Scenes From the Front, Part 2

I apologise if this is a little messy. I’m writing to you from my iPhone in a tent in the middle if nowhere on the far side of the moon.

So in addition to my specialized training in kicking rocks, I have a new highly sought after skill: mopping floors. Imagine being so good at your job that they call you all the way from across the country to do said job.

I want YOU to mop my floors.

I didn’t know my MOS translated to house slave. But that’s cool. This is the army and I know I have to take my licks like everybody else. Until the day I am promoted to sergeant major of the universe I am just another lackey in a field full of lackeys.

So yesterday I discovered I had three additional sisters. Riding back to the barracks from the qual range (which is a disaster I’ll tell you about in a minute) I found I had three other sisters. It is amazing how our mother was able to produce us across our age span with such varying features as skin tone, facial shape and body type. Either our mother is a skank trollop or we are a work of scientific art.

We’re sitting on the bus minding our own business and this guy is like “are you sisters?” Uhm, do we fucking look like sisters? Apparently we do. Forget about the fact that we are about 10-16 years apart. One is light coloured, the other two are brown and the last one is tan. I know all kids from a set of parents don’t have to look perfectly alike but the four of us look NOTHING alike. We don’t have one similar feature. We just stared at him like what the fuck.

Then he went into this thing about our division and how he thinks it’s weird that Maryland is a part of the division when it’s supposed to be just Virginia.


Kick rocks.

Oh, wait I’ve already done that.

So yesterday we had a really shitty day on the range. I love to shoot. I’ve been doing it for a long time. It’s something I look forward to. I’ve been especially looking forward to shooting the new M4.


The first go I was getting too hot so I had to stop shooting in the middle of the kneeling position. I scored a whopping 12. The second time I improved by shooting 14. I decided that I may need some assistance so I went to the shooting SME to get some remedial training. I was feeling all pumped afterward and when I got out on the line I just knew I was going to shoot 32.

Yeah, how about a shot 8? Eight. After that I just gave up. I committed an act of rebellion by refusing to go back on the range until the heat died down. Apparently everyone else was feeling the same way because the range NCOIC was like “fuck it, we’re shutting this shit down.” After only like 6 rounds of shooters.

I just hate doing things that I consider to be a waste of time. You know I love the army but we do need to get into the 21st century and I need all these old ass baby boomer officers and their 1981 method of thinking to get lost

That is all for now. They need me to kick rocks again.


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