Author: Maximilian

If there’s at least one upside to having to wear masks in the midst of the COVID pandemic, it’s that Marines can now safely grow out those thigh-ticklers in peace. When any Lance Corporal is given an inch, you can be guaranteed they will take it as many miles as they can. There’s nothing particularly fascinating or attractive about beards, but Lance Corporals make their money on small acts of rebellion, clinging to what slivers of identity they have left.

At this point I haven’t figured out if Marine veterans grow beards out of desire or out of spite for having not been allowed to grow it out for (at least) 4 years.

Can you believe the first comic strip I did about COVID was nearly an entire year ago? What a strange time we live in.

For the first time in history, women have begun training as Marines at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego, marking a historic first for “Hollywood Marines.” [Marines trained in San Diego are colloquially known as Hollywood Marines, despite the fact that Hollywood is absolutely nowhere near San Diego.]

This is of course a complete non-issue for most sane people, but it hasn’t stopped the vocal minority of Angry Facebook Veterans from espousing their displeasure at the idea that… Women are being trained in a new location? This doesn’t make any logical sense, since women have been in the Marine Corps since Opha May Johnson in 1918. The idea that there’s some sacred tradition of not training women in San Diego is the most neckbeard incel shit I’ve ever heard.

Some people still don’t believe that recruits go to the Padres game at MCRD San Diego, but I am here to tell you that they in fact do. I went to the game myself when I was a recruit, and I stuffed my fat fucking face with all of the junk food I could buy. Women will now be graced with this blessed excursion from the Depot, if only for a couple of hours.

Let them eat hot dogs.

Things get emotional when you come home from the field. The drive thru immediately after turning your weapon into the armory is a ritual we’ve all partaken during our enlistments. After days or weeks of little sleep, no showering, and a gut full of slowly digesting MRE’s, a McDouble off the dollar menu is a beefy treat from the gods.

Fast food workers are the real heroes to Marines fresh from the field.

Of course…you’re going to need some fast food to move those MRE’s along.

This is a joke, but it would surprise no one. With such little control over your own life while enlisted in the service of Uncle Sam, it should come as no surprise that you have equally no say over what vaccines you are given as well. You haven’t lived until you’ve stood in line with 150 other Marines to get a delicious cocktail of medically administered flu, anthrax, and smallpox vaccines all at once.

My entire battalion flew across the globe with swollen, disgusting scabs on our arms from the scar-inducing smallpox vaccine.

Of course, with the current state of affairs, Marines should be so lucky to be getting inoculated against COVID. Marines need to be kept healthy and ready; if not to fight our nation’s wars, then to at least keep Doc from dying of boredom.

(Funny how that strip from 11 months ago has aged. Like most, I really thought the pandemic would be over and done with by now, rather than a continued discussion almost an entire year later)

It’s a widely known fact that everyone loves a Marine in uniform. However irresistible they may be to potential partners, Marines also can’t resist romancing essentially anything that’s willing and warm. As a result, it’s hard to take any kind of compliment seriously when it comes from a Marine, knowing that their steady paychecks single-handedly keep strip clubs within a 50 mile radius of any military base afloat and economically prosperous.

There’s obvious science behind this. Take any fit 19 or 20 year old Lance Corporal with poor impulse control, decent enough looks, and an overabundance of confidence, and you’ll end up with downright impressive pregnancy and divorce rates across the nation.

Naturally, this comic was inspired by an actual conversation with my own wife, who refuses to believe me when I say she looks great. She does look great, but she’s also not wrong.

Unless you’ve been living under a rock or something, you probably saw that around 20,000 National Guard troops were deployed to DC in anticipation of next week’s Biden inauguration.

Honestly this is great. DC’s metropolitan area has surely been hit with the same economic downturn as most cities in America, so getting some troops in there to stimulate the strip clubs and Subways is really going to help turn things around. We can only hope that the capitol’s infrastructure can handle the influx of rock-solid MRE excrement and increased other bodily fluids entering its sewage system.

All of this is pretty crazy, but what I don’t understand is where the hell are their iso mats? Cold floors are no joke.

When Y’all Qaeda and Incel ISIS stormed the Capitol of the United States of America on January 6th, 2021, I kept hoping and praying that we would send in the best of the best… Silent, but deadly. America’s warriors of shadow and stealth…

The Silent Drill Platoon.

Since 1775, the Silent Drill Platoon has practiced a sacred oath of silence, fighting hand-t0-hand with bayonets affixed, in synchronous, choreographed strikes against our nation’s enemies. When not on treacherous stealth missions as an elite special operations force, they do ceremonies at the Superbowl or whatever.

Pray you never hear the clacking of their gloves and rifles heading in your direction… For it will be the last thing you hear.

(Legit considering turning “Silent Drill Platoon” into its own series of dope spec-ops stuff.)

It’s never a surprise to be greeted by a mandatory urinalysis upon returning home from your holiday leave block, despite what your command thinks. You can almost guarantee that you will find yourself standing in a line wrapped around the company office, holding an empty cup with your name on it, waiting for your turn to empty your bladder in front of an unlucky (or lucky, depending on what floats your boat) NCO.

Yet, somehow, at least one guy in your company will pop on the drug test, citing uncontrolled holiday leave parties back home and mingling with the wrong crowd he left behind when he enlisted.

At the very least, the mandatory urinalysis is a small price to pay for the temporary freedom of being on leave. Welcome back, Marines.

Terminal Lance mega-fans may know that I’ve done a couple of strips very similar to this one in the past, but they were many years ago. Think of this as the HD remaster. I’m in a weird position right now where, obviously, I love all of the work I’ve created, but I’ve grown so much as an artist over the last 10 years that some of the older work really bugs me (visually and otherwise). I like revisiting some of these ideas in a modern light.

On a side note, I wanted to tell you all that I released a brand new animated short film that I’m super excited about called POST “Frag Out,” which you can watch below. Frag Out took up a good chunk of my 2020 year. Myself and another Marine veteran started an animation studio and this is our first short. We want to make plenty more, so subscribe to the channel and stay tuned.

Don’t blame the elves for thinking this was sent by an illiterate child, it was written by a Marine. Desperate times call for desperate measures–if Santa can’t deliver the goods, who can? It was worth a shot at least.

This year is an especially odd year for the holidays with, you know, the whole global viral pandemic thing that has halted the world. I’m sure many Marines are either choosing to stay on the base or being forced to stay. At the very least, they’re making the best of it.

It’s a weird time for everyone, myself included. With a British wife, we usually try to visit her home in London for the holidays–or at the very least visit my family in Oregon–but obviously that’s not happening this year. In fact, this is the first time I’ve spent the holidays in California in 10 years.

It’s officially the holiday season, a time for giving and reflection. This week saw the beginning of Hanukkah, and all four active duty Jewish Marines were probably in the field, because they don’t give Jewish holidays off.

I’ll never forget my first week in boot camp as a Jewish recruit. During one of the first weeks, on a Friday night, our drill instructor comes rushing into the squad bay and demands our attention. Eyeballs.

“Who here is Jewish?” he asked.

I was hesitant to say anything. If you’re Jewish, you’d understand. Historically, when the military comes around asking where the Jews are, it hasn’t gone well for us. However, I did speak up.

“This recruit, sir,” I responded, along with one other recruit.

“Come with me,” he said as he lead us out of the squad bay.

We had no idea where he was taking us. It’s bootcamp, so Friday and every other day of the week blend together.

He took us to a small temple across the way from the exorbitant football stadium-sized MCRD San Diego base church, where a Rabbi led Friday night Shabbat service. Myself and my newfound Hebrew battle buddy were surrounded by a small gathering of other yarmulke-clad recruits and civilian old ladies that enjoyed spending their Friday nights with the recruits. They were actually the best, because they felt sorry for us, and brought us a smattering of cookies and other goodies while we were tucked away from the drill instructors and other recruits.

Being Jewish in boot camp ended up being a profound hook up, because we’d get to spend Friday nights away from the squad bay, and Sunday mornings were left alone while everyone else went to church. During the Camp Pendleton phase, we even got whisked away one Friday for a special beach service at Camp Del Mar, where one civilian Jewish girl let us use her cell phone to call home.

Happy Hanukkah, Marines.