It seems to me that the higher you are in rank, the more brain cells die out.

Things are usually run inefficiently in the Corps usually due to higher ups. Many times a Lance Corporal or even a PFC would suggest solutions that are more practical and more common sense but unfortunately, our higher ups want everything done their way even if it doesn’t make any sense.

Sometimes things would be running so well that a SNCO wouldn’t need to do anything. The SNCO will then start to believe that his inaction is a problem. So the SNCO will start to change things for no fucking reason other than to do something. Why do SNCOs have the need to fix things that aren’t broken?

If everything is running fine and all the operations are doing well then why does everyone suddenly have to play musical billets? After the music has been turned off, everything is fucked up and all because of one man and one whim.

SNCOs have a tendency to solve problems by using impractical solutions. One example is mass punishment.

I remember being woken up at 0700 on one Okinawan Saturday morning, along with the rest of my battalion. The entire battalion had to go to the battalion building and stand in a mysterious formation. The battalion gunny came out and started yelling at everyone about how we were all shit bags and how we weren’t looking out for one another. He then said that last night, a Marine was arrested by the Japanese Police because he was caught peeing on the roof of a Japanese Bar.

“This damn P-Pirate!”

The gunny said that it was all of the NCO’s fault. Then he said, “Monday, green on green… 0715. Be there or else there’ll be paperwork!”

I thought to myself, “It’s just old ass gunny. It’ll probably be a standard 2 mile old-ass-man Marine Corps shuffle run. I won’t even break a sweat.”

I just got 2 of my wisdom teeth taken out Friday and was high off Percocet. Unfortunately, my light duty chit ended at Monday 0700. So I had to go to this stupid fucking bullshit and run 8 miles worth of hills at the speed of mach Jesus while simultaneously being dehydrated, high off of Percocet, while blood pulsated out of those two gaping holes where those two wisdom teeth were. The next day, everytime I took a step forward, it felt like someone was stabbing me in the groin.

In the end, he held all of us responsible for not stopping this one Marine, who none of us knew because he worked somewhere in the back of the battalion building, the same building the gunny works in. We all learned something important that day. Actually, no… No, we didn’t.

Needless to say, we all knew that Marine after that day and we called him Penis Pirate.

P.S. This is a lobotomy.

Getting a lobotomy since 1775.