Terminal Lance #20 “The Green Weenie Strikes Again!”
March 12, 2010
This comic was inspired by recent events at my final physical. Over the years in an infantry battalion, you really don’t get to go to BAS enough. Well, those of us that are worth a damn don’t. The stigma associated with going to medical while you’re in the infantry is most definitely one of taboo. To go to medical is to be weak, and as a result most grunts end up with all kinds of improperly treated problems by the time their final physicals roll around and have no real excuse for it.
When I was in there being examined, all of the problems I’d ever had were coming to light, and the good doctor was noticeably annoyed. Granted, she’s an H&S Bn. doctor and probably doesn’t see too many grunts, but I can imagine her frustration at my helplessness. She took about 4 pages of notes while I explained all of my problems, to include not having my medical record because my parent unit decided to take it to Mojave Viper instead of actually sorting out who was staying or going. Oh the green weenie strikes hard, and it strikes fast.
This ultimately led to me getting about 17 XRAYs done on my back and ribcage, as well as about 4 follow up appointments that I have yet to complete.
This story may not seem like it has much to do with the strip, but getting “fucked on a daily basis” is precisely what it’s like to be in the infantry. The medical record thing is just one of the many nuances of being in the grunts. She was dumbfounded at the lack of recording and actual procedure followed by my unit’s BAS. I never thought anything of it, I assumed that’s just how the Marine Corps was. But, did you know, that medical care outside of the infantry is actually quite up to par? The clinic I went to was not a shady, cleared out barracks-turned-BAS, but an actual clinic. The green weenie may be taking its toll on your rectum behind the scenes and you may not even know it, because you’ve never been exposed to the other side.
In any case, without even looking at the big picture of the big green weenie, grunts get fucked on a daily basis for a number of other reasons. Mass punishment is a common problem, as it usually accomplishes nothing. The same people make the same stupid decisions, and it especially doesn’t work in a weapons platoon–and I’ll explain why: Three different MOS’, three completely different kinds of people. The allure of machine guns, mortars or rockets appeal to very different people. These three different personality types cannot be expected to act the same, and cannot be punished the same. In my experience, the brutes in Machine guns tend to fuck it up the most, and “skatin’ Assault” and Mortars end up paying for it as well.
Aside from that, grunts typically don’t get half of the benefits or the benefits even explained to them that the POGs of the Corps do. You have no idea how many times I’ve said, “…what is that?” when someone around the ComCam shop has mentioned some Marine Corps order that everyone seems to know but me. It’s an unfair dichotomy, to be sure. I do feel, however, that the grunt path is the true path of the Marine Corps experience. It is what it is, and it will remain that way long after I’m gone.