Author: Maximilian

Life as a junior enlisted Marine is arduous enough as it is, what with the constant, ever-flowing stream of bullshit drifting your way each and every day. Miscellaneous Staff NCO’s make that life even more annoying, as they seem to be lurking around nearly every corner on base (and sometimes even off base) to “correct” you in behavior that is deemed as unbecoming of the Corps. This is naturally more tedious than it sounds, since this is never about anything important, but random slights that no one is actually sure are real rules.

Forgetting to shave, not wearing a belt, or even just walking on some grass can be grounds for a massively butt-hurt lifer Staff NCO to spawn out of nowhere and make you the victim of his undiagnosed anger management problems. Even leaving your barracks room with a day old shave makes you feel uneasy, because you know they are lurking, seemingly everywhere, specifically to make your life that extra bit miserable than it needs to be.

Meet Lyfr, the app that lets Staff NCO’s track down Marines that may (or may not) be breaking arbitrary base-wide or MCO rules that no one cares about.

Be careful out there this weekend, gents… You never know who might pop up to yell at you.

During your stay at the luxurious Marine Corps resort and spa, you’ll have numerous days and moments that will stick with you and many that you would consider somewhat terrifying. There are few days as nerve-wracking as those first moments of arrival at an infantry unit.

Fresh off the parade deck, little boots from SOI are shuttled over to their new place of duty on the same day of graduation, still paying off their negative leave balance from the 10 days of boot leave a couple of months prior. For some, it can be a short drive across the base from 52 Area of Camp Pendleton to one of the infantry strongholds. Others may spend a couple of hours driving over to Twentynine Palms.

For myself and the other 15 boots in my section, we were taken over to San Diego International Airport, where we hopped on the next evening flight to Honolulu, arriving at my new infantry battalion home sometime around 9 or 10. At this point, the barracks was awash with the lingering smell of alcohol abuse and depression, with shirtless Lance Corporals catcalling from the catwalk as we arrived at Mackie Hall.

I suppose I lucked out personally, because the two Machinegunners I got roomed with were too drunk and tired to care that I arrived. They pointed to a rack and said “that one’s yours,” and went back to sleep in their silkies.

The boot friends that I arrived with?

Well they weren’t as lucky. They were fucked with until the wee hours of the morning.

In every Marine Corps infantry company there exists at least one Marine that’s just a total piece of shit, but keeps getting selected for meritorious boards and other awards. It’s like he’s casted some kind of shrouding spell over the eyes of his Staff NCO’s and Officers and they can’t see him for what he really is. As he gets selected for meritorious boards, showered with praise, the Marines around can’t help but wonder…

What the fuck?

There’s tens to twenties to perhaps even a hundred Marines in the company that deserve such praise ahead of this guy, but somehow, someway, he rises above the rest like some kind of shit-filled Space X rocket. He’ll eventually fail upward so far that he’ll some day be in charge of an entire platoon, or a company, or a battalion himself.

And thus, a new Staff NCO is born.

I don’t know how many of you saw the Game of Thrones series finale, but Bran the Broke-dick is basically that guy. He does fuck-all for 8 seasons, never uses his advanced powers to help the fight, and ends up being king of everyone.

Game the game, gents. Because the game will go on whether you’re part of it or not.

We’ve all been there. It’s 94 degrees outside, your First Sergeant decided that today the entire company was going to go for a 10 mile hike. 6 miles into it, that dingy high-back of a safety vehicle starts to look more and more like paradise.

Doc knows this. Doc knows you’re going to try and skate out of this. Doc’s job on the hump is not to make sure the Marines are okay, Doc’s job is to keep the fear of god in them in the event that they want to fall out. Without Doc ready to administer the infamous silver bullet, how many Marines do you think would actually stick around for the entire thing?

This is similar to the practice of requiring 4-year contracts to Marines.

If you had the option to leave, wouldn’t you?

The Moon Beam is an enchanted item gifted to you during your earliest days of the Corps. It is a massive flashlight fit for cumbersome D-batteries, oddly shaped to clip on to your chest and still point forward. It comes with many colored lenses, the red of which will likely be used the most. As with most of the original items you’re issued on the first day of boot camp, it is likely to be lost very early on in the tussle and bustle of daily Drill Instructor rampages and recruit-on-recruit stealing to replace their own lost items.

Those that still have it may remember the subtle warmth it provided on those cold nights of recruit firewatch. The little moonbeam is a terrible piece of gear, dying within no more than a few hours of use, but it is one of your only pieces of starting gear and you cherish it all the same.

Three years into the fleet and those early days of bootcamp are but a distant memory. The confusion, shock and worry you felt during your first nights of the Corps are quaint at this point. The motivation that once coursed through your veins ready to tackle the worst of the worst has faded into a growing blur of alcohol-induced depression. The lowering inches of your low-reg haircut signal the decline of your internal motivation to keep being a Marine. Like the little Moon Beam, the D-batteries of your soul begin to fade, and as your EAS approaches you wish for nothing more than to be lost in the bottom of a sea bag.

To be a Moon Beam.

Life in the Marine Corps can often be described as depressing…Or soul-destroying… Or just generally awful… Unless of course you’re a Commissioned Officer. Once they are adorned with those beautifully shiny ranks, officers of Marines become a whole different class of human in the world of the military. They demand to be addressed as “Sir,” simply for existing in your presence, and their paychecks equally demand to be exponentially larger than yours at all times. You must salute them as they walk by as if they were the colors themselves!

Of course, being an Officer of Marines isn’t without its challenges. For instance… Uh…

Who am I kidding? Officer life exists on an entirely different plane of existence from the lowly peasant enlisted class. The only bad part? The enlisted Marines know it. Not that it matters, but filling your empty life with hookers and expensive cars can only make one so happy, I’m sure.

Very happy.

In other news, I’m not going to bother saying much about the whole swastika thing but if you want to get my full take on it, listen to today’s Zero Blog Thirty episode where I explain that whole fucking thing. Long story short, if you’re a grown ass man and you need someone to tell you not to send swastikas in uniform to (Jewish) people you don’t know, you’re long past my ability to help you.

Let’s be real here, Thanos is doing us all a favor. Or at the very least, he’s doing everyone in 2nd MARDIV a favor. Of course, knowing the luck of the average Lance Corporal, the Thanos snap would wipe out every rank in between E4 and E8 and leave nothing but Lance Corporals and E9’s and officers in the Corps.

Okay, I promised myself I wasn’t going to do another joke about 2nd MARDIV but it really is just the gift that keeps on giving…

https://www.instagram.com/p/BwvAPb-lgP3/?igshid=jpcsud8342wh

Godspeed, Marines of Camp Lejeune.

It’s Easter Sunday for 2nd Marine Division, which I’m sure is just another work day. In case you missed it, the 2nd MARDIV Commanding General put out a blanket division-wide order the other day that micromanages the schedules of every Marine under the command. This is because (as the letter states), Marines and sailors are walking around with long hair, nonexistent or poor shaves, unserviceable boots and utilities and improper civilian attire.

Essentially, it seems that the Commanding General traveled around the unit and got extremely triggered at the sight of some fat nasties. It’s typical Marine Corps stuff, nothing new really–though I do appreciate the callout by MajGen Furness to yours truly here.

In any case, Happy Easter, Marines! Especially you 2nd Division gents–I’m sure you’ll need some Cadbury Eggs to soothe the unit-wide bullshit for a few weeks.

For over 250 years, since 1775, the chillest of Marines have been at war with the great power of the Green Weenie. Using its vast network of officers and Staff NCO’s it has conducted extensive efforts to screw over Marines every chance it gets. It has but one weakness…

Time.

The only thing the great Green Weenie has never been able to stop is Time. With time, every Marine’s contract must come to an end. As their EAS date approaches, freedom ever looms in the background. What starts as a distant light at the end of the tunnel on day one, soon turns into a bright warmth of guiding rays 4 years later. It is often that the only truth a Marine has to look forward to is that their EAS date will eventually arrive.

Until now.

The great Green Weenie is constantly looking for new ways to fuck you over.

Stay vigilant, Marines. Complacency kills.

One of the most traumatic things I ever experienced through an enlistment–with two deployments to Iraq–was having to listen to any Staff NCO read an old English promotion warrant at a typical 4th grade reading level. It’s one of those things that makes you simultaneously cringe and feel unsafe every time you hear, listening to someone in 2019 say the words “know ye that, reposing” and “see these presents” (pronounced PRE-zents).

To make matters worse, not only do you have to listen to this nonsense probably once a month in an infantry company (when everyone gets their promotions), but you have to stand at the position of attention the entire time. There’s nothing more scarring than having to watch three or four Marines awkward try to do drill in front of the Company Commander and First Sergeant while they barely remember to right or left-face correctly and render a salute.

God forbid you end up being one of the Marines getting promoted. Not only do you (also) have to listen to this rambling, weird Medieval English, but you get the pleasure of knowing that everyone in the company currently hates you while you go through this meandering process that everyone hates. Like many things in the Corps, it’s one of those things that we all do but literally no one wants to be there (including the SNCO reading those odd-ass paragraphs).

In other news, I’ll be at USC this weekend at the Los Angeles Festival of Books! Join us at 10:30am on Saturday for a panel on graphic novels followed by a book signing.

I will read your promotion warrant if you bring one.

Details here.