A Phat History Lesson (Part 3)
So, there I was, no sh**, finally at my unit doing my job….sort of. The first 3 months were a bit hazy, as there was a lot of drinking involved. What can I say, soldiers like to drink, womanize, and fight. What did you expect a bunch of Boy Scout like killers?
There were some real killers at my unit. My first sergeant (we'll call him FSGT. D-Bol) was a true killer. Beside that fact that he looked like he ate raw meat, he was also just a hair on the crazy side(I say hair in jest, 'cause he was bald). First sergeant D-Bol was just truly an intimidating man. He had been at
I simply responded, “Roger that First Sergeant.” That’s sort of the catch all phrase in the army. It’s like saying whatever, I understand, yes, and bite me all with one phrase. This is the same first sergeant D-Bol that once told the company, “If it wasn’t for my d*m* wife and kids, I would join the French foreign legion to do some more killing.”
He is also the first sergeant D-Bol that used to come into the operations office point his M-9 9mm at my head and squeeze the trigger about 5 times, then curse the army for not giving him ammo. Then, he would apologize for possibly hurting my feelings a little later. Yes first sergeant was a bit whacked out.
Things went smoothly for a while. I stayed out of trouble, and things were going generally well. Then, thanks to a Muslim and a MI weenie my life went to sh**.
To be continued in part 4
A Phat History Lesson (Part 5)