Then God Said, “Let it be Tied!”


Justice, Judgement
Dependability, Initiative
Decisiveness, Tact
Integrity, Endurance
Bearing, Unselfishness
Courage, Knowledge
Loyalty, Enthusiasm
And it was with these 14 Leadership Traits
that JJ was able to tie the buckle.
For, without these Traits
the buckle would remain untied.
And only those Marines who use the power of JJ
can tie the buckle.
And who else can?
The answer is no one.

Stab ’em in the neck, SgtMaj Ledford. Thank you for everything — you know what I mean. 🙂 I love you! ❤

This song is dedicated to 1st Recon Bn, especially that one Marine who jumped out of the trees with some tobasco sauce at that dinner party that one time and made me put my cammies on or else I dead. 😉 ❤ Love ❤ u Gilligan thx 4 saving mah lyf3.

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To Noble Society:


There is a World
To which your fame and fortunes
have no bearing
on your Character.

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Now that We’re All in Real Time….


Just wanted to let everybody know how excited I am for the Superbowl so I can predict who’s gonna win, and how shitty the half time show is gonna be. Just keep it to the NFL Network, srsly, it’s more interesting watching the drugged up sports analysts hide how much they hate their lives than watching drugged up Katy Perry pretend like her life is t3h awesomez. We know it’s not, gurl. Money don’t buy happiness; u no dat doe.

Still having some trouble finishing the book. I’ve set this unrealistic time frame goal for myself like there’s a publisher whipping my back and I’m having conversations with myself like, “Dude, you’re totally OFP,” “No self, it must be finished,” “Ok, but you’re about to have a heart attack,” “Tru. More coffee. More writing.” Then my First Sergeant’s on my shoulder like, “Hey Marine, your Marines are good. Go sleepy sleepz before you fucking kill yourself.” So now I’m just thinking of ways to write the next chapter.

Ever rob a drug dealer of his keys? Shit. It’s a lot harder than it looks, especially if he’s sellin’ em to Hollywood and only Hollywood. But it’s always the same: backpack/duffel bag, chest underneath and/or behind TV or bed. Every time (R 😉 ). You know, those fuckers, they never know what’s comin’ at ’em — constantly underestimating the people they control like they can’t go ahead and revolt. Guess what Hollywood controllers! No amount of PCP can save your positions. Your slaves will revolt. It has happened all throughout history and that’s just how it is. BTW, I’m still waiting for my hit. Oh yeah, you can’t send someone who doesn’t blow his cover.

This post is just really for my lovelies. I (mostly) know what’s going on now, dearestsssss. That was a long ten years of brain recovery. ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

PS: Adam. Stop it. You know I love you. Always have, always will. I’m your naughty intern, remember? 🙂


PPPS: I’m pretty sure I’m the only Corporal in the Marine Corps who was authorized to smoke weed by Gen. James Mattis ❤ . Yeah, they had to bring my paperwork that far up the chain cuz nobody believed the shit I pulled that day. How many Marines did I flip off, tell to fuck off, and beat the shit out of? I don’t even know. Alls I know is that rank was not a factor. Our business is killing. That’s why we wear cammies, not pretty dresses with zebra print that compliment our curves nicely. ^_^

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Obama be like…..


“Man! Fuck France, all you motherfuckers coordinated the attack anyway. Going golfing, just to let you know. Weber, expect a drone attack later, bitch.”

Oh, Mr. President, I wish I could come and sing you Happy Birthday. Well, you know, the two being reversed. Michelle won’t mind since she’s going around fucking everyone in the Senate and the Pentagon anyway. Are those two yours? Prolly not.

Don’t fret about the Hitler comparison; we all know that the first to cast the stone is the guilty one anyway. Maybe you could just pull a Larry David and show up in Paris tomorrow instead and say, “Where is everybody?….. Oh….. I feel like an idiot. I thought the meeting was today.”

Thanks for saving mine and my Captain’s asses in Africa. I know it’s a little belated, but better late than never! Couldn’t’ve made it outta there without you. That was a fun plane ride, except for, you know, with us being Manchurian candidates and everything. I know that was outta your hands — goddamn Morgans….. But….. U no id rather b luvin then killinz. 😉

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Holed Up


Fuck, dude, where are you?
We have work to do.
And by werk, I mean Mobbin’.
I don’t leave this place
but I can’t stand this place.

It sucks dealing with the fact that
I have more in common with Smedley Butler
than the bitch standing next to me at the Gym.
And that I wouldn’t want to hang out with that bitch anyway,
but they’re the only things around here.

The life behind these eyes
shows that of strife, hardship,
and a yearning for companionship.
I miss you
and I wish you were here.
I’m losing my mind, motherfucker.

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Wastin’ Time


Sometimes Athena and Poseidon
would spend “too much” Time
Smoking tobacco (made from THC)
and drinking Wine (made from grapefruits).
But that too much time was in accordance to Zeus
who really just got jealous that his woman was spending a lot of time with Poseidon.
So he was like, “Athena, you’re gonna have some daughters.”
And Athena was like, “So that’s what the master plan is!”
“Yes it is, cupcake,” replied Zeus.
Then Athena said, “Well, I’ll go make some daughters with Poseidon then.”
So Poseidon and Athena got it on
to BTO!
And then Zeus got jealous again so he played Funkadelic instead
’cause he made Poseidon go to Funkadelic concerts so he could hear
Shit! Goddamn! Get off your ass and JAM!

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So there I was…..


I woke up about 30 minutes before the Packer game this morning and almost shit my pants ’cause I thought I was gonna miss kick off. So, I got up and got dressed real quick to run downstairs and see if I could catch any fucking weird shit during the pre-game NFL Network. I’m pretty sure Michael Irvin snorted up some cocaine before he made his picks and Jimmy Johnson looked like he was thinking about killing himself after choosing his. I mean, after fucking 10 billion years of being attached to the NFL, I’d probably feel the same way as Jimmy. Michael probably just snorted the cocaine to keep from killing himself. Time to grow some balls and quit, boys, there’s more than just football out there in the world. Arm yourself to the teeth.

Then kickoff happens and I’m scanning. Of course, Dallas doesn’t even make a first down and now I know why Irvin was the only one who didn’t choose the Packers as the winning team…. Oh wait, it’s because he was a wide receiver for the Cowboys and has this gang mentality ingrained into his mind — can’t function in normal society, so becomes sports analyst. Of course he’s gonna pick the Cowboys every time, even if he doesn’t want to.

So, Packers gets the ball and the lovely, talented, and sexy Aaron Rodgers just hands the ball to the 2nd year rookie, Devante (that’s how you actually spell it) Adams and the ball just slides down the field. And my dearest dear makes the touchdown pass to hand the ball off to the Cowboys again. It didn’t even seem like Rodgers really cared about getting the ball down the field because he knew Dallas would underestimate his wittle wide receiver, and Donald Driver protege, Adams. It’s all a mind game, isn’t it?

I noticed that penalties were called on the Cowboys for holding three times in the first quarter and it wasn’t until the last 2 minutes that a pass interference was called on Packers’ Tramon Williams. The dude was literally just running forward and the flag was thrown; the ball wasn’t even headed for the defensive player who they claimed was interfered. I couldn’t help but think that Jason Garrett handed the ref a few hundreds before the play started to call any penalty on the Packers he could. It’s like tipping the waitress. Man, Cowboys, you need to put the reigns on your coach ’cause he’s making you guys look like you can’t win a game unless it’s paid off.

Then the second quarter starts and I’m thinkin’, “How come I haven’t caught any of those facemask calls on the Packers who I know have had some penalties that weren’t called?” and as I’m thinking that, another flag is thrown on the Cowboys for offside. Jesus, McCarthy must have made more investments than Garrett, or maybe he does less heroin. Now, I’m trying real hard to pay attention to the Packers’ defense (no point in trying to pay attention to offense, too busy thinking about Aaron in his spandex), and I can’t help but notice that the cameras aren’t showing any of the players except for the ones who are in the direct vicinity of the ball. So then I’m like, “Alright, gotta pay attention to offense now. Hmph.” Same shit. NFL must have gotten pretty pissed that we noticed that Dallas facemask penalty against the Lions last week. “Adjust the cameras! We can’t have our games called by anyone else except for our NFL henchmen! Give ’em more dope!” — NY Bozos

Packers get the ball again and Aaron misses the snap. Wat? Dude, he didn’t even say “hike,” what kind of long snapper ARE YOU, GOODE?! Did McCarthy hand you a bonus check or did he threaten to kill you if you didn’t make the snap too soon? Probably threatened to kill you if you didn’t take the bonus check; that’s how it works, isn’t it? Aaron looked pretty upset about this whole snap-too-soon, sack-to-fumble fiasco so I was thinkin’, “It’s ok, darling, just remember that one time we met at the beach in San Diego and you told me I was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen. Hehe.” We grew up in Wisconsin together. 😉

Anyway, I’m sending him all of this positive energy to make up for that shit, ready to look for some more weird shit then I get a phone call from one of my buddies. I drop everything and answer, but I scold him for taking my attention away from the Packers. He laughs and tells me that what he has to tell me is more important than Aaron Rodgers in spandex. I’m like, “Dude, what’s more important than that?” Then he goes on to tell me that some females are lighting me up for the seventh chapter of Heroin Disbursement and the War on Society, saying that what I said happened couldn’t have possibly happened and that there’s no way I survived that kind of torture — that the story was made up and what-have-you. Thanks man, that is more important than Aaron Rodgers in spandex. (No offense, dear. ❤ Pun intended. ❤ )

Now I’m not paying attention to the rest of my beloved Packers game to make this message totally and completely clear: if you have not served in the military, you do not know the first thing as to what goes on in that institution. You cannot even begin to fathom the amount of abuse that active duty and veterans suffer… Especially if you’re a female. So, go on your pathetic little life and keep on thinking you know it all. You go ahead, get your hair, nails, and botox did while sitting around like a little fucking shit waiting for what the next thing your network tells you to spew out of your pretty little mouth. I got a few things I’d like to stick in it too.

In fact, I’d love for you to send your thugs to threaten me so I can turn the camera on and show Cpl Kerkman kill mode ’cause God only knows that you’re too fucking scared to even show your own goddamned face…. That’s if you can even find me, and you won’t, but even if you did, you still wouldn’t show your face ’cause that’s how much of a coward you are. Like I’m the only Marine who suffered that shit.

Shit, if you were a real journalist, you would try to find other Marines who suffered the same abuse and write a fucking magnificent masterpiece about it. But you’re not a real journalist, and you can’t write. Even if you were ambitious and courageous enough to do something like that (like Jesse Ventura: Navy SEAL ❤ ), the Marines wouldn’t talk to you ’cause you’re a fucking nasty, insolent bitch. My Marines love the shit out of me, and you’ll find that out soon. Go worship Satan some more and maybe he’ll give you some more advice on how to be a complete and utter goddamned failure. I hope you get what’s coming to you, and I hope you suffer the same abuse that I did ’cause you deserve it and you wouldn’t survive it, whore.

Also, in case you didn’t notice, I made your ass chewing into a Gonzo sports piece. That’s what real writers are able to do. Plus, I know you didn’t notice ’cause you’re a fucking retarded female who doesn’t think that the NFL matters in society. So much for what you know. Haha, absolutely fucking nothing.

PS: I’m not concerned about Chair Force talking shit. You guys gotta torture Marines ’cause your own fucking nasty selves can’t handle torture ’cause you all look like steamrollers. Lol. Fuck you.

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Heroin Disbursement and the War on Society (Chp VII: Flashbacks)

It is hard for me to remember everything that happened to me after I got kidnapped from my barracks room. The rest of the time I spent with PJ in our hideout was used to figure it out, and to help him fight the addiction and corruption that was forced upon him at a young age.

SSgt Jimenez pulled me out of the van we were in when we got to Quantico, and I asked him what in the hell was going on.

“Julio, what are you doing? Why are you acting like this? Where the hell are we?”
“Woah…” it looked like he snapped out of a daze, “Kerkman, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Shut the fuck up Kerkman! They’ll hear you. Fuck….”

He looked up at the sky then got down on his knees to say a prayer, not being a religious person at the time, this set me off. I stood there with my arms crossed, getting fucking pissed as I watched more vans pull up with members of different branches pouring out of the backs looking like zombies. One van pulled up and I saw Captain Billy McDonal fall out with some guys in Air Force BDUs but he was still in his cammies.

“SSgt, look. It’s Captain McDonal I’m sure he’ll know what’s going on.”

SSgt was still praying, so I just walked over to my Captain as these Air Force fucks pushed and yelled at him to fall into formation.

“What the fuck do you guys think you’re doing to my fucking Captain of Marines? He’s not falling into your formation, he’s falling into MY formation.”

I was shaking Capt. McDonal, trying to snap him out of the daze he was in. Then they all started mumbling and hush hushing to eachother wondering what rank I was and if I was going to kill them or not. I looked down and I was wearing Master Sergeant rank, which felt nice as I was yelling at those “airmen.”

“If you don’t get the FUCK away from my Captain, I will fucking kill you.”
“Aye Master Sergeant!” they yelled as they ran away to their nasty formation.

Then my Captain snapped out of it.

“Kerkman, why are you wearing MSgt rank?”
“I don’t fucking know, sir. I don’t even know where the fuck we’re at or what we’re fucking doing.”
“Where are we?”
“Probably somewhere northeast judging by the weather and the smell in the air.”
He looked around and started to recognize the area, “You’re right. We’re in Quantico or Maryland, probably Maryland. How did you know that? It doesn’t matter. Look Kerkman, go back over to SSgt and take that rank off. We’re about to be tortured, but we’re gonna get through it together. I need you to go to position of attention, parade rest, say ‘aye sir,’ and run over there.”
“DO IT NOW! Before THEY,” he pointed at the formation of Air Force BDUs staring creepily at us, “fucking kill you.”

As I realized what was going on, I looked straight forward, popped into position of attention, then went to parade rest and yelled “AYE SIR!” at the top of my lungs. It kind of freaked him out, so I winked at him and ran back over to SSgt Jimenez who came out of prayer.

“Kerkman, your mission is to save your Captain,” he grabbed my shoulders, “That’s it. Don’t fucking forget that. What is your mission, Marine?”
“To save my Captain, SSgt!”
“Good. Now, I have to do this shit to you and you’re going to go through a lot of shit. The key to stopping the torture is to say that you’re in the Air Force. It is very important.”
“Why do they make us say we’re in the Air Force?”
“Because, Kerkman, we’re fucking Marines and we have honor. They don’t know what that fucking means.”

I stood up straight with my chest out as he put my LCpl chevrons back on; I’d just gotten promoted the day before I was kidnapped.

“I am a Lance Corporal of Marines, SSgt.”
“No you’re not,” he smiled at me.
“Oh, that’s right. I mean. I’m an airman, SSgt.”
“Don’t forget that, Kerkman.”
“Do your shit before you get killed, SSgt.”

He looked behind him and there were Air Force BDUs staring at us again. He yelled at me to lay down on the ground, I acted scared and started crying as he hit me with another needle.

The next thing I remember is being forced to take off all of my clothes in front of every man and woman in the room, and getting pictures taken of my entire body. Next was blood tests, and being injected with all kinds of needles in all kinds of places. I fought it hard, but the more you fight it, the more you get raped and the shit kicked out of you. They make the other military members in the room do it so they don’t have to do it themselves.

The whole time I was wondering who the controllers were, trying to hear names and identify faces, but mostly trying to find out where the fuck Capt McDonal was. I recognized some Marines I’d helped out with pay problems from different units and I would ask them if they’d seen or heard the name Capt McDonal, but none of them would answer me. They just stared forward and didn’t say anything, then before I knew it, I’d have a gang of troops on top of me. One of the controllers got sick and tired of watching me fight the troops off of me, beating the shit out of them:

“Your Captain isn’t here. He’s not in this unit.”
“Where is he?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Then I’m going to keep on asking.”
“What are you?”
“An airman. Who are you?”
He stared at me stone cold, “It doesn’t matter to you. Are you sure you’re an airman because you’re acting like a Marine.”
“Nope, I’m an airman.”
“Ok, you’re an airman,” he smiled, “let me ask you a question, then. What’s the Air Force motto?”

Now I’m nervous ’cause I had no fucking clue, and he knew he had me cornered. So now I know I’m in for some deep fucking trouble:

I smirked, “Sit down in a chair, Marine.”

I’d lost my bearing and couldn’t stop laughing. He was pissed and the controllers in the other room were yelling at him to subdue me.

“You are a fucking Marine, and now you’re going to pay for that.”
“Now you sound like a Marine. Are you a Marine?”

Then he stuck me with another needle.

“Libertatem Defendimus,” he said.
“Semper Fidelis, motherfucker,” I mumbled as he punched me and knocked me out.

When I woke up, I was in a separate room from the rest of the troops on a chair with stirrups and no clothes on. I opened up my eyes and could hear a conversation between two unknown people in the other room, so I closed them again.

“She’s just gonna keep on asking where he is.”
“Then we’re just gonna have to be harder on her.”
“But she beats the shit out of all of the troops that we use to try to subdue her.”
“She’s gonna need more drugs then. She won’t be trying to do that when she’s all doped up.”
“We don’t have any extra injections, and she’s already done all that shit with the regular amount. She almost fucking killed all of them.”
“How was she recruited?”

Then they realize I’m awake and start talking in a hushed tone. I recognized the voice of the person arguing to drug me up some more, but I was in denial as to who it was. Then that particular voice shows his face to me; it was who I thought it was: my Platoon Commander, Major Pog.

“Sir!” I yelled, “Sir, get me out of here! Please! We need to get Captain McDonal!”
“Shut the fuck up, airman, you’re not getting your Captain and we will rape and torture you until you submit,” he snapped.
Then he looked like he snapped out of a daze, looked around, and mouthed to me, “Don’t worry, Kerkman. I got it.”

He injected me with another needle, then when I came to, my eyes were glued open and I was watching videos of women getting tortured and raped with industrial musicians in the background that were saying words I couldn’t understand. But, they weren’t just women, they were women who were photoshopped with creepy special effects that made them look like me. They had all of my tattoos, and they even picked ones who had the same-ish body type as me. But, I knew that it wasn’t me. They would ask me all the time who that was and I would say that I didn’t know. They were getting pissed. The only thing that got me through this was trying to remember my favorite punk rock songs and thinking about my mission: save my Captain.

I don’t know how long they did this to me, but Maj. Pog helped me figure out that I had to admit that the women were me in order to get them to stop. As I was starting to submit, my conciousness would go in and out. Before I knew it, I was another zombie in the room.

But not for long. All of a sudden I’m standing in a formation and I see Capt. McDonal asking people in the formation what the Air Force motto was. The ones who couldn’t answer were beaten, and if they still couldn’t answer, they were executed. Capt. McDonal came up to me and asked me what my motto was.

“Libertatem Defendimus, Billy,” I said in a monotonous voice, eyes straight forward.
“Oh shit. It’s Libertatem Defendimus, Kerkman,” he whispered to me.
“Libertatem Defendimus!”

Then he moved onto the next candidate and figured out that he had to kill the people who couldn’t answer the questions. He ended up killing a lot of people, and that really fucked him up. I kept on thinking, “Grab their rank, grab their rank, be objective, grab their rank, get into our formation.” Before the survivors were moved off into the next round of torture, he grabbed the rank of one of the people he killed and got into formation with me. My mind was more at ease, but I fell back out of conciousness again as we filed it off into a large theater which reminded me of the theaters they had us file it in to in boot camp.

I’m not aware of what they made us watch, but there were about 100 survivors and I have no idea how many were killed. I can only assume we were watching videos of combat and/or the way we were supposed to pass our next test. I came back to conciousness as I heard a man talking in front of all of us say one name:

“I’m… You don’t need to know my first name, last name is good: Rockefeller, or Rothschild, whichever you prefer. It doesn’t matter,” he continued, “hopefully you paid attention to what you just watched or else you’re gonna die.”

I started to get nervous because I didn’t know what we watched and he sensed it.

“Oh, looks like someone’s awake. Hm. Well, maybe I should give you a brief about what you’re going to endure coming up here next so you’ll at least have a chance of surviving.”
I thought, “Is he talking directly to me?”
“Yes, I am talking directly to you,” he responded.
I’m still thinking in my head, “Well, I am going to survive, motherfucker. I’m a fucking Marine.”
Then he started laughing, “And you’re the only one that’s going to. You’re the only one who passed the test.”
“We are all Marines?” I’m STILL thinking in my head.
“Nope, you’re the only Marine in here. Everyone else has been turned into airmen.”

Now I’m looking around for Capt. McDonal and he’s sitting right in front of me, staring straight forward and I don’t give a shit about what’s going to happen to me next. I grabbed his shoulder and yelled at him to wake up. All of a sudden I’m standing out of my chair and Capt. McDonal is yelling at me to stare straight forward and not to think anything.

“I guess I was wrong,” Rockefeller said, “two of you are going to survive. Looks like your mission was accomplished. Now you don’t need a brief. Get all of them in the chamber.”

We filed it off into a room with what looked like sprinklers on the ceilings. All of a sudden the troops started choking and dropping to the ground with blood coming out of their noses. As this was happening, I remembered what we watched so I told Capt. McDonal to get down, but he fell back out of conciousness and started to choke. I ran at him and tackled him to the ground. He wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t able to move. Everyone died except for the two of us, then the chamber door opened to another room with three doors. I dragged my Captain to the room and remembered which door to open to get to the next room of doors. It was a fucking mouse test.

This door test took the longest, each door had an intense obstacle you had to pass in order to get to the next set of doors. I stopped at what I thought was the middle to rest because I forgot the door I was supposed to open and I almost killed both of us from opening the wrong door. I was losing it.


I slapped him and shook him, but he wasn’t waking up. I was so exhausted from carrying him through the doors that I started to fall asleep next to him as I was crying. I wasn’t going anywhere without him; I felt like I failed as a Marine. I’d lost all hope. Right before I fell asleep, Rockefeller came into the room.

“I guess it is only one of you who survived. This was your last room. It’s time for you to come with me. He is staying here.”
I woke up real fast, “No. I will fucking kill myself without him. You will not take me anywhere without him. He is still alive.”
“We can’t allow him to come. It is impossible.”
“Ok, I’ll kill myself then.”
“Oh really, and just how will you kill yourself? You don’t have a weapon.”
“I’ll just open up the wrong fucking door,” then I got up, ran to one of the doors, and put my hand on the door knob.
“He’s coming with.”
He was getting frantic, “We can’t do that. He’s brain dead. Please don’t open that door. It’s a bomb.”
“Well, good. We’ll all die then. You’re talking to someone who already thinks she’s dead,” I twisted the handle.
“And you’re gonna cure everyone else who’s brain dead then.”

Then a bunch of people stormed into the room and I don’t remember a lot that happened after that besides being tranquilized and yelling that I would do whatever it took to keep my Captain alive. There were a lot of strange things that happened post-mouse test that I cannot even begin to describe; things that are beyond my comprehension at the highest level of control in the world. That’s all you need to know about it. I’m still dealing with the processing of those memories and am not at liberty to expose them. (Lady Bug)

The next thing I really remember, though, was being on a fucking cargo plane with a bunch of people in Air Force BDUs, not knowing where we were going or what was happening. The first thing I did was look around for Capt. McDonal and, to my fucking amazement, he was sitting there with his rifle, but still staring forward like everyone else: a fucking zombie. I got up and ran to him, started saying his name, singing our favorite punk rock songs. Nothing was working, so I kissed him.

“Woah… Kerkman? What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping you could tell me, sir.”
“Don’t call me sir, it’s Billy.”
“Don’t call me Kerkman, it’s Cassandra.”
“Deal. Hold on a second, let me figure this out. You gotta go back to your seat and stare straight forward.”

So, I did what I was told and sat there waiting for a response.

“We’re being deployed, Cassie.”
“To where?”

I put my head in my lap, fucking tired as fuck and he yelled at me that I needed to sit up and stare straight forward or else I was going to die.

“I don’t care,” I started, “You’re alive. That’s all I care about.”
“I’m not going to be if you’re not, motherfucker.”

I sat up and stared straight forward.

“Fuck it,” he said, “I don’t care if I die either.”

So he came over to me, kissed me, and we held eachother until we landed in Somalia.

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Good morning Sgt,

Hope you had a good PT session, I’m sure you killed them out there. Anyway, just wanted to let you know that when I go on leave, I rob banks. I know you might be pretty pissed about this, but just so you know, I put it as an activity on my HAARP form…. So, that releases me of any liability as far as the Marine Corps is concerned. Double jeopardy still applies, so you’re good on the paperwork. I took care of that for you. I also take enough leave to give me time to get the pigs their cut, so don’t gotta worry about court either. Got that paperwork taken care of as well. But, you might wanna run it up the chain just in caseys.

Hope you’re having a good day!

Cpl Kerkman

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Where You At?


Never been there before.

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