Author: Maximilian

There are two kinds of people in the world: Abe and Garcia.

Abe chose to spend his Memorial Day doing basically whatever he wanted, getting hammered and treating it like most Americans probably would a long holiday weekend. Garcia is the kind that (recognizing the significance of the holiday) chose to spend it in silent reflection and respect for what the day represents.

Oh, I forgot, there’s also a third kind of person: The one that posts badly Photoshopped moto-pictures on Facebook to get their civilian friends to feel like shit for enjoying themselves. Naturally, I have a lot of friends that are veterans, so my Facebook feed this weekend was blown up with a plethora of moto-photos with all kinds of captions ranging from subtle and meaningful to blunt and pissed off. Frankly, I don’t even see the point in hiding behind subtlety, just put this one up next time:

I suppose I chose to be more of a Garcia this weekend; my wife and I took a trip to the Veteran’s Memorial in Walnut Creek to drop off some flowers, pay our respects and take some photos. I posted the photos up on the Terminal Lance Facebook Page, so check it out!

With all that said, of course I understand that most people put these sort of moto-photos up with good intentions. There’s nothing inherently wrong with it, in fact I encourage you to occasionally remind people that there’s more going on in the world than pop-culture.

Whatever you did, I hope you enjoyed your 96 (or 72 for most civilians). If you had a barbecue and enjoyed yourself, more power to you.

An old common joke in the Marine Corps is the infamous comparison of the PFC and the 2nd Lieutenant. As it goes:

What is the difference between a PFC (Private First Class) and a 2nd Lieutenant?

One has been promoted.

Hilarity ensues. As for Abe, well he’s just pissed off today. It’s not that he doesn’t like officers, he just really doesn’t like butter bar lieutenants, as most Lance Corporals don’t. The conflict between the officer and enlisted is a war that has raged since its inception. Of course, it fundamentally comes down to knowledge versus experience (or wisdom versus intelligence?). The average enlisted Marine doesn’t like officers because they tend to value experience more than knowledge. The officer and enlisted dichotomy is the most perfect real life example of this age-old question you can imagine.

Mustangs (prior enlisted) excluded, I tend to lean more on the side of experience. If you’ve never been there yourself, reading about it isn’t going to change anything.

But don’t blame the butter-bar. It’s not his fault, he did just get out of OCS, after all. This however, is precisely the problem. I barely trust a boot out of SOI to jerk off without hurting himself, yet a butter-bar Lieutenant is placed in charge of an entire platoon as soon as he gets off the plane. It is what it is though, and no matter how much the enlisted might complain, it’s probably not going to change any time soon. The LT wants to go on a moto-run at 0300, complete with singing cadence? Deal with it, his boot ass will figure it out eventually.

Alternatively, I was going to put:

“One has been NJP’d…?”

I decided against it, but I actually thought of so many different things that Abe could say when I was writing this that I figured it would be fun to see what you guys came up with.

Take this, fill in Abe’s bubble and post it up on the Facebook fan page! The ones that make me laugh will be shared publicly by yours truly.

Update on prints: The #200 prints will most likely get shipped out today!

There’s a very special kind of lady that tramps the neighborhoods surrounding any given Marine base. She’s the kind of woman that knows the Marine Corps rank structure; she knows what “libo” and “NJP” mean; she knows when units are on deployment; she knows what units are not on deployment; really, she just knows too damn much about the Marine Corps. This type of woman specifically preys on unwitting Marines; when she’s had her fill of the first Marine’s paycheck and benefits she’ll go on the prowl for a new Marine. Maybe it’s the uniforms, maybe it’s the haircuts, maybe she just has nowhere else to go–it doesn’t really matter, because this woman should be avoided at all costs.

For starters, if a woman you meet that is not a Marine even knows what “Lance Corporal” means without you having to explain “It’s like Corporal with the word Lance in front of it. Like Lance Bass. You know what I mean? I have no idea what it means” She should probably be avoided. This woman has likely had more Marines inside of her than a C130, and probably has no plans of stopping at you.

I think the folks at Relation Termination put it best.

In other, less chlamydia-infested news, you can place an order for a Terminal Lance #200 print in case you missed it last week.

Please be advised that shipping is delayed right now due to the massive amount of orders I’ve gotten. I had to order shipping supplies, I won’t be able to ship prints out until said shipping supplies arrive this week. I apologize for the inconvenience, you can still order a print now to be shipped hopefully within a week.

Otherwise, remember to tap it before you wrap it. Or the other way… I’m sure it doesn’t really matter for you nasty people.

It’s amazing to me to think that just about two and a half years ago I was sitting at my computer, trying to figure out how to build a website so that I could get this crazy idea of mine off the ground. Over the last couple years, Terminal Lance has been an amazing experience for me–being able to entertain all you fine folks of the Armed Forces is something I truly enjoy. I know, from experience, how shitty life can be in the military–specifically the Marine Corps Infantry; and if my comic just makes one person’s field op, deployment or standby day that much less miserable I think it’s worth the sleepless nights I’ve put into all of this.

So I just want to say thank you to all my fans, you are the ones that make up the numbers–Terminal Lance is, by most measures, the most popular military comic on the internet. Thanks for coming around twice a week, and thanks for reading my rants.

As a token of my gratitude I’m putting this print up for sale for a limited time.

This large-sized, high-resolution, 11×17 print is on Premium Kodak glossy photo paper, all of them hand-signed by yours truly. You can order one by clicking on the “Buy Print” button above the blog (if you can’t see the button, click here and it should pop up), they’re $25 each plus shipping. Unfortunately, I may not be able to double-pack these like I do with the smaller prints, so if you order more than one you may be charged for shipping on each one.

I plan on only having this available for a couple of weeks, so grab one if you want one!

Have a good weekend, if you tap it wrap it and if it looks like shit, smells like shit, it’s probably shit.

It’s 0348 in the morning.

The belt of your bootcamp-issued, slightly too-small Alpha pants have dug into your hips over the course of the last 18 hours. You’re tired, your shirt keeps riding up even though you’ve tried desperately to keep it tucked via shirt-stays, the taste in your mouth is stale, your forehead feels greasy, and your undershirt is starting to smell like you’ve been wearing it too long. You wish you could doodle dicks all over the worn-out green book, but the OOD will probably be by any minute now. The last of the drunk Marines in the barracks have finally gone to sleep, or passed out, it doesn’t really matter. The loud music being blasted out of that one Marine’s room who always wants to keep his door open has finally died down, you savor the quiet of the night as you stare blankly at the wall. You have no friends.

You’re on duty.

I think I’ve made it clear through this blog that there are in fact many constants of the Marine Corps, but one of those will always and forever be duty. Like any Marine, when I say “duty”, I’m of course referring to being on 24-hour barracks duty. This usually starts at 0800 in the morning and continues until 0800 the next day, generally there’s supposed to be an NCO and a Lance or below on at any given time (this doesn’t always happen though). The duty’s responsibility is simply being the person working at the barracks at all times. Some battalions may allow the Marines to wear cammies on duty, but it goes back and forth between wearing those or your “chucks”.

Duty sucks, plain and simple. Everyone, however, has to do it at some point or another. It’s one of those uniquely Marine Corps things that just always blows, but no one ever really brings it up to civilians. Why would you? It’s so mundane–by far the most mundane thing you could describe to someone looking for an action story. But duty has its share of fun as well, from being able to screen all of the women that aren’t supposed to be in the barracks to chatting with hardly-sober 18 year olds enjoying their first beer, to helping out one of your friends that fell off the 2nd floor catwalk in a drunken stupor.

Duty is duty, it’s part of the Marine Corps whether you like it or not. We can all agree though:

Duty sucks.

In other news, check out this reader response I posted about Marine Corps haircuts last night. I think I might start posting more emails in the near future, as I get a lot of them and sometimes they’re worth talking about. If you have something funny or interesting you want to email me, feel free to click the contact button at the top of the screen. No pen0r pics though, please. Unless your dick is like… really funny or something… wait… no… just no pics of your junk please.

Also, buy my book.

If there’s one word that can get even the surliest (especially) Marines riled up, it’s “boot”. There is no greater insult in the Corps than to be labeled a boot. That is, after you’ve eliminated the status from yourself at least. Of course, the average boot Marine isn’t going to complain much about being called a boot, but that’s beside the point.

Once you’ve returned home from your first (or second) combat deployment, “boot” status is generally removed. The actual definition of a “boot” is somewhat sketchy, depending on who you ask. For some, it’s those that don’t have Combat Action Ribbons, for others (most) it’s simply those that have never been on a deployment of any kind. This, of course, is in infantry terms. When you start getting into the POG world it becomes a little stranger, since the majority of them don’t go on regular deployment cycles. For most grunts though, most POG’s are boots automatically, which of course isn’t always true–but this is a comic about grunts after all.

The “boot” label is all about experience and pride–as is most things in the Marine Corps. To be called a boot is a direct punch at the grunt’s pride, and if you do so without caution it could end very poorly for you.

So if you’re looking for fighting words, look no further.

The shirt-stays are easily the most confusing and annoying uniform-related item you can find in a Marine’s closet. I’m sure most Marines had never actually dealt with them prior to enlisting, much like myself, so when I found myself confronted with the elastic straps I really had no idea what to do. The drill instructors give you a demo in bootcamp, but everyone seems to have their own way of wrapping them around their legs (or not at all). The application of shirt stays is a whole other matter; one that defies most common logic of casual clothing, forcing you to put everything except your pants on first.

Shirt-stays aside, the uniforms of all branches of the military are loaded with all kinds of lore and tradition and stuff that is either true, implicit or just completely false. I’ve personally heard of the officer rank-thing while I was active duty, but as I asked around prior to making this strip it seemed it wasn’t a universally known thing. I suppose to that extent, I really could have had Abe say just about anything, but there is some kernel of truth (not Colonel) in there somewhere–at the very least in my head. Regardless, I’m sure it all gives history buffs something to sink their teeth into–of which I am not.

I’m not sure what it is, but history has always been my worst subject in school or otherwise. It’s not for a lack of respect for those that came before me, far from it. Rather, I believe it simply has to do with the way my mind operates. Every person’s mind operates differently, naturally mine tends to lean more toward the visual and immediate. Memorizing facts that may or may not be of any use to me has never been a strong point–memorizing anything has never really been a strong point for me, as I can barely remember where I leave my sunglasses every day. This paragraph has little to do with the military, but I just felt like ranting about this since you can really only talk about shirt-stays for so long.

In other news, it’s officially summer time here for me. I finished finals last week and deprived you all of new content, for which I’m sure you all will resent me for eternity like some kind of neglected child shoved in the closet so I can play hours of World of Warcraft or sleep with strange men in daddy’s old bed. Whether you do or not, I’m excited to spend the summer working on bigger and better things in the name of Lance Corporals all over the Corps. Look forward to some big things this summer!

You can find last summer’s big thing right here.

Hey gents, no new new strip today, it’s finals week and I’m balls deep in 12F animation paper trying to get this final finished before tomorrow. However, please accept this Marine Corps Times strip as a token of my appreciation for bearing with me.

Brand new Terminal Lance strips are featured in the Marine Corps Times every week, just so you know.

As for this guy, obviously this sort of thing probably isn’t something they actually do anymore (especially with the draw-down). But I always remember hearing these stories, and at the very least, back when I enlisted this sort of ultimatum still happened (from what some other Marines told me anyway, it’s entirely possible they were full of shit). In any case, we’ve all definitely heard the story of the Ultimatum from somewhere.

An unfortunate truth of the military lifestyle is infidelity. All too often you see situations like this pop up, except unlike the comic strip they usually end up becoming violently unfunny. It’s also the case, sometimes, where everyone around the individual can tell that something is up, but he is none the wiser. Some Marines possibly just don’t want to accept the idea that their wife cheated on them, so they pretend to not care that maybe it’s a little strange that their wife is 2 months pregnant when they come home from a 6 month deployment. Maybe their child comes out bearing a year-long tan that seems uncharacteristic of a caucasian couple.

Unfortunately, people cheat.

I wish I could say this was mutually exclusive to floozy wives, but that’s also not the case. I always found it ironic that many times the same Marines that cheat on their wives every weekend while she’s “back home” get pissed when they find out that their wife cheated on them while he was on deployment.

If you do know a Marine that finds himself in this unfortunate predicament, do him a favor and bring it to his attention that maybe there’s something a little off about his new offspring. It’s a dubious honor, to be sure, but one that will do him good in the long run.

In other news, it’s entirely possible there won’t be a new comic on Tuesday, as next week is the last week of the semester. I already don’t think I’m going to be sleeping this weekend, so bear with me if I post incoherent ramblings on Facebook, Twitter or Tumblr.

I think the company that makes MRE’s is a little confused as to what “organic” means.

In any case, I don’t think we’ll ever see the day of organic MRE’s. I don’t think it would be physically possible for something without any preservatives to last the 1-3 year shelf-life of the average MRE–most of which contain some form of “meat” in them. MRE’s are a strange animal, to be sure… well… more likely many strange animals ground up into a patty-shaped meat slab designed (theoretically) for human consumption.

The MRE (or “Mr. E” as I like to call him) takes the brunt of most of the food-related complaints you’ll find in the Corps. For as good as some of their efforts to imitate real food actually are, any slab of “chicken” or pineapple pound cake that can last 3 years on the shelf probably isn’t something you want to be putting into your body in any situation. Regardless, it’s impossible to avoid. I always tried to pack enough pogey-bait on field ops to supplement the wretched meals, ready-to-eat. But alas, beef jerky and energy-shots can only take you so far in the field.

If I had to pick a favorite, I’d go with the chili with beans MRE. It was new when I got out, and by far the best one I ever had. Heat it up, toss in the little Tabasco guy and you’ve got yourself a pretty decent meal–organs and all.

In other news, this weekend was fairly eventful. Well, specifically Saturday. I started Saturday bright and early (way too early for my civilian ass, frankly) at 0800 at the Palo Alto VA hospital for a mandatory IRR muster. Yes, even 2 years after my EAS date I found myself in the presence of officers and senior enlisted Marines alike. This time, however, I was returning as a pseudo-military-celebrity of sorts. I was shown around quite graciously, and was even introduced to Maj. Gen. Garrett, who was honestly really awesome to talk to.

Overall it was pretty great–there’s definitely a sort of nostalgia about being surrounded by like-minded Marines hating life in a suicide-brief. Aside from that though, it was a great opportunity for me to finally talk to a VA doctor–as we all know how much of a pain in the ass it is to set up your VA benefits after you get out. If you need any help getting your benefits set up, I wholly recommend attending one of these if you get the orders.

That wasn’t all the fun I had on Saturday though!

My graphic novel writing course at CCA was holding a student comic fair at The Escapist comic store in Berkeley. Seizing the opportunity, I figured it would be a good chance for me to do something crazy (I haven’t done anything crazy in a while, it was time). I had a couple books to spare, so I decided to do a giveaway. However, this giveaway had a condition:

The first two people to let me draw penises on their foreheads with a Sharpie marker would walk away with a free autographed copy of “KNIFE-HANDS!“

I did this kind of on the fly, so I didn’t give much notice. However, literally 5 minutes after I arrived at the comic store, a soldier (not a Marine) came in and said that he was up to the challenge. I mustered my finest illustrative talents and scrawled a rock-hard, cut phallus on this brave man’s face.

Despite being immensely amused with myself (if you can’t tell from the photo), I had to brave yet another fan willing to be emblazoned with my willie on his dome. This young man (civilian, I think) showed up almost immediately after the soldier here. I asked if he was sure, if he was ready for what was about to happen. He got down on his knees and said to me, “I am ready for this!“

With the one-eyed spitter gracing his scalp, I signed his book and gave it to him in all its glory. Overall, The Escapist comic store trip was a great success. I’d like to thank The Escapist staff for being so cool with the whole dick-scribbling, as well as the fans that showed up and got some swag. I’m looking to set up some more signing-events, with a longer notice, I promise. As a quick shout-out, if you’re looking for a ginormous selection of comics, look no further than The Escapist in Berkeley if you need such things.

Until next time, stay frosty war fighters.