When I went to P I MCRD in SC, the first thing on the agenda was to hump most riki-tic to get our heads high and tight. In route, we passed several sand crabs looking at us because we were a cluster fuck.
After we got our new GI, we shipped our civvies back home. There I stood with boocoo gear. I was so FUBAR I didn’t know what to do. It was zero-dark-thirty, and I was sure the DI would tell us what the SOP would be before taps. There I stood, the FNG totally in DTFE, but our head DI did feed us the scoop. He was a lifer and had just got pushed up to top.
Finally one of the maggots asked if he could use the bathroom. It took the DI over an hour to instruct us that the Marine Corp had no bathrooms. It was called a head. Well, if you were indoors it’s a head. If you were outdoors it’s called a honey bucket. The poor recruit who asked about the bathroom had to stand against the bulkhead till it ran down his leg. The rest of us kept it zipped, both mouth and pants.
Finally we were ordered to get in formation to hump it to the scarf-n-barf. The DI informed us that if we were lucky, we would get a nice dose of SOS and a cup of bug juice. So we put the piss pots on our grapes and cut a chogie a few klicks down the road.
When we arrived, the DI informed all us lard buckets the Marine Corp didn’t serve pogey bait. He also told us if we get it, we better lick it. The Marines didn’t appreciate wasting food. I couldn’t tell if it was SOS or 4 skins on toast, but believe it or not, the chow wasn’t that bad -- it sure wasn’t the gut wagon I expected.
That afternoon in sunny PI we learned the Marine Corp was very religious, because the DI told us to give our hearts to Jesus because our ass belonged to the Marines. We were also advised they would not tolerate any broke dicks. If we got injured, we were to suck it up. Can I get a hoo-ahh? HOO-AHH, SIR! I think that means Heard Understand Acknowledge, yeah that’s it.
The remainder of the day was pretty much just mass confusion on our part. Everything we did was just a skosh messed up with the Di’s screaming real loud. But we did march down to the armory to get our M16’s and duty belts.
When we returned to the barracks, those nice DI’s taught us the difference between a rifle and a gun. They told us to grab our crotch with our left hand and hold the rifle with our right hand. Then we would shout as we held on tight to both, “This is my rifle, this is my gun, this is for killing, this is for fun. Soon it started to hurt.
Much later that night we had to get into our fart sacks, because we had a long day ahead tomorrow.
Can you see where this is going? You have just gone through the first day of Boot Camp with all the new language a recruit must learn. Lost is not the word. I think it would be money well spent if the Pentagon would hire Rosetta Stone to teach this new language prior to military service. Maybe that young man/woman wouldn’t stand there lost in the translation wondering what the DI was talking about.
At Ease Maggots! Smoke 'em if you got 'em. Field Stripe Your Butts. Don’t you eye ball me, scum bag!