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his story was told to me by a friend and one of the most outstanding Marines I ever had the pleasure to serve with.
Joe Fuller served as a Marine Corps Drill Instructor, and as such, he too possessed the temperament typical of their breed -- always on the quest to find new, educational, and amusing ways to entertain their charges -- the unwary Marine Corps boot camp recruit.
Head detail (Latrine duty for you Doggies and Prop Heads) is something few escape during recruit training. It's pretty safe to say that after a head has been field-day'd by Marine recruits, you would be hard pressed to find a more sterile place this side of a hospital operating room.
Unless a bored, Marine Corps Drill Instructor is doing the inspecting!
As Joe tells it, failing to clean the head to the Drill Instructor's satisfaction the first time, and under the threat of facing their D.I.'s wrath should they fail inspection on the second try (there is no such thing as a third chance in boot camp) everything was checked and double checked before announcing that the head was now, finally, ready for inspection.
The Drill Instructor ordered the recruits to stand-by, directly outside of the head (and out of view) while he conducted what they knew would be an inspection on a microscopic level. The Drill Instructor had no doubts that the head was probably cleaner now then the date it was built. That situation was about to change.
Pulling a small container of peanut butter (chunky style) from his pocket, the Drill Instructor carefully placed a substantial amount of it under the rim (out of direct sight) of one of the commodes. In his deepest, scariest, and loudest voice, he let out a bellow, "HEAD DETAIL! GET YOUR ASSES IN HERE NOW!"
All three recruits came charging into the head, stopping a few feet from their obviously perturbed Drill Instructor and assuming the position of attention. In unison, with eyes rigidly locked above and beyond their D.I.'s face, all three yelled, "SIR, AYE AYE, SIR!"
"You scumbags call this a clean head?" The Drill Instructor demanded. Knowing that they scrubbed and disinfected every nook and cranny possible, twice, the only response they could offer was "Sir, Yes Sir!"
The Drill Instructor walked over to the prepared commode, reached on the rim with his fingers, and with as much dramatic flare as he could muster he thrust his hand forward at the recruits and said, "Then would you mind telling me what the hell this is!"
The recruits were far enough away not to clearly identify the chunky, brownish substance clinging to the Drill Instructor's fingers. Additionally, their present environment was lending a certain amount of authenticity to what was being held out before their eyes.
Not waiting for an answer, and watching the color disappear from their faces, The D.I. looked down at the brown glob and started the show.
"Well, then, if this head is so cleaned, this must not be what it looks like, right? Because it sure looks like CRAP to me, private!"
He could see that one recruit's body began to shake visibly, while the color in the faces of the two others was turning from pale white to a light green.
He then move his hand to his nose and inhaled the fragrance. With his best effort of a complete look of disgust on his face, he said, "This definitely smells like crap too, private!"
A look of terror began to show in the recruits' eyes as the Drill Instructor slowly lower his hand towards his mouth. Biting off a chunk of the brown mass, the D.I. offered, "And it damn sure tastes like crap, private!"
Two of the three recruits were unconscious on the floor and probably never heard the D.I.'s last assessment. The third continued to empty the contents of his stomach in the nearest commode as their fun-loving and entertaining Drill Instructor walked past him humming the Marine Corps Hymn.