Hot dang, two more years and we’ll hit a quarter century. That’s pretty awesome.
I love the Marine Corps, even though it failed to give me deployments and a battle field commission, it changed my life immeasurably for the better. I went in as a 26 year old man child with no real discipline, direction, or drive.
And came out a Marine.
With all the ego and confidence that entails after being degraded and beaten like a rented mule for three months in Boot and then another three months in School of Infantry and SURVIVING IT ALL.
And if you want to know how ingrained it becomes in your life, after being out for EIGHT YEARS, I still have dreams of re-enlisting (usually naked) and nightmares about losing a piece of gear. (usually a rifle)
I remember in Boot Camp, standing Fire Watch in the back of the squad bay, and hearing some poor kid screaming, “AYE SIR!” in his SLEEP and snickering. That’s how much of a mind screw they do to you in their conversion of the weak modern American male into warriors.
Anyways, I don’t drink anymore. But if I did, I’d have been plastered by 8am. Instead, I’m just going to drink a Monster and eat some crayons.
And wish the most magnificent cult of warrior degenerates the world has ever seen a Happy Birthday.
I miss you all.
SEMPER FI!
Gunpowder and Ink! 