***Upate — Be advised. I wrote this part of my blog immediately after leaving the military. My last few months were terrible, I needed to blow off steam, I no longer feel this way. But i’m leaving this post up because it was how I genuinely felt at the time. So…I don’t regret writing it and you can keep the hate mail to yourself. Just know i’m PROUD to have served in the United States Marine Corps and wouldn’t trade the experience, on a whole, for anything.
Yep, I said hate sorry. I’ve thought long and hard about doing this, but as long as I don’t have people in my unit reading it, i’m fine with it. I guess, even if they could, I still wouldn’t care. After all, I need a place to vent all the stupidness that is the United States Marine Corp, and why I will never show loyalty to this organization and when my kids one day ask what I did between 2005 and 2009, I will tell them I was considering going to college. I’ve lost all the little pride i’ve been able to muster for being a marine, so NEVER call me that. I am a civillian in disguise.
I joined the Marine Corp to grow up, see the world, get something done in my life, and to be a man. I never imagined that I’d constantly treated worse then a piece of S**T because I volunteered to possibly sacrifice my life, go through 3 month’s of hell in bootcamp to earn this title I despise.
This blog will be updated on many occasions, not really for you, but for me. But you are, of course, free to read and “enjoy”, and I would recommend for those of you “not so smart people” considering joining this organization. Honor, Courage, Commitment? Tch, ok, you believe whatever brochure you want to, and while your at it, check out why “I’M STILL WAITING TO GR ADUATE BOOTCAMP”.
SATURDAY, AUGUST 11TH, 2007
I head over to the gym early one Saturday morning, and dress out into PT gear, and I just remembered I forgot my towel. I head out of the locker, grab my towel, listening to my music, when I’m stopped by a pregnant female. She asks me very politely and nice why my spongebob boxers are showing out of my PT shorts, and I look down and notice that indeed, my boxers are showing. “Is that authorized” she asked me angrily. “No ma’am, sorry” I said again. Surely that was all that needed to be said, as I fixed it…but no, not in the Marine Corp. Soon she started cussing at me, acting all pissed off. She was obviously a staff nco. In any normal situation, she could have just politely asked me to fix my shorts, and I would have gladly, but she had to talk me down, like I was nothing, and use words.
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 1ST, 2007
Much has happened in between the past and now, but we’ll just keep you up to date. So, Sergeant Delcarmen, one of the senior Guns Platoon Sergeants (Gun’s platoon are the Marines that operate the Howitzer’s) comes up to us and tells us quiet simply that we are all gonna field day (of course, it’s Thursday. Field Day is when you go and clean your rooms and the barracks, easilly turning into a 16 hour, but i’ve experienced more then once working 21 1/2 hour day, NO JOKE!). He tells us we have 3 hours to thoroughly clean the rooms, and if more then 5 people fail, then we won’t get rechecked until 8 o’clock and we’ll have to march to chow like recruits. Stupid, but fine. We clean or rooms, and let me explain how they inspect. They take their finger, and come across the entire room, looking for any dust. In our rooms, dust almost settles right after you clean it, pledge or not. And our leaders know this. SOOOO…needless today, they weren’t happy about something, becaue 5 people failed in a row. Our rooms WERE clean of course. Long story short, we march to chow, get yelled at for stupid stuff, and then have to stand in the hallway at 8 o’clock listening to our NCO’s yell at us and then try to explain to us what absolute pieces of utter crap we are. 9 o’clock now, time for bed, I go. Fine, but it’s not over yet.
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 2ND, 2007
Alright! Another beautiful day in the MARINE CORP! MOTTO!…no not really. I’m sleeping like a baby in my BED when all of a sudden someone starts yelling at the top of his lungs “REVIELLE!!!” pounding on doors like a police SWAT officer as he walks down the hallway. We jump out of our racks, and go outside of our rooms to await further onslought. It’s Cpl. Greiner, a generally calm and relaxed NCO, but now enraged (in fact, this is one of the only times I’ve seen him like this). He explains that some smokers and drinkers thrashed the balcony area’s and threw beer bottles and broke them and that he got in trouble by higher staff nco’s for it. I can understand his anger, but now i’ve got to be punished for some retards. I’ve never even EVER smoked, dipped, drank, had sex, whatever. So we march to chow again. Cpl. Fehr is down there to greet us. After yelling at us some more, and making PFC Walton run to the formation (but not fast enough I guess), so he makes him run back and then come back (Like a Drill Instructor would at recruit training), he tell us we did it to ourselves, and makes us march. You really can’t understand how much we hate to march…hell, can you understand any of this? This isn’t a book, this is reality, and it’s me, your friend, dealing with it, and I hate it.
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 16TH, 2007
Good morning everybody. Just after midnight here, and it’s, you guessed it, time for another beautiful episode of why I hate the Marine Corps. Coming to you live as it can be from beatiful Twentynine Palms, CA.
In this latest episode, all of the Marines (not married of Coooourrrsse) were awoken about 0000 hours, oops I mean 12:00 am, and yelled at by the OOD. A staff sergeant (of Cooooouuurrrrsssee, had it been an officer, they at least have enough respect and civiliity and compassion to be decent people) comes rolling around, giving a bunch of BS on why we didn’t field day (keep in mind, we were not given any orders for Field Day, and were traveling to the Field on our weekend times). So, as punishment (everything and everyone must be punished, or we’ll be a bunch of slackers) we all are forced downstairs, and forced to police call and sweep while the bored piece of sh-…phew, calm down, got a little carried away there…while the bored SSGT who had nothing better to do on duty watches on. It is now just before 1 am, and here I am, taking the time out of my $2.33 an hour schedule and sleep to give you another precious broadcast, for you, not me, to save you, and help you realize why you need to go to college and say to hell with the military…or maybe just the Marine Corps.
Well, i’m kinda tired, but now that i’m awake, I’m gonna find it hard to get any sleep…I just have that wierd problem. I thought I was gonna sleep well tonight too. Well, I guess it’s just time to get ready for PT in about 3 hours and then on to the field, where we work 16 hour days. Good night, God Bless, and remember kids, like all bad things on this earth (aka, the USMC), they will burn in hell forever 🙂
NOVEMBER 22nd, 2007
Well Happy Thanksgiving I guess. I forgot my paxel and other anti-depressant medication on the way over to my house, so halfway on the car ride with my mom and brother I started to break down and cry for no reason. So I had to come back and made the decision to just stay. I really would rather not bother anyone. But most important too, I just want to be left alone. So, I fall asleep, and wake up about 5 pm. On the way out, a cheeful faced Corporal Flores asks me to let him borrow my laptop. Of course, HELL NO, I don’t want to, I don’t generally like A-holes, but I allow him, after all, it’s Thanksgiving (that and I don’t want him to make me do something stupid because of his power hungary status). So out for a walk I go into the cold 60 degree weather. Chow Hall’s already closed, PX closed, heck the only thing that was open was a Taco Bell, so I eat some Gordita’s for thanksgiving (if I was a little more sane and less depressed, I would of happily gone home to my house). Anyways, on my way up one of the stairways into the barracks, I spot Cpl. Flores and another Marine coming down. Now I knew better then to even come across this piece of ****, but being the stupid idiot I was, I kept going. He asked me to be honest and then asked if I had gone down these steps when I left (There are about 4 stairwell exits to the barracks). I honestly answered that I didn’t remember, but said I thought I did.
So apparentelly, Mr. Powerfreak then goes on to tell me that I have to clean out the laundry room this fine evening with the Marine he caught smoking on the stairs.
Now, there is no sign that says you cannot enter this stairwell, and everybody uses it all the time, without any problems. But because satan himself seems to have taken over this NCO, I end up cleaning the laundry room with the other Marine. Why not though, right? He’s (Cpl. Flores) has got nothing else to do this Thanksgiving but to excersize his powers of authority by making our lives miserable, right? Of course, he’s an NCO, and that’s all most of us E-3’s and below do, despise them.
After the cleanup in the laundryroom, I calmly walk into the Duty room, grab my laptop and bag, and take it back to my room.
Alright, can’t wait to see what’s gonna happen next! :)!!! It’s always a pleasure to be messed with! Yeah, Oohrah demotivation and intense sadness and depression, and almost killing myself over in Okinawa, motto..
JANUARY 8TH, 2008
While conducting pre-Iraq training at Twentynine Palms, CA, we were out in 7 ton trucks pretending to be attacked by IED bombs and surprise attacks. When one of the attacks came, we dismounted and did a fire-team rush (a stupid Marine attack where you almost basically do short little charges toward an enemy position, instead of using cover and manuever like the rest of the “make sense” forces).
Me and 3 other Marines got instructed to move out about 100 yards and wait there to protect one side of the truck, so we did. We sat out there for about 20-25 minutes without further instruction, but doing what we were told. Soon, we heard the sound of 7 ton trucks in the background start to drive away. We look back and see them drive by about 250 yards and start to yell, but they don’t hear, and soon we are all alone in the desert night.
Luckilly for us though, the staging camp area for the trucks was only about 800 yards ahead of us, so we walk back. Upon arrival, a very angry Corporal in charge starts to question us and stops just short of yelling. We respond about what happened, and instead of acknowleging it was his fault for leaving us, gives us all firewatch that night as “punishment” for his own mistake.
May 15th, 2008
On the night our Advance Party (a group of Marines leaving early to scout out the area and prepare for the rest of the unit) was about to leave for Iraq, they all were partying and getting drunk like it was the last time they were going to ever touch a beer. Well usually when the barracks gets in a drunk fest, I close my door and crank out the noise canceling headphones and play a game or watch a movie or what not.
Anyways though, soon, I start hearing stuff being thrown down the hallway and against the doors. I later get a knock to my door, and stupid enough, actually answer the door. When I open it, it’s the Barracks duty for our floor (kind like a security detail that we’re assigned on average about once a month for 24 houts). He tells me that the Advanced Party Matines have thrown beer all over the hallways and against the walls, and that they are far too drunk to clean it up themselves. So he selects me, ME, the only person in the entire unit that has never ever even drunk an alcoholic beverage (or smoked, or had sex, or dipped, etc, etc, etc) to clean it up by myself.
This beyond rages me, and I go and confront the drunk Marines, something I never do. Lucky for me, they were a happy kinda drunk, and a sergeant goes and tells the duty that I don’t have to do it, and chooses someone else in the Advance Party group. With that, I go to my room, lock and deadbolt the door, and stay in there the remainder of the night, refusing to answer the door.
April 16th, 2008
It’s been a little while since i’ve last kept you updated on the blog. Sorry to keep you all waiting. I had some thoughts on whether or not to continue this blog on “Why I Hate”…you know what. In the end, after a day of stupid bullcrap, I’ve decided to keep it going and will until I EAS.
When I went to replace 2 Marines on guard duty one night at the front gate, I found out they had caught 3 mice. I was further shocked to find out what they did to all three of them when I got there.
2 of the mice they caught they put in a Gatorade bottle and put 2 lit cigarettes in it. They then closed the cap and let the 2 mice choke on the smoke, wastching as they struggled and laughing. The third mouse they gave a worse fate. They broke it’s hind leg so it couldn’t get away. Then, while it was sitting on a table at the front gate, they Sprayed a very heavy coat of red Spray Paint all over the mouse. When I arrived a few minutes later, the two mice in the Gatorade Bottle had already suffocated to death and the one on the table was still struggling to breathe, and was kicking a little here and there, as if to make a futile attempt to still escape it’s death. His eyelids were gunked shut from the heavy spray paint, and his chest was still struggling to breathe what air it could.
So…are these the co-workers you want to associate yourself with? Maybe your children or other family? Because I tell you now, most Marines would get a kick out of this behavior and find it to be prime entertainment. DISGUSTING!
April 21st, 2008
Sergeant Taylor, an IRR Marine who was recalled to go with our unit to Iraq, asked me today to call Lcpl. Lovinsky to have him get some MRE’s (meals) ready for a patrol that was going to be going on later that day. When I called, I found out he wasn’t there, so Sergeant Taylor, who was still standing there, told me to leave a message, so I did.
I continued to work on my assignment on the Computer and 10 minutes later Sergeant Taylor walks in again and asks what the status is on the MRE’s. When I tell him that Lcpl. Lovinsky hasn’t come back yet, Sergeant T aylor throws a fit and instructs me to call back for Lovinsky in 30 minutes and that he was on his way to find him. He then goes on and says that the MRE’s were not ready by the time he got up to where the patrol was starting, he was going to come back and personally “F**K me up!”. Needless to say, I was really annoyed, rolled my eyes when he walked away and continued working on my assignment not much phased. He never came back.
MAY 22ND, 2008
I was forced (with the other E-3 and below Marines, mainly) to dig a wide 3 foot pit (sometimes in the hot desert sun of 110 degrees) to build a grappling pit (a little wrestling ring if you will). I could care less about a stupid hole a bunch of sweaty guys get into and start grabbing each other, yet I had to build it. I made myslef a personal promise that I would never use it. (I personally hate attending facilities or events that are set up by people who are forced to, often on their spare time, to set up and/or run). Indeed, the Marines like going out to the pit and acting like “men” or whatever they t hink.
Anyways, one day they forced me to go and watch the stupid matches in the pit. Of course I find more interest watching clouds fly by. In the end though, I was ordered to “grapple” with another Marine. I refused, something I never do when ordered, and got yelled at. I was called a B***H, and was told I was weak and a disgrace, the usual Marine Corp “Your not a Man” brainwashing, pressure bulls**t. He (Sergeant Romero) als said that if I didn’t, he was going to grapple me himself and then really “hurt me” and he didn’t chare who I told about it). I still refused and realizing the situation was going downhill fast, he made up some excuse saying it was MCMAP (Marine Corp Martial Arts Program) training, and that an enemy militant might sneak on base and attack us by hand.