Marine Ingenuity

As luck would have it, I got my dead tree version of the Marine Corps Times yesterday, and wouldn't you know it, the headline of the paper was the story about the phrase, 'Devil Dog.'



My apologies to my reader(s), I didn't realize it was such an old story as to have been caught up by an actual snail-mailed paper. That's kinda why I'm always filtering my news trash through the 'net. What can I say, I'm no longer as green, not nearly as lean, but still... you get the idea.


Perusing through the Times, I caught another story that I just had to mention.


Prosecutor wants Marine's license plate revoked.


WTH?

Shouldn't a prosecutor be prosecuting... oh, I dunno, crimes n' stuff?

I began to read.

Hmmm, former Marine Sergeant... vanity plate.... of the Marine Corps variety (cool)... Ah, yes, here we go... 'four letter word'... 'begin and end with the letter T'... 'vulgar slang'...

'Vulgar slang' was where I stopped, and my crossword puzzle lovin' mind went to work (yeah, I'm hopelessly addicted. Love it, but I'm hopeless with 'em).

Four letter (possibly/probably offensive) term, starts and ends with 'T'. I knew it had to be something creative, probably something along the lines of initials for an old unit, platoon, mission, or whatnot.


*kerthump, kerthump* went my mental hamster...

Theatre of... Afghanistan Tactical... Angry dogs? Nah.

Third Iraqi Troop Trainers? (a strech, I know) Nope.

Third Engineer Assault Troop? Nu-uh, no way.

Want to know what the letters were supposed to stand for and what made me spew my big ole bowl of Chuckle-Os all over the place?

Tactical Wire Assault Team.

or

The War Against Terrorism.

Oh my. My, my, my....

Back in My Day...

Interesting article about Marines and (now) common perception of the phrase, 'Devil Dog' from The Marine Corps Times.

The part that made me chuckle was when a former Marine, walking with his gal, pointed out another hard charger, also with his 'lady' friend, and referred to the younger Marine as a 'Devil Dog', the girl friend of the Marine being referenced responded with, " ‘Before you make a comment like that, why don’t you grow some f---ing balls and serve your country.' "


Well howdy.


For my non Marine / non Marine lore familiar readers, 'Devil Dog' is a term that's been around for a little while from a particularly difficult battle in WWI, as a description of the tenacious drive of the Marines. I dunno about the absolute veracity of the story (Q: How many Marines does it take to change a light bulb? A: 100. One Pfc. to do it and 99 to issue the PR, write the After Action Report, edit the history books...), but the Corps, long experienced with adapt, overcome, and survive (read: steal what works and run like hell with it), adopted the term and made it their own.

It has apparently fallen out of favor with younger Marines, apparently because it was most commonly identified with being the precursor to an ass-chewing.

What the Hell?

Back in my 'Olde Corps', 'Devil Dog' was a proud and honorable term. Its use reminded Marines of the glory and honor of Marines past, and encouraged them to strive to do their utmost in the future. How could it possibly be associated with anything less than... than...

... hold on....

You know, come to think of it, most times when I heard it used, it was right before a particularly memorable reaming, often by some higher staff NCO who missed his Drill-Instructor days and felt like reminiscing for a bit...

Also, the phrase, 'Devil Dog' has led to its use in many notable impressions of those same senior staff NCOs, and it's modification amongst the regular enlisted types to fit different situations. For example, hopefuls in the Young Marines program as well as newly minted Pvts and Pfcs were referred to as 'Devil Pups', close buddies might be called by the term 'Devil Nuts' and, when the ever popular Big Green Weenie of Doom and Mayhem came to pay a (yet another) visit, one might describe it as 'getting Devil Doggy-styled'.

I guess the phrase has been evolving for a bit, but it was obviously good (comedic wise) evolution back in my day...

Blog Memery, Part Duh

So I got tagged by fire fox the other day, like the chubby kid at dodge ball...

*WWwwwwwhap!... Aiiiieee*


Rules are as follows;

) Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog.
2) Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
3) Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
4) Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Hmmm, some random, some weird...


1) Under The Rules of Engagement in my house, I am authorized to utilize deadly force in the defense of my Mint Chocolate Chip Ice-Cream. I'm not even joking, change the tv, drink my beer, be mean to my dog (kidding, no dog), but touch the ice-cream?, you're a dead man, woman, or (Yes way!) child.

2) I have wrecked a car, crashed a bike (motor and foot-powered), been shot at, mortared, rocketed, and blown-up (IED). I have never had so much as a broken bone or major injury. Plenty of scrapes, bruises, one slightly blown ear-drum, and more than a few small scars, though. My all-time worst injury? From a high school soccer game - damn near severed my ankle's ligaments/tendons/whatever they're called. Foot was flopping around like it wasn't even attached... Would have been funny if'n it wasn't hurting so much!

3) I am a very fast reader. Regular work of fiction... a couple of hours.

4) I haven't used a credit card in over a year. I already touched on this one, a little bit. Don't like the companies, got tired of it all, don't need 'em for anything, paid the buggers off and closed them up. Good riddance.

5) I'm not terribly mechanically inclined, but I love classic cars, this one in particular.

A '57 Chevy. I love everything about this car.

6) My Great-Grandmother turned 105 years old this past November. Aside from recent events, I got some long-lived folks in my family.

7) I have a really weird sleep cycle. For a while now, if I sleep for a solid 6 hours, it's friggin'... glorious. What happens more often than not is I'll crash for about 2-3 hours a pop. Tired or rested, work that day or no, background noise or dead quiet, I'm up. Occasionally, I'll toss and turn in bed, just to see if it's possible again for me to sleep longer, but as of right now, it's a no go.



Ok, my version of the blog memery cop-out is... if you've tagged me previously, I tag you.

Because Sometimes, You Just Gotta Dance

Funny, but when I 'bust a move' like that, all I get are flying spews of drinks and offers of medication... What's that heel-kicky move called again?

From Mrs Jenifer Bruce
N [38 Rue Des Martyrs Cocody
Abidjan,Cote d'Ivoire
jenibruce75@yahoo.ca
jenibruce002@yahoo.ca

ATTN:
DEAREST ONE OF GOD

I am the above named person from Kuwait. I am married to Mr.Abram Bruce, who worked with Kuwait embassy in Ivory Coast for nine years before he died in the year 2004. We were married for eleven years without a child. He died after a brief illness that lasted for only four days.

Before his death we were both born again Christian. Since his death I decided not to remarry or get a child outside my matrimonial home which the Bible is against. When my late husband was alive he deposited the sum of $2. 5 Million (Two Million Five Hundred U.S. Dollars) in the bank here in Abidjan in suspense account.

Presently, the fund is still with the bank. Recently, my Doctor told me that i have serious sickness which is cancer problem. The one that disturbs me most is my stroke sickness. Having known my condition I decided to donate this fund to a church or individual that will utilize this money the way I am going to instruct herein. I want a church that will use this fund for orphanages, widows, propagating the word of God and to endeavour that the house of God is maintained.

The Bible made us to understand that blessed is the hand that giveth. I took this decision because I don’t have any child that will inherit this money and my husband relatives are not Christians and I don’t want my husband’s efforts to be used by unbelievers. I don’t want a situation where this money will be used in an ungodly way. This is why I am taking this decision. I am not afraid of death hence i know where I am going. I know that I am going to be in the bosom of the Lord. Exodus 14 VS 14 says that the Lord will fight my case and I shall hold my peace.

I don’t need any telephone communication in this regard because of my health hence the presence of my husband’s relatives is around me always I don't want them to know about this development. With God all things are possible. As soon as I receive your reply I shall give you the contact of the bank here in Abidjan. I want you and the church to always pray for me because the Lord is my shepherd. My happiness is that I lived a life of a worthy Christian. Whoever that wants to serve the Lord must serve him in spirit and Truth. Please always be prayerful all through your life.

Contact me on the above e-mail address for more information’s, any delay in your reply will give me room in sourcing another church or individual for this same purpose. Please assure me that you will act accordingly as I Stated herein. Hoping to receive your
reply.

Remain blessed in the Lord.
Yours in Christ,
Mrs Jenifer Bruce


jenibruce75@yahoo.ca
jenibruce002@yahoo.ca





Sweet! $2.5 mill... from a born-again Christian... Kuwaiti... widow,... with a 'stroke sickness' and 'cancer problem'. I probably shouldn't be having fun with the situation, what with her husband dying after a 4 day illness and all, but perhaps I'm giddy from the thought of all that money... uh, to do the Lord's work, 'n all.

Wasn't there someone who posted about a group that eats these people up for lunch? Something about intentionally responding, just to have fun with 'em?

Hoo. Yah.

Previously, when it came time to add a blog to the ole blog-roll, I would just kind of slip it in without much fanfare. The thought process behind this was kind of along the lines of 'who in the heck am I, to make big announcements? I'm just a schmuck that figured out how to worky this blog-thing.' Of course, that was before I got really computer savvy and figured out how to set up a blog reader.


What? Who's laughing out there?


My apologies to any of y'all out there if that was not the way to go. Besides, when it comes to a bump in traffic, I was kind of afraid that all I could offer was a baby bump.


Now that I am confident in my double-digit daily traffic, I can somewhat confidently start passing out proclamations of coolness, starting with LT Nixon Rants. He's a boot... blogger that has an interesting mixture of posts that'll inform and make you chuckle.






Oh, almost forgot, I hear he's... er, offering unique rewards for visits or something...

A Charlie Bravo and Lessons Learned

Lovely Love mentioned a couple of times how endearing she thought I was, when we first met. Apparently, it was... painfully obvious how I felt about the situation, and how hard I tried not to screw things up.

Too badly.

I know, I know, I can hear the naysayers out there, 'What? Murphy... on shaky ground with the ladies? Never!'

As hard as it might be to comprehend, I guess you could say that I had some... interesting experiences when it came to the wimmens, one of which is practically demanding to be told.



Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, there was four girlies. They were the best of friends, and went just about everywhere and did everything together. Their names were Ami, Amy, Aimee, and Toots. Toots was a very smart girl. She had a dry sense of humor, very artistic mind, and a smokin' hot li'l body. She loved to dance, sing, and do poetry. She looked forward to her time in the Peace Corps. She was a hippy out of her era. She was just about everything that I was not.


I liked all of them, but for Toots, it was lust at first sight.


Call it my poker face, my sense of restraint, decorum, or whatever, but I didn't make it very well known how I felt. I guess I just wanted to make everything work out in its own time, taking my time, not really killing time, but you know.... yeah, I was about chickening out of the whole thing.


One evening, I went over to the girls' house to hang out before a night of festivities. After arriving at their place, I realized that I was about spent, what with screwing the pooch on various finals, pulling all-nighters to start papers from scratch, etc. I was most definitely not up for a night of drinking- heck, I could barely stay awake doing nothing more strenuous than sitting on the couch and talking.

Toots came in, and announced that her friend, 'Bradley', would be joining the group for the evening. This was just after I had decided and announced that I was going to have to beg off for that evening, and I didn't want to make it look like I was rising to some sort of guy challenge. Besides, he was just a friend from way back, not a love interest, right? Right?


The plans were made for the evening.


While Bradley and the girls were getting ready to go, Toots told me to go ahead and crash on her bed. She told me that she wouldn't be out too late, that Bradley had an early flight back home in the morning, and that she would more likely than not cuddle up with me before too long. Yeah, I had managed to convert roughly 3 months of hanging out and late night talks... into cuddle buddy status.


Man, what a dork I was.


So, true to my dork status, I went to sleep and Bradley and the girls went out to party. Toots came home after a few hours, a bit fuschnookered and more than a little frisky.


She climbed onto the bed.


The sundry sounds of soft kisses, slurpy smacks, and low sighs filled the air. Clothes were coming off and being tossed to various corners of the room. Drunken whispers could be heard in between the moans and groans. She was most definitely ready to go, having restrained herself for too long.


The only problem was, she was getting it on... with Bradley (on her roomie's bed), and not me (in her own).


Yes, way.


There are times in a persons life when they manage to say exactly what it is that's running through their heads. They are able to clearly convey their thoughts, and the resulting words are fit for remembrance... pretty much forever. They are a highlight in ones own self-view of how one acts and reacts with others. They are the stuff that tell stories, and songs are made about. They are the types of speeches and blahbitty blah de blah... This was not one of those situations where I made the perfect remarks.


Want to know what I said?


After I realized that the moans and groans were not coming from the bed I was in (dangit), I sat up, scratched at my eyes, and looked over at the partially nekkid mound of missed opportunities. I thought of the months of getting to know her and the girls. I thought of the conversations, the parties, and the time spent just hanging out. I thought of all of this, chuckled, and said,


"Well, crap".


Come to think of it, maybe I did say about exactly what was on my mind, after all...


The best part about it was, they kept on keepin' on, didn't even notice my commentary on the situation.


After about a minute of just sitting there, wondering what I should do, I got up and padded to the connecting door to see what the other girls were up to. As it was about 3 in the morning, they were busy sleeping.


Go figure, huh.


Imagine my surprise when I discovered that coeds tend to be slightly surprised when a guy appears in their room at 3 in the morning, inquiring if he might resume his slumber on their couch, as his first offer of sleeping quarters is no longer... satisfactory.


They screamed, I screamed, good times.


Toots and Bradley were still... keeping on. Noisily. Yeah, her too.


After uncurling from the fetal position, with a few seconds of explanations, much apologizing and retrieving pillows, shoes, and whatnot for them, they had a few choice words for Toots, told me to make a little more noise when walking around (it apparently was the suddenness of the appearance, I guess), and told me to pull up a couch and crash. The rest of the night was uneventful.


Lessons Learned:

1) Never be too tired to party, especially when old friend are involved.

2) Old friends are your enemy, especially all bastards named Bradley.

3) When in doubt - do something. Don't wait for the perfect occasion, scene, time, or whatever.

4) A slipper to the nuts CAN make you stop and say, 'Howdy'. Good shot by the way, Amy.

5) Don't make lists of stupid lessons when you can be making the moves on the ladies.

6) It really never is up to you or your 'moves', it's up to the lady in question if you're getting any play.

7) Sometimes (read: usually), you're just S.O.L.

8) Occasionally, you're not.

9) Lesson #8 is a rarity, not a regularity. Accept it.

10) Might as well have fun with the situation, either right then and there or several years later in a blog...

Blog Memery

A meme came around just at about the same time that a certain pic fell into my lap, so I couldn't resist. I'd say that it was like a great big bowl of Chuckle-Os, but... mebbe food isn't the best way to describe it.

I dunno, you tell me.

1. Write your own six word memoire.

My Life is Made of Fail.


2. Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you want.

See? Told ya...

3. Link to the person that tagged you in your post and to the original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere.

I was tagged from SpeakerTweaker, here.

4. Tag at least five more blogs with links.

I'm thinking about shooting this back to you, ST, iffn you don't put up pics of the recently aquired shotgun final product. As to the other blogs, 'stand by to stand by'.

5. Leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play....

See above.

Murphy Was A... Lion?

Dad used to send me a bunch of emails, interesting clips, funny jokes, and updates on family news. I was going through my old emails the other day and saw a few that made me chuckle.


I wish I had saved more of them.


He sent me an email with the following pics sometime after I came home from Iraq and we had a conversation about Marines that I knew before getting married and while married (and for some, after marriage). Doesn't necessarily apply to me (riiiight), but it's funny as hell.

Men

Before marriage...

Look at him. Virile. Powerful. King of the Jungle.

During marriage...

"Yes, Dear. No, Dear. I'm sorry, Muffin."

After marriage.

Ouch.

Again?

I entered into the bar's parking lot at about 9:30 and, looking at the dozen or so trucks, softly cursed.


It was gonna be another slow night.

Strolling into the bar, letting the too-loud country twang music and beer scent wash over me, It was hard not to notice one of the assistant managers sitting at one of the short tables by the pool tables, nursing a drink.


It was already another slow night.


With visions of getting the night off to shoot some pool and practice my crash-and-burn with the ladies, I asked the boss, "So, want me to clock on, or just hang out and give the bar my paycheck back?". He responded, "Nope, bar #2 needs a good cleanin', anyways. G'ahead and grab ya the till in the office, let me know what needs restockin', and we'll give it an hour or so and see how we're doin' then, m'kay?"

*sigh*

I clocked in, grabbed the till, and went to bar #2. The club that I worked at actually had three bars, one on each wall not occupied by the live-music stage. The doors opened up at the immediate end of bar#1, bar #2 was across the dance floor, and bar #2 (the slow bar) was tucked away on the shorter wall, behind the DJ booth and amidst all the pool tables. If it was a slow night, the only traffic you got was from the pool players, and it was looking like that night wasn't going to make me much.

About 45 minutes into the night, one of the bouncers came by with some napkins and liquor that I needed to stock the bar. "Hey man, don't worry about the bouncers' cut - hell, we'll probably make more than you tonight, anyways", he said. It was a much appreciated offer 'cause while bouncer made minimum wage plus 10% of the bartenders tips, the bartenders only made something like 2 dollars and change. It was expected that we'd make it up in tips. Looking at the loose change I had found beneath the ice bins and put into the tips jars, I figured as how he definitely would out-earn me for that night.

That's when Odd showed up for the night.

He's named, 'Odd' here, not for any great physical abnormality, but due to the fact that there was something off with the guy that I couldn't quite put my finger on. He had showed up one night, made a round of the bars, and proclaimed my drinks the best he'd had in a long while (they were Jack and Cokes, so figure that one out). He was normally a good tipper, so his service was likewise good. He was kind of quiet - didn't hardly dance, just had a few drinks, shot some pool, and left about 20 minutes before closing, a few times a month. After a couple of nights, he'd become one of my regulars.

Odd wandered into the bar, looked around at the three couples on the dance floor, gave a half-assed salute in my general direction, and glanced into the cashier's window. The cashier's window was where the club collected the cover charge on some nights, and also where we kept the pool balls. As there was no cover for this dismal night, the boss had put a couple of trays at each bar. Knowing what he was looking for, I lifted a tray in one hand, and a bottle of Jack in the other. He nodded his head while maneuvering through the tables, and I proceeded with his drink.

He put his hat on the pool table nearest the end of my bar, grabbed a stick off the wall, and rolled it on the table. I was about done stocking the beer and liquor, and was killing time before getting to rewashing all the glass, so I poured myself a Coke and leaned up against the beer coolers, at the same end of the bar. We started to talk, same conversation we'd had before, about everything and nothing, all wrapped up into one.

As he was trying to decide on while stick was least crooked, I went ahead and racked the balls for him. He asked if we were still not allowed to shoot some pool, or if he could at least buy me a drink. Looking at the boss man starting his second since I'd been there, I grumbled as how we still weren't.

He started to play, and I got to cleaning the glasses.

About half way through the Hurricanes, he sauntered over to the bar, grabbed a stool, and drug it to the counter. Shaking his head at the lonely crumpled up one dollar bill in the tip jar (a sad little attempt to bait for more tips / it was from my wallet), he dug into his jeans and came up with a ten dollar bill. He ordered a beer this time, shrugged, and stuffed the ten into my tip jar. Good man.

That money meant that I got to grab a bite to eat that night, at least without having to bum some cash off my buddies. Good times.

Turning around, I slid back the top of the beer cooler, grabbed a beer from the middle of the stack, and cranked it open with the bottle opener. I slung the opener back into my back pocket, took the cash, and made change. We resumed our conversation.

"So, what do y'all do around here for fun" he asked, looking around the still nearly empty bar - "besides hang out here all night?" He chuckled.

"Hardy har-har", I responded.

"Seriously though, I mean, what you y'all do for fun, the employees that is, after work?"

I started to explain how on occasion we would all congregate at my apartment, as I had kicked out my last roomie on account of not paying his share of rent, and make do just fine.

Taking a pull from his beer, he made a face.

"Shit, man, I'm sorry," I started. "Beer all right? I restocked earlier, if it's a little warm I can get you another if you like". He told me that sounded just fine.

I set the opened beer bottle on the sink, turned around and leaned over to another beer cooler, and slid the cover open. Reaching down for another beer, he suggested, "from the bottom, iff'n you don't mind. I had reached way down, half leaning into the cooler, when, from directly behind me he asked,


"So, what're you doing tonight?"


That's when I figured out what it was that struck me as odd about the man.

A Question

So there I was, perusing my blog roll, when my laptop started to beep at me. WTH?, I thought, don't tell me this thing is going to go kaput on me, now.

My laptop is a couple of years old now, so I'm basically expecting it to die any day.

Turns out, I have some sort of IM!

Holy crap!

Can you tell I'm not the most technoliciallyisticified type person?

Anyways, through the course of my newfound IM-ing(?), there arose the question of female Marine bloggers. I know of a few out there, but haven't really run up to all that many. Any of my faithful reader(s) care to chime in and help me out, here? Links to bloggers of the fairer persuasion from those other, lesser (I yoke, I yoke) services are welcome, but especially Marines.

I felt kind of bad cutting the conversation short, but I have to take care of some stuff. Hopefully, these links will help with some information gathering-type stuff for a potential Marine.

For her (and me), thanks.

My Lovely Love, Pt 1 of... many

Back in the day, I was an unrepentant bachelor.

I was living the good life, hardly any cash to my name, but I could always scrape up a few bucks to go out carousing with the guys. I didn't have much stuff, but folks were always tossing out perfectly good couches, tables, and whatnot. Life was good.

It was in those days that I started to notice a disturbing trend.

The group of guys that I hung out with could usually be found at the local bar, shooting pool, hanging out, and trying to stay out of too much trouble. Ok, shooting pool and hanging out, at least. It would seem like all of a sudden, one of the guys suddenly couldn't make it out nearly as often as before. He would show up and have even less money than normal. He would inevitably break the news to us...

Women... sheesh.

Cue the memories of my childhood, when, stopping by his place and knocking on his door, I was greeted by... the woman.

"Can Johnny come out and play?"

"No!" *slam*

...and another one gone
and another one gone
another one bites the dust!

I would return to the bar, makes a few toasts to yet another fallen comrade, and have visions of myself, waving the flag of bachelorhood atop the growing pile of my fallen bachelor bretheren. We would all swear up and down that it would never happen to us.


Naturally, about then was when I met a certain young Lovely.


I'll glaze over some of the introductory details right now, but a few things became very apparent, like that I must have been a Pope or something in a past life, and a good one, at that.

I remember coming back to the apartment one afternoon after screwing the pooch on some final exam or the other. It was probably my Intro to Pre-Business Math Basics 101 for Hopeless Dummies: The Study of Addition. Take two. I entered into my apartment moaning and groaning about everything except (of course), my lack of study time.

mumblegrumblemubmle... "Stupid Math classes" mumblegrumblemumble... "Stupid caca-laters" grumblemumblegrumble... "Stupid Sun shining"...

I slammed the door shut, kicked off my shoes, and prepared to sulk. Tossing myself onto the couch, I contemplated the disaster this grade would wreak on my already notable (and not in the good way) GPA. Staring off into space, my gaze was more or less strait at the ceiling fan... which was suspiciously clean. No dust, burnt out lightbulbs, or 'Scooter', my resident spider.

Suspicious.

Utilizing my super keen powers of observation, I noted that the carpet was unusually clean and there appeared to be something baking in the oven.

Holy shit, I have an oven?

Starting to think that I had wandered into the wrong apartment or something, I looked towards the back of the livingroom / dining room / computer room, only to see Lovely, hair done up in a pony-tail, gloved up, with a cleaning brush in one hand, and a smile just for li'l ole me. Seems she figgured that she'd come over, toss a delicious meal in the oven, tidy up a bit, and wait for me to celebrate and / or commiserate the end of finals.

I haven't ever figgured out what kind of monstrous deeds she might have done to be making it up with the likes of me, but if I do, I'll let y'all know. Expect more posts to come about my Lovely Love.

Heroes

Take a wander over here, and read about some heroes.





I dare you to NOT to be humbled.

Urinalisys, Interviews, and Honesty is the Best Policy?

I don't know how many urinalysis tests I've had to take.

I definitely remember the first one, in boot camp.

The ultra-motivated Drill Instructor was waiting inside the head (Marinespeak for bathrooms) for the 4 of us recruits to line up at the trough. He politely requested (for a DI) that we, uh, 'present arms' and fill up his cups for later testing. I got about half the cup filled up when he informed me (loudly) to stop pissing and get out of his sight. "You're done, maggot!"

???!

Recruit Murphy's bloated bladder almost dared to disagree with the DI for a second, there.

I discovered that it is possible to not piss all down ones leg while sprinting out of a bathroom followed by a screaming DI sounding off at decibels not previously thought possible by mere mortals.

A test I find rather difficult to forget.


Thankfully, the others were much less traumatic.

Usually what would happen for a 'random' piss test was that the platoon would line up, all clad in pt gear, and the Platoon Sergeant would call out the names of Marines to go provide a sample. This would normally be where the trash talking would commence.

"Hope y'all studied for the test!"

"You don't do pregnancy tests on the urine from male Marines, right?"

"Be the one, gents... be the one..."

"If anybody pops positive, you WILL be positively popped!"

My own personal mantra was, "again?" (I always seemed to be randomly selected.)


Not that I was worried, of course. I always kept my nose clean (Har!), and never had any trouble. A few of the guys, of course, well... there's always one knucklehead that thinks he can get away with anything, I guess.

Having said that, I was kind of surprised at the number of interviews outside of the Corps that touched in the interview process with past drug use. One particularly memorable time, I was in between finding miserable jobs and decided to run over to the Big City PD, to see what was shakin'. I had a few questions, and the recruiter was most informative. During our conversation, he rather gracefully guided the talk to prospective barriers to ones employment at the department.

Now, I'm no angel, and I told him so. He told me that as of that time there was nothing I had brought up that would forever outright bar me from working with them should I decide to do so. Nevertheless, he started through his list.

U.S. Citizen?

Yessir.

Ever been convicted of a felony?

Nosir.

Got any warrants?

WTH kind of friggin' post-op brain donor would go get info for a PD with a felony or warrants?

Nosir.


We spent the next couple of minutes just breezing through his checklist. Until he got to the part about drug use.


What kind of drugs have you used?

Prescription, sir.

(him) *sigh*

(me) Sir?

Come on, man. High school... college... life... ever had just a puff, a sniff, a lick, squirt or shot, or something?

Nope.

Ever go to any parties?

Yessir.

Parties... where there were drugs?

Probably, I would imagine.

So, you've tried them, then.

Nosir.

Everybody's tried 'em, once in their life.

Okaaay.

(him, again) *sigh*

You know you'd have to take a urinalysis and polygraph, right?

Hell, I could do the piss test in my sleep, brother.

I tried to explain that I was a geek in high school, too busy bombing with the ladies and finding new and improved ways NOT to study in college, got tested at every 'random' drug test in the Corps, and somehow never got around to that stuff.

He didn't buy it, not for one second.

Almost made me feel like I should have taken a puff or two (but not inhale, of course) just so I'd have something to admit to.

All The Cool Kids Are Doing It / Self Bloggy Introspective Navel Gazing

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All together now,

Riiiiiight....

You know, come to think of it, I had noticed somewhat of a shift in my blog the last few months or so. I dunno if it was going from my best attempts at telling a few stories word for word to talking in my own 'voice'. It might come as a surprise to some, but I am not nearly as... colorful as most of the Marines, soldiers, and sailors out there. Heh, some say, "It's always the quiet ones you gotta watch out for...", and I guess in my case it sometimes is proven true.

That's not to say that I can't string a few interesting words together, now and then. It's just that I guess I would have to say that I pick my moments. I also was a pretty firm believer in the phrase, 'publicly praise, privately punish'. If my boys did good, I'd let them (and others) know about it. If they messed up, I'd pull 'em aside and fix it. If they really pooched something, well, sometimes you had to deal with it then and there.

I nominally got into 'trouble', once (yeah, just once), and it took me a few seconds to realize that the SNCO was giving my hell for... wait for it... not being mean enough.

*ahem*

If he had just walked around the back of the tents 3 hours earlier, he would have seen me about knee deep in a pair of Lance Criminals that had really torqued me off. He also would have heard another Sergeant stop by after I had told my guys to disappear, 'Shit, man, you scared the hell outta me! I was having friggin' boot camp flashbacks!'

If he could see me now, he would be happy to learn that I do know a few words, like oh say these from the front. page. of. my. blog.

"Kill Fuckers and Break Stuff", "Big Green Weenie", "Fuck that Shit", "...take it up the stink", and, "Crap".

Blog Cuss-O-Meter, my ass.