Below is a list of sexual acts that were always joked about when I was in the Marine Corps while everyone sat around bullshitting. I’ve found that a lot of civilians don’t know these but they are decently hilarious and I thought I would share. Disclaimer: some of these might just be jokes told between Marines but everyone would always laugh. 2nd Disclaimer: This is me speaking like a Marine with no filter. Please stop clutching your pearls.
One-eyed Pirate: Kick her in the shin and cum in her eye.
Strawberry Shortcake: Fuck her on her period, cum on her stomach, and swirl it around with your dick.
Earn Your Red Wings: Eat a girl out while she is on her period.
Dirty Sanchez: Finger her ass while you fuck her from behind, then pull out your finger, reach around, and wipe your finger above her lip, giving her a “Sanchez” mustache.
Blumpkin: Getting a blowjob while taking a dump.
Glass-bottom Boat Ride: Laying Saran wrap on your face and having your partner take a shit on it
Rusty Trombone: Tonguing his ass while reaching around and giving him a hand job.
The Cowboy: Fuck her from behind, then either 1) say her sister’s name or 2) say you have herpes, grab hold, and see how long you can ride her until she bucks you off.
The Friendly Stranger: Fuck her from behind in front of a window, push her head into the pillow, and then switch places with your best friend and go outside and wave at her when she finally picks her head up from the pillow.
There you go. Now you have an idea of what Marines talk about when they are bored…which is often.
Gasping for breath, you topple to the ground. You pull bits of your clothing back into place as you glance around you. The people who surround you are walking around dazed and sweaty, moisture gathering on their arms and faces; they might be a little red-faced and introspective. There is an atmosphere of elation and perhaps a little pride of the feats accomplished or a little shame at the noises that were made.
You can do it with a partner or you can do it in a group. Heck, you can even do it alone. You push yourself, you push your partner(s), and you get a little too excited to see them push past certain uncertainties and fears and accomplish something amazing. It is very physical, very intimate, and very emotional. Some people put their whole hearts into it and some people simply come for the comradery. Some are looking to be the best, spending tons of money on the right equipment to enhance their experience, and some are okay with the bare essentials. You can be fully invested or you can half-ass it, which everyone present is aware of, by the way. If you are from Alabama, it might even be a family affair! You can doubt yourself and be limited in overall satisfaction; you can overestimate your abilities and fail miserably with an audience.
There are moans and lots of movement. There are yelps and occasionally there comes a sharp rebuke. There are gasps of shock, peals of laughter, and maybe some crying. Sometimes additional bits of clothing get torn off in the middle of the event because someone started to get uncomfortably warm.
Afterwards, everyone grins and helps each other clean up. You will look your surroundings when you are done with a sense of exhaustion and maybe embarrassment at the number of towels it took to mop up the fluids that came from all of the bodies involved. Some people take longer to peel from the floor. Fluids are necessary to replenish. You are probably walking funny and wincing in pain from something you went a little overboard with. Once you catch your breath, you realize that you feel amazing as the endorphins flood your body.
You know that you want more. So you always come back.
Max floated, gently suspended in the air and twirling from the inertia of his entry into the sleeping tank. The liquid that surrounded him and filled his lungs was gel-like in form and viscosity but somehow breathable. That gel was an invention that had been created in the tech lab that employed Max. He had been recruited by a sister team to be the first human test to use the suspended-state gel.
“Come on, dude, we need this test to pass to go live and release this to Corp. It’s fail-proof. The rats don’t die. Just sign up. You’ll be paid overtime for it.”
Max had requested overtime to be considered a candidate in the gel-tests. His supervisor was thrilled: anything to use up the funding for the year. As a software programmer, Max’s overtime salary was a substantial chunk of money. The supervisor could finally use that research and development funding.
During the sleep-state suspension, Max was to simply sleep for 90 minutes and deliver his symptoms and observations upon waking. His vitals would be monitored, of course; they were displayed on the screens hanging outside of the giant tank in which he slept. Any anomaly in his breathing or heart rate and Max would be yanked from the tank and the tests would be abandoned.
Unfortunately, it took a long time for Max to fall asleep with the cold liquid seeping into his sinuses and lungs. He lay awake during the time that it took his body to heat up the gel to a warmer temperature. He mentally noted the temperature discomfort for his observation report. While he twirled gently, he let his mind drift to his work.
His supervisor really wanted him to come up with a great new idea. That research and development funding was so large, and the department never used it. This fiscal year, the budget was on the chopping block. If someone didn’t use it and use it well, it would be gone forever. The political climate of the world didn’t bode well for frivolous department spending. Corporate wanted to consolidate that extra funding and create something new, something whispered about in hallways but never discussed aloud. This was the last year to do something great as a programmer before Max would be shuttled to a cubicle to write tests for the next great invention.
“What should I do? What problems of the world need to be addressed?”
Sometime during Max’s musing, he fell into a deep sleep. Something that occurs while in sleeping suspension that the rats were never capable of telling the research scientists is a heightened sense of brain activity while in stasis. The R&D dinks didn’t have the funding to hook up brain scans to detect a change in brain activity, because of lack of funding in the medical line of Corp’s budget, of course. So when Max fell asleep and his brain went into overdrive, the onlooking scientists couldn’t tell.
Max began what could be considered a “hyper dream” that used most portions of the human brain to make connections otherwise undetected. As neurons fired back and forth, forming bridges of information, Max developed an idea of something that had never been attempted by anyone in this world.
His brain grew hotter as he filled in the information that he needed to make the biggest breakthrough in scientific history since the discovery of the atom. Puzzle pieces grew together, code was written carefully, everything made sense. Hotter and hotter…and his heart rate increased. He was almost there, he almost had all of the pieces…
Max’s body was pulled from the gel by two scientists who had jumped into the tank with him. Gel had splashed onto the ground around the tank and Max saw glimmers of the liquid from the harsh florescent lighting briefly before his brain began to seize.
The 16 year long war, the war that has cost me friends through primary (gunshots, improvised explosive devices, mortars) and secondary contact (suicide), the war that made me lose my innocence: Afghanistan.
The United States of America invaded Afghanistan in October of 2001, less than a month after the September 11th attacks that toppled the Twin Towers in New York City, destroyed part of the Pentagon, and took 2977 innocent American lives. The invasion seemed necessary to eradicate Osama Bin Laden, the leader of the group that planned the attacks, and the rest of the Taliban terrorist group.
Three Presidential administrations have dictated the drumbeat of this war: Bush started it, Obama attempted to finish it, and Trump just vowed to win it with an increase in troops. When is anyone going to stand up and admit that Afghanistan is the largest sunk cost fallacy of our times as Vietnam was to our parents’? When are we going to admit that the back and forth between administrations is detrimental to the overall war effort? We ramp up during Bush, we ramp down during Obama, and we ramp up during Trump. Does anyone think about the effects of the constant ramping up and down? As a Marine who built a forward operating base in Afghanistan in 2010 that was decommissioned in 2014 and as a current Department of Defense contractor, yes, I think about it. Let’s discuss the different sides of my heart and mind on this issue:
As a left-leaning Marine
I think about the literal blood, sweat, and tears of people who lived and died there for absolutely no reason. There was no purpose to the lives that were lost except to keep other Marines safe. The lack of sleep, the death, the torture, and the miles of lines dug to lay communications, the infrastructure that was built only to be torn down, all of it was pointless and expensive. We didn’t train the Afghans on how to do anything but hate Western invaders a little more when we invaded and then left and now plan to come back.
As a right-leaning Marine
Good, they shouldn’t have messed with America in the first place. We need to ramp up and destroy them once and for all.
As a Taxpayer
Holy. Fuck. Money was just thrown away and continues to be thrown away for upwards of two decades. Money that could be used to build better schools or finally pave Sports Arena Boulevard (trust me, guys, it is bad) or possibly allow better healthcare for American citizens is being used to fund the ramping up and down of these wars. It is being wasted on defense contractors who leech money from the government in a different war that focuses on bids and contracts.
As a Defense Contractor
Oh yes, give me the money. A ramp-up means higher salaries and more job security.
Unfortunately, it seems as though the presidential administrations can’t decide on one approach and we are stuck in an endless see-saw that tosses taxpayer’s money and the lives of their children into the air with each seesaw. We can’t seem to see that Afghanistan is like Vietnam, unwinnable and We.Should.Not.Be.There. America is too proud or driven by the greed of the defense contractors that have American politicians in the palms of their hands to see that we shouldn’t be a part of that war anymore. We should tuck our tail between our legs, and accept that continuing to throw money and lives at a situation isn’t going to fix anything. The more you invest in something, the harder it is to walk away, even when it is the right time to walk away. Yes, we have given 16 years of money and lives to Afghanistan, yes, some of us are emotionally invested and cried when the base we built was torn down, but how much can we throw away before we realize that the return on the investment (ROI) is negligible? Stop investing in the sunk cost.
Keep in mind that I am not a war strategist. Of course I “understand that withdrawal of troops could create a vacuum for terrorists to fill the void, thus causing a hotbed of people who will attack innocents.” Hello? It will be like that whether we are physically there or not. There is a reason Afghanistan hasn’t been united in the history of its existence. Tribal warfare is the foundation on which the people live and breathe in Afghanistan.
War is changing anyway; troop boots-on-ground is pointless. Cyber warfare and drone warfare are the new battlefields. So if you want to invest in what could possibly be the next sunk cost fallacy, throw your money at those technologies and let’s stop sending American troops to invade and die in a country that can’t be beaten because it is not united.
F. Scott Fitzgerald is the modern romantic writer with whom I identify the most of all writers. His views of the world are tragic and graceful, full of empathy and pain, seduction and death. The story of Mr. Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald is one of sadness and love as his wife, Zelda, was both crazy and adored completely by him. Mr. Fitzgerald knew pain and could elegantly write about the turmoils of being an individual in the American Jazz age.
Perhaps that is what makes a good writer: personally experienced pain and a lot of empathy, a tortured life and a creative imagination. One does not have to experience the pain directly to be influenced by it. A writer can place themselves in the shoes of the tortured, the lonely, and the unloved. We can create characters who exist in our minds based upon the people we have met and the things we have experienced. Every person is a story to be written and there are no happy stories if they are written for long enough.
“Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy.”
Jay Gatsby of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s great American novel, The Great Gatsby, held giant parties and was admired by everyone but understood by only one. Mr. Gatsby died very alone, chasing a future that would never exist and missing the beauty of the moment in which he lived.
Perhaps there is a reason we are so wrapped up in social media and the fake internet connections of the world. There is no sadness on Instagram and there is no loneliness on Facebook. Everyone is included; everyone is surrounded by a false sense of belonging and there is an ignorance of the loneliness and sadness that follows every individual throughout their life. The screens of our tablets and computers and smartphones brighten our eyes and our minds with fake connections that truly do not matter. So like Jay Gatsby, no one comes to our funerals because what we had with everyone was a superficial ploy to trick ourselves into thinking someone cared. Daisy never cared about Jay. Social media is a giant Gatsby party with no connections or experiences that matter in the light of day.
Robin Dunbar, a British psychologist and anthropologist, has a theory that humans are capable of maintaining relationships with 5-15-150-500-1500 people. 5 intimates, 15 friends, 150 dinner party attendees, 500 acquaintances with whom we can exchange small talk in hallways, and 1500 people whose faces we can remember. Social media is changing that VIEW, not the reality, but the idea that we can maintain and should maintain relationships with far more people than is healthy for our cognitive well-being.
The worst part of social media is that the friendships don’t actually exist. Why? Because friendships are hard to maintain. The time, energy, emotional and intellectual connection required to keep a friend in the 5 and 15 range is difficult. Friendship is a constant ebb and flow that struggles against the tides of life. Social media has allowed friendships to no longer require the heartache and the struggle of maintaining a real relationship. There is only an underlying and faint emotional connection with upwards of 5,000 people through social media.
For those of us with higher levels of empathy, for the writers and the romantics and the romantic writers, this exposure to so many people who actually do not care about you is draining. I’m not saying they wish you active harm, but these people do not care about you. The 5 and the 15 do. Everyone else? You are a glance in the hallways of life and nothing more than a flicker on a screen.
I’m not saying I don’t care about Shelly from HR’s children, but her existence does not matter. When I’m crying alone at night because a close friend was diagnosed with cancer and has 10 months to live, that is it: I am alone. Social media brings in more sadness and joy than I can handle through continued connections, and people who don’t matter are kept in my life through a superficial existence… They are not allowed to fade into the distance as they should. The sadness and romance of the people I don’t interact with intimately, with people who don’t care, is too much for me to handle because I care too much.
So perhaps to save my empathetic soul, I’ll force people to fade into the 500-1500 range and not unlike Jay Gatsby, I will be celebrated in death by a few intimates who actually cared. I will not live by the false social media admiration of the 1500+ Gatsby party-goers.