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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:22:57 PM EDT
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:23:32 PM EDT
[#1]
Physical Training
ETA: in the military PT is both a noun and a verb. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:23:33 PM EDT
[#2]
physical training
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:24:16 PM EDT
[#3]
It's USMC code for Johnnie Walker Blue sucks donkey balls.
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:24:17 PM EDT
[#4]
Until you FUCKING DIE!!!!
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:25:08 PM EDT
[#5]
Partay tyme
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:25:30 PM EDT
[#6]
Quoted: It's USMC code for Johnnie Walker Blue sucks donkey balls. Not sure if I should laugh or not laugh    |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:26:33 PM EDT
[#7]
Quoted:
until your assholes are sucking BUTTERMILK!!!! |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:29:18 PM EDT
[#8]
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:30:22 PM EDT
[#9]
In the Army and Marines it's Physical Training.
Air Force it means Pop Tarts. Good for you. Good for me. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:32:25 PM EDT
[#10]
Possum trails!
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:33:52 PM EDT
[#11]
Sir, this recruit is a PT junkie and he needs a fix, Sir!
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:34:16 PM EDT
[#12]
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:34:29 PM EDT
[#13]
Quoted:
In the Army and Marines it's Physical Training. Air Force it means Pop Tarts. Good for you. Good for me. Blueberry frosted––the only kind that matter. Though the clowns in accounting always buy the strawberry frosted to save money. Phillistines! See the conditions we have to work under? 
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:35:45 PM EDT
[#14]
Quoted: It's USMC code for Johnnie Walker Blue Corona is sweat from sucks gay donkey balls. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:36:59 PM EDT
[#15]
Quoted:
In the Army and Marines it's Physical Training. Air Force it means Pop Tarts. Good for you. Good for me. In the Navy it's penis tickle. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:39:08 PM EDT
[#16]
Quoted: Quoted: It's USMC code for Johnnie Walker Blue Corona is sweat from sucks gay donkey balls. Damn a double whammy...First my BLUE LABEL then my Corona...  |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:39:17 PM EDT
[#17]
Hurt yourself son.
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:44:16 PM EDT
[#18]
"I will PT you all until you fucking die" means "I'm going to impose a series of difficult calisthenic workouts that you will do until I'm tired of doing so as a punishment for talking out of turn. Then I'll have you do some more."
"I'll PT you until your assholes are sucking buttermilk" is another way of saying the above. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:50:23 PM EDT
[#19]
A dipshit in my platoon whose name I will never forget was once dug/smoked by our two Drill Instructors, our Senior Drill Instructor, our Company Chief Drill Instructor and our Company Commander. This was on Parris Island out at Paige Field where they did BWT. Dumbass was a church lay reader, and decided on his own hook to make a phone call home from the pay phone at the seven day store on his walk back to the training area from the chapel. Our Company Chief Drill Instructor drove by and saw Recruit Cloutier (proper pronunciation: KLOO-tee-ayy; Platoon 3050 pronunciation: KLIT-ee-uhr) there on the phone and stopped to ask him if he had his Drill Instructor's permission to use the phone. Dipshit flat out lied and said yes. Our Company Chief Drill Instructor then waited until dipshit was done with his phone call and insisted on giving him a lift back to the training area. When they arrived, we all knew something was....off. Master Sergeants don't give recruits lifts in their shiny OFFICIAL USE ONLY pickup trucks unless there are broken ends of bones sticking out of said recruit's leg. There was that thick kind of burnt circuitry ozone stink of impending doom in the air when Drill Instructors started to close on the truck and the dipshit, and suddenly heads started fucking exploding when it was confirmed that there was no permission given and that dipshit lied to a Master Sergeant of Marines. Drill Instructors were verbally ripping strips of flesh off of dipshit, and our Senior Drill Instructor and Company Chief Drill Instructor naturally joined in. Recruit Cloutier's face was an unhealthy systolic brick red color as he went from pushups to side straddle hops and down to leg lifts, and over and over again. Captain Slack (who was anything but), our Company Commander, wandered over to see what all the hubbub was about, got a bit of the story and launched himself shin-deep into Cloutier's ass as well. It was like some feeding frenzy stuff you might see on Shark Week. Dipshit finally collapsed with his face running with tears, sweat, snot and drool, and two recruits were told to drag his corpse away to find a Corpsman. It made an impression. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:54:42 PM EDT
[#20]
Quoted: A dipshit in my platoon whose name I will never forget was once dug/smoked by our two Drill Instructors, our Senior Drill Instructor, our Company Chief Drill Instructor and our Company Commander. This was on Parris Island out at Paige Field where they did BWT. Dumbass was a church lay reader, and decided on his own hook to make a phone call home from the pay phone at the seven day store on his walk back to the training area from the chapel. Our Company Chief Drill Instructor drove by and saw Recruit Cloutier (proper pronunciation: KLOO-tee-ayy; Platoon 3050 pronunciation: KLIT-ee-uhr) there on the phone and stopped to ask him if he had his Drill Instructor's permission to use the phone. Dipshit flat out lied and said yes. Our Company Chief Drill Instructor then waited until dipshit was done with his phone call and insisted on giving him a lift back to the training area. When they arrived, we all knew something was....off. Master Sergeants don't give recruits lifts in their shiny OFFICIAL USE ONLY pickup trucks unless there are broken ends of bones sticking out of said recruit's leg. There was that thick kind of burnt circuitry ozone stink of impending doom in the air when Drill Instructors started to close on the truck and the dipshit, and suddenly heads started fucking exploding when it was confirmed that there was no permission given and that dipshit lied to a Master Sergeant of Marines. Drill Instructors were verbally ripping strips of flesh off of dipshit, and our Senior Drill Instructor and Company Chief Drill Instructor naturally joined in. Recruit Cloutier's face was an unhealthy systolic brick red color as he went from pushups to side straddle hops and down to leg lifts, and over and over again. Captain Slack (who was anything but), our Company Commander, wandered over to see what all the hubbub was about, got a bit of the story and launched himself shin-deep into Cloutier's ass as well. It was like some feeding frenzy stuff you might see on Shark Week. Dipshit finally collapsed with his face running with tears, sweat, snot and drool, and two recruits were told to drag his corpse away to find a Corpsman. It made an impression.  |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 12:57:40 PM EDT
[#21]
PT PT its good for you it good for me PT PT .. gotta love PT cadences
physical training. usually conducted in the morning. .. and well for our company in the mid day also. . |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:01:34 PM EDT
[#22]
True story
PT stands for POON TANG |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:02:51 PM EDT
[#23]
We also had MASH
Make A Sailor Hurt |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:04:27 PM EDT
[#24]
Quoted:
They took him apart as violently and efficiently as though he was a hog in an abbatoir. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:04:44 PM EDT
[#25]
Quoted: We also had MASH Make A Sailor Hurt Never mind. That's just too easy........... |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:05:28 PM EDT
[#26]
Quoted: Quoted: They took him apart as violently and efficiently as though he was a hog in an abbatoir. The word pictures you're painting are beautiful. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:05:51 PM EDT
[#27]
Quoted:
In the Army and Marines it's Physical Training. Air Force it means Pop Tarts. Good for you. Good for me. 
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:10:31 PM EDT
[#28]
Quoted:
Quoted:
Quoted:
They took him apart as violently and efficiently as though he was a hog in an abbatoir. The word pictures you're painting are beautiful. Thank you. Actually I struggled to convey the full force and impact of the thing. As a recruit it was actually pretty surprising to see an officer lose his mind just like the Drill Instructors, and so wantonly and eagerly thrash the ever living dog fuck out of him. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:11:40 PM EDT
[#29]
Quoted:
In the Army and Marines it's Physical Training. Air Force it means Pop Tarts. Good for you. Good for me. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:13:51 PM EDT
[#30]
It means the worst 10 minutes of your life, as long as it is motivational/punishment PT on the quarterdeck (google quarterdeck yourself).
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:14:35 PM EDT
[#31]
Quoted:
It means the worst 10 minutes of your life, as long as it is motivational/punishment PT on the quarterdeck (google quarterdeck yourself). Only 10 minutes????? |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:20:10 PM EDT
[#32]
Quoted:
Quoted:
Quoted:
Quoted:
They took him apart as violently and efficiently as though he was a hog in an abbatoir. The word pictures you're painting are beautiful. Thank you. Actually I struggled to convey the full force and impact of the thing. As a recruit it was actually pretty surprising to see an officer lose his mind just like the Drill Instructors, and so wantonly and eagerly thrash the ever living dog fuck out of him. Did they physically hit him? |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:21:34 PM EDT
[#33]
Quoted:
 
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:22:17 PM EDT
[#34]
Quoted:
Quoted:
It means the worst 10 minutes of your life, as long as it is motivational/punishment PT on the quarterdeck (google quarterdeck yourself). Only 10 minutes????? It was an estimate, Parris Island was 30 years ago this May. That was back in the Old Corps days. 10 minutes then was like 1 hour today.
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:22:30 PM EDT
[#35]
Quoted:
Quoted:
It means the worst 10 minutes of your life, as long as it is motivational/punishment PT on the quarterdeck (google quarterdeck yourself). Only 10 minutes????? Hell I still vividly remember my 40 minutes of IT hell. It included running from the pit up to the third deck quarterdeck more than 25 times(No, too slow, get back), sugar cookies, mountain climbers, you name it, I did it. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:24:04 PM EDT
[#36]
penile tactics.
They tend to heavily employ LaRue Tactical vaginal entry tools. I've heard from some recipients of these tactics that everything is NOT bigger in Texas. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:25:37 PM EDT
[#37]
Quoted:
Quoted:
Quoted:
It means the worst 10 minutes of your life, as long as it is motivational/punishment PT on the quarterdeck (google quarterdeck yourself). Only 10 minutes????? Hell I still vividly remember my 40 minutes of IT hell. It included running from the pit up to the third deck quarterdeck more than 25 times(No, too slow, get back), sugar cookies, mountain climbers, you name it, I did it. 30 29 28 27 (Sees recruit getting close) 7 6 3 2 and... TOO SLOW!!! |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:26:13 PM EDT
[#38]
Quoted:
Quoted:
Quoted:
Quoted:
They took him apart as violently and efficiently as though he was a hog in an abbatoir. The word pictures you're painting are beautiful. Thank you. Actually I struggled to convey the full force and impact of the thing. As a recruit it was actually pretty surprising to see an officer lose his mind just like the Drill Instructors, and so wantonly and eagerly thrash the ever living dog fuck out of him. Did said named recruit get to stay aboard the depot? |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:27:10 PM EDT
[#39]
Quoted: Quoted: A dipshit in my platoon whose name I will never forget was once dug/smoked by our two Drill Instructors, our Senior Drill Instructor, our Company Chief Drill Instructor and our Company Commander. This was on Parris Island out at Paige Field where they did BWT. Dumbass was a church lay reader, and decided on his own hook to make a phone call home from the pay phone at the seven day store on his walk back to the training area from the chapel. Our Company Chief Drill Instructor drove by and saw Recruit Cloutier (proper pronunciation: KLOO-tee-ayy; Platoon 3050 pronunciation: KLIT-ee-uhr) there on the phone and stopped to ask him if he had his Drill Instructor's permission to use the phone. Dipshit flat out lied and said yes. Our Company Chief Drill Instructor then waited until dipshit was done with his phone call and insisted on giving him a lift back to the training area. When they arrived, we all knew something was....off. Master Sergeants don't give recruits lifts in their shiny OFFICIAL USE ONLY pickup trucks unless there are broken ends of bones sticking out of said recruit's leg. There was that thick kind of burnt circuitry ozone stink of impending doom in the air when Drill Instructors started to close on the truck and the dipshit, and suddenly heads started fucking exploding when it was confirmed that there was no permission given and that dipshit lied to a Master Sergeant of Marines. Drill Instructors were verbally ripping strips of flesh off of dipshit, and our Senior Drill Instructor and Company Chief Drill Instructor naturally joined in. Recruit Cloutier's face was an unhealthy systolic brick red color as he went from pushups to side straddle hops and down to leg lifts, and over and over again. Captain Slack (who was anything but), our Company Commander, wandered over to see what all the hubbub was about, got a bit of the story and launched himself shin-deep into Cloutier's ass as well. It was like some feeding frenzy stuff you might see on Shark Week. Dipshit finally collapsed with his face running with tears, sweat, snot and drool, and two recruits were told to drag his corpse away to find a Corpsman. It made an impression. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:41:35 PM EDT
[#40]
Quoted: A dipshit in my platoon whose name I will never forget was once dug/smoked by our two Drill Instructors, our Senior Drill Instructor, our Company Chief Drill Instructor and our Company Commander. This was on Parris Island out at Paige Field where they did BWT. Dumbass was a church lay reader, and decided on his own hook to make a phone call home from the pay phone at the seven day store on his walk back to the training area from the chapel. Our Company Chief Drill Instructor drove by and saw Recruit Cloutier (proper pronunciation: KLOO-tee-ayy; Platoon 3050 pronunciation: KLIT-ee-uhr) there on the phone and stopped to ask him if he had his Drill Instructor's permission to use the phone. Dipshit flat out lied and said yes. Our Company Chief Drill Instructor then waited until dipshit was done with his phone call and insisted on giving him a lift back to the training area. When they arrived, we all knew something was....off. Master Sergeants don't give recruits lifts in their shiny OFFICIAL USE ONLY pickup trucks unless there are broken ends of bones sticking out of said recruit's leg. There was that thick kind of burnt circuitry ozone stink of impending doom in the air when Drill Instructors started to close on the truck and the dipshit, and suddenly heads started fucking exploding when it was confirmed that there was no permission given and that dipshit lied to a Master Sergeant of Marines. Drill Instructors were verbally ripping strips of flesh off of dipshit, and our Senior Drill Instructor and Company Chief Drill Instructor naturally joined in. Recruit Cloutier's face was an unhealthy systolic brick red color as he went from pushups to side straddle hops and down to leg lifts, and over and over again. Captain Slack (who was anything but), our Company Commander, wandered over to see what all the hubbub was about, got a bit of the story and launched himself shin-deep into Cloutier's ass as well. It was like some feeding frenzy stuff you might see on Shark Week. Dipshit finally collapsed with his face running with tears, sweat, snot and drool, and two recruits were told to drag his corpse away to find a Corpsman. It made an impression. We had a shitbag, last name "FRY", do something similar. Except he slipped out of the barracks at 0300 to go 1/4 mile away to the phone bank. Naturally he got caught. So we are all sleeping when we get an early wake up. It is another platoons DS, from the platoon's DS' that caught PV1 FRY. Anyway, they wake us up to instant smoking/thrashing/destroying our asses all the way downstairs and into the company formation area. When we got there we notice all four platoons are getting into formation. They form us up and out walks my senior DS, SFC (now CSM) Pemberton. He lets us have it about honor integrity, yadda yadda a few minutes and then smokes us about ten minutes. Then they halt us in the front leaning rest, bring out Fry, tell us what he did, tell us we now will never have phone privileges (company wide) until we call home for turning blue, and then smoke us for the next hour plus until it was time for wake up. So we ran upstairs, shaved, and came back for another hour plus of thrashing. All the while they had Fry standing at the head of the company, with the senior DS, and had him watch an entire company get destroyed. Yeah...they were setting him up to damn near get killed. To which he received a long series of random "ass kicking's"...  |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:46:53 PM EDT
[#41]
Quoted: Wow, you managed to lessen my hate for the fucktard in my unit at boot. A dipshit in my platoon whose name I will never forget was once dug/smoked by our two Drill Instructors, our Senior Drill Instructor, our Company Chief Drill Instructor and our Company Commander. This was on Parris Island out at Paige Field where they did BWT. Dumbass was a church lay reader, and decided on his own hook to make a phone call home from the pay phone at the seven day store on his walk back to the training area from the chapel. Our Company Chief Drill Instructor drove by and saw Recruit Cloutier (proper pronunciation: KLOO-tee-ayy; Platoon 3050 pronunciation: KLIT-ee-uhr) there on the phone and stopped to ask him if he had his Drill Instructor's permission to use the phone. Dipshit flat out lied and said yes. Our Company Chief Drill Instructor then waited until dipshit was done with his phone call and insisted on giving him a lift back to the training area. When they arrived, we all knew something was....off. Master Sergeants don't give recruits lifts in their shiny OFFICIAL USE ONLY pickup trucks unless there are broken ends of bones sticking out of said recruit's leg. There was that thick kind of burnt circuitry ozone stink of impending doom in the air when Drill Instructors started to close on the truck and the dipshit, and suddenly heads started fucking exploding when it was confirmed that there was no permission given and that dipshit lied to a Master Sergeant of Marines. Drill Instructors were verbally ripping strips of flesh off of dipshit, and our Senior Drill Instructor and Company Chief Drill Instructor naturally joined in. Recruit Cloutier's face was an unhealthy systolic brick red color as he went from pushups to side straddle hops and down to leg lifts, and over and over again. Captain Slack (who was anything but), our Company Commander, wandered over to see what all the hubbub was about, got a bit of the story and launched himself shin-deep into Cloutier's ass as well. It was like some feeding frenzy stuff you might see on Shark Week. Dipshit finally collapsed with his face running with tears, sweat, snot and drool, and two recruits were told to drag his corpse away to find a Corpsman. It made an impression. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 1:58:53 PM EDT
[#42]
Quoted:
Quoted:
Quoted:
They took him apart as violently and efficiently as though he was a hog in an abbatoir. The word pictures you're painting are beautiful. Agreed, wish I had your flair for words. Worse we got smoked was when we tied Branch to his mattress and threw him out of the barracks in the middle of the night. It's pretty cold in the middle of the night in Georgia in November when all you got on is your underwear. 
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Posted: 1/3/2012 2:03:42 PM EDT
[#43]
Quoted:
Quoted:
In the Army and Marines it's Physical Training. Air Force it means Pop Tarts. Good for you. Good for me. Blueberry frosted––the only kind that matter. Though the clowns in accounting always buy the strawberry frosted to save money. Phillistines! See the conditions we have to work under? I am fuckin dying here. LOL This was worth the new keyboard! Posted Via AR15.Com Mobile |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 2:04:19 PM EDT
[#44]
Quoted: Quoted: Quoted: It means the worst 10 minutes of your life, as long as it is motivational/punishment PT on the quarterdeck (google quarterdeck yourself). Only 10 minutes????? Hell I still vividly remember my 40 minutes of IT hell. It included running from the pit up to the third deck quarterdeck more than 25 times(No, too slow, get back), sugar cookies, mountain climbers, you name it, I did it. Man and I thought you Marines were tough. My whole company in Army basic got smoked for a good 4-5 hours one night, with a few 2 minute breaks here and there for everybody to go fill up their canteens. We would then force hydrate until we puked. If we didn't puke from forced hydration, we would once they layed into the smoking again. Then we got to PT in our puke.
Over and over. And THEN we had to pull 50% fireguard in 1 hour shifts the rest of the night. You weren't allowed to sleep in your uniform, so you had to use at least 5 of those minutes getting undressed and dressed. That was a bad night.. but most of the platoon or company level smokings wouldn't be any less than 45 minutes or so. I mean.. we had to do the 10-15 minutes worth of pushups and duckwalks and stuff.. but they'd make up for it 10-fold when we finished whatever training we were doing. Those damn Drill Sergeants don't fucking forget anything. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 2:14:40 PM EDT
[#45]
Quoted:
Quoted:
Wow, you managed to lessen my hate for the fucktard in my unit at boot. A dipshit in my platoon whose name I will never forget was once dug/smoked by our two Drill Instructors, our Senior Drill Instructor, our Company Chief Drill Instructor and our Company Commander. This was on Parris Island out at Paige Field where they did BWT. Dumbass was a church lay reader, and decided on his own hook to make a phone call home from the pay phone at the seven day store on his walk back to the training area from the chapel. Our Company Chief Drill Instructor drove by and saw Recruit Cloutier (proper pronunciation: KLOO-tee-ayy; Platoon 3050 pronunciation: KLIT-ee-uhr) there on the phone and stopped to ask him if he had his Drill Instructor's permission to use the phone. Dipshit flat out lied and said yes. Our Company Chief Drill Instructor then waited until dipshit was done with his phone call and insisted on giving him a lift back to the training area. When they arrived, we all knew something was....off. Master Sergeants don't give recruits lifts in their shiny OFFICIAL USE ONLY pickup trucks unless there are broken ends of bones sticking out of said recruit's leg. There was that thick kind of burnt circuitry ozone stink of impending doom in the air when Drill Instructors started to close on the truck and the dipshit, and suddenly heads started fucking exploding when it was confirmed that there was no permission given and that dipshit lied to a Master Sergeant of Marines. Drill Instructors were verbally ripping strips of flesh off of dipshit, and our Senior Drill Instructor and Company Chief Drill Instructor naturally joined in. Recruit Cloutier's face was an unhealthy systolic brick red color as he went from pushups to side straddle hops and down to leg lifts, and over and over again. Captain Slack (who was anything but), our Company Commander, wandered over to see what all the hubbub was about, got a bit of the story and launched himself shin-deep into Cloutier's ass as well. It was like some feeding frenzy stuff you might see on Shark Week. Dipshit finally collapsed with his face running with tears, sweat, snot and drool, and two recruits were told to drag his corpse away to find a Corpsman. It made an impression.
Did you also have a guy that was afraid to ask to take a piss, so he stored his urine in his canteen? 
And before you ask, OF COURSE they made him drink it. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 2:30:32 PM EDT
[#46]
Quoted:
Quoted:
Quoted:
It means the worst 10 minutes of your life, as long as it is motivational/punishment PT on the quarterdeck (google quarterdeck yourself). Only 10 minutes????? Hell I still vividly remember my 40 minutes of IT hell. It included running from the pit up to the third deck quarterdeck more than 25 times(No, too slow, get back), sugar cookies, mountain climbers, you name it, I did it. I held the deed to one of the sand pits in front of the barracks at Edson Range for almost two weeks. I actually had Drill Instructors from the other platoons in the Series ask if they could thrash their recruits in my pit. I didn't get to make my rack when I woke because other recruits did it. While they were making my rack, I was making sand angels because my ass was in the pit as soon as I was dressed. I was a sugar cookie before morning chow. In the evening while the rest of the platoon was on their hour of free time, I was in the pit with a 2x4 to smooth it out and write the Platoon number, all of the DI's names, and some moto phrase in the sand. You know, make it real pretty like a work of art, just so I could tear that shit up again the next morning. That was over 28 years ago, and I can still almost get the sand to come out of my ears.
What did I do to garner that kind of personalized attention you ask? I was a Squad Leader. One very dark morning while getting the platoon in formation to go to chow, I spotted a recruit trying to sneak into the barracks instead of getting in formation. I told the recruit, "Hurry up and get in formation!". Except it wasn't a recruit... It was one of my Drill Instructors wearing a cammie cover instead of a campaign cover. Needless to say he recognized my voice, and I sure as hell recognized his when he said "Oh, don't worry Peacher! I'll be in formation!". I graduated as a Squad Leader, but I paid for that shit dearly. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 2:35:49 PM EDT
[#47]
We never called it "Smoked" in my day, it was only called PT, just like in FMJ. The Drill Instructors did "attack" like in the video but, it seemed more organized, (note I didn't say "easier") not just screaming "AAAAAHHHHHHH" like the last few seconds of this session in the video. They didn't lose their composure and usually had up flopping up and down from "push up position" to "side straddle hops" down to "mountain climbers" till you couldn't breath. The DI usually never broke a sweat yelling either. They saved the 3 DI attack for other things like fucking up in drill.
The worst motivational PT training I ever received was as a cocky third phase Private. Third BN Chapel (Parris Island) on a bright Sunday morning, my squad was caught "rocking back and forth" a total of a 1/2 inch!!!!....while singing in Church. Yes, we were legitimately fooling around...and we didn't know our SDI was behind us watching It's when we got back to the squad bay when he called about 6 of us up to the pit that we found out he saw us He put us in push up possition......and never called begin! Sounds easy huh? Think about sitting in the push up position for about 2 hours....you can't do it!  Pools of sweat!
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Posted: 1/3/2012 2:39:25 PM EDT
[#48]
Quoted:
Quoted:
In the Army and Marines it's Physical Training. Air Force it means Pop Tarts. Good for you. Good for me. Blueberry frosted––the only kind that matter. Though the clowns in accounting always buy the strawberry frosted to save money. Phillistines! See the conditions we have to work under? Damn noner. Strawberry > Blueberry. Sheesh. |
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Posted: 1/3/2012 2:43:30 PM EDT
[#49]
My buddy who was a Marine refers to something called "IT" or "incentive training." Is this the same as regular PT or something doled out as punishment?
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Posted: 1/3/2012 2:52:00 PM EDT
[#50]
Ahhh getting thrashed on the quarter deck/pit. My favorite
. There was a recruit with a similar last name as myself and it never failed that everytime he got thrashed, I got thrashed.
DI -Recruit ##### what the fuck are you doing up here? Me - Sir, this recruit thought he heard the Drill Instructor call his name. DI - No, I called #### Me - Turning to run back on line. DI - Your not going anywhere. ETA- This thread makes me go down memory lane. Had a recruit shout that he had to make an "emergency headcall". DI asks him if he was sure that it was an emergency and of course said recruit yells yes sir. DI has him place the red lens into his moon beam and has him running around the squad bay flashing his red moon beam around in circles above his head and making siren noises
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