by: Mark

Sgt. Thompson: The Yoda of Camp Wilson.

Around 1997, I was sent to CAX at beautiful, scenic Twenty-Nine Palms. In keeping with my hatred (which I have already explained) of the birthday ball, the fact that this exercise spanned the Maween Corpse birthday suited me just fine. This was a double, and halfway through the first exercise, I found that I actually enjoyed these things. I suspect it had something to do with not having to field day everything and deal with the rear echelon’s idiotic bullshit every day. In any event, it was my first arms exercise, and I was somewhat excited as a young jarhead.

During this exercise, I met Sergeant Thompson. A holder of the Skating Expert badge (8th award), Sgt. Thompson taught me more in two months than my own NCOs would in two years. I didn’t have much time in the fleet, so I didn’t have a lot of knowledge about how the corpse actually worked, just how it was supposed to work. In the two months I spent in this environment, I saw a lot. I saw piles of second bootenants (not something that was common in a MALS at the time) acting like spoiled children, taking out their frustrations on anyone who happened to come within arms reach. Most of them were upset and ‘having to sleep in the sand like rats’ and were going to make sure everyone knew it. Sgt. Thompson knew a simple way around this. In the words of Mr. Miyagi, ‘best way to take a punch, no be there’. In this case, by simply avoiding the mess area in the first hour after work, bootenants could be avoided. Small tweaks like this could make one’s life a lot easier with very little effort. From avoiding officers to knowing the right places to stand, and the right buses to catch, and how to spot the patterns in behavior that would reveal the characters I was dealing with, this NCO was like a mustachioed jarhead Jedi.

Eventually, word trickled down that the higher-ups weren’t willing to let a ball weekend go by without some sort of festivities. The rumors flew around that there would be free beer and supermodels. It came down to a couple of stand-up comics, two (moderately attractive) Miller Lite girls, ONE free beer, a DJ, and a piece of cake. Not too bad, for a birthday party for hundreds and hundreds of people held in a sandbox.

We stood for the speeches, ate the mystery meat tetrazzini, and listened to the comics, and enjoyed the DJ. About 2 hours into the festivities, Sgt. Thompson asked me and the other boots to look around. SNCOs and bootenants were starting to fan out along the perimeter. He said he thought we had about 10 minutes to get out before we were commandeered for the working party to clean up the mess. A couple of the others wanted to stay, but several of us left with Sgt. Thompson.

We walked out of the ball, and over the berm line. As we made it back to our lean-to (the Quonset huts hadn’t been erected yet) we piled into the van, and drove over to our shop on the other side of the flight line.

We hung out at the shop for an hour or so (until the end of second shift), smoking the vape and bullshitting. You can have a look at the Pax 3 Vapes at 180Smoke.ca and buy it from the website in case you are looking for a high-quality vape. After we finished our smoke-n-joke session, we hopped back in the van, and drove back to the camp. Once we made it back to our hooch, we were alone for about half an hour. The guys who had stayed at the ball had been corralled, and ended up raking sand and policing cigarette butts by flashlight.

Over the course of this two-month exercise I learned many other indisputable maween corpse truths at the feet of the master:

1) It doesn’t matter how good a job you do, or even how long it takes, as long as your SNCO has the opportunity to look good doing it. It doesn’t matter if it took 23 men 4 days to make a sandwich, and you spent half a million dollars in the process. If gunny can claim that something innovative took place over the course of this epic sandwich-making for which he and his tremendous leadership skills are directly responsible, he’s a happy gunny. As we all know, happy gunnies equal happy lives.

2) If you have some sort of excellent idea, that will improve unit productivity, save money, etc. it will not be recognized for any reason. Even if you can demonstrate how incredibly efficient it is, nobody will have any interest in implementing it, unless a SNCO has the opportunity to take credit. Additionally, it has to have a built in blame-valve (someplace to put the blame if it doesn’t work as promised, usually the person who actually came up with the idea) to allow the SNCO in question to avoid the responsibility for the idea that was never his in the first place.

3) the fact that a punishment has been meted out is not sufficient. You must be seen to suffer. Cheerfully dealing with the most hideous punishments will only invite more creative torments at the hands of those who want to see you beg. The ability to put on a hang-dog look and appear downtrodden will get you out of far more than any gesture of obeisance ever will.

And many more.

At the time, I discounted many of his teachings as the ravings of a perpetual cynic but, over time, I realized the wisdom of his words.

The Yoda of CAX had gone back to his unit, and been tossed for failing to make SSgt. His wisdom was even lost on the corpse itself.

Thank you Sgt. Thompson, wherever you are.

Submitted by: Billiam201

Ballad of QA, Part IV

(or is it 1?, I can never remember)

Having reached the end of my 30 days restriction and EPD, the time came for my freedom. I stopped by the legal office on the last day, and procured a letter explaining that I was a free man after my last restriction muster at 2045.

I arrived at my final muster at 2245, in my own car, driven by a friend (I couldn’t drive, as I was on restriction). Having gotten my sheet signed, and signed the SDO copy, I hit the men’s room, and drove off into the sunset (which any single marine knows means a strip club.)

I had been stuck in the barracks for a month, but the ninja-punch hadn’t taken any money from me. This left me a free man, on a Friday night, with three paychecks burning a hole in my pocket. Being a bit of a snob, I had never frequented the strip clubs near any of the bases. I went to the higher end places, that had at least one scotch whiskey that wasn’t Johnny Walker. Having arrived with my friends, the doorman (a coworker at the security company I worked for off-duty) obviously recognized me, cleared my table, and gave me a slew of free drink tickets (this was the main reason I could afford to patronize this establishment). On my route to my table, I was asked by three different girls why I hadn’t been by for my Friday lap dance in what seemed like forever. At this point, my friends realized what I had been getting up to after work on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights, and settled in to enjoy the ride.

We made it back to the barracks at the relatively sane hour of 3am, and went to our respective rooms.

For those who may be wondering why I had pestered the legal chief for a letter stating the obvious (that I was no longer restricted, nor usable for bitch-work once my sentence had been served) guess who was pounding on my door at just after 7am the next morning?

I dragged myself, barely conscious and slightly hung over, to my door to find QA, who wanted to know why I had missed my 7am muster, since he was the duty NCO that day. (I had never been required to check in with the barracks duty, merely to report to him/her that I was leaving the barracks for a meal or religious observance, all of my check-ins were with the SDO.) Being the duty NCO, he had a copy of my restriction muster, and was of the opinion that, since my restriction ended after 1630 on Friday, that meant I was on restriction all weekend as well, and he would be using me to police call the barracks (this wasn’t new, I had done it several times already.)

I pointed out that all the blocks were full, and that there were no places left for me or him to sign. He told me that, since I had missed my sign-in, he had already informed the SDO, the GDO, and the officer of the day, who were already on their way. I had been prepared to furnish him a copy of my letter, but this was about to be too much fun. (I was smart enough to have made several copies. He was absolutely the type of guy to tear up a single copy, leaving me with no evidence.)

We waited outside of my room for everyone to arrive, and QA gave his side of the story to each as they arrived. Needless to say the screaming awoke many hungover marines, who did NOT appreciate being awakened at 6am by QA ranting about discipline, rules, and adherence to orders. Once the OOD arrived and heard the story he asked me to explain myself. He wanted to know, in no uncertain terms, just where I thought I got off. If I was on restriction, that meant I was on restriction. That meant no booze, and no leaving the base. I was clearly hung over, and still had the stamps from the bars on the back of my hand. I had exactly 2 seconds to give him a good ******* reason why I had chosen to disobey the lawful orders of a LtCol in the United States marine corps.

At this point I asked the OOD for a moment, walked over to my desk, and handed him a copy of the letter from the legal chief. He read aloud to the assembled masses (to include several spectators who, despite the efforts of the staff duty clerk, had congregated to see what I was up to) that my restriction had expired with my final restriction muster, and I was of course a free man, as of 2245 the night before. The fact that the command had not accounted for the fact that this would leave me out on a Friday, going into a 96 was neither my fault, nor my problem.

Needless to say, the SDO, GDO, and OOD were not happy to have had their time wasted by an overzealous sergeant who was plainly carrying a grudge. The fact that these men had all been called within moments of assuming their posts, to race to a barracks and find nothing of note was not going to help matters. QA, now suitably humiliated, had managed to make a big enough wave that, over the next several hours, the barracks would be visited by my SNCOIC, OIC, SgtMaj and even the old man himself. QA found himself explaining this story in great detail to the entire chain of command for the better part of the day. I was happy to furnish copies of the letter to anyone who asked.

Again, I may have enjoyed this a bit more than was entirely healthy.

Submitted by: Billiam201

The Ballad of QA, Part III: Revenge of the Shitbag

When last we left our intrepid author, there was finally a charge sheet on its way down from legal for failing to properly sort cigarette butts.

In this case, as I was deposed QA was unable to produce enough evidence to get past the sergeant major, leaving QA embarrassed and seeking revenge.

Unfortunately for me, nobody is NJP-proof. They will get you if they want you. Also during this time, I was struggling with my weight due to some injuries I had suffered.

Soon, the mando PT gods would come calling, and sure enough, I was shortly found up an unsanitary tributary lacking adequate means of propulsion.

To make a long story short, I was charged with UA for failing to go to PT which I had not been assigned to yet. The SSgt wrote a statement that he had ordered me to go, but had been unable to contact me to sign my assignment letter because I had been on leave. (The fact that I had not been on leave was completely irrelevant to my case)

I showed up to my first restriction muster with a gold star in place of the crossed rifles on my rank, which the SDO (whom I had known for some time) found moderately amusing, we laughed a bit, and I put on the proper rank. In our conversation I remarked that I had actually not even been a sergeant long enough to have had my uniforms done, and the only thing that had been done was the alpha blouse that I had hand-sewn the Sgt. chevrons on the night before.

We had a good laugh that, in this case, not being ‘squared away’ actually paid pretty big dividends. The half-month pay actually being less than having the base tailor do the ranks, and then have everything cleaned and pressed again.

About this time, QA shows up (to make sure I am properly suffering under the yoke I am supposed to be under) and overheard that last part. I was now ‘fraternizing’ with the SDO, and was being blatantly disrespectful to the uniform.

(How I am supposed to be disrespectful to my own property is STILL beyond my comprehension)

As QA whined to my superiors about how horrible a person I am, he came to the realization that I was suddenly the junior corporal in the shop. I can still almost hear his little shoulder devil, cackling like an inbred hyena and drooling on itself, as he realized that he ‘had me right where he wanted me’.

Now he could send me on every shitty little assignment he could think of (The fact that this got me out of the shop, and I actually enjoyed it was completely beside the point). Additionally, I actually read the disciplinary manuals, much to his chagrin, and my amusement. I discovered that (because I had to muster with the SDO every 2 hours all weekend) I rated to be escorted to the PX during the business day, to purchase whatever essentials I might need. Not many members of the shop had cars, and I wasn’t allowed to drive mine. The escort also had to be senior to me, so that left three corporals and a sergeant (besides QA, who certainly wasn’t doing it himself. He would have to have stopped surfing blackvoices.com) eligible to escort me. I was friendly with them all, and we took full advantage.

Given that Miramar had greatly increased in population, it only makes sense to knock down the chow hall, and build a smaller one. As a result the lines were horrendous. This left my escort and I waiting forever to get our food, and if we weren’t in a great hurry, so be it. Upon finishing our meals, we proceeded to the exchange, where the first thing I did was get in line for a haircut. Since many other marines were trying to squeeze in haircuts during lunch, this took a while (I had decided to cultivate the low-reg to end all low-regs, just to piss off QA at this point). After that, we headed into the exchange itself, just in time for the dependa-wave, as they all finished grazing with their husbands and headed inside to buy inane shit.

After searching for the perfect razor, and killing about two smoke breaks, we would head back to the shop, freshly shorn, and in possession of all needed cleaning supplies.

Just in time to go home for the day.

Rants of a Boot Marine Part II: Life in the Fleet

I remember just last Friday, I was hanging out with a female Corporal (time for everyone to scream FRATERNIZATION!!!!!!!) before a working party to stash away Christmas trees after a Santa comes to the hangar event for the sons/daughters of Marines in our unit in Miramar.

ADD NOTE: While like every Marine who hates working parties like the ones where you’re forced to police call and the whatnot, these are the rare few where you could skate, and might have fun. The Christmas Santa working party had us dress up as Olaf, Santa, and his elves, load up a “sleigh” into a C-130, and taxi to a hangar full of kids eager to meet Santa and that Frozen character of a Snowman.

She was one of the cool NCOs, not caring about me saying Corporal every other sentence, talking about her own personal BS experience, and what I could possibly do to deal with it for the next 3 years.

I should’ve asked her if she actually liked being a Marine or not. Considering that she was a female and of a higher ranking than me, she’d probably would’ve said yes, not having to deal with the same BS that I was dealing with.

But aside from witnessing the double standard on a daily basis, I’ve seen firsthand how this isn’t the Few and the Proud the Marines were advertising like they keep saying.

More Marines are applying for VEERP packages in my unit than there are Marines that are looking into retirement.

The subtle difference is that while not all Marines have the same reason. A majority of the VEERP Marines know what they were doing post Marine Corps and couldn’t wait to do so. The retiring ones were worrying about what they should do, contemplating of the careers they could’ve done 15-20 years before.

We’ve been set up by an illusion that if we did our time, kissed asses, and stay in longer, we’d have a nice pension, much respect, and have it easy.

It’s a complete. Freaking. Lie.

None of the MCI’s, MarineNet courses, or things that I’ve been voluntold to have relevance to me. I don’t even think that MarineNet course on CyberAwareness even helped one bit, more Marines violate what they teach than those who actually apply what they learned.

I’ve seen NCO’s/SNCO’s/Officers that couldn’t tell the difference between “You’re” and “Your”, fat nasties telling us how to get higher PFT/CFT scores, fall the hell out of simple moto runs like the Marine Corps Birthday run. AND IT’S NOT EVEN THAT HARD!!!!!!

Further more, while I don’t really live in the world of daily games of many individuals in the Marines regardless of the whole POG/Grunt thing, it seems to be seeping into my life now with this Dike of a Sergeant who thinks she’s the grunt of the IPAC, reigning in on my Corporal (not the female one, but a different one who I also consider pretty chill), and my fellow Marines of the same rank, somehow thinking we’ve lost the way of the Marine Corps.

You may ask, “What way?”

I don’t know? Where we have to stand at parade rest when talking to a superior? Where we have to call people by their rank every other sentence? Knowing how to call cadence/drill?

She has yet to realize that being in an Airwing unit rank sometimes doesn’t matter when you have to trust another Marine not by their rank, but by their  experience and individuality in an effort to survive. Not by how they can’t to keep their thumbs along the trouser seams, how their voice can’t match the cadence they call, or if they simply don’t want to do MCI’s/MarineNet courses altogether like me, it’s not the ending of the freaking world.

Other than this, it quite infuriates me how I sometimes have to type up awards for Marines that do their jobs. I think one of my friends even typed up a NAM for a Sergeant that was simply a part of the Base Color Guard for one day.

I honestly don’t have a problem typing up awards for Marines who actually go above and beyond the “Call of Duty” like rescuing a seriously injured biker off the highway and driving him to the hospital.

But every stroke of the key seems to make me want to hurl the keyboard at the monitor when I have to type up an award that goes along the lines of:

“Sgt. Prickhead performed at his best level through aggressive leadership (douchebaggery) by counting all the refueling cells within 24 hours”


“Sgt NJP stood there respectfully with the Colors with the best representation, raising it at precisely  0730…..”

You probably think I’m joking, but these are real citations that I have seen in the S-1.

This BS really makes me want to get FAPed out to do something else. I can’t stand it anymore. Send me to the pool to help the Water Survival Instructors for a year and I won’t have a problem with it. Or make me a coach at the range. I’m an okay shooter, but know how to get others to shoot better than me! Let me play Haji at Pendleton, where I don’t have to worry about some douche of a SNCO tell me to shave, and I can mess around with grunts who think that they’re Gods.

Guys, are you having the same thoughts on a daily basis? Do you wish you are already out when you’re a year into your 4 year contract? Or wishing you were reassigned somewhere else?

Have a good Christmas and more to come!

RSP is the most depressing place to be at.

Rsp is the most depressing place to be at. I was there for about 16 days. Being the fact that i was dropped on training day 30 , it made it worse. I walked into Rsp and realized that over 90% of the drops were from receiving weeks. This was so crazy to think that people didnt make it out of receiving week, i felt so lucky to have made it as far as i did. In Rsp you meet two kinds of people those who quit and those who didnt. Many get there and decide that they dont wanna do it anymore but then theres those like me who would do anything to get back to training with my platoon.

Every day you wake up and not know when you are going home. This feeling is literally the worst feeling. Every day unless it was sunday we would go to working parties. Which generally let me see The island from a different point of view. I was the one who gave clothing to the receiving recruits of that week. It was so different than what you see when you are the one in receiving. But besides working , we would sit on our footlockers and wait the day out. I would count the hours left until lights out and then the next day do it all over again. But if you were like me you would be tired each day from 2 hours of fire watch every day until i left, all because of falling asleep during firewatch, even though everyone did it. Fire watch in rsp was basically a joke because of the fact that we get loced in at night with alarms so there was no need for us.

One of the worst feelings was being made fun of by other platoons and or Drill Instructors. Being from 2nd phase were generally you get yelled at when you fuck up and not for random reasons like in 1st phase it made me feel so bad about myself. Generally all the Drill Instructors label Rsp all as quitters. But the only good thing about it all was the friends i made there. We were all going through the same thing so it was easier to get along. These are friends that will last a lifetime.

Submitted by: Vfore

The Ballad of QA (not quality assurance)

Sgt QA checked in to my shop in 1999 (maybe late 1998, I confess the memory is fuzzy), shortly after we pulled off moving enormous amounts of equipment, and reassembling an entire logistics squadron due to the closure of another base. He checked in at his shop, they took one look at him, decided he was too dumb to hit things with wrenches, and promptly FAPped him out to us.

(This was hardly uncommon. There was no MOS for my shop. It was composed entirely of FAPs.)

He was upset by this, and decided to take it out on as many junior marines as possible, as painfully as possible. We had just moved into beautiful new facilities, which he decided were too nice to actually use, so he ordered all the gear be moved outside to be worked on.

The Gunny quickly figured out that this guy was too dumb for his own good, so he gave him the duties of the HAZMAT NCO.

A 55 gallon drum couldn’t be stored outside at the time, unless it was contained In a permanent spill area. (Rainwater could wash material off the drums, and contaminate groundwater.) Since we didn’t have one, the drums had to go inside. These were unsightly, and took up space in his precious building, so he decided we no longer needed 55-gallon oil drums in the shop. We could use 1-quart jugs for oil changes, like every jiffy lube on the planet.

In case anyone has ever wondered how much oil it takes to do a complete oil and filter change on a 1450 cubic inch diesel, the amount is just over nine gallons.

That’s right, he decided that, rather than pulling a generator up next to an oil drum, pumping 9 gallons of oil into it, wiping it down, and going on our merry way, it was better to fabricate outdoor drip pans (the airframes department wasn’t happy about this), go to base hazmat every time we needed to change oil, get 3 cases of oil, pour them into the various places they needed to be, cap them and take them to be disposed of.

When, after a month of this, I pointed out that productivity was down, our RFI was down (inhibiting our ability to support training operations, much less a war) and costs were up (since we were buying 30-50 cases of quart bottles of oil a month, instead of a pair of 55-gallon drums, I was informed that I hated this idea because QA was black.

That’s right. I didn’t hate his idiotic idea because it was stupid, wasteful, and motivated entirely by a desire to ‘put his name on something’.

I hated his idiotic idea because of the race of the idiot in question.

He was a sergeant, and I was a corporal, which automatically made all his ideas good ones. Therefore, I couldn’t possibly have a legitimate military reason for disagreeing with him. It had to be personal, as he would be more than happy to tell anyone who would ask.

Abandoning million-dollar facilities for fear of getting dirt in them was perfectly logical, as far as he was concerned. What if a general comes to inspect? How much easier will our lives be without having to clean that building? We just move all the equipment in to it, so it looks like we use it, and we come out of it smelling like a rose!

Except for one thing:

There was exactly one person in that shop who actually had a California NREA certification. (I think the name of this certificate has changed since)

Would any of our gentle readers like guess who that person was?

That’s right.

It was the guy that hated Sgt. QAs ideas because he was black.

It had nothing to do with the fact that the exhaust reclamation system was inside the building, or that our shop wasn’t licensed to dispense large quantities (over 5 quarts per engine) of oil from bottles.

Fortunately for me, Sgt. QA had been appointed hazmat NCO in violation of California law (a fact of which they had already been informed) leaving the squadron to pay those bills.

Fear not, gentle reader:

I would pay dearly for the crime of being right.

Submitted by: Billiam201

I have been in the Marine Corps since 2011, and I have despised every fucking minute of it.

I have been in the Marine Corps since 2011, and I have despised every fucking minute of it. Like all boots, I went to basic training expecting to join a cool, useful, relevant organization, but quickly discovered how it was all bullshit. Throughout my enlistment, I have spent more time with a broom in my hand than a rifle. I have spent more time cleaning things than shooting things. I have never deployed anywhere, but you bet your sweet ass I’ve participated in all important uniform inspections!(sarcasm). These past 3+ years have been a huge fucking waste of time. Although I have my fair share of friends that haven’t accomplished shit since high school, I also have friends that have graduated college and started their lives, meanwhile I’m sitting here typing this up on a government computer at work because there’s nothing else I give a shit about enough here to do. I work about 14 hours, almost every fucking day, and I’d say about 5 of them are usually spent dicking around on the internet. Why? Because marine corps fucking inefficiency, that’s why. I hate this fucking job. I hate being here, I hate thinking about it, I hate doing it. Every week i sit here counting down the hours until the end of my shift.(Which is usually irrelevant, cause i always end up staying and extra fucking hour or two!) Days off are few and far between, and are usually spent sleeping all fucking day to make up for the lack of sleep I get during the week. Im tired. Tired of this job, tired of this unit, and tired of this fucking organization.  My EAS is the light at the end of the tunnel, and although it is not yet within reach, it is within sight.

I have spent the last two years on Okinawa. I’m sure anyone that has been stationed here after ’95 can appreciate how fucking miserable it is.  Midnight curfews, liberty “buddy” policies, and whatever other bullshit rules some asshole with stars on his collar came up with as a way to cover his own ass whenever someone fucks up. I’ve always found it interesting how the marine corps can take an awesome tropical island, full of beaches, warm weather, and beautiful women, and turn it into a miserable fucking prison. The thought of offing myself comes to mind at least once a day. Im constantly feeling anxious about the stupid bullshit I have to deal with. There’s days I cant sleep, there’s days I forget to eat, and I am generally fucking miserable. Part of me wishes that this post does get intercepted by someone, just so I can loose my security clearance and not have to work here anymore. But knowing this organization, I would just wind up getting fucked out of my GI bill some way or another.

This post is mostly just me trying to vent, but I would like to know if anyone else out there feels this way. Who else has an MOS that they absolutely fucking hate? Who else has a countdown timer app that shows exactly how long till their EAS? Who else checks that timer every time they get the chance? Who has been through this shit before and has advice to offer for getting through it in one piece?

Happy to join this site,

Submitted by: Juan

How Karate Stopped Me from Joining the USMC

I’m not a Marine, I never have been. Hell, I’ve never even served. That being said, for about a year or two in a previous life, I had ambitions of joining the Marine Corps and was really gung-ho about becoming the part of the Few and the Proud. Well…let’s just say things changed when I started doing some research on the organization. “The Few and The Proud” started to become “The Few Misguided Youth and Old Bastards Who Can’t Make it in the Real World and Hence Make the Lives of The Few Misguided Youth Hell for no Reason.” I have to say, when I first came across the iHateTheUSMC website, I did not take the stories seriously. I thought “hey, these are probably a bunch of fuckups who couldn’t suck it up and get the job done”. Well, one story could be that case. 10? Maybe. 100? Uh…. A fuck-ton of stories?!!!… something’s up here…..

Shit really hit me like a brick when I began experiencing the stories I read on this site at the Dojo I practiced at. I felt like a misguided youth who had joined a very cool sounding organization to accomplish great things, but instead realized all he had accomplished was wasting a fuck-ton of time. Below I have listed a list of scenarios. Now, read them and try to guess whether they are my experiences from Karate or experiences listed by Marines on this website. (hint hint…the list is not mutually exclusive)

1 – Junior ranking members having to listen to bullshit about spirit and culture that senior ranking members pull out of their assholes

2 – Hearing terms like “warrior” or “warrior spirit” from clown-like senior members who couldn’t beat a squirrel in a fist fight

3 – Having to take shit from a senior ranking member (who by the way is like 6 inches or a feet shorter than you are) and having to fight the urge to strangle them till they stop fucking twitching

4 – Realizing the outdated fighting methods you practice only belong in the outdated centuries they were created in

5 – Having to do some bullshit salutation for a certain group of high ranking members (who may also be a feet shorter than you and not be able to beat a squirrel in a fist fight) or facing the consequences

6 – Having to take shit from experienced “warrior” who can even throw a fucking jab. Seriously, a simple fucking jab

7 – You and your friends constantly doing impressions of you clown ass superiors and the stupid meaningless shit they say behind their backs

8 – Being chewed out for not understanding a command that would not make sense in a fucking mental ward

9 – Reflecting on the terrible decisions you have made and wishing you had joined a more effective organization

10 – Leaving before you make rank because hell… you would rather cut your balls off with a dull plastic knife than to become one of your clown fucking superiors one day

11 – Seeing idiots who can’t fight for shit being promoted before you because they are really good at sucking dick and kissing ass and also memorizing and reciting bullshit that your seniors think is important

12 – Being extremely qualified, but not being promoted because of a technicality that no one can even fucking define (Seriously…dear high ranking member…what the fuck are you talking about? You can’t even throw a jab)

13 – Idiots becoming favorites of your superiors because they look good in their perfect little (with extra emphasis on little) uniforms

14 – Being micromanaged by the superiors mentioned above, even though everyone knows they don’t know what the fuck they’re doing

15 – Oh my god, I can’t believe I almost forgot about this! Ridiculous fucking haircuts worn by certain gung-ho superiors

16 – One word: Motards

I could go on and on and on and on but I’ll stop here. Anyways, thank you karate and iHateTheUSMC for preventing me from making another god awful life decision. I have made so many before.

Submitted by: Sensei Tater Salad

Rants of a Boot Marine

I joined the Marine Corps in January of this year, thinking that it would give me some sort of direction. Ever since I had graduated high school in 2011, I was bored with college, didn’t feel like wasting money going to parties and orgies that my friends were all doing, and wanted something better that just being stuck with the two choices in life that people were making: college or military.

But I felt that I was stuck in a rut and decided with much hesitation to join the Marines due to the crazy part of my mind not wanting to join the pussified Army or Navy. It was a decision I regretted when I stepped on those yellow footprints. Here’s what I discovered in boot camp.

1. The Few and the Proud no longer applies. In my platoon we had two screw ups that could have gotten anyone on the battlefield. These guys should have been either weeded out in MEPS or at least dropped for failure to adapt to the Marine Corps, but somehow the Drill Instructors were crazy enough to let them stay. What does this mean, ANYONE can join, and ANYONE can pass, provide that they can tolerate three months of legalized hazing.

2. Following up on the 1st discovery, boot camp does NOT turn you into a responsible, grown young man. I’ve seen guys turn into selfish individuals willing to steal, screw over, and abuse their authority. While not everyone in my platoon was like that, at least HALF believe it or not, HALF were like them. And parents are blindly repeating the phrase, “joining the military will make your son into a man”. Bullshit.

3. Drill, drill, drill. They can say all the crap that they want about how it creates discipline and team camaraderie. Bullshit, I know people that didn’t take the effort to grow. And how on earth does “right shoulder” arms create discipline? These days, drill instructors focus WAY too much on drill in an effort to get some kind of medal/citation come graduation. Really? You become a hero just because you won final drill and deserve a medal for it? Holy shit, they should mention how much they IT’d all of the recruits just because they couldn’t do an eyes right!

4. Lies and Hypocrisy…….wtf happened to Integrity? Did everyone decide to throw Integrity out of the window in an effort to cover for themselves and look good in the process? Here are a couple of great examples coming from my own senior drill instructor:

The Saturday after Black Friday, there was a kid from a different platoon that hopped the fence next to the airport (I went to Boot Camp at San Diego btw) and got cuffed as a result. Our senior talked about how he was going to be thrown in jail for going AWOL. I actually ran into the kid the next day at church who actually said that he was just talked out of ever doing it again from his senior. 

Our senior lied to us AGAIN about how during the hikes he carried three 30 pound weights in addition to the essential equipment during our hikes at Pendleton. I found out that he only carried pillows that made his pack look big when I was doing Gear Guard (they made me do this frequently since I wasn’t a big screwup).

In the classes, they teach us about how we had to treat any potential enemy with respect should we capture them. But many of the DI’s were bragging about how they poked eyeballs of corpses or how they sliced ears off to collect as trophies from the battlefield. Now this came from a couple instructors who were supposed to teach us on how to handle POW’s if we ever captured any.

Despite all of these crazy things that I discovered that would have given me a reason to want to quit, somehow I decided to stay throughout the Crucible, and graduated with Mike Company in April.

Wanting to talk about what I saw, I ended up appearing on Adam Vs The Man during my boot leave, seeking for some sort of help I suppose you can say before leaving for MCT.

At MCT I discovered the same old problem of do as I say, not as I do. Plenty of Combat Instructors while being somewhat decent, were threatening us with NJP’s if they discovered that we weren’t carrying our full packs but one even said that he just carried nothing but pillows (WTF?!) during our hikes. Not to mention they confiscated many of the tobacco dippers dip while they were openly dipping in front of us students.

I ended up somehow staying, decided to see what other problems I could talk to the outside world about what’s wrong with being inside the Marine Corps, which resulted in me being stuck on Guard Duty after MCT, which is nothing more than forcing 5 groups of two Marines walking around SOI for four hours straight doing nothing but radio checks every 15 minutes. Did I mention many of us went to hiding spots where we did nothing but sleep and shoot the shit while stalking ITB students doing Land Navigation? That’s what happens when you force them to do something that stupid. The only bright side to it was that Guard Duty also meant operating the chow bell, raising Colors, and loading condition 3 and guarding change of command/retirement ceremonies instead of participating in them.

We also had our first taste of mass punishment when on retarded kid somehow fell asleep RIGHT IN THE FUCKING OPEN while guarding audio equipment one night on the parade deck, which resulting in our off base liberty being changed to base liberty. How pissed off can you get especially when you made plans to visit your cousin, or had a girlfriend/wife flying in outside of Camp Pendleton? Holy shit, just beat the crap out of the screwup and let that be a warning to anyone who dares to fall asleep on front post in the future! But screw the base liberty as it was the first time I ever acted belligerent and decided to leave anyways and returned without anyone noticing.

Now at my MOS school, I am here typing this up, wondering when all this bullcrap of easy NJP’s, weekly haircuts, and daily shaves will ever end. I’ve met plenty of individuals who also have thought of this crap, losing their previous motivation, wanting a way to leave in a clean manner (as in getting a decent discharge without dishonorable/oth on it).

I ask of you, how can you get out once you hit the fleet? Do you just apply for conscientious objector or what can you do to discharge yourself?

I know yeah, I am a new Marine and many will say, “well suck it up since you’ll eventually become a Lance Corporal” (contract PFC with bonus language pay here, which means I earn as much as a Lance), “you’re just a boot”, bla bla, but I am totally aware of what’s going on and why so many are hating life in the Marines right now.

It’s definitely a nice title to have if you want respect, discounts, or someone always covering for you when they find out that you’re a Marine, but to live currently in the Corps can definitely make you weaker physically, mentally, and emotionally, and can turn you from some innocent young man into a degenerate, mindless, backstabbing killer.



Submitted by: “Brass Neck”

On To Bigger, Better Things: The Struggle Begins

Like many a soon-to-be-separating Devil Dogs, in the early winter of 2005 I was all too ready to shed my green, amphibian skin and horrible indentured servitude.  The transition assistance classes required by the Corps for all separating Marines were thorough enough, and I had a coverletter/resume/thanksbiatchletter combination that looked pretty damned professional.  My final physical was cleared, noting my exposure to CS and asbestos, a fucked up knee, and some hearing loss.  My terminal leave was approved and worked out so that I could pick up my walking papers at 0830 on my motherfucking birthday.  It was the most content I had been in…well, years.  The sad part about that sentence is the fact that I had to use the word “content” because I was normally in a state mentally in which I hated almost every second of my life.  At the time, I never realized how goddamned awful it was to fully accept being treated like a stupid, useless child, and for no reason other than it had been pounded into my brain for the past few years that it was acceptable to treat people that way because if they were “below” you, they deserved it.


My transition was not a smooth one.  I was so eager to get away from the terrible people at my local USMC Rape Dungeon that I failed to realize how unhealthy my state of mind had become and and why it became that way.


Truth be told, I was fairly moto for my first year and a half.  I was that dumb ass boot wearing Oorah gear and rocking the horse shoe.  Boot camp, MCT, and MOS school took up most of that year, and being surrounded by a constant stream of other boots and ridiculously motivated SNCO’s did not help that at all.  It was a while after I got to Okinawa that I realized the Marine Corps wasn’t nearly as awesome as it was made out to be.  A month of cold showers and six months of opening my door with an ID/credit card (or stiff envelope for fuck’s sake) due to horribly negligent BEQ management,  watching my best friends and the hardest working Marines get harassed and put on duty for petty disagreements, and all of the other constant bullshit cured my motardity.  My NCO’s noticed this, but instead of asking why I was no longer sounding off as loudly or being motivated in general, they would fail me on field day, attempt to take credit for my work at the shop, short count my pullups at unofficial PFT’s, and look for reasons to either publicly chew me out or humiliate me.  I accepted it as “tough love” for a long time, but after a while it got really old and insulting, humiliating even.  Eventually I started thinking really stupid, shitty things about myself like, “damn, maybe they’re right, maybe I’m just a reject who really should kill himself.  I really am worth more dead than alive like he keeps saying.  I don’t think SGLI pays out for suicides and everyone would just hate me more because they’d have to go to a bunch of safety briefs and shit, better not, don’t want to be a buddy fucker.”  I would often have to listen to shit for my appallingly long 22-minute run time even though I always kept a 1st class PFT.  The stream of “you’re a piece of shit” type of insults was constant and endless towards my coworkers and myself by our superiors simply because we had different MOS’s; us being AAV mechanics and them being LAV mechanics who considered themselves grunts because the guys that drive the vehicle they work on have “03” in their MOS.  Public humiliation was their personal favorite, as well as discrete assaults to the abdomen, back, and thighs with fists, feet, and tools.  My section kept the highest turnover rate in the shop because we always stayed late, came in early, and missed chow to get it done.  This was mainly due to us hating our NCO’s so viciously that we would do anything to get away from them, even for an hour.  At times it felt like we were in the first half of the movie Sleepers, but with less rape.  We never got our “inmates obliterate guards during epic football game” though.  In the Marines, you almost never do.  It was bad enough that most of us would gladly volunteer for duty and working parties just to relax.  Eventually I just wanted to fade into the crowd or become invisible just so that I could do my job in peace without having to worry about what kind of random, pointless rectum-rapery was going to occur next.


Dealing with the bullshit day in and day out eventually began to take its toll on my mental state, and like many Marines before me, I attempted to solve my problems by numbing myself with alcohol.  It wasn’t difficult, booze is everywhere and it seemed like everyone was doing the exact same thing.  Alcoholism is so common in the Marine Corps that it is not treated as a sickness, it is looked at as just another part of being a Marine.  At the time, it didn’t seem so unhealthy because being a drunk meant always having friendly-ish people around and not feeling like an outcast.


Severe depression and alcoholism pretty much ran my life by the end of my first year on the Rock, although I had no idea how bad it really was getting.  Instead of becoming an aggressive dickbag, I slowly dropped all cares outside of work and focused on the job at hand because nothing else seemed to matter.  I ended up getting really good at my job, and our Gunny noticed this, eventually deciding to pull every string he could to get me accepted into an advanced MOS course near Pendleton.


While in California for that course, my drinking had all but stopped.  The school environment was strict on procedures but relaxed on bullshit formalities and they played zero games because the class consisted of a Staff Sergeant, two Sergeants, two Corporals, a Brazilian Lieutenant and Staff Sergeant, and my lowly, boot Lance Corporal ass.  I studied, PT’ed, and read every book I could get my hands on because I was isolated as the only non-rate student.  Some of those books changed the way I perceived the world around me and I ended up deciding to change my religion to one that mirrored my system of beliefs about man and life and that brought hope and motivation back into my life.  The school command did not care, and looked at it as a Marine expressing his religious freedom, and if it helped him stop drinking and get motivated, all the better.


Okinawa was different, with Warrant Officers, SNCO’s, NCO’s, and other non-rates randomly picking fights, but they almost always lost.  One of our less-enlightened officers decided to order me to disrobe in front of several other Marines so that he could see one of my tattoos.  Having your Platoon Commander force you to strip your upper half in an office full of people is a bit humiliating, especially if while doing this he is insulting you by telling you how worthless of a human being you are and how badly you are failing is Corps and how you are a disgrace to the uniform and do not deserve the title “Marine” because of your religion.  Events like that are what brought back everything I hated about life and demotivated me until I began drinking again, and much more heavily.  I could not stand the fact that regardless of how many positive changes I had made in myself, my superiors’ treatment of me worsened with every step.


They knew I had stopped drinking, so they put me on duty more often, telling me “its not like you have anything better to do, you don’t drink” until I started drinking again so they couldn’t use that excuse.  They knew I had graduated an advanced course for my MOS that non-rates do not get to attend, so they put me in charge of paperwork so that I could not do the job I had been trained to do and was still liable for anything that went wrong because I was the “Duty Expert.”  They found out I changed my religion so they began harassing me about it constantly, making disrespectful remarks and jokes, refusing to respect my beliefs, and telling me that it was “unauthorized” while filling out charge sheets that would ultimately be torn up and thrown out by someone with common sense.


I became disillusioned with everything motivating and began to see the world as a dark place full of awful people who were only out to hurt others.  Alcohol only fueled this further until I hated Marines, I hated life, and I wanted to be done with it all as soon as possible.  When my second year on Okinawa was up, I went to Twentynine Palms with a severe alcohol problem and a death wish.


The Stumps was different.  It was a combat unit and most of the guys had deployed at least once, so it was way more relaxed on the petty bullshit because everyone was concerned with getting work done and being left alone.  Being an all AAV unit also helped, as there was very little “my MOS is better’n yer MOS” rivalry/stupidity to get in the way.  The alcoholism, however, was much, much worse, with almost every night being full of drunken shenanigans both hilarious and tragic.  I kept to myself mostly; I only knew one guy and he was a Lance from my unit on Oki, but you know, fraternization.  That part about it being a combat unit with a bunch of guys that had deployed?  Yeah, that was kind of important if you weren’t paying attention.  Being a Corporal from an ultra-pog GSM shop was like…shit…let’s just say that a tiny part of me totally feels for Amos and Rodney Dangerfield.  Absolutely no respect.  Before I had finished checking in, they already had me a spot reserved as the Tool Room NCO because I had “no experience”…even though I had been through an AAV course only one of our SNCO’s had been to, and that was years before.  When the company left for Okinawa, I stood so much duty they should have given me a secondary MOS of 1369 Permanent DNCO (they didn’t).  Our Rear Party CO was a douche bag Lieutenant whose head was so far up his ass his shoulders were shit-stained and he overreacted to every incident by locking us down so tightly we had to log Marines in and out of the lounge and laundry rooms.  I stood barracks duty so often it interrupted my “social” life enough to actually force me to quit drinking because I never had eight hours between work or duty.  Yes, I could have sneakeded a few, but by that point I was so goddamned paranoid and nervous all the time that I assumed that I would be caught and fucked right down to Private on the spot.  I didn’t care about losing drinking buddies, by then all we had were boots and guys getting out, so nobody associated with each other.  Even our boots ended up hanging out with tanker boots and Comm school kiddies more than guys in their own unit.


When the Company returned, things loosened up but I had to deal with way more SNCO’s and NCO’s talking down to me because I decided to not reenlist.  Trying to explain to them, “I am a terrible Marine, the spot should be saved for someone better” was like trying to teach calculus to a Buick; it ain’t fuckin’ happenin’ son.  What is worse is that instead of listening to the reasoning of a Marine who is obviously depressed, they would angrily describe the horrible lives of anyone who was stupid enough to get out.  “Out in January, homeless in February, and wanting back in my Corps in March!”  My Platoon Commander was so insulted by my refusal to reenlist that he took a special interest in making my life hell.  After my final physical, instead of hitting the gym or being OFP, he wanted me to run with the unit, which I was cool with.  A month before my terminal leave date, my knee is swollen to the point where it was visible in cammies and I was getting sharp pains in my back, ribs and neck that came with migraines, and I was having trouble even walking to work.  Medical did an X-ray and couldn’t find anything broken, so the CWO assumed I was a malingerer and started berating me in formations, especially during PT when I would fall out of runs due to the pain of my right knee being twice the size of my left and headaches so intense I would puke.  Another trip to BAS revealed a bunch of inflamed tendons and a lack of cartilage, which was apparently what was causing that funny grinding noise whenever I bent my knees.  When migraines and numb spots in my back were mentioned, shit got real.  Medical records had to be found, final physicals had to be voided and re…um…physicalled.  This does not look good on a command, and of course it was explained to me by mine that it was all my fault because Marine Corps, rah?


I left the Corps with migraines, back pain, shitty knees and hips, and a desperate need for real medical attention for depression and anxiety.  It took me around seven years to think seriously about getting help because I was so sick I believed I didn’t deserve to be helped.  Like many others, I have ruined relationships with friends, family, and women by pushing everyone away when they tried to give me a hand, all due to sadistic Marines and their sick desire to humiliate someone under them for not conforming.


But I’m not bitter.


Next Time:  Assaulting the Civilian World

The Highest Form of Flattery

My favorite comedians were always the guys that could do really good impressions, not of celebrities but of their friend, family member, or stranger with an odd, distinguishing trait.  Whenever I was in trouble growing up, it was usually due to someone catching me mocking the shit out of them, as I have this tendency to forget how obnoxiously loud I can be.  In the Marine Corps, this…talent turned on me.


Cobra Gold was awesome, mostly.  A month of skating on Foster in the same barracks as my best friend, followed by a month of living in an old Thai garbage dump, three days of liberty in Pattaya, and another few weeks of skating.  The leadership was pretty relaxed, specifically the NCO’s and lower Staff.  Our First Sergeant was a very motivated man that gave many speeches.  I usually disliked motivated DI types, but this guy could get almost anyone excited about being a Marine.  He was, of course, a former Drill Instructor and spoke with a voice you could feel in your spine.  He also had a unique tempo and gave extra emphasis on certain words, as if some of his words were written in caps, bold, and italicized.  For example, “Hey, listen up Devil Dogs; when we get to Pattaya…” turned into “Heylistenupdevildogs when we get to PATTAYA…”  Take that pattern and apply it to Patrick Warburton’s (Joe from Family Guy) voice, and you have the First Sergeant.


There was one other guy from my parent unit that came with me TAD, Lcpl Olsen, and our job was to look busy.  The Sergeant that was our…sigh…boss was from a “real” Amtrac unit and was banned from coming within ten feet of the AAV’s for locking some keys in one of the vehicles…the keys to ALL the hatches to every vehicle, and that made us banned as well.  While he was stuffed into the company tent doing paperwork, we dug ditches for gray water, carried MRE’s, PM’ed Motor T stuff, and did every bit of bitch work possible.  Whilst performing these bullshit details, we would have nothing better to do than joke and complain, especially about the leadershit.  This quickly led to me imitating some of them.  Olsen thought my impression of the First Sergeant was pretty dead on, and and it would be hilarious to fuck with one of the Motor T guys somehow.


We crept into the maintenance tent and stood behind the HMMWV.  I gathered my balls and boomed, “Heylistenupdevildogs I need to see a Lance Corporal PORTER!


The sound of a wrench falling through and engine compartment gives way to a Lcpl Porter cautiously creeping around the corner of the vehicle at parade rest timidly answering, “…yes First Sergeant…?”


Olsen and I nearly choke on our own stupid laughter for a moment while Porter walked around looking for a senior SNCO ready to chew his ass sideways.  When he saw there was no one there but us, he could not believe it was me and that seemed to make it even funnier.  Our schoolgirl-like giggling attracted the attention of a Sgt from Motor T who insisted on knowing exactly what in the fuck was so goddamned amusing.  We begrudgingly told him about the joke and he laughed as well, insisting on hearing me say something in that voice.  After hearing it, giggled gleefully and told us to find something to do.


That night, right before lights out, most of us in the company were sitting outside smoking and joking.  A female Staff Sergeant walked up and started a conversation with the Motor T Sergeant from earlier, and he began talking about some Marine that sounded exactly like the First Sergeant earlier.  She didn’t laugh at all, and wanted to know who it was.  This caused me to immediately sweat another gallon of bullets.  He said he didn’t remember who it was, then she giggled and said it would be pretty funny to hear it.  Enter the Falcon.  “Oh, hey Devil, wasn’t it you?  Yeah, I think it was this guy! Ha, do it for Staff Sergeant real quick.”


Nervous as hell at the thought of this Staff NCO taking a joke the wrong way, I told them I didn’t think it would be appropriate to imitate him in front of everyone, so they walked me away from the smoke pit.  I belted out my idea of the First Sergeant telling Marines to stay away from the whores across the street.  I thought she was going to have a heart attack or was maybe crying because she was shaking so bad.  I thought it was rage and I was about to get the Knifehand Of Justice, until she let her laughter out like a painful yet much needed fart.  The three of us agreed that it was funny, but I should probably not do it in front of anyone that could take it the wrong way.  Then she left to go do SNCO things, I guess.


As it turns out, my lack of vocal volume control led to everyone in the smoke pit hearing my impression, or at least enough of it for them to believe the First Sergeant was seriously just a few yards away telling three Marines to stay away from whores.  I did not want to admit that it was me and told them that yes, he had in fact just told us to stay away from the whores, and the Sergeant backed me up.  Everyone believed it until Porter came outside, listened to what everyone was saying the First Sergeant just said, then pointed to me and told them it was probably me.  Olsen backed me up when I said that I couldn’t have possibly imitated such a man, as I sound more like Randal from Clerks than anything.  They had their suspicions, though.


After all the “training” was concluded, the companies all got together for a Good Job Not Killing Each Other This Time Ceremony.  Being Marines, this meant we all had to stand in formation for an hour before the little old man came out of his hole, giving us plenty of time to kill.  Staff NCO’s and Officers don’t like standing in formation, so they usually post an NCO until a few seconds before the ceremony begins.  Not this time.


The female Staff Sergeant was out front.  “Company Atten-shun!  Lance Corporal AAVPOG, front and center!”


I report and stand at the POA while she tells me that for the next few minutes, I am the Company First Sergeant and need to give the Safety Brief before we can go on Liberty.  Not understanding for a moment, she told me it would be okay and that I would not get in trouble.  She posts behind formation with the Staff and Officers, and I blindly assume the responsibility.


Putting the company at ease, I scan for a moment and see the First Sergeant poke his head up, shoot me a shit-eating grin, and nod “yes.”

I had heard many a safety brief in my time, and in that moment decided that if I had to give one under those circumstances, I was going to own it and make it MY safety brief.  What follows is not word-for-word, but is pretty close:


“Alrightlistenupdevildogs when we get to PATTAYA, youmayruninto some ‘Ladies of the Evening‘.  You’ve been outrunningaround TRAINING in this former GARBAGE DUMP, and you are probably DISGUSTING.  You’regoingtowantto take a nice cold SHOWER before you go out in TOWN.  If the showers are DOWN, you’regonnawanttogetan MRE SPOON and scrape all that nasty gray CROTCH ROT off your grundle.  That’s your TAINT ifyoudidn’tknow.  If you drink, don’t drive.  If you drive, don’t drink.  Thatdoesn’treallymatter since you can do NEITHER here, butIhavetosayitanywaysdevildogsoorah?  Gentlemen, this is THAILAND, you’regonnawantto wrap it up.  LADIES, I don’t think you’ll wanttohookupwith one of these little guys, but if YOU DO, wrapitupoorah?  Goodtogo!”


This went on for several minutes until I had had enough and ended it with, “okay that’s it, I’m out,” fully expecting a SNCO to appear and give me the signal to hand the reins of power back.  Instead, I was told by random Marines to imitate others.  The problem with this was that only one other person in the company had a personality that I thought was worth imitating, and he was a very large Sergeant whom spoke as if he watched Scarface about 1,000 too many times, so I declined.  Of course, declining did not keep them from insisting, loudly, that it would behoove me to do it.


I have an intense hatred for that phrase; it would behoove you.  The intense heat, 9999% humidity, and my anxiety combined their powers,  forcing me to say fuck it, whatever.  I looked over  at Olsen and asked, “Gunny Fern?”  I have yet to see a bigger smile.


Gunny Fern was our boss on Okinawa.  He had a very heavy Tagalog accent because he was Filipino.  A very heavy accent.  Gunny Fern was the boss and he made sure you fucking knew it at all times, mostly by Devil Dogging whilst Knife Handing.


Someone asked who Gunny Fern was, so I explained, “What da puck Debil Dog?  You don’t know Gunny?  What, you ASVAB waiver, huh Debil?  Dat’s the prolam with you Marines; all queshin no asser!  Fix your chit Debil Dog or I haver ass!  Da puck you laff at, Debil?  Gunny funny?  Fix yaself Debil nuts!”


Officers and SNCO’s appeared to be amused by this as all I saw were teeth behind formation.  It was right about then that I realized there were people laughing behind me as well.  I turned far enough around to see every other company staring at us as if we had all lost our goddamned minds. Their peanut galleries peeked around their formations giggling like children.  Finally, the Company Gunny gave me nod which I interpreted as “put them at attention and stand by” so I did just that.  We did the here-now-you’re-in-charge shuffle and I took my place back in the Non-NCO section of the formation, sweating profusely and ready to be done with this shit already.


After the ceremony we were all walking back when the CO, Capt Tears, jogged up and pulled me aside between two of the maintenance tents.  He told me that they all seemed to think my impression of the First Sergeant was “pretty good” and that they were wondering if I could imitate anyone else.  I tried to explain to him that I couldn’t imitate just anyone in general, they had to have a personality quirk, speech pattern, voice, or vocabulary that stuck out significantly in my mind.  He understood that, but still wanted me to do an impression of him.  I had several problems with that.


First off, I cannot stand people who insist upon an impromptu performance.  Especially when the insisting is the result of vanity.  When you go to an art gallery and see a collection of beautiful nudes, you don’t insist on the artist sketching your naked body on the spot do you?  No, it would be quite rude.

Second, it is almost never a good idea to imitate someone directly to their face.  All jokes aside, some people get extremely upset when they hear another person openly mock them within punching distance.  Maybe they stutter a little, maybe it’s a slight lisp, it could even be a word like “Strategery” “Dumbassity” or a misunderstood word (I met a Sgt Maj that used the word “magnanimous” wrong…and constantly.)  My point being, folks don’t like being called out on their flaws.


Third, I had only heard him speak maybe a handful of times, and that was including when he pulled me aside just then.  He addressed the troops a few times, but only once was I around when it happened, and that instance happened to be when he started crying -literally- about how proud he was of all of us (thus, Captain Tears).


Lastly, he didn’t have any significant vocal or personality traits that struck me as anything but fully professional at all times.  He was one of those guys that seemed to disappear in a crowd, an everyman type.  He didn’t throw bass in his words, mince about like a hippie picking flowers, swear like a madman, or act like a weirdo of any kind, and that made him extremely difficult to imitate.


Sure, I could have pushed out a few tears and told him how proud I was of him, but that probably would have seemed insulting, and would have looked very awkward to everyone walking by; seeing a Lcpl crying and telling an officer how proud of him he was, all while at parade rest.


Damn, I totally should have done that.


He did eventually give up and began talking to me about something or another.  I don’t remember now, so it must have been unimportant.  Probably something like “that’s funny and all but watch it, Blue Falcons are everywhere” but, you know, in Officerese or whatever professional language they speak.


The First Sergeant never did strangle me to death like I imagined he would.  He did get me back, though.  I was waiting in line for the post Cobra Gold Let’s-go-ahead-and-make-sure-you-know-we-don’t-trust-your-ass piss test and he walked up behind, leaned in close, and asked, “heythereMarinehowwas PATTAYA?” then walked off laughing hysterically as I jumped and came dangerously close to filling my trousers with my test answers.

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.

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”

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

Okinawa Prison (Part 4)

Now last time I wrote about Okinawa, there were a lot of rules and implementations that had to be followed. The protocol here was a lot more strict since we were in another country and the threat condition was always in high alert. The garrison here to say the least was in full throttle and Marines would constantly get harassed for not cutting their hair on Sunday, having chipped chevrons, having Irish pennants, having a five o’clock shadow at 0500 before a PT run. Marines would even get charged if they had white socks in their boots. Marine Corps life on Okinawa was all about looks and detail and physical fitness.


There was also one thing in Okinawa that wasn’t really mentioned, enforced or corrected. There was a high case of RHIP (Rank Has it’s Privilege). On Okinawa if you were E-3 and below you were the equivalent of a slave that made the pyramids of Giza. If you were an NCO you were like a politician. SNCO’s were like kings and queens. And Officers were like the god’s that were worshiped. One thing that I don’t mind when following rules is when the one’s enforcing them set the example. What I do have a problem with is the one’s that are supposed to set the example do the total opposite and break the rules right in front of you, but they expect it to be okay due to the fact that they had the rank and the privilege. Don’t Marines lead by example? Does not the term “steel sharpens steel” take effect when telling Marines not to underage drink, have females in the barracks, be out past curfew?


In my company, the kings (NCO’s) were a handful, but a handful that knew how to use it’s power to the fullest. I’ll introduce you to them, our platoon Sergeant, lets call him Sgt. Burn, was a Marine that spent his whole career in division and knew how to fuck with Marines and punish them. The other Sergeant was Sgt. Nazi, this Sergeant was not stupid, he was quite intelligent. But like a lot of Marines wanting to show off their power, he was a burn happy Sergeant that would use his intellect to catch you doing something illegal and burn you to the stake for it (kind of like he was hoping to catch you). We had Cpl. Asshole, this Marine was a big rule breaker and he just got busted down from Sergeant for cheating on his wife and he was on a mission to burn Marines. The other three Corporals were Cpl. Lovehandles, this Corporal was a piece of work as he was a fat body that could not PT for shit, but yet he was trying to make up for his lack of fitness with being extremely anal retentive and looking for dirt in your room. And  you had Cpl. Briggs, this Marine was a true hater, a southern redneck, and a true to heart racist. And not to forget we had Cpl. DirtySanchez, this Marine was an underage NCO that would constantly underage drink and be off base past midnight constantly.


Rule breaking was very common in Okinawa. For example Sgt. Burn would have his Japanese girlfriend spend the nights in his barracks room constantly (that was against the rules). Sgt. Nazi would constantly be hazing his Marines and making them do stupid shit like IP their uniforms on the weekends, work through chow, he would fuck his female Marine girlfriend in the barracks (illegal) and would constantly have liquor in his room (illegal). Cpl. Asshole would put his hands on Marines when they were drunk, and he would go to other barracks of nearby companies to fuck their female Pfc’s and Lcpl’s (also illegal, something about fraternization or some shit) and he would constantly barge in junior Marine’s rooms without permission and start shit. Cpl. Lovehandles was a piece of work. This guy was fat as fuck and he would always be in trouble with the company higher ups because he would not lose weight and he looked like crap in his uniforms (not trying to sound motard, but he looked shitty) and he would fall out of every single PT run (again not leading by example). Cpl. Dirtysanchez was a 20 year old Marine that would always hang out with his best friend who was a Lclp. (again fraternization) and they would always go out in town and underage drink, stay past midnight and bring their girls back to the barracks with liquor bottles. And finally, my favorite was Cpl. Briggs, we knew to stay away from this guy, especially if you were not white (I am of Latin descent ) as he was always plotting a way to get you in trouble to burn you, not to correct you, but simply to hurt you. Especially if you were a minority.


One thing I noticed as I got to this shady unit was how all of the NCO’s had their preference when dealing with junior Marines. They had their little buddies. They had their little pets. If you were a woman, then automatically you were on their good side as they viewed you as someone that can give them something (sex). I noticed that all the rules of not underage drinking were being broken all the time. I would constantly see these pets (preferred juniors) drunk, and underage. I would constantly see these people partying in the pavilion and drinking with each other. I would constantly see Marines (junior and senior) jump the fence after midnight with their Japanese girlfriend’s.


As a little background about myself, I am of Latin descent. In my culture we like to drink from time to time. I grew up like that. When I joined the MarineCorps my alcoholism increased due to the stress and always watching people around you drinking and having fun. When I got to Okinawa I was 19 and strictly ordered not to drink. But it is hard to do especially when you see people stumbling down the hallway with a bottle of Jim Beam in one hand. It was hard to do when you would walk down the hallway and you would see Marines holding another Marine upside down while he’s drinking from a keg and everyone is shouting “chug, chug, chug!” I couldn’t take it anymore and thought to myself, “well, if he can do it, then I can do it.”


I was bored on one of the few days off that we had and I decided to go visit another Marine in another barracks. This Marine was of age and he pulled out a bottle of liquor and offered me a drink so that we could have a conversation heart to heart. After the bottle was finished I was tired enough to go back to my barracks room and go to sleep at around 2130. I made it up to the fourth deck, into my room, into my rack and I went to sleep.


Cpl. Asshole had a problem that day. I think Cpl. Asshole’s ex wife (Mrs. Asshole) gave him a wrong phone call or a wrong letter and he was hurt. Cpl. Asshole was drunk as a skunk as well and he was on a mission to destroy Marines with his wrath. Cpl. Asshole started going down the hallways drop kicking doors open to start shit with junior Marines, he would “Spartan kick” the doors wide open and make Marines that were watching T.V., playing video games, reading etc. To stop what they were doing, stand at parade rest and recite the general orders. If Marines failed to recite all of the orders they were ordered to fielday, get in their Charlies, do push ups etc.


My room was the last one on the deck and my room was going to eventually get kicked open and we were going to get fucked with. Now I don’t know how you guy’s react to being rudely awakened after a couple of shots of hard liquor but it is not fun. You are distorted and cannot think very well. Kind of like a bad dream. My other roommates were not in the room at the time and I was sound asleep in my bed. “BOOM!” Was the sound that I heard in my half awake, half asleep state of mind. “GET THE FUCK UP PFC!” Is what I remember hearing. I thought I was in a bad dream and could not properly respond to a stranger in the dark. “STAND AT FUCKING PARADE REST!” Is what I heard in the concoction of words with a southern accent. “YOU’RE COMING WITH ME!” Is the last thing I understood.


So what happened was Cpl. Asshole kicked my door open and he saw that I did not wake up immediately. He proceeded to keep screaming at me and kicked me in the back and I still did not wake up. When I finally woke up he saw that I was drunk and then he decided to play “Marine” this time. He told me to get dressed. He didn’t walk me to the Sergeant. He didn’t walk me to the duty NCO at the bottom of the barracks. No, he told me to get dressed, he took me outside of the barracks and walked me straight the whole two miles to Battalion with the Staff Duty SNCO to get me documented for underage drinking and get me NJP’d. He took me to where the “birdman” worked. He took me to a Staff Sergeant that just got off the drill field and was wearing a crisp, clean high and tight. Cpl. Asshole wanted to make sure that I got burned to the stake.


Stay tuned for part 5 of my Okinawa Prison when I saw Col. Maximus and got the ultimate punishment. The deared and feared  NinJaPunch on Okinawa.

Broken Down, But Never Built Back Up

I know my grammar might not be great but I’m not really worried about that right now. I spent 8 months in Boot Camp, watched my original platoon graduate without me, and it feels that I haven’t really moved on from boot camp.

I joined in 2006 and the first week of boot camp I don’t remember taking a shit, the first time I ever pissed in my bed while sleeping, and just felt terrorized. I got through the first say 3 weeks and I got sick with pneumonia and didn’t wake up with the rest of the platoon on time. The DI shoved me off the top rack and I hit the floor, went to the hospital, and got dropped and put into MRP. From then on I got sick multiple time with bronchitis and pneumonia back and forth because I was around it all the time. The 3rd month I was called to clean on the other side of the parade deck, and that’s where I got to watch my platoon and the company while cleaning the windows.

Shortly after I was placed in a company just before going Phase 2. I had gotten pneumonia again a couple weeks after being with that company. Dropped again, got better, and joined another. During our physical training I had touched my face and 4 DI’s came over and started screaming in my face, I couldn’t understand what they were saying at all, was being spit in my face by all of them, burning my eyes and dangling from my chin with pain in my inner ear from the volume. I remember after doing a run with our gear on I slipped and fell on the stairs, a DI grabbed me pulled me up to our barracks, and I was forced to drink water from a disgusting canteen over and over again. I couldn’t drink anymore and threw it up all over the place in the middle of the DI highway where I was. I had to clean it up and by that time the day was over, needless to say I had 3 night watches that night. I woke up and started getting dressed and a DI came over and slammed my head into the metal rack. I was punched in the gut I would say 3 or 4 times in my time there, I’m talking full punches with their arm swung back all the way.

Anyways I got through Phase 2 and got dropped again for bronchitis. I just didn’t have any will left, I was depressed and I just felt like I couldn’t got on anymore. Then I got a infected ingrown toenail and before lights out when the DI’s inspect you he saw it and put his heel on my toe and pushed down. He asked if that hurt and I said no with tears coming out of my eyes, I later was taken to the hospital where they put 3 shots in my toe to numb it before taking it out. The guy took some scissors and started cutting down the middle and I screamed with pain cuz I could still feel, after 3 more shots it was removed. I got back with another company and finished phase 3 without my blue’s because something was going on I don’t know I was never told. During the ceremony I never felt better, I never felt like I accomplished anything. I have never said Oorah because I just never wanted to, even when people say it to me nowadays. I regret ever going and I wish it never happened. My toe nail grows with a space in between the nail and it just reminds me of the pain everyday. I’m not saying that I got it worse or better, this is just what happened to me.

After boot camp the hazing never stopped and eventually I did a tour in Iraq. We returned to Iowa, and I never went back, I quit. I was given an Other than Honorable Discharge. I wrote this because someone got in my face yesterday and I just had a breakdown, so I had to get this out somehow. Thanks for reading and excusing my writing skills…


Submitted by “Michael Power”

My worst experience in the MC was training.

I have to say by far my worst experience was in the Marine Corps was the training. All the way from basic to my job school, after that it was pretty chill once I hit the fleet but still had to deal with some stupid bullshit. I still have nightmares about my horrible experience at boot camp at the hands of other recruits, all because I got dropped for an injury and had to pick up with another platoon halfway through. From the first day I was bullied and later got jumped in the shower room after they wanted to “talk” because I didn’t get tasks done fast enough, after that me and others who had picked up with me (they experienced the same things I did) and did everything in our power to get the platoon fucked up on purpose until the drill instructors caught on to what we were doing and left us alone. At the end I personally told the ones I hated most that I hoped that if I ever saw them again they would pay.

At MCT I got my chance, while there one of the assholes that was in my basic platoon was in the same unit I was. I mostly avoided him the whole time but on the last hump he found me and started the same bullshit trying to bully me, I was too busy helping my friends to grind on to pay any attention to him. However on the cool down march the way back to the barracks he started making fun of the fact I was tired (who wasn’t after so many miles?). Finally I had had enough and unslung my rifle from my shoulder and slammed my rifle butt into his face knocking his ass to the ground, not caring who saw it. I was just happy with the fact I got my revenge but the best part was my sergeant saw and heard the whole thing. He separated us and told the other guy to pick himself up and that was the end of it. No NJP, no repercussions and I never saw that prick again but man it felt good!

Submitted by: TP

Okinawa Prison (Part 3)

To sum up the Marine Corps in Okinawa in a few words would be like this: Marine Corps life on Okinawa was a perfect mixture of MCRD, OCS, CCU, and brig put together, with a sprite of insane asylum.

The salty Marines that were on the island for a while were not like your average Marine that you would find on Camp Pendleton, Camp Lejeune, Marine Barracks Washington DC, or Kaneohe Bay HI. These Marines had a little bit of freedom. These Marines at the end of the day could get in their cars, drive off base and see what it was like to be a normal person, even if it was only on the weekends Marines stateside can have that release from the eagle globe and anchor and at least drive away to a far away happy land, even if it took 6 hours. Marines on Okinawa were stuck on base and stuck to their barracks. Marines on Okinawa were in “fuck fuck” mode 24/7. If there was a typhoon, Marines would be locked down in the barracks and not allowed to leave period. If a Marine had to go to the chow hall he would have to wear a flak, kevlar and H harness. Even to go out and smoke or else you would be written up by the Camp Guard rolling around in their humvees.

We were pretty much stuck with each other and there was no escape. If you did not like a Marine, too bad so sad, you literally had to put up with him 24/7. The women to men ratio was about 28 men to 1 woman, so you know how bad it got and how low standards would drop. You ever remember a nasty female Marine that got hit on after a while when there are no other women around? Okinawa was ten times worse. If a woman looked like R Lee Ermey, that woman would have constantly around her about eight Marines that would do whatever she wanted. There was no pussy on Okinawa to make matters short. I remember my standards dropping so low that I tried to get with women I would never, ever in a million years get with stateside.

The barracks was much like a prison. It was not like the barracks you see on Camp Pendleton or Lejeune that looks like a cheap Motel-6 with the doors on the out side. The barracks on Okinawa had the doors on the inside, kind of like the projects in a big inner city with one way in and one way out. Right in the front was a motivated Marine with a green military notebook always checking Marines on their way out. Marines had to sign out and in on that green military notebook and if a Marine was not signed back in after midnight (he he) the Sgt would start drop kicking all the doors, wake everyone up, get us in the common lounge and chew our asses for not “looking out for our own.” As if it was really our fault that a motherfucker decided not to come back. We would stay up all night looking for this motherfucker and the Sgt would not let us sleep until that dumb ass was found. If it got really bad the CO and 1st Sgt would come to the barracks and chew our asses even more.

The barracks was much like a prison. Every deck had a fire watch of two people. One on the desk and the other one walking up and down the hallway. Of course, both of these idiots had to wear full battle gear (flak, kevlar, H-harness with two full canteens etc.). Every time a higher up would come we had to stand up and say “good evening sir/mam Lcpl. Idiot reports barracks whatever all secure at this time etc. etc. there are no unusual activities to report at this time sir/mam!” This had to go on forever and if a motivated Ssgt that just got off the drill field and came in as the SNCO of the day (you know the rest, I’ll leave it up to your imagination) there was hell to pay.

There was no escape from this prison, and yet Marines STILL managed to get caught underage drinking, fighting, stealing, or fucking in their rooms and would get burned to the stake. The higher ups would always put Nazi style rules on us and really breathe down our necks and Marines would find a way to fuck up and get the whole company in trouble. Some got in trouble cause they were stupid. Some got in trouble because they were alcoholics. Many got in trouble because they just flat out stopped giving a damn. Somewhere deep inside their hearts they just gave up playing the game, picked up a bottle of booze and got in trouble. This was the reason why so many of us had to pay the piper. It was not strange for us to do a field day for someone else’s mistakes. It was not rare for us to play that boot camp game (2 sheets 1 blanket) when a Lcpl said “fuck you” to the Cpl.

One day I remember a Marine came in after midnight one night. Me and a couple of other Marines got pretty drunk that night. The CO came the next day at 0500 and took us on an OCS style run for like eight miles or so. Now you can imagine how I felt running at 0500 for that distance with no sleep and a lot of alcohol in my system. It was hard not to puke but when the motherfucker in front of you, left of you, and right of you are puking their guts out and you smell it. You have no choice but to join it. Okinawa sucked bad, but it sucked even worse if you got in trouble.

Stay tuned for part 4 of my Okinawa prison experience when I saw the bird man and got my ass NJP’d in Okinawa, you will not believe the shit I put up with. Stay tuned.

Sergeant King. The pride of my unit. The man who murdered his own son.

We’re coming up on the anniversary of the day that my first NCO in the fleet was arrested for killing his two month old son by crushing his skull. It was obviously the kid’s fault, he wouldn’t stop crying when the guy was playing video games.

The funny thing is that this motivator was the pride of my unit. He embodied everything I hate about the Marine Corps. He didn’t know the most basic fundamentals of his job, only maintained a fist class PFT because his best friend was the company clerk, and he loved to get drunk and beat on his wife, or one of us if we were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But the higher ups of my unit held him up as an example of a truly great Marine because he sucked miles of dicks, and loved to stab anyone and everyone in the back in front of whoever was of higher rank. He was meritoriously promoted, and had the highest pros and cons in the platoon.

Fuck you Sergeant King, burn in hell you piece of shit.


Submitted by: freeatlastfreeatlast

Okinawa Prison (Part 2)

Now let me get a little deep here of how bad it sucked in Okinawa. See, joining the military sucks pretty bad. Joining the Marine Corps sucks that much more. Being a Marine in Okinawa is downright painful. Now the Group I was with was even that much worse as the Brigadier General was a mustang that served in Vietnam. The Battalion I was with was even worse than the other Battalion’s that where in it as the Colonel (we called him Col. Maximus) was known for burning Marines to the stake with not 45 days restriction, but 60 day restrictions, reduction in rank and the max amount of money taken from you (1200 as a PFC). The Company I was with was downright atrocious as it was known as the Company that was always fucking up and getting in trouble (underage drinking, jumping the fence after midnight curfew, larceny etc).

There were a lot of Marines before me that pretty much fucked it up for the future Marines. They fucked shit up and then left after their 1 year tour came to an end. They would leave and dodge the bullet. I came in right in the wake of things. I came in when all the higher ups were like “fuck you all, now we are going to get serious” it was another one of these “punish you for what the ones before you did” kind of thing. I came to Oki when the tours of service were raised to two years for single Marines, three years for married Marines. Now let me paint a picture.

A while back, there were these group of jar heads that raped an Okinawa teenage girl in the 90’s (y’all pretty much heard of it) and the future retards would get punished as a result (another one of those being punished for others kind of thing). Let me read the list of what Marines couldn’t do in Okinawa. Let’s see, Marines couldn’t leave base by themselves, they needed a libo buddy. All the other branches could happily leave base and come back by themselves, but us Marines had to have a damn libbo buddy (makes it that much harder to get laid out in town). Us Marines had a libo card system, red meant that you had to be back by midnight or you risked getting NJP’d. Yellow meant that you could go off base by yourself. But, the only way you could get it was if you were and NCO and ran above a 285 PFT (figures, make it harder for dumbasses) and even then some NCO’s were not permitted to have a yellow libo card cause some dumb fuck came in late a couple of nights ago (again getting punished for others). Other branches, regardless of rank could drive a vehicle on base. Now you could imagine how us retards felt when we would see E-2 Sailors, Soldiers, and Airmen driving their cool Japanese cars bumping their music and us dumbasses had to march in formation like recruits and the only music that was bumping for us was the Sgt’s cadence.

Now, I know it sucked being a Marine, but what really pissed me off was how all the other branches could drink at twenty years of age and buy as many cases of beer they wanted. Us idiots were not allowed to drink until age 21. And those that were 21 could only buy a six pack for the whole day if you were E-3 and below. This really bothered me because I felt discriminated (kind of like Jews in Europe when the Germans were taking over). And no I don’t buy the “were Marines and were held to a higher standard” bullshit because that was downright stupid and I knew it was a way to micro manage Marines into not drinking. I did not get this, I would ask myself “don’t we serve the same country? Don’t we serve the same Department of Defense? Aren’t we all in this together? Doesn’t the USMC need the Navy as much as the Navy works with the Army as much as we all use the AirForce’s airplanes?” I felt very offended at this. For the first time I felt discriminated for the uniform I wore. I soon started to see my digital cammies as an orange prison jump suit. Marines that would get questioned off base by the Shore Patrol (higher up Marines in civvies out to burn Marines in town) would lie about being in the Army, Navy or AirForce out of survival’s sake, and they would still get burned and put on blast that they claimed another branch. This is when I really hated the USMC. I felt that I was being punished for no fucking reason at all, I really did not commit a crime but it was kind of like being the son of a slave in ancient Rome and automatically becoming a slave. I did not understand this.

So to make a long story short, I was in the darkest of the darkest of the darkest units that could possibly exist in the USMC. I was worse off than the guys in the Brig because all they did was eat, sleep, watch tv. We did not even get to enjoy those luxuries. We were constantly getting hazed and fucked with. Not to mention the Sgt. I mentioned before would love to spread bad news to us, he would always belittle us and remind us on a daily basis how shitty we had it. He would always stand in front of us and say “you motherfuckers are not going anywhere this weekend, you motherfuckers will not drink this weekend, you mother fuckers will not ride honchos (Japanese taxis) for this week, and guess what, when you motherfuckers get back to the barracks, we are going to have a Charlie, fuck that, and Alpha formation tonight at 2200 after fielday (we fieldayed every day).” I seriously started to hate the USMC because I felt that I was being discriminated for no fucking reason at all. I would sometimes sit on my rack at night and punch the shit out of the wall with tears coming down my face (not being a pussy but I felt like I was being raped and treated unfairly for no fucking reason). This really hit home for me, I was very angry at the decisions I made and I soon started to seriously hate the USMC. I have been in jail before but guess what, it was not even a fraction as shitty as the unit I was with as I had better chow and got to sleep my eight hours and I was not constantly getting fucked with. The excuse that the higher ups would say that the reason for our mistreatment was shit like “we’re the best, we’re held to a higher standard, Chesty Puller believed in hardship, hardship makes better Marines, Semper Fi do or die, we have been doing this for 232 years etc.) this really ticked me off as I felt as the higher ups were doing a mockery of our bullshit existence. It really hit me, when we were voluntold to fill sand bags and make fighting holes for a mock exercise for a Company that we were not even associated with. Our CO got along with the other CO and said “fuck it, make my Marines do it” it really started to dawn on me when I was out in the 100+ degree weather with 95% humidity at 1200 out in the hot ass sun that it was going to be a long two years of my life. I could remember filling those sand bags that were 55lbs each and carrying two of them atop of both my shoulders and carrying it up hill for 200+ yards and looking at the sky and seeing a jet fly in the horizon. It was a jet that was from Kadena Air Force base and it was doing an exercise. I could so vividly remember that I would do anything, ANYTHING to be that motherfucker as he was an Airman and atop of that he was an officer. That is like having a double win win situation. I remember thinking “you lucky, lucky motherfucker!”

Stay tuned for part 3 of my Okinawa Prison experience. This is the tip of the ice berg.

Submitted by “free_bird”

Okinawa Prison (Part 1)

I got a story for you all. When I was unhappily locked up in Okinawa, Camp Kinser (sausage fest) I felt the oppression, depression, and imprisonment unlike most Marines in the USMC. I’m talking about we had to march to the chow hall, march to work etc. If we had to go to the PX the Sgt. would literally make us walk in fire teams, like the grunts do in echelons, with the “supposed” rifle man, fire team leader and machine gunner. We would look stupid going to get haircuts, etc. in fire team formations.

We would then form it up to form it up right out side barracks 1224 for 45+ minutes with the fat drop (Forrest Gump) style kind of rain. The Sgt. would then make us get in a straight line and police call the football field. We were ordered to pick up all the white daisy flowers. But it was not your average police call, we had to stand at attention, forward march one step, stop, bend over, and pick up a white daisy. We went from goal post to goal post for, let’s say, 600 yards back and forth. We were then ordered to field day our rooms. The Chinese way. Note that we lived on the fourth deck and had to carry all of our shit out to the parking lot. The Sgt. (with a beer in his hand and his Japanese girlfriend waiting in his room) would order us to skuz brush the deck like recruits do in bootcamp. We would do this for, let’s see, till 0330 or something. It did not matter how clean we made our rooms because the Sgt. would just “find” dirt somewhere and tell us to clean. This Sgt. would make sure he PT’d us for a very long time, so that when we came back to our barracks, showered, shit, shaved we barely had enough time for chow and if we were a minute late, the Sgt. would be waiting with a charge sheet.

At work, we would be ordered to move shit to one corner, then another corner, then another corner etc. On the way back to the barracks we would always be ordered to type a 1000 word essay on stuff like “why I love the USMC, why was Chesty Puller great, what does it mean to have Espirit de Corps etc.” and would be ordered to take it to the Sgt’s room at 0000 sharp. Mind we had to get up at 0430, to form it up at 0445, so the Sgt. can take us on a run at 0545, come back and be at work by 0730 sharp or else. We would constantly get harrassed with this beer holding Sgt., mind that we were not allowed to drink at all but the Sgt. would chug his beers in front of us while we were getting our asses chewed in the common lounge. The Sgt. would later order us to have our rooms uniformed, even though he had a couch, big screen tv, two racks put together to make a kind size bed, but we had to be “uniform” because that is what Marines do.

This is when it hit me. This is when I realized that this Sgt. did not fuck with us cause we fucked up, he fucked with us because he was cynical and the higher ups did not give a damn at all. This is when I realized that I made a big mistake coming to Okinawa prison. I soon hated putting on the uniform. I soon hated the Eagle Globe and Anchor because I thought that it was full of cannibals that enjoyed hurting their own. That is when me and a couple of other Marines became “shit bags” but in reality we just stopped caring about “Espirit de Corps.” This unit was so bad that Marines in Iraq would porpusefully extend so that they wouldn’t have to deal with garrison bull shit. This is the tip of the ice berg and I will soon write part 2 of my Okinawa experience.

Submitted by: “free_bird”

Why I didn’t join the Marine Corps.

Now, I know what you might be thinking. “Oh, here we go with another Air Force elitist.” But alas, that is not the case. I hold no discrimination specifically against the Marine Corps, actually. I hate all of the branches equally. With that said, let me help put into perspective my experiences when it came to joining the Marine Corps, and why I quit.

Growing up, I loved war movies. After watching them I would always get so inspired to go and fight for my country. I would go and do research on the Marine Corps and the Army for hours on end. Finding out about how to join, what the jobs were, and pretty much everything I could find. The most recent of which, was after I had gone on an 81 mile march with some marines in honor of the (approximately) 81 marines who died in the second battle of Fallujah. One of the marines who joined us during this walk was a marine who had been in for around 29 years. After going on this adventure, it was the thing that finally got me serious about talking to a recruiter in joining the military. Initially, actually, I had gone to the National Guard recruiter and scheduled a meeting with an Air Force recruiter, but after requesting information online for the Marine Corps, they had contacted me and had me come into the recruiting station to meet with me. After that… I was hooked.

I started going through the process, my recruiter being extremely helpful and understanding, making sure that I had all of the requirements needed in order to join the Marine Corps. Now, when we had gotten to allergies, I thought I told him that I think I’m allergic to cats. After telling him this, we stepped outside and he told me that I will have to put that on certain documentation and that it could lead to me being disqualified. He talked about how he had never seen a cat in all of his 10+ years of being in the Marine Corps, and the chance of me seeing one would be slim to none, so I had the choice to not say anything about it if I didn’t want to. If I did this however, I would have to make sure that I was consistent in saying this with telling my senior recruiter, MEPS, and the documentation. I took his advice, under the impression that he was thinking about my best interest, when in reality he just wanted to make sure he didn’t lose another potential recruit. Although it can be argued that he didn’t want something small like that to stop me from “living my dream” of being a marine, it was later on in and after the enlistment process that I found out what my recruiter was really like as a person.

After finishing up everything at MEPS, I had become a poolee. Now, later on in being in the DEP, I had decided that I wanted to go Active Duty. After telling my recruiter this, he pretty much just laughed at me. Although I was passing my IST, I wasn’t getting 20 pull-ups or 9 minute run times, which apparently was his standard for what anyone going Infantry should have. At PT (which we have 4 times throughout the week) he would mock me for my scores not being as high as he wanted them to be. “And you want to be  infantry?” He would say. In addition to this, he, along with the other recruiters, would humiliate me along with any of the other poolees whenever they could. Claiming that they were doing this to prepare us for boot camp, it was not what we needed. They would try to trick me into a joke, and if I didn’t take the bait and ignored them they would just mock me even more. I know that it’s worse actually being in, but I was not a marine. I was a poolee. They told us to completely trust them, after making some kind of joke about how we were stupid or something of that sort.

One time, a week before a Pool function (and Winter break) I had gotten sick. It was only a cold, but nevertheless I was sick. I had actually gotten sick from another poolee. I knew that people were shipping soon, so I told my recruiter that I didn’t want to go to the pool function because I knew there was no way I was going to be able to do the IST in this condition. He told me to just suck it up, once again mocking me for the fact that I wanted to be infantry. I knew that if I was in a situation, such as a combat situation where if I would have to fight, I would, but I didn’t want to risk the poolees shipping soon to get sick. I ended up showing up for 15 minutes to sign the paper to show that I signed up, then went back home to get some sleep. Not only that, but literally the night before I had found this website, and after reading articles all night, was extremely unmotivated to do anything involving the Marine Corps at the time. The next time I was at the station for PT, I explained to him that I did not want to get the other poolees sick, and that is the main reason why I did not show up that day. He then told me that he did not care if I had gotten the other poolees sick, as long as I showed up.

It was then, that I realized he did not have our interests or safety in mind whatsoever. He was only interested in what he could benefit from.

This, in concordance with what I had found out about many of the NCOs in the Marine Corps, I found out that my recruiter was another one of the sergeants that would treat their junior enlisted horribly and for no good reason. I’m not saying I found out any  information about his past to confirm this, but his personality fit the profile perfectly.

After signing my contract, I had to go and meet the “Commanding Officer” or whoever at the reserve station I would have been serving at. In meeting him, I learned more about the current situation with the Marine Corps than I did from any of the recruiters. You know how recruiters will tell you that you can go reserve, and then switch to active duty if you want to? Technically this is true. But the CO made it very clear to me. “If you are going in as a reservist initially, there is an extremely small chance that you will ever be an active duty marine. It just makes no sense for us to pay for an older marine with little actual training or experience to become an active duty marine when we can just get a new,  stronger person to come in initially as an active duty marine and fill that spot anyway.” Is what he said to me. Although I knew that recruiters would bend the truth to get me to believe things, this was a real life example that affirmed it for me.

So, after all of these experiences, my recruiters mocked me, lied to me, and showed that they didn’t care about me or any of the other poolees as long as we became their meal ticket.

This entire experience along with what I saw from the articles on this website showed that this was not the right place for me. Not only that, but I realized that the military in itself is a deception. We are constantly bombarded with shows, movies, news, etc. about how great our military is, but once you get into the roots of it, you find out how corrupt it is.

This has nothing to do with the fact that I wouldn’t fight. If there is a war and I truly believe in the cause of one of the sides, I would gladly fight. But to do so with an organization that is going to constantly tear me down and punish me unless I conform to the rigged system would be against everything I believe in.

I wanted to be the marine that I saw on TV, not the kind of marine I would actually become going into the Marine Corps.

In conclusion, if you are thinking about joining the Marine Corps, please take great consideration into what it’s actually about. You will be fighting for your country, but will you be fighting for the right reasons? Because you will get no say in the matter. Wherever the guys in the suits in ties who sleep comfortably in their nice suburban homes/small mansions will be the ones who decide who you fight and why. Not you. Amongst many other things, which this site brings to light.

Although these weren’t the only reasons I decided to do something different, they were strong motivators to run away as fast as possible.

If you are doing this because you need a job, or you need an education, or anything like that… Please don’t do it. Do what makes you happy in life. Even if it means you won’t make a lot of money, or won’t get an education (Not saying you would make a lot of money in the Marine Corps… you know what I mean).

Please be careful with this decision. You are risking 4-8 of your best years on this decision. Making the wrong one could mean dealing with regret for the rest of your life.

Submitted by: Home Alone

The Life of a Marine Corps Recruiter Part 1

So, currently a Marine Corps Recruiter and hating life very badly. Can anyone please explain to me why I would want, or even try, to enlist a kid at 2 in the morning pushing carts in a parking lot? No clue. But apparently he’s right what we need according to my SNCOIC. Also I by no means understand the leadership values out here. So you’re telling me if somebody has a 300 PFT that gives them that much more of an intelligence factor to lead. Nope it doesn’t but it sure helps them get meritorious SSgt doesn’t it. Feel bad for those young Marines who inherit him as a SNCO. I guess that’s what happens when your Sgt Maj is a cat 4 (asvab failure with waiver to enlist the one who says war dog and hard charge 25 times in a PME) it’s whatever though he has a wall of Marine Corps shit on display which gives him super powers after he tells you about his second tour on the drill field. Then comes the fun part not frauding a kid in or telling them to lie. You tell the friends of them to tell them to lie so really I guess it should be more of the creative part. Then on to Meps to tell the docs everything or shut up. 50/50 chance here lets hope we win if not on to the next number. Key to recruiting deny, deny, deny, and lots churching things to a point it actually sounds good to you. 8412s lead the way and stay at home for 16 years of the Marine Corps career good for them way to claim the title with no deployments. Well have a good one saw some kids smoking weed on the corner better go talk to them. 

Submitted by:  2807aListofLies

Reporting A Crime Is As Bad As Committing It

Another fun story I have is from MOS school. I am a generator mechanic, so I went to Courthouse Bay for MOS school. Courthouse Bay is kind of known as a haven for alcoholic junior Marines, so it really sucked being there. My class was full of idiots who got drunk every Wednesday night (seriously, who the fuck gets drunk on a Wednesday?), even though students are not allowed to drink on weekdays, especially in the barracks. They would go around every Wednesday night (Thursday morning, technically) around 0200 and bang on everyone’s doors. They did this to my room way more often than any other room because they knew it bothered me. After this went on for a couple months, I told them that if they did it again, I would report them to the AOD. They thought I was just bullshitting them because I was known as the wet blanket of the class.

Well, they decided to do the same shit the next week. I sat there in bed listening to them smack on the door and yell for a good ten minutes before I opened the door and bitched them out. I gave them one final ultimatum: go away, and I won’t tell the AOD. They didn’t go away. So, I marched my ass down to the duty hut, called the AOD, and had them all reported. Now, because my training company had gotten in so much trouble recently with underage drinking and drinking in the barracks, the AOD worked with our company CO to keep this under wraps. Our CO decided that a fair punishment for these idiots would be a week of duty and restriction for all of them. Oh, but here’s the kicker, I also got the same punishment. Why did I get punished, you ask? Because I “snitched” on my fellow Marines, which decreases unit morale. Yeah, that’s right. Apparently I decreased unit morale by reporting a bunch of underage drinking jackasses who were violating the UCMJ. That’s what’s wrong with the Marine Corps. You have a bunch of rank chasing higher ups who really don’t give a shit about unit morale, or anything like that, but are only concerned with their own fitness reports.


Submitted by: “No, Thanks”

My Little Green Book: Page 2

Being an instructor had shown all the promise of independence that a NCO could hope for.  Most good NCOs crave the opportunity to take the initiative in their work, go above and beyond for the cause, and to prove they are a cut above the rest.  This was that opportunity, little did I know there were some SNCOs that had forgotten where they came from, and were not willing to improve upon the system that crushed their initiative and ambition.

As a leader I pride myself on keeping my word to the men under my charge.  I did not sugar-coat anything, and i did not hide the “behind the scenes” whispering that my superiors would do to get us to play games with them.  If my men had questions I answered them with brutal honesty, I remained professional, but as a teacher and a mentor they required a type of honesty that not only opened their eyes to the true nature of the corps, but gave them a reason to trust, or not trust me as their leader.  There was no demand for respect or reminder that “instant obedience to orders” was imperative.  This was teaching marines to be better men, and to think for themselves while giving them an example of how to be professional while telling the truth.

Page 2 is another sample of what everyone drools at the mouth for; someone else’s examples of Marine Corps stupidity and lack of vision.

May 5, 2010:  At the beginning of the training day one of my men is SIQ for the day, the duty instructor knew about this and passed it to our SNCOIC, Gunny Oblivious.  Later that morning while classes are being taught, the rest of the instructor group is hanging out waiting for the next training evolution for the day, when Gunny Oblivious comes into the instructor area, belittles the entire group, while not expressing the actual problem to us, and sends us all to the classroom to be “assistant instructors” for the two instructors teaching.

This became a normal occurrence for our instructor group with Gunny Oblivious, he would constantly come into our area and bitch at us for something, but he had a way of doing so that would never reveal what had happened and what he wanted us to do to correct it or prevent it in the future. These rants occurred every couple of days.

May 5, 2010:  The new Chief Instructor, newly promoted SSGT, leaves around 1654 while the rest of the instructor cadre are left waiting for word after completing the end of training day routine.

(Many times during a training cycle there is a ton of down time for instructors.  If you’re not scheduled for teaching a class or there is no PT for that day you could end up sitting around or literally searching for work to do.  Typically, our counterparts in other companies were allowed to do this, instructors would leave work once they were accounted for and they had no duties for that training day.  Needless to say our instructors never experienced this.  Waiting around for word gave us a constant reminder of our days as E-4 and below standing in a parking lot for hours on end.)

This billet is a leadership position, the supposed best of the instructors, instead the loud-mouthed chest thumper that was promoted to Staff Sergeant first was given the job.  The type of person that would call themselves a leader and then blatantly adopt hypocrisy by doing exactly what his predecessor did to make people despise him.  There is a clear lack of awareness of what leadership is in the Marine Corps as a whole.

May 6, 2010:  Gunny Oblivious orders all instructors to be in the classroom by 0645 on this day, if I recall correctly there was a PT event scheduled for this day.  Our fearless leader never showed for PT, and when he finally did arrive at around 1000 that morning, he was in civilian attire. Later he pulled all his “ones” in for a pow-wow, ones were the more senior instructors both sergeants and staff sergeants, and told them that the other instructors emulated them, and that their attitudes specifically affect morale.

The instructor group, who is responsible for the training schedule, is ordered to print BTRs from MOL for the Chief Instructor.  The Chief Instructor works in a cubicle with the SNCOIC and the OIC, both of which have access to all the staff BTRs.  The instructor staff (12) has one computer in their area.

The lengths that people in leadership positions will go to exercise their authority is amazing to me.  Notice how I worded that last sentence, and I will touch more on this later, “people in leadership positions” not leaders.  In my experience a rocker has a unexplainable affect on the human body’s ability to contain the brain tissue between the ears.  Once the rocker goes on, the brains quickly liquify, and ooze out of the ears of the promoted for a good two months or so.  There are of course lasting effects on the individual after the oozing stops because of the validation that comes from the many that have suddenly become best buds with the promoted.

May 7, 2010:  This day was a field day, a Sergeant Instructor was ordered to standby his room for a field day inspection.  During the training cycle with students on deck as an instructor, this is just a minor complaint, but the implications of treating men like children is monumental here, especially since the individual is a sergeant, instructor, and a person who is entrusted with some pretty serious responsibility.

For the students field day inspections, the other instructors are told to stand by for the Company Commander and 1st Sergeant to go through rooms, at 0800 the Company Gunny rolls through. This is one of those times when it is so obvious that my “leaders” lied to get what they wanted.  I cannot convey how much respect is lost when this happens, it’s catastrophic, I can never believe another word that comes out of your mouth.  Another shining example of bad leadership is to be late to your own appointment as a so-called leader.  When I was a resident college student, prior to my service, I attended a leadership conference for student government.  During this conference an accomplished educator, I do not recall his name, who was a Dean or President of a university told us that one of the worst ways to lose credibility as a leader, before ever stepping in front of a group of people is to keep them waiting.  As a military leader how is this not common sense?  Not only that, but half of the time they don’t even apologize for their blatant hypocrisy.

As a person who strives to conduct themselves as a professional, I have always strived for the next accolade as a Marine.  As a Corporal, I tried to behave as I would as a Sergeant, as a Sergeant I would try to handle myself as if I were a Staff Sergeant.  In this way I completed the next ranks MCI’s way ahead of time.  For example, when I end my service as a Staff Sergeant the required MCI’s to make Gunny were already completed, and I had started working on the next.  There are Gunnys out there who do not even have them yet.  Regardless I wish to quote something from the 8105 MCI titled, Leadership Credo.  “Although  the Marine Corps does not have a formal code of ethics, every Marine leader must have a strong sense of ethical behavior to be worthy of the name.  In combat, ethics are critical for success.”

I find it pointless at all to claim we live by a code of ethics as Marines when it clearly states here that our leaders ethics are as the individual perceives them.  Hopefully someone more intelligent and more articulate will take this and run with it.  My little green book has many other great fallacies of leadership, and just wait a modern day war hero is involved in some of my accounts, although I will not slander his name openly I will gladly share the experiences when we get there.

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”  – Edmund Burke
Submitted by: “SSGT Samaritan”

My Little Green Book: Page 1

Hello everyone, I found this site early this morning and have lost several hours of sleep because of the excitement it brings me.  I recently ended my active service on May 19th of this year, please no applause. I did eight years as a LAV Crewman, 0313, and tried everyday to make the best of a bad situation.  My career as a Marine ended as the SNCOIC of separations platoon in Camp Pendleton.  I received orders to this unit after challenging the leadership ethics of my previous command, but we’ll get to that later.  Regardless of my decision to do what is right against the more popular road of shady brown nosing, favoritism, and blatant lack of respect for the rules, I still pinned on Staff Sergeant without anyones help.  In the 03 community this is not necessarily an easy feat, although the promotion system is still not based on merit or quality of work as a SNCO. I dropped out of college my senior year to fight in the war, and truly expected to do twenty years as an enlisted man.  It took less than two years for the corruption to rear its head and for my vision of Marine Corps leadership to change drastically.  I served my first three and then some in 29 Palms, enough said, then re-enlisted for those modest, yet useful bonuses in 2009, to be a Combat Instructor.  After Combat Instructor School and a handful of cycles I was really enjoying my time as a Marine for the first time.  This all began to change in less than a year, and my little green book was born.

Throughout college I attended leadership conferences, and participated in campus events and activities; always looking for opportunities to be a better leader.  I grew up by modest means and began working at the age of 13, so character, moral standards, and good ethics are important to me. This did not change when I chose to join the Marines.  Enticed by its world class marketing campaign, I bought into the tiles on the recruiters desk, and looked forward to playing “All-Marine Football”, which had not existed since 2003.  I pride myself on leadership, I jump at the opportunity to take the path less traveled when it comes to developing subordinates; and in the Marine Corps it is not hard to do for the average moral person.  My little green book was born on March 1, 2010, and has dozens of examples of documented leadership brain farts if you will.  There are tales of corruption, simple leadership mistakes with lessons never learned, and some run of the mill bitches, moans, and complaints.  This site is the perfect place for these discretions to be revealed.  The truth must be known.

Please note:  These short accounts began as an evaluation method for improving my leadership methods.

March 1, 2010:  The separation of our instructor cadre begins.  Our SNCOIC, we’ll call him “Gunny Oblivious”, pulls the newly promoted Staff Sergeant Instructors aside for a very exclusive conversation.  Shortly thereafter the Sergeant Instructors are treated differently than before. (Most of these accounts are from my experiences as a Combat Instructor, an individual special duty assignment.  In the course I taught there were only two billets for SNCO’s, all other SNCOs were instructors filling equal billets to Sergeants.)

April 27, 2010:  Pick-up day has arrived, 76 new students are on deck and the cadre begins issuing rooms immediately.  Gunny Oblivious orders the halt of forward progress for impending briefs from Company Commander, Company First Sergeant, OIC, and himself.  He then tells the instructor cadre that no instructor will leave until their students are packed for the field.  The briefs are not given and the instructors begin issuing rooms again; Gunny Oblivious stops this act of initiative and common sense once more.  At 1400 hours that day the room issuing is halted, the students are sent to get briefs, and the instructors are put on “gear watch” of the students gear.  The students return after evening chow, but have not been given any of their briefs and rooms are still not issued.

May 4, 2010:  A Sergeant Instructor is verbally reprimanded for going to his barracks briefly during a lull in training.  Shortly thereafter Gunny Oblivious has a secret meeting with his new SNCOs, and tells them that “Sergeants are not to be trusted; they will walk all over you.”

May 5, 2010:  All test materials are the responsibility of the Chief Instructor, a newly promoted Staff Sergeant, but all test during this week were graded by the instructor group, the Chief Instructor left work early.  One Sergeant instructor was pulled into the office during the entire training day with the Chief.

This is page one, of course these are minor hiccups in day to day life in the Corps, but anyone familiar with the lapse in judgement with MC leadership can see where this small handful of snow is going.  FYI:  At SOI West Standard Operating Procedure for a course is to have one individual who is trained and certified in Curriculum Development handle student test materials to prevent cheating on behalf of instructors who want to give their students an edge.  This makes instructors look better when their students score well, there were daily violations of these policies on behalf of the staff.  Later on you will see how two students answer for their lack of integrity, but company staff disregard integrity altogether.

This site has kept me up all night, I love it.  Now its time for homework and job applications, I cannot wait to hop back on later.

Submitted by: “SSGT Samaritan”.

Berated For Getting Injured, Threatened For Seeing A Doctor

I joined the Marine Corps at the age of 20 after flunking out of college and getting dumped by my girlfriend of two years. Shit was going down the drain real fast and I thought joining the military would solve all my problems. I shipped off to MCRD San Diego in February of 2012. I wasn’t in the best shape in boot camp, as far as running is concerned, and I really didn’t know why. I was a stud on the pull-ups, sit-ups, and every other PT thing you can think of, but I couldn’t run to save my life. This was my drill instructors’ cue to haze the fuck out of me for three months. From the time I picked up with my training company to the time I graduated, I had two hours of fire watch every single night. I was IT’d many times while on fire watch. I was IT’d about six times a day. It didn’t take me long to realize that the reason I was having so much trouble with running was because I had an injury. I went to medical early in first phase and they told me there was nothing wrong with my foot, as they couldn’t see anything on the x-ray. This, obviously, made me an even bigger target for my DIs. They thought I was just weak and didn’t want to put out on runs, so they ramped up my IT sessions even more. It got to the point where I was probably spending more time on the quarterdeck than I was on the drill deck. But, through all of this, I made it through boot camp and became a Marine.

Moving on to MCT, my foot injury got even worse, but there isn’t a whole lot of running at MCT, so I was able to push through it without too much trouble. I didn’t even bother going to medical while at MCT, because I knew the idiot corpsmen couldn’t tell me anything I hadn’t already been told.

Going on to MOS school, my foot became an even worse problem, as my SSgt. liked nothing more than running six miles everyday for PT. I spent a good three months of the 4.5 months I was in MOS school on light duty for what the corpsmen described as a “fracture of my right fibula”. I knew that wasn’t what was wrong with me, so I tried to go to a civilian doctor to get a professional’s opinion on the matter. My SSgt. caught wind of this and told me that if I saw a doctor, he would make my life a living hell. Out of fear for my own safety, I opted not to see a doctor.

As a reservist, I got to go home after MOS school and check into my duty station. I saw a civilian podiatrist for my foot shortly after arriving back home. He diagnosed me with plantar fasciitis. My doctor said he couldn’t put any PT restrictions on me without doing an MRI on my foot, and since I had horrible health insurance at the time, that was out of the question.

I then failed a PFT in April of this year and was chastised by everyone from my platoon sergeant, to company commander for being an out-of-shape bag of ass. I had about reached my breaking point with this whole situation. It was at this point I decided to buy some better health insurance and get that MRI done that my doctor suggested. But before that I had to know what is viatical settlement, because the agent that provided me with the insurance told me that that would be beneficial. I got it done and my doctor described my plantar fascia as irreparably damaged. If I had gotten my foot treated from the outset in boot camp, I would be fine today. But, since I was threatened by my superiors multiple times and never given adequate medical attention by the Naval staff on base, my foot is now permanently messed up. I didn’t think I could use this to get out of the Marine Corps, for whatever reason, so I just told our company corpsman about it and she put me on TNPQ. It was at this point that my company commander called me during the off-time between drills to let me know how much of a bitch I am for not being able to pass a simple PFT with a little old foot injury, when there are Afghanistan veterans with prosthetic legs who can pass it no problem. Breaking point: reached.

I gathered up all the resources I could and found out I could in fact get medical separation for my injury. I never would have known this had I not done my own research, as our Doc didn’t feel that was pertinent information for me. I’m now in the process of being medically separated. I hate the Marine Corps.

Submitted by: “No, Thanks”

United States Marine Corps’ Recruit Separation Platoon

I walked into Recruit Separation Platoon on October 23rd 2009. As always I barely had any idea of what was going on while being at Parris Island. RSP consists of a Squad bay in the main receiving building on Parris Island. When you enter RSP you hand over most of your military equipment because you don’t need it anymore. I turned in all my digital camouflage. I was assigned to rack 89 which was right next to the drill instructor house. I was given a pair of dull green sweatpants and matching sweat shirt. I was also given a glow strap and war belt. (belt that holds two canteens). I then filled out paperwork at the tables next to the scribe desk. I filled out general information about myself and where the closest Greyhound bus station was to my house. Still being somewhat new to Parris Island I was shaky on all the rules and proper way to act. When you are in RSP you are still considered a recruit and you need to conduct yourself as such. Many new recruits who enter RSP don’t comprehend this very well.

The Standard day in RSP consists of waking up at 5:00 AM. We all then line up in front of our racks and count off. If we mess up we start over. We are then instructed to start “hygiene”. Morning hygiene is supposed to consist of brushing your teeth and shaving. However many recruits would skip the shave because while I was at RSP for my two and a half weeks we only had hygiene inspection twice. Racks are also supposed to be made “tight” in the morning. This means you need to make your bed in the marine fashion. 45 degree corners on the sheets at the head of the bed and 45 degree corners at the end of the rack on the green wool blanket. Lastly the sheet needs to be folded down from the head 18 inches. My rack looked like crap for the first few days and then I started to get the hang of it. After everyone finishes hygiene and making their racks we line up for chow. Everyone puts on their war belt and glow strap ( yellow reflective strap that goes from left shoulder to right hip.) Then we go next door to line up at the back hatch in the PEB (Physical Evaluation Board) squad bay. PEB recruits are recruits who become seriously injured and are also working on getting home except their paperwork goes to D.C. and takes them about 2-4 months (guess) to get home. We line up in columns of two in front of that hatch on average there was about 90 to 100 recruits at one time including PEB recruits. (80 RSP – 20 PEB) We would wait for a bus or two to come pick us up to bring us to chow hall. The Waiting factor in RSP is what makes you crazy and feel like you are there for an eternity. My guess is that we would be waiting in line for up 30 – 45 minutes. We all then would get on the Bus and “crush it”. crushing it consists of interlocking legs and pushing down towards the end of the bus in order to fit the most recruits possible. The busses had Plexiglas windows that were very scratched. They also had benches in the middle and edges that were parallel to the bus.

When we arrive at the chow hall we get off the bus and get into a formation of 4 columns with the 4 squad leaders at the front facing their line. We then will file ourselves off one column at a time into the chow hall. We then would usually wait in line at the chow hall for 15- 40 minutes for chow to be ready. The etiquette for getting chow is pretty simple. The guide will instruct the next 3 rows (6 recruits) to detach out ever 2 minutes or so. You will then get chow and place it at a table. Then you go up and get your drink. After chow we will head back to the squad bay and count off again. The drill instructor would then instruct us to “turn to cleanup” cleanup consists of all the RSP recruits getting cleaning equipment ( brooms, scuzz brushes, metal polish, cleaning spray, dust pans, and others.) The recruits then split up making sure they all have their war belt and glow strap on. Recruits can leave the squad bay and clean around the whole building. Cleaning will take anywhere from 15 minutes to and hour. After we finished cleaning we would head back to the RSP squad bay and sit on our foot lockers. If we have been following the rules then we will “turn to free time” If not we sit on the quarterdeck. During free time we were allowed to read, write letters, and talk quietly. During my first few days I would talk to recruits to figure out what was going on and what was going to happen. Here is what I learned

The recruit who enters RSP is only supposed to be in RSP for 7 to 10 business days once they have been cleared by medical.

A “sleep over” is a recruit in RSP who cannot go down to be cleared by medical because his medical records have not reached the medical building yet.

I was a sleep over for one week. I got cleared by medical on November 2nd. After you get cleared by medical you can try to calm down because you are pretty much going to be going home no later than 2 weeks.

After morning free time the whole process starts over again. We go to chow, come back, clean, free time, go to chow, clean , and have free time again.

About an hour before we go to bed we will do evening hygiene. Evening hygiene consists of brushing teeth, shaving and taking a shower. We would then count off and hit the rack at 8 pm as the 5 fire watch recruits are called.

One of the most depressing things about being in RSP is fire watch. I hated being woken up at 11 or 1 in the morning to stand at a post with a flashlight for an hour. You simply stand there and think “Wow it really sucks to be waiting around here like this”. We then will wake up at 5 am and the day starts over again.

I left on November 10th I was pretty relieved to finally put my civilian clothes on after wearing sweat pants for two and a half weeks.

There is barely any information on the Recruit Separation Platoon online. I am hoping this information helps anyone who is thinking about enlisting who wishes to get the most information they can about the US Marine corps .


Source: James Douglas

Trying to take terminal

I’ve been in the Marines for over 5 years, 4 of those in the ‘fleet’, and did 3 deployments, 2 for the squadron I’m currently in. This week is suppose to be all about me checking out and getting ready to go on terminal in 4 days. Today my Ssgt tells me that terminal leave is a privilege not a guarantee (I know this already), and that he’s thinking about canceling my Terminal because I failed a room inspection I wasn’t even present for nor knew about. (Even then my room is always presentable, they failed me on dust and carpet not vacuumed). And he tells me a piece of shit that has never cared, nor will start to care so he’s well in his right to cancel my terminal. Yet… I went out of my way to get a collateral billet to help our work center out, trained younger Marines to be better at their job, unlike other NCOs who sit on their ass and do nothing, and back in 2010 I go bumped to another squadron to go on a MEU, and once it was done I came back to this squadron because our work center was hurting for collateral billets, and to ice the cake… I extended my contract 4 months to make this last deployment, so my other collateral billet buddies wouldn’t be over stressed and I could help out, because those are the few that I consider my brothers in this squadron. Yet, I’m a piece of shit? Who has never cared? I give this squadron over 3 years of my time, and a 4 month extention… and it can’t even give me 30 days of terminal leave… are you fucking kidding me.

Submitted by: Chainhearteffect

20 year E-6

I spent 20 years in the Marines and retired as an E6, was NJPed on Recruiting duty and told it wouldn’t matter as long as I was successful. Well, made it successfully on Recruiting duty, went to Iraq and still retired as an E6. Was passed over I think 7 times total. Did I think the Marine Corps was biased? YES!!! but I was not a politically correct person while I was in. I hated many years of the time I was in, but also loved times. The Marines are not for everyone and if you cant follow rules prior to going in, DONT go in.

Is the Marine Corps this incompetent?

Is the Marine Corps this incompetent? So, I am getting a medical separation which I couldn’t be happier about. Camp Pendleton has been nothing but pure hell. I cannot stand 95% of the people I work with. Don’t even get me started on the worthless garbage “superiors”.Within the past day, two ridiculous things have happened. Payday was supposed to be today, or technically yesterday for those of us with Pacific Marine Credit Union.Who of course, has the worst luck and didn’t get paid? Me. I go to speak to the finance people and they tell me, “Whoops, someone put the wrong code on your file so your paycheck will be late.”… “How late?”, I asked. They respond with a “Up to a week.” You see, my problem with this is that I have a family and like a majority of Marines, we live paycheck to paycheck. Rent was due today so I had to borrow money. How is this acceptable at all? Now I’m scraping the empty barrel. Next thing, I get my medical record.What do they do? They screwed it up. Apparently I have been in the Marine Corps since 2001, I was a teenager in 2010, none of which is true. Now I have to fix it before they release me.

Submitted by: What the hell

Disgruntled Former 0311

I went to boot camp during the summer of 2008. After that it was off to ITB. I was soooo excited to go the fleet after that. I wanted to do amazing things with my life. What I got instead was horrible. My “senior marines” didn’t haze me. They physically and mentally abused me. Everyone says “I would stand up and fight them.” But when it’s a uniformed gang, there’s no fighting against them. I spun into depression. Everyday was a struggle to not go U.A. I hated everyone. But most of all, I hated myself. I felt worthless. THEN it came time to deploy. About a week before we left for Afghan, the company 1st Sgt asked each squad leader for one marine to send to H&S company for FOB Guard Duty. While the rest of the company was in the “REAL” combat zone I was stuck standing 12 hrs of post a day, going on a bullshit patrol (so close to the wire I could spit on it) and doing massive amounts of S-4 working parties. I worked 18 hr days as an 0311 in a POG’s world. I wanted to fight. I wanted to have the satisfaction of trading rounds with my enemies. But I guess I didnt rate. All this time building up the anticipation. And the marine corps stole it from me. By the time I was able to go with my original company, the shooting had stopped. I was berated so badly by my peers for my so called “cowardice” that there were several times i had to pull my M16 barrel out of my mouth. I told my team leader I was suicidal. He said I was a bitch. my entire squad “no balls’ed” me to kill myself. I plotted their murders and my suicide shortly following their demise. I lost my Faith in Jesus Christ. i lost my faith in my “fellow” marines and their so called “brotherhood.” I lost faith in myself. I never ended up killing anyone including anyone in my squad. my second deployment was an uneventful MEU. I have since EAS’ed. I hate the Marine Corps. I wasnt the best marine, but I always did what I was told and followed the rules. Fuck The Marine Corps.

Submitted by: Disgruntled Former 0311

What has the marine corps done for you?

so far the only thing I can say is they’ve fucked me like it’s going out of style. I joined 11 months ago, I went through boot camp, in itb I injured my knee the second week, what did they tell me? the corpsman called me a pussy and told me to suck it up, the combat instructors blasted me non stop for it. I finished and got to the fleet, and the co gunny saw me limping and made me go to medical. The corpsman could see my knee was fucked up and told the mo, he looked at it and said it was nothing but inflammation. After going back everyday for about a week or two, I convinced them to take an xray which showed that my tibia was fractured, when I told them it wasn’t just my shin, it was mostly my knee, they told me it was just inflammation. it took about 3 months to finally convince them to look at my knee, they saw that my knee wasn’t just inflamed but that it was seriously fucked up. I finally got a bone scan and an MRI, they told me it was just a small tear in my ACL that physical therapy would heal, about 3 months of that with no improvement, they put me on limdu. While they were looking up my medical files on the computer, I snuck a peek and noticed that it said my ACL was torn, my meniscus was torn, my proximal patellar tendon was torn and I had PFPS (twisted knee cap). the surgeon told me my knee is so fucked that he’s afraid he’ll fuck it up more if he cuts me open. he also told me I’m never going to run again, I’ll be lucky if I can stop having to use a cane and if I stop limping. anywho, they are doing absolutely nothing for my knee, and they stopped physical therapy, if that wasn’t bad enough, my chain of command is disregarding my limdu chit that says no prolonged standing (more than 5 minutes), no pft/cft, pt at own pace, and making me stand during (3) hour and a half long formations, running a partial pft, and making me pt for an hour everyday. If I say anything about this, what happens? I get in trouble on paper, and the nco’s snco’s make my life a living hell.

If that’s not bad enough, I’m JUST getting started.

Theeeen, there’s mental health. Starting in boot camp, getting a little worse in itb, and then plummeting in the unit is my depression. It’s gotten bad enough that I’m on anti depressants, have a snco that I have to check with everyday, and I have to go to mental health appointments every week to keep from killing others or myself.

There’s also the anxiety and stress set on by my unit, it’s gotten so bad that I have panic attacks almost every day or every other day, it’s so bad that when my phone rings, I start freaking out thinking it is my coc calling to SOMEHOW fuck me over. Even if it’s on my home phone which the unit doesn’t know the number to. I don’t answer my cell or home phone when I’m off work anymore, my wife does.

and then there’s the shear stupidity of the unit. I’m in rbe since the unit is deployed, our bright ass 1stsgt is being investigated for hazing, disrespect, and a handful of other ucmj orders that have been broken. He went to peoples houses on AND off base to do field day inspections. His idea of running the bn? making all of us broken guys go to the field and running training ops to “retain our infantry skills” (Thanks you boot ass supply/di piece of shit that has never actually been in combat)(made 1stsgt in 14 years, target time is 17.5-20 years).

Because of my mental health status, the psychiatrist has deemed me unfit to stand barracks duty, he even gave me a chit to give to the command saying such and he told me that if they do not want to oblige it, they can call and talk to him. I handed the chit up the coc, they decided that it was only a recommendation and decided I needed to get fucked and made an example of. I am still standing duty, my plt sgt is just ITCHING to njp me. for example, after duty, my unit does a 24 recovery period where you are off work, I went to the formation and I was supposed to be off so I went home. When the next formation rolled around, they called asking where I was, when I told them, they recalled me and gave me a negative counseling for being ua to a formation, I’m still awaiting the 6105/njp. Then my wife last night decided to give me a hickey, today when I went to work, I got a negative counseling and got told that if they see another one ever again, they are going to njp me and apparently I have a lot of 6105’s in my record which would mean I would get processed out. I was under the impression that if you got a 6105, you would be informed or would have to sign something acknowledging that you understand why (me having ANY 6105’s is news to me).

So to all then poolees/wannabe’s that think this corporation is for you, all it did for me was break me down physically, break me down mentally, and now they are trying to make it so they can kick me out punitively so I don’t get benefits.


Submitted by: fucked like its cool

Who am I, but another troop?

I’m a lance corporal in the Marines and in my btry there are a lot of lances. Well we learned that next month a few are going to be promoted to Cpl’s or corporals.

I’m a lance corporal in the Marines and in my btry there are a lot of lances. Well we learned that next month a few are going to be promoted to Cpl’s or corporals. These are Marines who are lazy, do drugs but don’t get caught, get drunk on a daily basis, and just do not care. Once they become NCO’s this will just give them more of an excuse to make Lances do everything because they are too lazy to do it. It seems that picking up NCO is just a way of not doing anything. Yet the Marine Corps fails to realize that these are the true turds, not the Lance who is working hard and doing everything right but gets yelled at because he didn’t hear his NCO say something and asks him to repeat himself. I joined thinking everything and everyone were equal, but that’s just not the case. And now some of the worst Lances are going to be picking up and that’s just gonna add on to the bullshittery that I see everyday. But who am I, but another troop?…

Submitted by: ArtilleryDude


 A friend who is now a warrant officer in the Army and did 12 years in the Marines related how the Corps royally fucked up during the 1st wave into Iraq in ’03. I already knew about the tank they lost (!), and some other BS, but to think the retards in Quantico thought just in time delivery for supplies would work in a war zone is the icing on the cake. It’s the main reason why the Army was waiting on the Marines outside Baghdad. In typical blowhard Marine fashion two colonels were relieved of command because they wouldn’t take some bridge or whatever. Turns out they didn’t have the supplies to get there, but were punished for it, anyway.

There’s a Military.com article about a Reserve TOW platoon from Miami who were given shitty equipment in Kuwait before the 1st wave went in; they little time to prepare and no time to scrounge up needed parts, etc. Two or so days into it they dropped their M-16’s due to the fact they ran out of ammo, and picked up whatever weapons they could find like AK’s and the like. I think they even got some Iraqi vehicles but can’t remember. What they did was nothing short of heroic but it’s a black eye on the Corps. They couldn’t even supply their own troops during what was (initially) a fairly easy invasion of a foreign country.

JIT delivery, you gotta be kiddin’ me.

Submitted by: SgtFury

Grunt? POG? How about…men.

Yup, I’m a POG. Maybe the poggiest of the POGs. I’ve served three years and five months as one and to be more specific, as an 0111 Admin. In that time, I’ve spent countless hours being blamed for pay problems, working in an air conditioned office, and generally being some higher-ups personal bitch. However, I’m also one of the few Marines of my MOS that has more than two ribbons, been anywhere outside of Camp Lejeune, and know more than one aspect of my actual job title. What I’m getting to is this: what the fuck difference does it make? POG, Grunt, Marine, Soldier…guess what, we all die the same for this glorious thing called the U.S.A. No you say? I’m glad you disagree.

May 10, 2010 – Dec 1 2010 OEF

Not even a week into the desert I was told I was being fapped out due to my uselessness in the shop. I did not know that I’d be attached to 3rd LAD BN or 9th Engineers Security. This little TAD proved to be my entire tour. by the end of the first month with those guys, they never called me a fucking POG. It was a mutual understanding if not an unspoken one. IEDs didn’t care about only killing grunts. The rounds didn’t magically turn and bend to avoid my direction. The docs didn’t give two shits if you were infantry or not; just that you helped them get the wounded out. Basically, I couldn’t give a fuck less what you call your non infantry. We all bled the same. We were all scared the same. We all treated each other the same.

This concludes my rant.

Let us know your thoughts in the comment section below.

Ceremony Vs Mission Accomplishment… which one takes priority again?

A couple weeks ago I found out that I had been roped into a battalion change of command ceremony, which wouldn’t have been so bad, except that a full two-thirds of my shop had to perform in the ceremony.  What’s more, when we got to the parade deck, the company gunny had the nerve to ask where the rest of the shop was!  I just wanted to scream out “They’re doing their fucking job you pompous prick!  I’m sorry that you seem to think that one old man leaving and another old man showing up is so important that the entire unit should just drop whatever it’s doing to come down here and goose-step around a damned parking lot!”  But, being as close to EAS as I am, I decided to hold my tongue, and let someone else from the shop answer.

Then when we’re going through the rifle manual part, we realized that the only people who remembered any of it were the PFCs and a couple of LCpls, so this bitch-ass MSgt (who got out once, couldn’t hack it in the civilian world, came back, and has been strictly enforcing marine corps regulations ever since.  His fellow E-8s don’t like him because he’ll chew them out over having their hands in their pockets.  But I digress…) puts on his D.I. act and starts running up and down the squads yelling and screaming “Tight elbows” and all of that ridiculous boot camp nonsense, and threatening to take people who messed it up to the I.T. pit.  I was just standing there hoping he would actually follow through with that threat, I wanted to personally bash his face in with my rifle butt stock BEFORE, I got him charged with hazing.  But of course, his threats were entirely impotent, (much like the man himself) and we continued on our ridiculous little practice.

At one point I actually started listening to what the speaker was saying over the speaker system.  She was going on about how the parade that the audience was witnessing had “it’s basis in both history and tradition, the forming of troops on a long line at close interval made possible the massing of firepower from muzzle loaded muskets of yesterday.”  Now I realize that the term “yesterday” can be loosely used to refer to any time in the past, but at the time all I  could think was “Yesterday?  Yester-century maybe, but not yesterday!  Well, the marine corps is perpetually stuck in cultural norms of the 1850s so maybe they think we were using muskets yesterday.”  Then at the end of the practice, the SgtMaj came up to us to emphasize how important the ceremony was by reiterating  the incredible importance of “customs and courtesies”.  These two instances really reinforced to me just how much the marine corps refuses to modernize itself.  It’s like the Generals just came together one day and said “Well if we can’t win a war like this, then we’ll make it a ceremony, because it would be just horrible if we took this outdated form of warfare out of the books entirely!”

But that’s the marine corps, everyone is so afraid that the asinine, self-important pissant who outranks them might get butt-hurt if they don’t validate his existence by dropping everything that they have to do, and put on a lavish ceremony in commemoration of him before he leaves.

For those of you who’ve read the other articles I’ve posted, I hope you can tell that  (with the exception of my first posts from when I started coming to this site) I really try to maintain a balanced point of view when discussing the marine corps.  I don’t want to come across as someone who’s just here with a personal axe to grind.  But then the corps does something like this; trying to make us believe that the base is going to be overrun if we don’t have a proper change of command ceremony, trying to convince us that neglecting to march around with a rifle in hand because some old guy is leaving would be incredibly “unprofessional” while neglecting our jobs and the tasks that make the unit run in order to accomplish this ceremony is quite acceptable, and I just lose my mind.  I can’t stand all of the inefficiency, and the staggering lack of ability to prioritize what is important over what isn’t as important and can take a back seat, or what is so unimportant that there’s not even room in the car for it so it has to get left behind.  The marine corps won’t accept these as possibilities, everything has to fit in the front seat, and nothing can be left behind.   And then they wonder why we become disgruntled and get out.

Alright, I’ll step off my little soap box now, thanks for listening, and a special thanks to Civilian for creating the site.  It feels good to get this all off of my chest.

Safety and Peace