215 lines
14 KiB
Plaintext
215 lines
14 KiB
Plaintext
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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Instant and Willing Obedience to Orders
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The blaring notes of Revillie fill the air along with the Drill
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Instructor's grating voice. "Get Up! Get Up! Get Out of Bed!! Get
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Up!" And so another day in Marine Corps Recruit Training begins.
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You throw back the covers, leap (or more likely stumble) out of
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bed and get on post. (Post being directly in front of your foot locker.)
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First a count off. Heads snap to the right and back to the front
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as each recruit shouts out his number in turn. Then starboard <right>
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side takes to making their racks <beds> while port <left> side shuffles
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off to the head <bathroom>.
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30 seconds for the top bunk and 30 seconds for the bottem bunk,
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and then the sides change over and starboard side mobs to the head and
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packs in like a heard of cattle, trying to piss, splash water on your face
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and wake the fuck up in 60 seconds. As the Drill Instructors are fond of
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saying, it's 2 to a pisser and 3 to a shitter, referring to how many people
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should be pissing in a toilet at a time.
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Shuffle back out and get on post, standing at the POA (Position
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of Attention), and await the next command, which will inevitably be some
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form of "Get Dressed."
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The command is barked and all 70 recruits turn simultaneously
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and grab their socks. 5 seconds for each sock...20 to get your camoflage
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trousers on and if the DI is in a semi-good mood you might be lucky and get
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10 seconds to tighten your belt. Then 20 more seconds for your camoflage
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blouse and 10 more for each shoes or 20 if it you have to wear boots.
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Finally, 10 seconds to get the rest of your stuff put away and get back
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on post.
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You didn't finish in time? Very well, you'll be doing a few
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extra push-ups later in the day.
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Now it's time to turn to a clean up. Foot lockers are carried to
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the center of the squad bay and everyone grabs their scuz <scrubbing>
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brush and posts themselves against the wall behind their racks.
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"Prepare To Sweep!"..."PREPARE TO SWEEP AYE AYE SIR!!"...70
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scuz brushes are lifted high in the air. "Sweep!" 70 scuz brushes move
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swiftly downward and the wooden edges smack the deck <floor>. You don't want
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to hit the deck all together, eh? Very well..stand up and do it again. Up
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and down until the DI is satisfied by a loud singular whack and then the
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recruits make a mad dash to front post on hands and knees, arms flailing
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around wildly in an attempt to sweep out all the dust from underneath the
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racks.
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Then scuz brushes are put up and cleaning supplies are snatched
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from the whiskey locker <storage closet>. The entire floor must be swept,
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mopped and sprayed with "Smell Good" <cheap cologne>. Every portal <window>
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must be spotless and every mirror must sparkle. There better not be a smudge
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on any piece of chrome or brass in the squadbay. You'd just as well tell the
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DI to go to hell as miss a speck of dust.
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Clean up is secured and everyone grabs their covers <hats> and
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war belts and swarm out to the street and fall into platoon formation
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<four columns>. No running in the squadbay, but once you bust that hatch
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<door>, your legs better be pumping double time. And woe is the poor fool
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that forgets to put a cover on his grape <head> as he steps out the door.
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40 inches back to chest, pefectly covered and aligned. If you
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can see the head of the person in front of the recruit directly in front of
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you, then you are wrong. If you are not perfectly aligned with the body of
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the recruit to your right, then you are wrong. Stand at the POA, head and
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eyes straight to the front.
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FORWAARD HARCH! Left, Left, Left, Right, Left. Keep your eyes
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off the deck. Swing your arms 6 to the front and 3 to the rear. Lean back
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and stop bouncing. Point the toe and drive the heel. COLUMN LEFT...HARCH!!
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Turn to the left by pivoting on the right foot. PLATOON HALT! Step-Freeze.
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4, 3, 2, 1 attack the Mess Hall!! FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE ATTACK
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THE MESS HALL AYE AYE SIR!! Each column files off at top speed, lining up at
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the hatch of the Mess Hall. Heel to toe, you should be touching the
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canteen on the back of the person's belt in front of you.
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One by one the recruits file into the Chow Hall. Shoulder to
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shoulder, fill in the gaps. Grab a carrying tray. Grab a serving tray. Grab
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silverware (Only One Piece of Silver Recruits). Forearms parallel to the
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deck. One shot One kill. If you don't get what you want on your first try,
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then you missed.
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You shout to the serving recruit what it is that you want and he
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plops it down on your tray and you file on down the serving line, trying
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your best to stay shoulder to shoulder with the guy beside you.
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GANG WAY, DRILL INSTRUCTOR!! BACK OFF THE LINE!! Everyone backs
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away from the service table as a Drill Instructor makes his way along the
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line. As soon as he passes, you jump right back where you were, get the
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rest of your food and sit down at a table in your platoon's assigned area.
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You stare intently at your food. You don't want to get bitched
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at for eyeballing the chow hall. You gulp down your pancakes and scrambled
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eggs and then get up and go to the drink line and grab a glass of
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chocolate milk.
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You've scarcely finished your last drink of milk when you hear
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the DI informing you that you're done. You jump to your feet, grab your war
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belt from the back of your chair, snap it around your waist, grab
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your tray and head towards the exit. You dump off your trash and dirty
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dishes and then rush out the door and fall back into your place in formation.
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March back to the house and now it's time for PT. You reverse
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the dressing process and then throw on a jock, pair of shorts and a
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T-shirt and fall back outside on the street in formation.
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It's a short 1/2 mile or so jog to the PT field, where you
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stretch out and do various exercises.
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OUR NEXT EXERCISE IS SIDE STRADDLE HOPS <jumping jacks>. I'LL
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COUNT THE CADENCE. YOU COUNT THE REPETITIONS. WE WILL DO 15 OF THEM. READY.
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BEGIN! 1-2-3 "One Sir!" 1-2-3 "Two Sir!" ...1-2-3 "Fifteen Sir!". One idiot
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loses count and begins his sixteenth repetition. VERY WELL, YOU WANT TO
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KEEP GOING? EVERYBODY DROP AND GIVE ME 10 PUSH-UPS. The entire series of
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200+ recruits hits the dirt simultaneously, sending up a small cloud of
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dust.
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Daily routine completed, it's time for the actual PT now. Today
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it's the circuit course, which consists of various stations from military
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press to incline push ups to dips and sprinting between stations. Once
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that's completed, it's a 3 mile run and then back to the house and into the
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rain room <shower>. Walk in one end single file and while turning, make
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your way around and out the other end. Dry off on your way out the door and
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get on post and get dressed.
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What you've just read is an fairly accurate description of an
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average day in Marine Corps Boot Camp. And that's only the first three of
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sixteen hours. Everything you do is training for combat. No hesitation.
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Instant and willing obedience to orders. You question your superior, and
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you're dead. You mess up and you or someone else depending on you is dead.
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You fall asleep on guard duty and your entire platoon is slaughtered in
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their sleep.
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Instant and willing obedience to orders. When you're told to sit,
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you drop like a rock. And when you hit the floor, you freeze in whatever
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position you landed in until the DI gives you permission to adjust.
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Discipline. When you're standing at the POA, you don't move. If
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you scratch your nose, then you're gonna do the same thing while lying in
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a bush in the middle of the fucking jungle while praying that the communist
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bastard standing less than 30 feet away from you doesn't see through your
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camoflage. You breath too heavily and you might be spotted. You scratch your
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nose, and you're dead.
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And you aren't allowed to laugh or smile under any circumstances.
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If you can't keep your bearing in training, how do you expect to keep
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from losing it in battle? If you smile, then you must be enjoying boot
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camp, which means the DIs aren't doing their jobs properly, which means
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they get bitched at. And when a DI gets bitched at, the entire platoon pays.
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There's also no longer a first or second persons. You are
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forbidden from using the words I, me, you, we and us. It's not "I need to
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piss", it's "this recruit needs to piss." It's not about being an
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individual, it's about teamwork. And you'd best not forget that Sir at
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the end of every sentance.
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And the DIs have all kinds of little games to promote obedience.
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You can't get your boots on before the count reaches zero? Very well,
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hold 'em straight out in front of you for 10 minutes and then try again.
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And if the games don't work, there's always Incentive Training
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aka the dreaded IT. The Incentive in IT is that "if this recruit doesn't
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fuck up, then this recruit won't be ITd, hence this recruit better try
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harder."
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Here's an example of a typical IT session. You're told to empty
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your pockets and go up to the class room area in the front of the squad
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bay. (Or if you're in deep shit, then you'll get to make a dirt call.)
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The DI that's ITing you issues the commands and the faster you
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obey them, the more likely you are to get out of the IT session a hell of
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a lot quicker.
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JUMP! "Jump Aye Aye Sir!". You quickly begin Side Straddle
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Hopping at a pace roughly four times faster than normal. STOP! "Stop Aye
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Aye Sir!" and you freeze. Instant and willing obedience to orders.
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JUMP! and it begins again. FASTER! "Faster Aye Aye Sir!"
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FASTER!!! "Faster Aye Aye Sir". STOP! "Stop Aye Aye Sir!" PUSH! "Push
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Aye Aye Sir!"
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UP--DOWN--UP--DOWN--UP--DOWN--UP--DOWN--UP-------DOWN-UP-----DOWN-UP.
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And so on and so on. I've seen IT sessions go as long as an hour and a half.
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IT is the ultimate in deprogramming enhancers. Even the most
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rebelious recruits will succumb after a few IT sessions. My own rackmate
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used to get ITd 3 times a day simply because the DIs thought he was a
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slacker.
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Our Senior Drill Instructor actually told us once that "the
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Marine Corps doesn't brainwash you, we just prepare you for combat."
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That's like saying "alcohol doesn't kill brain cells, it just makes
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them unusable." No matter what you call it, you still come out with a
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lower intelligence than before (in both cases).
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Instant & willing obedience may be detrimental to proper conduct in
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battle, but, at least to me, it's not worth losing my individualism
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for. (Hence I'm no longer in boot camp, but that's another file). Someone
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has to protect our country's liberty, but how can you effectively defend
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something you were forced to give up yourself?
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It takes guts to go out and win a war, but even if your side is
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undoubtably right, will you look back with pride in what you
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accomplished or with bitterness at giving up your life so that millions
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of others wouldn't have to and not receiving a single thank you for doing
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such? Sure, you did some great things...now was it worth the price of your
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own freedom?
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--InVerse
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=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
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= Questions, Comments, Bitches, Ideas, Rants, Death Threats, etc etc... =
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= Internet : jericho@dimensional.com (Mail is welcomed) =
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=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
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= gote land +27.31.441115 =
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= Arrested Development +31.77.3547477 =
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= Global Chaos +61.2.681.2837 =
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= Chemical Persuasion 203.324.0894 Undrgrnd Indust/Inc. 207.490.2158 =
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= Damnation 212.861.0580 that stupid place 215.985.0462 =
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= Hacker's Haven 303.343.4053 PheedbacK 303.782.0893 =
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= E.L.F. (NUP) 314.272.3426 Misery 318.625.4532 =
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= Dungeon Sys. Inc. 410.263.2258 Psykodelik Images 407.834.4576 =
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= Paradise Lost 414.476.3181 Black SunShine 513.891.3465 =
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= underworld_1995.com 514.683.1894 Digital Fallout 516.378.6640 =
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= PSYCHOSiS 613.836.7211 Bad Trip 615.870.8805 =
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= Plan 9 716.881.3663 suicidal chaos 718.592.1083 =
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= Damaged 801.944.7353 The Death Star Bar 805.872.3151 =
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= Purple Hell 806.791.0747 Atrocity Exhibition 905.796.3385 =
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= Phoenix Modernz 908.830.8265 The Keg 914.234.9674 =
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=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
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= Files through Anon FTP FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM/users/jericho/FUCK =
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= FTP.PRISM.NET/pub/users/mercuri/zines/fuck =
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= FTP.WINTERNET.COM/users/craigb/fuck =
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= FTP.GIGA.OR.AT/pub/hackers/zines/FUCK =
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= ETEXT.ARCHIVE.UMICH.EDU - /pub/Zines/FUCK =
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= FTP.DIMENSIONAL.COM - /users/rage/zines/fuck =
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= Files through WWW: http://www.dimensional.com/~jericho =
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= http://command.com.inter.net (DisordeR's User Page) =
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= http://www.prism.net/zineworld/fuck/ =
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