“Alright, you maggots! My name is Sargent Weldman, but as long as you’re here at Parris Island I may as well be God for all you care. From now on you will only speak when spoken to, and the first and last words out of your shit-encrusted mouths will be sir. Do you understand?”
“Sir, yes sir!”
“Bullshit, I can’t hear you!”
“SIR, YES SIR!”
“Now then, there’s something you maggots may not know about the Marine Corps that I need you to get through your thick skulls this instant. There are two cliques in the Marines, the preps and the goths. This regiment is a GOTH regiment! Do I make myself clear?”
“Sir, yes sir!”
“What are we?”
“Sir, we’re goths, sir!”
“You’re goddamn right! Now, every single morning this unit is going to wake up before reveille, at 0500, so we can properly apply our makeup! And if I catch wind of any of you maggots associating with those fucking posers over in Delta Regiment, I swear to God I will PT you all until you fucking die! Now, I can just tell by the looks of you that some of you are fucking preps, but we’ll see how long that lasts. Corporal Way! Lead them in their running cadences!”
“Sir, yes sir! Alright men, repeat after me, to the tune of ‘I don’t know what I’ve been told’:
Teenagers scare the living shit out of me!”
“Teenagers scare the living shit out of me!”
“They could care less as long as someone’ll bleed!”
“They could care less as long as someone’ll bleed!”
“So darken your clothes or strike a violent pose!”
“So darken your clothes or strike a violent pose!
“Maybe then they’ll leave you alone!”
“Maybe then they’ll leave you alone!”
“Good job, men! Now let’s go put some makeup on!”