So there we were. Standing in our barracks with our duffle bags on our backs and in our hands. All of us were sweaty and scared sh*tless from our shark attack five minutes ago. Our drill sergeants all walk in and proceed to tear into us. After about 30 minutes of screaming at anything that blinked, one drill sergeant grabbed a clipboard.
“Listen up, privates. You are going to dump all of your sh*t from your bags. NOW!!!!”
We all scrambled to spread out so we wouldn’t mix all of our gear. Of course one or two poor souls’ duffel bags magically wouldn’t unzip or they forgot their lock combo from the fear.
“Platoon, ATTENTION! HALF RIGHT, FACE! FRONT LEANING REST POSITION, MOVE!”
*Smoked the hell out of us until dumb f*cks got their bags unloaded.*
“Alright. Now I am going to read off items and you will hold them up in your hand and then you will put the items on the floor next to you dress right dress. Do you understand?”
“YES, DRILL SERGEANT!” We roared pathetically.
One poor bastard, Private A, timidly raised his hand.
“WHAT THE F*CK ARE YOU MISSING, PRIVATE!!?”
He said in a soft anxious voice, “umm i’m missing a PT shirt, Drill Sergeant.”
The DS came up to him slowly. We were all dead silent. He said, “Private have you checked your bag again?”
“Yes..Drill Sergeant. I checked three times.”
“I DIDN’T ASK YOU HOW MANY GODDAMN F*CKING TIMES YOU CHECKED!!! ARE YOU BEING A SMARTASS, PRIVATE!!!?? DO YOU THINK I’M A F*CKING RETARD?!”
Private A seemingly had a f*cking stroke and managed to babble out, “No drill sergeant!”
The DS continued, “So you are telling me if I reach into this duffel bag, I won’t find a PT shirt?”
PVT A gulped. “N n no, Drill Sergeant.”
The DS squated down and looked the private in the soul and said, “for your sake, it better not be in there.”
While maintaining his soul penetrating stare, the DS reached in the bag and instantly grabbed the “missing” PT shirt.
Immediately, the drill sergeant was up with the PT shirt hanging onto his knife hand in the privates face.
“Holy F*cking Shit Private. I MUST BE A F*CKING MAGICIAN!”
We finished mopping up the sweat from the resulting smoking about an hour later.