by Dan Caddy
ONE PULL-UP,
FATTY?
I BET YOU
JACK OFF TO
COOKBOOKS!”
DRILL SERGEANTS ARE THE ULTIMATE PROBLEM SOLVERS. . .
“I AM GOING
TO INSTALL A
WINDOW IN
YOUR STOMACH
SO YOU CAN SEE
WHERE YOU’RE
GOING WITH
YOUR HEAD UP
YOUR ASS!”
WE PULLED OUR HEADS OUT . . .
Upon finally arriving at our Basic Training Company, and following the initial Shark Attack, we found ourselves standing in formation in front of the senior drill sergeant. He wanted to set the proper tone from the beginning. Facing the formation, he gave some odd commands.
DS: PLATOON, ATTENTION!
(PLATOON STANDS AT ATTENTION.)
DS: NOW BEND OVER LIKE YOU’RE GOING TO BITE YOUR FUCKING CROTCH!
(EVERYONE IS BENT OVER.)
DS: NOW, ON THREE, STAND UP AS FAST AS YOU CAN AND YELL “POP!”
PLATOON: ONE! . . . TWO! . . . THREE! POP!
DS: PRIVATES, DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT WAS THE SOUND OF?
PLATOON: NO, DS! WHAT?
DS: THE SOUND OF YOU PULLING YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS!
DRILL SERGEANTS LOVE PAYING YOU COMPLIMENTS ON YOUR PHYSIQUE . . .
“PRIVATE,
YOU LOOK LIKE
A CAN OF BISCUITS
THAT’S JUST
BEEN POPPED
OPEN.”
DRILL SERGEANTS ARE EXPERTS AT JUDGING BODY MASS . . .
“YOU’RE
NOT
OVERWEIGHT.
YOU’RE
OVERFAT!”
DRILL SERGEANTS CARE ABOUT YOUR LONG-TERM HEALTH . . .
“SOLDIER,
IF I CHECKED
YOUR DOG TAGS
RIGHT NOW,
I’M GUESSING
YOUR BLOOD
TYPE WOULD BE
DIABETES!
GET A SALAD!”
YOUR DRILL SERGEANT WANTS YOU TO LOOK YOUR BEST . . .
“YOU’RE GONNA
BE SO RIPPED
BY THE TIME
I’M DONE WITH YOU,
YOUR NIPPLES
ARE GONNA HAVE
SIX-PACKS!”
DRILL SERGEANTS JUST WANT YOU TO MAKE GOOD CHOICES . . .
“PRIVATE,
LIFE IS LIKE
A BOX OF
CHOCOLATES.
IT LASTS
LONGER IF
YOU’RE NOT
FAT.”
TOP TEN THINGS YOU ARE SLOWER THAN
10.Turtle shit going uphill sideways.
9.The VA.
8.Snail snot in peanut butter.
7.Stephen Hawking with a dead battery.
6.A one-fingered whore at a circle jerk.
5.A West Virginia prom date.
4.A monkey trying to fuck its way to the center of a coconut.
3.Helen Keller in a spelling bee.
2.A midget climbing a beanstalk.
1.A snail riding a sloth swimming uphill through molasses in January.
DRILL SERGEANTS CAN DESCRIBE YOU IN WAYS YOU NEVER THOUGHT POSSIBLE . . .
“YOU ARE THAT
KIND OF GUY WHO
WIPES HIS ASS FROM
BACK TO FRONT,
GETS SHIT ON HIS
BALLS, AND WONDERS
WHY NO ONE WILL
BLOW HIM. WE ARE
GOING TO FIX YOU,
PRIVATE!”
YOUR DRILL SERGEANTS WANT YOU TO FEEL PRETTY . . .
“YOU LOOK
LIKE SOMEONE
FUCKING SET YOU
ON FIRE AND THEN
DECIDED TO PUT
YOU OUT WITH A
GODDAMN WET
CHAIN.”
CREATIVE TEACHING METHODS . . .
Drill Sergeant C was the most creative DS in the company. It also happened that he was the one most easily pissed off, which allowed him more chances at being creative. But what he hated most was privates falling asleep when he was talking. We were in the war room receiving some sort of instruction from DS C when Pvt. Fuckup starts to nod off. DS C saw this and silently walked over to the unsuspecting Pvt. and screamed.
“DOES IT SOUND LIKE I’M SINGING YOU A FUCKING LULLABY, PRIVATE? IS MY VOICE SOOTHING?”
Pvt. Fuckup stands to parade rest faster than he can open his eyes. “NO, DS!”
“THEN WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU SLEEPING DURING MY INSTRUCTION?”
“I . . . I dunno, DS!”
“BULLSHIT. YOU FELL ASLEEP BECAUSE YOU MUST BE TIRED. LET’S FIX THAT.”
At this point DS C instructed Pvt. Fuckup to go to his room, dress in his PTs, and bring his bunk into the war room. DS C continued his instructions until Pvt. Fuckup finished bringing the bunk into the war room.
“Now lay the fuck down in your bunk and shut your fucking eyes.”
DS C began to sing a lullaby in his ears.
“Rockaby, Private, in the war room, falling asleep, FRONT LEANING REST POSITION MOVE,” and then he had him in his bunk, in the leaning rest, fake-snoring with his eyes closed for the duration of our time in the war room.
DRILL SERGEANTS REALLY WANT TO BE FRIENDS WITH YOU . . .
“I’M GONNA
CALL YOU BASKIN,
PRIVATE, ’CAUSE
YOU’RE ALL
THIRTY-ONE
FLAVORS
OF FUCKED UP.”
DRILL SERGEANTS THINK YOU’RE SMART . . .
“YOU’RE
ABOUT AS
SHARP AS
THE LEADING
EDGE ON A
BOWLING
BALL.”
REMEMBER, YOUR DRILL SERGEANT KNOWS THE MEANING OF LIFE . . .
“LIFE SUCKS;
GET A
HELMET!”
HE JUST AIN’T RIGHT . . .
I had a private one cycle that I will never forget. We drill sergeants joke around about privates being stupid and call them slow and dumb, etc., but I’m pretty well convinced that this kid actually had something seriously wrong with him. We had one incredibly frustrating day of Basic Rifle Marksmanship (BRM) where I had to give this kid one-on-one special time on the Weaponeer, and I shit you not, it was like he broke down each of the fundamentals of marksmanship and did exactly the opposite, on purpose. I walked up behind him and stared at the back of his head, seriously contemplating where I would hide his body that evening after I killed him, and I noticed that he had two horizontal scars on the back of his head—side by side like two big dashes.
ME: PRIVATE, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO THE BACK OF YOUR HEAD?
PRIVATE (IN A SOUTHERN DRAWL): DRILL SERGEANT, MY MAMA HIT ME IN THE BACK OF THE HEAD WITH A CLAW HAMMER WHEN I WAS A KID.
ME: HOLY SHIT, PRIVATE! I GUESS YOU CAME BY IT HONESTLY: EVEN YOUR MOM CAN’T COMPLETE A SIMPLE TASK TO STANDARD . . .
DRILL SERGEANTS FROWN ON PEOPLE STARING AT THEM . . .
“PRIVATES,
Y’ALL HAVE BEEN
EYE-FUCKING
ME SO MUCH
LATELY I THINK
THERE IS A
POSSIBILITY I
MAY BE FUCKING
PREGNANT.”
“QUIT EYE-FUCKING ME,
PRIVATE! DO YOU WANT
TO HAVE EYE BABIES?”
“LOOK AT ME
AGAIN, AND I
WILL TEAR
YOUR FACE OFF
AND WEAR IT
TO THE NEXT
FORMATION!”
DRILL SERGEANTS HATE SPITTING IN FORMATION . . .
“IF ANOTHER
ONE OF YOU
FUCKFACES SPITS
IN MY FORMATION,
I’M GONNA MAKE
YOU PICK IT UP
AND PUT IT IN
YOUR POCKET!”
BUT DRILL SERGEANTS ARE OKAY WITH SOME TEARS . . .
“YOUR TEARS ARE
LIKE JET FUEL TO M
E:
IF I COULD BOTTLE
THEM, I WOULD TAKE
THEM HOME.”
“ARE YOU CRYING?
PLEASE KEEP CRYING—
I LIKE TO LICK THE
TEARS OFF OF
PRIVATES’ FACES. IT
SUSTAINS ME.”
THERE’S NO CRYING AT BASIC . . .
One night, about two weeks into the cycle, Drill Sergeant B, the meanest motherfucker I ever met, walked into our room and said, “Has the crying stopped at night yet, Privates?” To which all of us replied in frightened voices, “Yes, Drill Sergeant . . .” He quickly snapped back, “Good, Privates.”
He turned to leave the room and then he did an about-face, came back in, and said, “Privates, I’m always watching you. When you go to sleep, I’m there in your nightmares. Even when you graduate and you join the big Army, I’ll still be watching you, waiting for you to fuck up so I can smoke the shit out of you. In ten years, if you see me walking down the street, I will see you, see the look of fear in your eyes, and know you were one of my privates. So I suggest if you ever see me, you do an about-face and run as fast as you can. But it doesn’t matter how far you run; I’ll find you. I will find you and smoke the ever-loving shit out of you.” He then headed toward the door and left us.
Right as the door was about to slam shut we heard him say, “Sweet dreams, Privates.”
DRILL SERGEANTS KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH BULLIES . . .
“WANT TO STOP
A BULLY?
MAN THE FUCK
UP AND
PUNCH THAT
MOTHERFUCKER
IN THE THROAT!
PROBLEM SOLVED.”
SHOWERING IS NOT OPTIONAL . . .
My drill sergeant was doing a routine inspection when suddenly I hear:
“WHAT THE UNHOLY FUCK IS THAT SMELL, PRIVATES?! IT SMELLS LIKE Y’ALL DECIDED TO USE YOUR GODDAMNED WALL LOCKERS AS SHITTERS!”
He continues on, and not two seconds later I hear:
“ALL RIGHT, SERIOUSLY, PRIVATES, NO MORE BULLSHITTING, THE FUCK IS THAT SMELL?”
A PRIVATE SAYS, “DRILL SERGEANT, PRIVATE X DOESN’T PERFORM PERSONAL HYGIENE, DRILL SERGEANT!”
DS: THE FUCK DID YOU SAY?
So the drill sergeant walks up to the now freshly named Private Shower and says:
“YOU NASTY LITTLE FUCK! YOU SMELL WORSE THAN A THAI HOOKER ON TWO-FOR-ONE NIGHT! I MEAN, HOLY HELL, PRIVATE, I HAVE BEEN IN SHIT, AND I’D RATHER BE KNEE-DEEP IN IT THAN SMELL YOUR UNSANITARY, INHUMAN, UNWORTHY, REPULSIVE ASS! FROM NOW ON, PRIVATE, WE’RE GOING TO HAVE A SIGN-IN SHEET BY THE SHOWERS, AND YOU WILL HAVE TO SHOWER WITH EVERY OTHER PISS-FOR-BRAIN PRIVATE HERE. YOUR NAME WILL BE FIRST EVERY FUCKING NIGHT FOR THE REST OF THE CYCLE OR I SWEAR TO WHATEVER GOD YOU BELIEVE IN I WILL HAVE YOU DOING LOW CRAWLS IN THE PIT UNTIL YOU SHIT MOTOR OIL!”
DRILL SERGEANTS KNOW HOW TO GET YOUR ATTENTION . . .
“HEY!
YOU
WITH
THE
FACE!”
DRILL SERGEANTS WANT YOU TO HAVE SITUATIONAL AWARENESS . . .
“YOU PRIVATES
ARE SO CLUELESS
YOU WOULDN’T
NOTICE A GIANT
PURPLE DINOSAUR
CLIMBING OUT OF
MY ASS.”
YOUR DRILL SERGEANT HAS PLENTY OF RULES TO LIVE BY . . .
“REMEMBER,
PRIVATES,
THAT THERE IS
ONLY ONE RULE
THAT YOU SHOULD
FOLLOW NO MATTER
THE SITUATION:
IF IT DON’T
SMELL RIGHT,
DON’T EAT IT.”
DRILL SERGEANTS CAN HELP YOU IMPROVE YOUR VOCABULARY . . .
“IF YOU ARE
LOOKING FOR
SYMPATHY, YOU
CAN FIND IT IN
THE DICTIONARY
BETWEEN ‘SHIT’
AND ‘SYPHILIS,’
WHERE IT
BELONGS.”
AND DRILL SERGEANTS KNOW A LOT ABOUT MUSIC . . .
“YOU PRIVATES
SOUND WORSE
THAN AN OCTOPUS
TRYING TO FUCK
A SET OF BAGPIPES,
SWEET BABY
JESUS!”
DRILL SERGEANTS WANT YOU TO ASK GOOD QUESTIONS . . .
“PRIVATE,
I CAN EAT A
BOWL OF
ALPHABET SOUP
AND SHIT OUT
A BETTER
QUESTION THAN
THAT.”
DRILL SERGEANTS CARE ABOUT THE FUNDAMENTALS OF MARKSMANSHIP . . .
“THAT
TRIGGER
IS NOT
YOUR DICK.
QUIT
JERKIN’ IT!”
A CURE FOR THE JITTERS . . .
There was a private who was always jittery and nervous. It was about the fifth week in, and this private was in formation. He had snakes showing (boot laces hanging out) and the drill sergeant walked right up to him.
DRILL SERGEANT: GODDAMMIT. EVERY TIME THERE IS SOMETHING WITH YOU.
The private just stood there and started to shiver a little.
DS: JESUS, ARE YOU FUCKING SHAKING ALREADY, PRIVATE? WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING ISSUE?
PVT.: I WILL FIX THE BOOT, DS!
DS: PRIVATE, WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU JERKED OFF?
PVT.: UHHH, I HAVEN’T, DS.
DS: HOLY FUCKING SHIT, PRIVATE. THAT IS YOUR GODDAMN FUCKING ISSUE RIGHT THERE. YOU ARE ALL BUILT UP INSIDE AND YOU CAN’T FUCKING THINK STRAIGHT. YOU GOTTA GET THAT SHIT OUT OF YOU. TAKE YOUR ASS UPSTAIRS RIGHT NOW TO THE FUCKING LATRINE. START YANKING ONE OUT. YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES. GO!
The private just stood there. He had no idea what to do.
DS: GET THE FUCK UPSTAIRS RIGHT NOW TO THE LATRINE OR I WILL FUCKING KEEP YOU IN THE FRONT LEANING REST UNTIL HELL FUCKING FREEZES OVER!
The private took off running as fast as he could to the stairs. The DS had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.
After a few minutes, the DS walked over to the main office and yelled in there: “Hey, battle! I just did a head count and we are missing a private. Can you go upstairs and check the latrines to see if someone is hiding?” We were doing everything within our power to keep from laughing as the other DS went up the stairs. Everyone knew what was going to happen.
The windows were open to vent out the bays and all of a sudden we heard: “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, PRIVATE!? HOLY FUCKING SHIT! PUT YOUR GODDAMN DICK AWAY. I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS. I HAVE SEEN IT FUCKING ALL. HOLY SHIT! FUCK! FUCK!”
The DS poked his head out the window. “I HAVE SEEN IT ALL. THAT IS IT. I CAN RETIRE.”
DRILL SERGEANTS DON’T ONLY GET INSIDE YOUR HEAD . . . . . .
“I’M GOING
TO LEVITATE
AND FALL
ASLEEP INSIDE
YOUR SOUL!”
DRILL SERGEANTS ARE VERY SELF-AWARE . . .
“PRIVATES,
I WOKE UP THIS
MORNING AND
LOOKED IN THE
MIRROR AND
REALIZED THERE
WERE TWO BAD
MOTHERFUCKERS
IN THIS WORLD
. . . AND I’M BOTH
OF THEM.”
SAVE ME! I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE . . .
We were outside the gas chamber right after the DS had given us our safety brief, waiting for our turn to mask up and go inside. We were having one of the few moments when we were alone as a troop, with the opportunity to sit around and shoot the shit. The DS’s were fucking with the platoons ahead of us and laughing their asses off as the other troops exited the double doors. We got the chance to talk to a few of the guys who had gone through—a few said it’s not so bad, others compared it to the worst experience of their lives.
Well, one private, let’s call him Pvt. Dumb, was talking shit like nothing else. He was saying shit like “Oh, it can’t be that bad” and “I bet I could do PT throu
gh that shit.” Well, our time came and what happened will stay ingrained in my head for eternity. In fact, I hope it is the last scene I see on my deathbed so I can die laughing.
As we entered the door, Pvt. Dumb immediately started to realize that this shit burns your skin a little. He started freaking out and everyone could see the distress on his face. The DS’s lined us all up against the wall and made us remove our masks one by one and recite our Social Security numbers. This was moments after the DS’s explained, for the thousandth time, how to clear the mask after putting it on. Pvt. Dumb barely made it through this part and thought we had finished the process.
Next, the DS’s lined us up in formation on top of a shit ton of mucus and puke. Again we were told to remove our masks. This time we would begin exercising in cadence for thirty seconds. Each section would remove their masks, do their exercise, and exit the door, and then the next section would step forward and wait for their command to do the same. Fortunately I was in the rear and got the opportunity to watch Pvt. Dumb.
Pvt. Dumb removed his mask and started wigging the fuck out. He lost control of himself and tried putting his mask back on. Only he forgot to clear it. He fell to his knees and started screaming, “SAVE ME, SAVE ME. I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE,” and I couldn’t help but smile. The DS inside the chamber ran up to PVT Dumb while he was on his knees screaming and crying. His hands, face, and uniform were covered in the mucus and puke from the guys before us. The DS says to him, “Man the fuck up, Scout. Remember what we told you and put your mask back on and step to the back of the line. What is your problem, you pussy-fuck piece of shit?”
