The Opera to me had always been a closed off social event reserved only for the upper strata of society and of course Italians… but after my recent attendance of La Traviata I learned that anyone could buy a ticket and no knowledge of Italian is required.

After the guidance from my professor who told me most people get dressed up for the opera. I decided to wear a suit I had made for an art show a few years ago that incorporated my blood into the series of paintings I was presenting. The intention was to show proper reverence to the event but also to inject a bit of my own personality whilst being a part of the collective. This took my friend Hugh by surprise when we met prior to the performance, and it made me an easy target to spot when trying to find other friends from class as well as make new ones along the way. 

Prior to finding my seat I enjoyed the pageantry of the other Opera attendants along with engaging conversation at the bar. That is until I was cut off mid-sentence by some bells that I initially mistook for a #ClassyAF fire alarm but became relieved to find they only meant for me to find my seat. 

The Lincoln Center theatre in and of itself is an architectural beauty that allows for smooth flow of people in, out and throughout the venue but the true wonder is how it allows for the sound to reverberate in such a way that made my cheap seat next to the rafters feel like I was center orchestra. Once La Traviata began my only comprehension of what was being said came from the rudimentary Italian I acquired from being cursed at by an ex-girlfriend who was from Rome but despite the language barrier I still found myself fully immersed in the entire production. The costumes, lighting, orchestra, singers, and stagehands working together harmoniously left me in awe. Which left me dumbfounded to find that the first act was over in what felt like five minutes, where in actuality was closer to forty-five. 

During the first intermission I went back to the bar and found I wasn’t alone in how impressed one was left to feel as a first time Opera goer. One person from class who intended to sneak out after the first act decided to stick around for the second because of how audially and visually impressive the experience was. When the Bells started singing again, I finished my drink and stumbled back to my seat but was not prepared for what I was in store for. As the stage morphed before my eyes in a seamless manner that eventually welcomed a Cirque du Soleil troop of dancers whose pageantry felt almost like a non sequitur from the storyline, but I wrote that off as a result of the language barrier. 

When the next intermission began, I overheard my neighbors discussing the story in such depth I assumed they had either program notes or just a stronger command of the language. They responded that they had just been reading the word for word translation that appeared in the velvet railing in front of the seats that I had been totally oblivious too. 

“Wait… You’ve had no idea what they had been saying this entire time.” They inquired. 

Trying to save a little face I responded, “Well I know some basic Italian that allows me to know who is who but beyond that… not much else.”

This elicited some laughter although not of condescension but from curiosity “Then how have you been enjoying the show?” They asked with an encouraging smile. 

Up until that point I listened with an open heart using the emotions and the drama acted out on stage to inject myself into the story line with friends and events that have occurred in my life (if my dating record will show anything it is that I have a similar taste in woman as the male lead). This form of listening allowed me to appreciate the singers’ voices as instruments in a harmonic conversation with the orchestra and since I had gone two out of three acts in this style I figured why shift gears at this point. 

The last act contained a dream sequence that brought me down from the excitement that was elicited from the second act and prepared me to reenter the world with a new found love and appreciation for the opera. Although I wasn’t exactly sure when it was over because I never heard a beautiful Rubenesque woman sing.  

I use to mistakenly think Kenosha, Wisconsin was where Callahan brake pads were made but now to find out it’s the latest American City to be set to the torch by the mob.

But, why?

Like everyone else, I had never heard of Jacob Blake before and in the age of media bias I  don’t know who or what to trust. All I do know is what I saw on the video when he was shot by the police.

In short, a man refused to comply with Police, opened his driver side door, reached into his car and was fired upon.

I will not try to justify or defend either party’s actions. I will say that the entire incident is under investigation and Jacob Blake though alive may never walk again but on the upside at least he already owns a van. The system is touted as being blind folded weighing the evidence with indifference so that justice may be served but for many it feels as though when it comes to when a policeman uses their firearm. The blindfold slips and the scale is weighted in the officers favor.

I am not here to argue about the merit or validity of that sentiment nor will I offer any idea or plan to fix the problem. The system, as flawed as it can be, still operates under the principle of equality so if or when anyone in our society feels as though they are a victim to injustice at the hands of the law (or a fellow citizen) they have access to non-violent legal recourse. Which is why those in power need to honor the social contract they swore to uphold by protecting the rights and property of an individual. It is also paramount that we as citizens honor the rule of law and try to treat each other with respect if for no other reason than to avoid police involvement in our lives.

I have lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan for the last 3 years and have seen first hand what has happened since Mayor DeBlasio sided with the mob for political expediency and defunded the police to the tune of One Billion with a B dollars. The results have been felt almost instantaneously by the demoralization of the Police, which caused them to pull back and a massive spike in street crime has occurred but on the bright side I was able to save $300 a month on rent without switching to Geico.

I’m not going to speculate or politicize the reasoning of the decisions made by the mayors and governors across the country who are having the police stand-down. Bending the knee has not appeased the mob but only emboldened them. The unintended consequence of this appeasement is now privately armed civilians taking up arms to defend their rights and property because the police are not on their way.

In St. Louis, the McCloskey’s actions were a bloodless canary in the coal mine and the warning ignored.

I fear what happened the other night in Kenosha leaves those politicians who would allow their cities to burn hasn’t taught them the lesson. Either allow the police to do their job instead of 17 year old EMT’s or “Don’t bring a skateboard to a gunfight.”

One thing to understand is that any interaction with police is an interaction with someone who is armed. Regardless of how justified you may feel or be, it’s better to just drop your ego and comply rather than have them justify their rounds fired making your new pronouns be was/were.

I’ll start with a parable I learned from the movie “Colors” about a Young Bull and an Old Bull.

The 2 are standing up on the high ground looking over a sea of cows and the Young Bull turns to the Old Bull and say’s “Hey why don’t we run down there and fuck one of those cows.”

The Old Bull thinks for a moment and responds “Lets take our time and make a plan so we can fuck them all.”

When one looks at the Murder of #GeorgeFloyd its very easy to want to seek swift Justice but then we only get to fuck one cow. Lets take our time and make a plan so we can FUCK THEM ALL…

So what does that look like? How do we organize a massive interspecies orgy on Craigslist without having the Cops shut us down. For starters let’s be honest, we really don’t want an inner species orgy. What we want is Justice and more than that we want this to never happen again, EVER. The problem is “We are complex humans but simple men” so when we face a complex problem with our back against the wall. We find the simplest solution that men have, VIOLENCE. Sadly, we are now seeing the bluntest tool in our arsenal being used in cities across America because Dr. Martin Luther King famously said,“A riot is the language of the unheard.”

Now there is a portion of America that has said, “We have been trying to peacefully protest most notably by taking a knee.” For what it is worth in my personal opinion taking a knee is an act of submission as well as a sign of fealty #KneelBeforeTheKing with that said I disagreed with how the protest was carried out but I had to reconcile the fact that a segment of my society was peacefully trying to end Police brutality (in a position of submission I might add) and the message was being entirely misconstrued.

“But why would anyone misrepresent a peaceful call for Help and Justice?” The answer is simple… Ratings, Keeping people angry, Keeps people watching and that keeps the Money coming in.

And do you know what keeps people divided and makes a lot of money?…

SPORT’S, Which is our modern form of tribalism but unlike the NFL we can’t trade or kick out of the league the pieces of shit that makes all of us look like Eagle or Raider fans because in this league #Society we were born with the Jersey’s we wear.

So how does a sports fan find justice when the league is plagued with some teams having a bigger budget or “supposedly” having deflated balls?(Which ironically gives you an advantage/privilege)

First, Recognize it’s tough to play in the league and everyone who made it has their own struggle that you don’t understand. 

Second, Nobody likes cheaters and when the Zebras start favoring one team it poisons the integrity of the League.

Third, Justice is nothing more than fair play and the officials have to be held accountable every time they make an unfair ruling regardless of the team.

In the past, the sports commentators #Media has been pretty discerning about what stories to go to print to divide the nation but this time they fucked up because #GEORGEFLOYD died because of gross negligence by the people who are suppose  to keep the game fair and now everyone in the league is pissed.  So how do we heal the rift so our season can play on…

For starters, fire the ref and bring that bastard to justice but in the process acknowledge that even though he is from suburban Philadelphia and a life long Eagles fan. The good people of Philadelphia do not condone his actions and are disgusted by them.

Next, let’s bring the same level of outrage every time the referee’s act grossly incompetent and somebody is killed regardless of the team.   

Most importantly, TRAIN, SCREEN and constantly REVIEW the men and women who take a thankless job and are hated for making sure people just follow the rules.

If Covid-19 has taught me anything its the following. The Doosan Bears #KBO bring that hot fire and if you disagree “Cache me outside how bout dat” and that the path to peace lyes in “When my opponent draws a circle to exclude me. I’ll draw a bigger one to include them.”

You may have noticed the only groups I attacked were Raida’(I don’t rate the hard R) and Eagle fans. Its because liking those teams is a choice and choosing to like a team with a dysfunctional culture is what leads to someone from suburban Philly breaking the rules for their own team regardless of where they were raised… #FlyEaglesFly #RaiderNation 

MAKE THE NFL VIOLENT AGAIN not our society 

In the Marines I learned about Weapons safety and the 4 distinct rules go as follows…

1st safety rule… Treat every weapon as if it were loaded
2nd safety rule… keep your finger straight and off the trigger until you intend to fire.
3rd safety rule… Never point your weapon at anything you do not intend to shoot
4th safety rule… keep your weapon on safe until you intend to fire
5th safety rule… know your target and what lyes beyond

Ill chalk that 5th one up to the Marines inability to count but ask any Marine how many rules there are and they will say 4 but will always add that little extra credit.

Those rules where devised to ensure that when using your weapon. You do so in a deliberate manner with the intention to kill your enemy and preserve life. I guess they figured the highest we could count to was 4. I’d like to add that In all my years of service “and beyond”-Buzz Lightyear. I never once broke those rules due to my respect/awareness of the full capabilities of a weapon system and neither did any of my Recon Brothers.

While I was in the Marines I also learned how to use a rope as well…
(1)Square Knot – 30 seconds GO!!!
(2) Water/Tape Knot – 30 seconds GO!!!
(3) Double Fisherman – 30 seconds GO!!!
(4) Double Sheet Bend – 30 seconds GO!!!

b. Class II – Anchor Knots
(1) Round Turn With 2 Half Hitches – 45 seconds GO!!!
(2) Bowline – 45 seconds GO!!!
(3) Clove Hitch – 30 seconds GO!!!
(4) Around the Object Bowline – 30 seconds GO!!!

c. Class III – Middle of the Rope Knots
(1) Figure of Eight Loop – 45 seconds GO!!!

d. Class IV – Special Knots
(1) Directional Figure 8 – 30 seconds GO!!!
(2) End of the Line Prusik Secured With a Bowline – 90
seconds GO!!!
(3) Round-the-Chest Bowline With a Figure Eight Loop –
60 seconds GO!!!
(4) Military Rappel Seat – 2 minutes GO!!!

Are you still with me?

Did you notice there was one missing?
READY… NOOSE – infinity GO!!!

When I look back at my time in the Marines the one knot I omitted is the one that a few of my friends found to be the most useful and was in fact the last knot they ever tied. I find that puzzling because they were all masters in the craft that allowed them to close with and destroy the enemy. Where did they learn that skill? Which in hindsight was ultimately more valuable to our enemies. Ill tell you where I learned it… In Private, where I was never given a proper period of instruction. I would just get my work checked then quickly destroy the evidence. Why would I ever want to know how to make this knot… In my mind it was never for me but to administer justice but regardless of the intent one cant deny that in the end that knot was designed for murder….

As a Marine Murder is my profession so how could that be that I would be denied a tool to do my job. I suppose because the tool I was working with in every other facet was actually a lifeline. Reflecting now on my life I see that the most vile things Ive ever done have been in private and it wasn’t until my knowledge of the sin did I realize the full magnitude of the crime.

At this moment may I be clear that I am not saying to train people so that they can make Mississippi wind chimes… What I am saying is People or Tools no matter what you know their purpose or intention to be have a darkness underneath that you need to be aware of. Guns and Rope are only tools… Knowing their capabilities is empowering ignoring them is fatal.

This is an attempt to get something out, word vomit, dump the refuse from between my ears. All while trying to be creative and give life to a story. I can think of my audience of whom really don’t exist unless I let them peer over my shoulder to gaze their eyes upon the work of “a madman” sounds so befitting if I was trying to take this story into a place of intrigue but the reality of it is. This story is more a stream of consciousness with no particular direction….

I see myself walking down the halls of a checkered floor with the methodic foot falls one equates to ominous news about to be brought in by some doctor or lawyer but upon realization that I control the beat of doom moving in metronomic precision I decide to skip. My shoes have now transformed to sneakers and the serious face is slowly uplifted to a smile. With my smile increasing with every stride I eventually have a shit eating grin smeared across my face and launch myself into the highest bound of all but as I descend a change occurs and I land with a parachute  break fall in full World War 2 Gi regalia. Hearing explosions and German gun fear wiz across my head as I look up at the deadly light show as my body mechanically detaches itself from my harness. I appreciate the beauty with a cold indifference knowing that I am about to commit acts of evil on my fellow man. I roll over to my stomach and asses wear the staccato of hate is singing in search of a lover to rape. I slowly inch myself to a slight depression buttressed by a tree freshly felled. I claw out a belly scratch and I give myself a window to take up aim. I don’t see a man but the lighting of the singer firing at the cyclic rate so I take aim right at its heart and fire. The monster stumbles holds its breath and resumes its barrage of lighting but now wounded and unsure of where the sting came from she fires erratically across the landscape because my muzzle flash was suppressed by my little hidey hole. My entire life has lead up to these moments for survival but now as I lye here sighting in once again I question. Why? Why have I let all my love, creation, sadness and pain be weaponized and exploited by others. Like a woman raised to be a whore who gives pleasure I was raised like a savage to end it. Not just pleasure but all things to include myself when I no longer feel purpose. I retake aim and begin to fire at the monster until my weapon runs dry and the monster stammers once again. I raise myself up and sprint across the wasteland maneuvering the terrain with the grace of a predator zeroing in on my prey. I fall short of the monsters lair, pull the pins my grenades and cast them right down her throat. Upon hearing and feeling the blast I draw my bayonet like a sword and go forth to cut the maiden free from inside the belly of the beast. As I charge forward I feel bullets rip through my back fired by the men who sent me forth to slay the monster. When the valkyries descend to pull me up to Valhalla I see the beast has recovered and whenever a warrior fly’s to close to the fire it isn’t the heat of the enemy that melts his wax but the owners trimmers that prune his wings to keep the battle going on eternally. 

This is America,

I’m a fan of Donald Glover #ChildishGambino like an OG fan back in his #PineApple days trying to be Youtube famous on #DerrickComedy and I will say I’ve liked his evolution as an entertainer from Comedy writer, Actor, Stand-Up and the point of this article Singer/Song-writer.

With all that said I want to give my own perspective on his latest song/video release of #ThisIsAmerica… In all fairness I didn’t feel the need to give my own perspective until I saw the varying degrees of response to his work from polarizing sides of the spectrum. Now, because I am the most HUMBLE and UNBIASED man I know. I feel as though I can navigate through extremes and come up with the most insightful conclusive dissection of this video without any prejudice. Did I mention how HUMBLE I am?

Now to be fair after I watched the original content I had my own opinion which I will try to recreate but after watching the different spinsters I felt as though they were a bit ingenious but also offered a different insight that I may have been oblivious too. So I decided to watch the video again and here are my thoughts…

Its a very Afro-Centric song talking about how black people just want to pay and enjoy life. Accompanied with a gospel sound that is interrupted by a GUNSHOT… and a body…. The next words are “This is America… Don’t Catch You Slipping Up… Look What Im Whipping Up.” and in my opinion what he is saying is “Fuck how I destroy my community look what I have.”

Then is combines with “Black face inspired” characterized dancing to detract from the actual problem. Now because I am a White CIS gendered straight male I don’t rate an opinion but I will continue to go on.

#CB then states how “Gunz in my area… I got to carry them.” speaking to the plight of black America needing to be armed but living in cities with stringent gun laws. They make themselves felons just to survive. #FreeMeekMills

#CB Then goes into going down the hole of gang culture partially out of necessity which then turns to ego. The one thing that can pull him out is his reintroduction of Gospel singers which could equate to his roots and basis for morality. That he dances out to then quickly puts to death and coldly walks away because “This is America #MakeThatMoneyBlackMan #DontCatchYouSlippin #LookWhatImWhippin

Then a riot starts to take place in the background of his own community that he just shot the fuck up and he is just #Stuntin about himself… In all truth references about #Celly #HunnidBands and #Contrabands earning his street cred and moving up the ranks he can now make a threat it gets silent and everyone disappears. He doesnt have a weapon and although he may’ve elevated to a point where he personally doesnt pull the trigger. He sparks a jay and the soul music comes back #FrankWhiteShit. Then the video resurrects his initial(now faceless) victim which put him in his position because it gave him his initial street cred and his following list #GotHisMoney.

The #CB is dancing in an empty lot with only one CardiB-esque type Boo below him surrounded by no one except shitty hoopty rides…. Followed by him running scared from what I can only imagine is the community he destroyed…

Basically its everything Kanye West was trying to say…. #ThisIsAmerica #TIA

I haven’t even cried yet…

When my grandfather died I was actually relieved because for the last few years he was more of a shadow of himself then the man I modeled my life after…. Writing this now I don’t know what I am trying to accomplish but I due know that I want to share who he was to me. He taught me how to love where as my GiGi taught me how to live. I bring her into the conversation because every great love affair binds the souls. GiGi gave me the courage to slap people in the face and get arrested in NOLA in my 70’s. Where as G aka PoP’s taught me how to love and be there for my family regardless of whether or not it was 4am “On a Tuesday”(Club blowing up irrelevant)

Im writing this now to try and feel something because my inability to feel is what has lead every meaningful relationship I’ve been in to fail. Ive lost something inside myself that allows emotion to penetrate me. I now live by a system of rules that defines the game I play with anyone Im involved in. If you fall short and the dynamic has changed then you become expendable. Once the man who made me what I have become lost his value… he lost my tears.

What kills me is thats not something I learned from him because he made psalm crosses for his mother to lay on her grave from the day she died. Where once someone loses there value I’ll let them slowly go out to pasture but in essence only send money for carrots. Whats bringing tears to me now is that I realize he was and continues to be a greater man than Im capable of emulating and I acknowledge that I can only be a charlatan of who he was. People loved him for who he was. They love me for who I pretend to be because the reality is I try to emulate who he was but I am only the Shadow of what his genuine light brought to the world.

I can’t cry because I am unable to love…

I walk into a 7/11 hearing the bell ring upon my entry. I feel my consciousness jump to the bell then back to me. I suppose I am in such a rush to get outside myself I feel as though anything outside of my control I want to immediately understand encapsulate and have in my power. Time… One thing that isn’t inside my control because adding more time to this dynamic allows for more variables. I see the attendant resting his hand on the counter and rather than reach for my weapon. I slam my left hand on top of his wrist and violently follow through with my right fist across his face. Never releasing the pressure of his free hand with my left. I use it as my pivot point to jump across the counter. After my initial display of hyper-violence my victim has the sense to at least play possum. Oddly enough Im not even interested in the register because most assholes now a day’s pay with cards. So I give a pull of the 20 dollar CA lottery scratch-off’s like I’m trying to blast out a “fruit by the foot”. I pull a 10 cent plastic bag thats by the register thanks to Prop-“fuck the poor” and fill it with all the scratch-offs I can. The clerk lays complaint the entire time after my initial assault but I decide to run his pockets for good measure. Taking only his Obama phone I tell him to “Stay down!” I walk around the register/counter from behind the hot dogs and taquitos and right out the front door breaking the flip phone in half and casually disagreeing it. Total time on target less then 5 minutes…. Where am I wrong?

I don’t know how long Ive been stuck in this prison. Its like everyday I wake up and want to accomplish something and once I complete the daily regime of chores Im thrown back in this cell of apathy. It seems like only now that I am rained in with the total lack of desire to escape by ways of social media am I finally willing to submit to the pen trying to analyze my character and where he is or how he got there is pointless because I can rewrite the whole timeline. I do feel as though this time in jail is important even if its only a deterrent to avoid all future authority.

So now I am walking out of here a free man still unburdened by any responsibility or past just these occasional memories that launch me into places that are neither good nor bad just so. Wether they are figments of my imagination or recall to a past life they are the most tangible grasp on self I own… Other than this tattoo on my arm.

Im getting out of this town and back on the road that seems to be the only safe place for me. Navigating through a town with others social constructs that at this point are still alien to me besides I want to be alone. I look up at the sun and continue my journey in its perceived direction. So ill put one foot in front of the other “Put the other foot down, down, down.” All things considered that shave was mighty fine and I feel happy… Even if only for the fact that part of me feels like myself again.

“Hey Mother fucker, What the fuck are you doing.”

Im instantly ripped back into my cell looking out the window at the top of the ceiling I suppose was placed there to give the inmates some sense of time differential between night and day. I don’t have to look over and to see an inmate bigger than me. I can feel his presence as an orange mass or aggression that burns red where skin should be. I choose not to acknowledge him for 2 reasons first it will annoy him and for whatever reason I get a devilish pleasure knowing that will do the trick. Secondly, I have a confidence inside myself that forces me to not give one inch of ground that same spark tells me I will only take while in here the only concession I am willing to make is I will not take unless provoked.

The ball of energy is now standing an arms length directly in front of me. I take a quick step close the distant and hip toss him to the ground in doing so I give an excellent show of force using minimum effort and not over committing myself to one attacker. Which now I recognize there were 2 more but where previously at my 5 and 7 o’clock. They are surprised and a little scared I imagine they would have jumped on my back had i followed my initial would be assailant to the ground but much to their surprise I had struck first and remained on my feet. I think the showing of measured violence was the scariest thing of all to these delinquents if I had followed through and ravaged my enemy it would have been for fear or blind rage. What I showed was control of the situation. Now I take another quick step and kick the initial assailant in the face keeping a cool voice I say out loud.

“I am doing what ever the fuck I want.”

Then I stomp on his chest driving my heel repeatedly into his solo-plex. Letting loose a blood lust that is only ended by the guards ripping me from a limp faded form.   winning not only this fight but any future engagement because they will know that I am not to be fucked with. 

Darkness…

There is no arc there doesn’t seem to be any journey or its difficult for me to tap into one when I am stuck in this desert. How deep inside my mind can I go and play before I start creating monsters to battle. How is that a step towards enlightenment where subconsciously Im ultimately searching for conflict. If I were to strike back into the wilderness what will I find. 

Sitting by my computer in boredom I slowly drift off… My next conscious thought is I’m duck walking around in a skivy shirt and some digital green pants scrub brush in my right hand, left hand in the small of my back. Eyes looking down and occasionally bumping into other skinny kids wearing the same pickle suit I have on. Walking around monitoring our activity are these Pit Bull’s with circular disk shaped hats occasionally barking in the ear of a petrified recruit. Who once attacked, scrubs more furiously than before. The others around him have a slight sigh of relief knowing that they cant have their ass chewed if the Drill Instructor already has a mouthful of their buddies ass.

“What… The… Fuck… Recruit.”-DI

The word’s by themselves were not terrifying but the controlled anger in which they came out made me afraid to acknowledge that had just been said. Hoping upon hope that they were meant for another. That hope quickly went right out the door as a shiny black shoe and a pair of green khakis with an angle so sharply creased you could filet a fish. Stepped into my peripheral vision.

I felt the edge of the cap cut into the side of my head knocking me off balance and onto my butt. Then a deep hoarse whisper slowly penetrate my ears like an aggressive prom date.

“Recruit…. Why the fuck didn’t you respond.”-DI

“I didn’t kn<interrupted by DI> “I, I, I, KEEP TALKING TO ME ON YOUR FUCKING FACE TOO!!!!”- DI

I quickly snap up to the position of attention and sound off with all I have inside myself

“SORRY SIR, THIS REC< interrupted again by DI> “NEVER APOLOGIZE TO ME JUST UNFUCK YOURSELF. I UNDERSTAND THAT MAY BE A HERCULEAN TASK FOR YOU PORT-HOLES BUT THERE IS NO OTHER OPTION!!! YOU UNDERSTAND DAT!!!!- DI

“SIR, YES, SIR” – ME

“LOUDER” – DI

“SIR, YES, SIR” – ME

“LOU-DER”- DI

“SIR, YES, SIR”- ME

“ON’YOUR’FUCKIN’FACE’RIGHT’NOW”-DI

“SIR, YES, SIR” – ME

I drop to the push up position and a calm comes over me. Its not that I enjoy being ambushed by screams and push ups but the anxiety of when or if is gone. Now its just reaction, no anticipation my worst fear is being realized and there is an excitement to that because on the other side of fear… Is nothing.

“DOWN!UP!” -DI

“1 AYE SIR!”- ME

“DOWN!UP!”- DI

“2 AYE SIR!” – ME

“DOWN!UP!” – DI

“3 AYE SIR!”- ME

“4 AYE SIR!”- ME

“STOP!!!!! DID I TELL YOU TO DO ANOTHER PUSH UP RECRUIT?”- DI

“SIR, NO, SIR!” – ME

“GOOD… You just want to sit here and be on your own fucking program. Sit here do PT while the rest of the platoon swabs the deck.” he said with a sarcastic air.

“Where are you from recruit?”

“I am< I, I, I YOU ARE NOT AN INDIVIDUAL THERE IS NO I IN YOUR FUCKING VOCABULARY UNLESS IT IS IN RESPONSE TO A COMMAND! NEWSFLASH I DONT GIVE A FUCK WHERE YOU ARE FROM, RECRUIT!!! AS FAR AS IM CONCERNED YOU AND THE REST OF THE RECRUITS ARE A BUNCH OF SPERM SWIMMING TOWARDS THAT EGG SO YOU CAN BECOME A UNITED STATES MARINE AND I WANT TO MAKE SURE I ABORT THE WEAK!!!!”-DI

“ALL OF YOU GET ON YOUR MOTHER FUCKING FACES RIGHT NOW!!!”-DI

“SIR, YES, SIR” we sounded off in thunderous unison.

“Who ever you showed up as is dead forever. You have no name other than “This recruit” you have no family outside of PLT 3010. Myself and the other drill instructors are not your mother and father. We are your Drill Instructors and we will give you the tools to thrive on the battlefield and kill your enemy. If you are weak I encourage you to use those same tools on yourself so that others may live… For the next 13 weeks You are mine.”- DI