Posted September 7, 2010

Part I

60 guys in my Delta Co. platoon arrived at Fort Knox and found that their first platoon leader would be Private White. To say that Private White’s skull was over sized would be a huge understatement. The kid looked like a damn hot air balloon. So we all just assumed he was the smartest man on the planet. Come on folks! If we fill a basketball with brains, the basketball should be winning the Nobel Prize for Physics. So when it came to Private White’s giant dome, we expected superhuman powers, e.g., levitation, the power to control magnetic fields, reading minds.

Also, Private White’s body was a jungle of body hair. With that much body hair, we made another assumption: Private White could withstand extreme temperature changes. His body hair could trap heat in the frigid winter to help him stay warm and cozy. It could wick away moisture in the hot summer to help cool down his body. Private White was obviously blessed with an adaptive body. Delta Co knew that if Private White’s body adapted to the hot Kentucky summer, he could lead us without the distraction of the blazing Sun.

Private White had mysterious cat like eyes. This is not reflected well in the picture, but Private White’s eyes were filled with darkness. Because of his intimidating stare, we always trusted Private White to fend off the mind games of the relentless Drill Sergeants. We had not yet experienced his awesome abilities, but from just his looks alone(basically the attached picture could be a photograph) we knew we were in good hands for the upcoming 10 weeks.

Stay tuned for Delta Company’s first experience with Private “the Brain” White and his transformation into Private White the Hell Hound.

Posted September 7, 2010

Part II

Private White had legs like tree stumps. These were not your traditional cankles (calves abruptly meet ankles), but they were more like hinkles (term invented by R. D. Mullet to describe hips abruptly meet ankles). White walked like a broken duck. The power generated by his highly adaptive body turned out to be “stubbornness of the leg”. White could not be budged. This power was not only a physical trait, but also turned out to be a character trait, i.e., White would not change his mind.

How did we discover Private White’s prominent character trait? Well, upon Private White’s arrival and matriculation into our 10 week Basic Training course, White immediately befriended Private Gummo. The rest of the platoon quickly understood that Gummo was bad news. Gummo was 5’6” 110 lbs of purebred evil. He was born with a mark of the devil, a 6th toe grown from the ball of his right foot. Born into what we could only assume was a family of inbred ogres, Gummo was obviously the runt of the family. He was banished from his clan solely for his physical deficiency, but was completely capable of scaring small children in their sleep. His dead weight tongue, petite figure, and extra toe led his peers at Fort Knox to dub him Pinky.

Despite our warnings, Private White remained loyal (stubbornly attached) to Gummo. This loyalty became the catalyst of Private White’s transformation into Private White the Hell Hound, as he became quickly infected by the devious character of Private Gummo.

Private Gummo

Stay tuned for Private White’s adventures with Gummo and the verbal war strategies of Private Mullet to defend the platoon against Private White the Hell Hound.

Posted September 16, 2010

Part III

After three days of haircuts and group man showers at Fort Knox, we were finally told that our Basic Training class was starting. We were asked to load our fresh new uniforms into duffles and toss ’em in the back of a truck. The truck pulled away and the driver, Drill Sergeant Hammer (who looked like a fucking raccoon with deep set eyes surrounded by purple circles) yelled for us to keep up. The man was driving like 20 MPH, so we all stood in the middle of the road looking at each other like “yeah fuckin right dude.” I looked over at Private White and expected him to bound off in leaping broad jumps like a damn tiger, but the first guy to take off was Gummo. You’d think his gimp foot would slow him down, but the 6th toe on the ball of his foot acted like a spring, catapulting his right foot forward. The left leg could barely keep up, so the man ran sideways like a crab, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if that crab could chase down a damn cheetah.

Private White saw his new best friend take off and followed, barreling down the middle of the road. It was the most awesome display of power we’d ever seen. How could any set of legs carry that enormous freakin head. Don’t get me wrong, he did have elephant legs, but we couldn’t help but to be amazed.

The rest of us took off at once, following the lead of our fearless leader. Of course after about 50 yards, Private White keeled over in pain. We all stopped (except for Gummo, he was actually keeping up with the truck). I asked White if he was okay. Would he survive? He looked up and stole my eyes with his. They were transforming into evil black pearls as a huge red vein pulsed from his left temple. He scolded me in a demon possessed voice, “Go fuck yourself before I spit venom in your face.” I almost cried. I took off after Gummo. All of the sudden, screaming burst through my ears from the mouth of an angry drill sergeant. YOU WOULD LEAVE THAT MAN BEHIND???!!! YOU AIN”T CUT OUT FOR THIS!!! YOU WOULD SERIOUSLY LEAVE THAT MAN BEHIND??!!!

I had no answer. I just turned back, running towards White who stood doubled over at the feet of several drill sergeants. DID I TELL YOU TO TURN YOUR BACK ON ME???!!! DID I TELL YOU TO RUN BACK TO THAT MAN???!!! At this point I was running in two different directions. I was afraid to stop moving, but I couldn’t make a decision on the required direction.

Then one of the three drill sergeants punking down Private White waved me over. As I got closer, Private White looked up, pointed at me and said, “Yeah, he’s the guy. It was him.” To this day I don’t know what he meant, but I know I’m a better man for it. I did so many pushups over the next three hours my palms were bruised. My feet were blistered from running in place in black combat boots with a new stiffness. My legs burned like fire and my arms were jelly, but somehow they still produced push ups. What a great leader Private White was proving to be. He was sure as hell getting me in shape! He was toughening my soul! He knew that life was full of hard knocks. No use cheating my way through Fort Knox, when I could become a real man.

Stay tuned for more about Private White’s leadership abilities and his transformation into Private White the Hellhound.

Posted September 22, 2010

Part IV

When the group finally began arriving at our new barracks, many of their ankles and heels were blistering from running in the new boots. Private White’s massive hinkles were not blistering however, as his ankles were obviously made of steel kegs. Its not often they issue a soldier a uniform where the top and bottom are different sizes. White wore a large top and a Triple-XL bottom. He looked like a midget sitting on a barrel. This was probably the reason that he was almost the last person to drag his fat ass into the barracks. I say “almost” because when White was arriving, thanks to him I was still a mile behind in the push-up position in the middle of the fucking road. I was burnt out. Unable to flex a muscle, I was frozen in place, leaning against the road with sweat pouring into a puddle beneath my face. Lucky for me, the exploding pain in my forearms numbed my hands from the pain of odd bits of gravel jabbed into my palms.

Unable to force me into anymore pushups, one drill sergeant resorted to a more creative form of harassment. I certainly don’t hate drill sergeants. I’m willing to bet that the majority are good people who obviously put in looong days dedicated to making soldiers better soldiers. So please don’t stereotype all drill sergeants based on the following story of one individual dipshit drill sergeant.

I can’t remember his name, probably because I never saw his name patch, but for the story’s sake I’ll call him Dickweed. Drill Sergeant Dickweed had just left the mess hall near the reception barracks with three vanilla ice cream bars- the kind with the thin shell of chocolate on the outside. When he saw the commotion in the street, he saw an opportunity to act out a funny scenario that had come to mind when he first found the ice cream bars in the cafeteria. This lead to one of the most memorable moments my Army experience has ever gifted me, reassuring me that Drill Sergeant Dickweed was no doubt a serious dickweed.

“Hey Private,” he said in a calm and evil voice. “If you can’t do anymore pushups, I’ve got something better for ya.” Uh oh! I could tell Mr. Dickweed was about to wear my ass out. I could feel the pain before it happened. I was scared of what he could do to the parts of my body that weren’t already destroyed by pushups. What torture was this demon asshole going to put me through? I was genuinely scared. And then I heard this, “Every time I take a bite of an ice cream bar, I want you to say mmm mmm good.” Really?! I mean REALLY?! Even the other three drill sergeants looked at him like he was queer. But of course, I agreed and he proceeded to nibble like a damn baby on bar number one to prolong my supposed embarassment.

“mmm mmm good”

“Thats mmm mmm good DRILL SERGEANT to YOU private!!!” he yelled sardonically.

“mmm mmm good drill sergeant…mmm mmm good drill sergeant…mmm mmm good drill sergeant……..” Must’ve said that 100 times. This guy had me in the push up position saying mmm mmm good and he was damn proud that the other drill sergeants were laughing at me. Except, I’m pretty sure they were laughing at his lame ass. I laughed in my head, but acted embarrassed to satisfy this man’s evil desire to make me his bitch. Unfortunately for him, the hot Kentucky sun got to his ice cream bars and the asshole had melted chocolate streaming down his chin. A little disgusted, the other “more sophisticated” drill sergeants grew bored and turned away engaging in some meaningless conversation, probably about how much it sucks to live in the middle of nowhere. After about ten minutes, sloppy face Dickweed was done and sent me sprinting down the road so I could finally rejoin my new platoon in the Delta Company barracks.

Though I was bored the rest of the afternoon while filling out paperwork and inventorying my worn and dated gear, at least I got to rest a bit and reflect on my experience with sloppy face Dickweed. But every so often I caught a glimpse of Private White giving me a sinister stare, like some sort of hellhound determined to intimidate me with is fat dome head and show how pleased he was that he thought he had got the best of me. But seriously, the best was yet to come.

Stay tuned for more stories, including the introduction of prettylicious loverboy Private Kayalfabet!