The following is a point/counterpoint article discussing the importance of keeping quiet on a field op at all costs, while also questioning where farts fit in to the picture. The point will be argued by your company’s resident career staff sergeant, and the counterpoint by a standard issue lance corporal expected to adhere.

Point: Alright, Listen up. I’m only going to say this once. When you’re out in my field sittin’ in your little holes thinking about the last time you were in a warm wet one, you will do so with mouths shut, asses unmoved, and most importantly, rectums puckered good and tight! Once you’re done cooking up your little chili mac and chicken chunk, I don’t want to hear a peep, good to go? God help any one of you that starts ripping ass in my foxholes.

Counterpoint: Hold up. There are three things in life that will ALWAYS get a laugh: somebody falling down, a guy getting kicked in the nuts, and any variety of fart being passed. It’s hard enough to keep it together when you’re sweating off your balls during an I.G. inspection, and a little squeaker slips out from a row behind you. But the acoustics alone of a good deep foxhole make it prime pants-shitting space. Expecting a bunch of lance cooleys to pass on that kind of opportunity is unethical, Gunny.

Point: It’s uh…staff sergeant.

Counterpoint: What, seriously? Still? Oh right…forgot about Pattaya…my bad then.

Point: Them ‘little squeakers’ you sixth graders can’t stop rolling around over are going to lead Charlie right to your doorstep one day. Is that what you want Uncle Sam to tell your mamas? “Sorry ma’am — your son couldn’t help but blow out his trousers and snicker like a manic off his meds over it. And guess what? NOW HE’S DEAD AS DISCO!”

Counterpoint: I think you’re being a little melodramatic, gu- staff sergeant. There are very few things that can bring people from all walks of life together more than a loud and confident ripper. Think about it: everybody does it, and I don’t care who you are, EVERYONE laughs to some degree when somebody tears it up. And who in the holy hell is Charlie? My grandpa used to talk about him after he was ten or so Old Milwaukees into a Tuesday, but we were all too busy laughing when he’d cut one bending over the fridge to ever ask for clarification. I assume you mean ISIS, right? Trust me; it’s funny to them too. Well you were there — oh wait…Pattaya…disregard.

Point: You’re all Marines, and must be swift, silent, and deadly at all times. You think Manila John had his ass cheeks flapping in the breeze while cutting up all them Japanese buggers on Guadalcanal? Hell no! If the man didn’t so much as scoff when that Browning burned his dick skinners to the bone, he sure as shit wasn’t going to bring attention to himself with an undisciplined asshole. There wasn’t any place for it back then, and the song remains the same today.

Counterpoint: I really think that if you gave it a try the next time we’re out there, you’d be pleasantly surprised. You know what I’d do if I were you? I’d wait until about 2300 or so when we’re all sacked out, and text your dependa to drop off a couple of those Double Six Dollar Burgers from Carl’s Jr. Take your time with them — it’s not a race, and wait until they run their course. When the time comes, let it ride, staff sergeant — just like you did way back in the woodland cammie days. You 4-somethings are always bitching about being old, right? Farts will always be the ties that bind.

Point: That’s a negative, leather. Greasy American fare just clogs me up. If I’m going for gassy, It’s pad Thai every time.

Counterpoint: Right…Pattaya.