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Military Shit


An Army grunt stands in the cold rain wearing a leaking poncho, with a 45-pound pack on his back, and holding a 10-pound individual weapon in hand, after road marching 12-miles, he says with a whining simper, "Aw, this is shit!".

A Marine snuffy, after having slogged ashore from an amphibious landing, and marched 18-miles, stands in the torrential rain with a 55-pound pack on his back, with an automatic weapon in hand, and he says with a grim smirk, "This is good shit!".

An Army Airborne Ranger low-crawls through the stinking mud wearing a 65-pound pack on his back, with his issued weapon in hand, after having parachuted from a low-flying airplane into a jungle, then marched 25-miles to approach the enemy positions at night, and he says with a contented grin, "This is really great shit!".

A Navy SEAL, after being deployed from a stealth submarine into the tumultuous ocean, paddling 30-miles through monitors and mines to the shore, then swimming 12-miles through the estuarial quagmire to get into position to assault an isolated enemy camp, is up to his nose in a bug-infested swamp, with a 75-pound pack on his back, holding a deadly weapon in each hand, and he says with a wicked smile, "This is unbelievably lovely shit!".

An Army SFer, after a clandestine jump from a high-altitude aircraft to covertly parafoil into a foreign war zone, infiltrates 20-miles behind enemy lines to link-up with indigenous partisans, where his 85-pound rucksack is refitted with classified munitions that augment his specialized small arms used in the on-going guerrilla resistance campaign, involving an immediate 15-mile night march across mountains and rivers to raid an enemy fortification, after which battle another 20-mile escape-and-evasion trek is undertaken to enlist replacements, apply field-expedient medicine, emplace booby-traps, distribute psy-op leaflets, rig temporary bridges or belays, avoid surveillance detection, and kill predatory animals, so that it can all be continued tomorrow, and he says with a bemused beam, "This is truly fabulous hot shit!!".

An Air Force officer sits in an easy-chair in his carpeted and air-conditioned BOQ suite, holding a 5-pound bowl of buttered popcorn on his lap, a chilled 16-ounce beer in one hand, and the remote clicker in the other hand, and he says with a disgusted scowl, "The cable TV just went out? What kind of shit is this?!".






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