"Aaarmy Training, Sir!" 3D.gif
*A rare, signed, higher resolution and non-watermarked version of this image is available for download at: https://creary.net/digitalart/@jaichai/jaichai-classic-soldier-proof-military-training
Prologue:
Because of my rank and being the only Corpsman in the class, I was the first student to handle the Claymore mine.
But when I picked it up and looked at it, I immediately burst out laughing!
An Exercise in Futility -
Trying to maintain some kind of composure, I held my breath and prayed the urge to laugh would soon pass.
But again, when I looked down at the Claymore in my hands, I started laughing!
I laughed so hard that my pissed-off spleen was yelling, "Doc! Cease and Desist ASAP! Or I will explode and we both die, son! Right here, right now!"
A second later, I realized that it wasn't my angry spleen that was barking orders.
It was the very irate, 6' 3" gorilla-sized EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) Instructor-Trainer, a Navy PO1/E6 from New Orleans.
"Doc! I sayid Zeaze and Dezizt AZAP! That ain't no mock-up ya playin' wid dair, son! Ip ya keep wid da damn girlie giggles, ya jest might rawyallie f*ck-up. Den we all die, rawt heeya, rawt now!”
He was red-faced and his neck veins were popping out like emerging baby aliens.
He looked like he was about to slug me in the mouth, or kick me in the balls or just for good measure, maybe throw me under the nearby Humvee?
Looking at him, I was thinking, "Yeah, probably all three ."
Anyway, my uncontrolled laughter syndrome was effectively cured with copious amounts of immediate and continuous push-ups.
Initially, the dosage was 100 push-ups, but with all the stopping and restarting from supposedly "non-Marine regulation", Air-Force style" push-ups - as deemed by the EOD God standing over me - I'm sure the real tally was closer to 200.
When my chest was burning, my arms felt like overcooked spaghetti noodles, my head felt like it weighed 100 lbs. and my face was caked in a hardening batter of dirt, cow sh*t, eye-stinging sweat and two squadrons of embedded kamikaze gnats, I was given permission to recover.
Upon me getting vertical, the Instructor-Trainer got right behind my left ear and shouted towards the class,
"OK, Doc! Id be bouts time fo ya ta eenlightin uz. Whuh da Hill wuz zo gawd-damn foony?"
I solemnly picked up my Claymore and showed it to the rest of the class.
No sh*t!
In raised capital lettering, "FRONT TOWARD ENEMY” was on the convex, "Business End" of my and everyone else's Claymores!
A few seconds pass.
...It started with a cough from somewhere in the back of the students.
Then came some subdued clearing of throats.
Then, in between the growing wave of chuckles, someone started a group chant consisting of "Doc! You illiterate SOB. It says FRONT TOWARD ENEMY!"
This heckling was quickly followed with a perfectly executed group "About Face" maneuver - opposite the Claymore I was holding at them.
"OK. I'll bite," I said, while flanking the group and almost circling to their rear guard where I was countered with louder chanting and another "About Face".
Alas, the fun didn't last forever.
Epilogue:
Needless to say, the whole class was diagnosed with SULS (Spontaneous Uncontrollable Laughter Syndrome) and duly prescribed the aforementioned cure, BUT AT TRIPLE THE RECOMMEND DOSAGE - "Jest fo gud mehzure...”
Imagine that?
May you and yours be well and loving life today.
In Lak'ech, JaiChai
(JaiChai 24 May 2022. Simultaneous multi-site submissions posted. All rights reserved.)
