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 The Adolf Shitler Military AcademyPosted 01.17.2005 by The Other David (123)
Sieg pile! This story takes place when I was only seven years old, when my stepfather sent me to a private military school in Brentwood (the original Brentwood in southern California) while my folks and I were living for several years in the greater Los Angeles area after leaving Europe.
The school was run with an iron fist -- the director had come over from Germany during the Third Reich period, and even though he was in California, he was an ardent follower of Adolf Hitler and the German Nazi Party. And it showed! He was probably worse than Heinrich Himmler, the Reichsführer-SS and Chief of the Gestapo. In other words, he was a despicable Arschloch (asshole)! We used to call him "Herr Arschloch" behind his back -- I taught the other 'comrades' at the school that term. I would not be surprised if this bastard had been a member of the American equivalent of a Nazi group, like the American White Peoples' Workers Party or some other extremist crap like that. As is usual with military oriented schools, marching is a major part of the curriculum, and by golly, we did a lot of it! Every fucking day we would parade all over the school grounds, marching... and marching... and of course still marching. We had no choice, as this was no ROTC program -- those programs are voluntary. We were obligated to do this. I remember it was summer. It was not too terribly hot, but it was warm this one day. We marched normally after breakfast for an hour or two before attending our classes for the day. We had uniforms very similar to the Boy Scouts, except they were sort of a blue color. I think that the school tried as close as possible to actually clad us in the uniform of the Hitlerjugend. They were very strict regarding toilet breaks. If one had to go, it must be done before parading all over the campus. (Also, never during the classes, either.) This means that if someone needed to go after falling in line, or in class, then tough shit -- he had to wait until dismissal. This one day, I had got caught up in this exact sort of situation. After about fifteen minutes or so of marching all over the school grounds, I began sustaining colonquakes. It was like Mount Saint Helens right before a major eruption. The more I marched, the more it became apparent that I had need to do something. I couldn't just fall out of rank and file, as I would get into serious trouble -- corporal punishment (e.g. a swatting on the bum), or a hundred push-ups, or having to hold a rifle at arm's length for an hour in front of me. (Try holding something about ten kilograms in front of you for an hour, you will see why it is considered punishment). It only got worse. I was cogitating as I was doing this activity whether it was worth receiving the consequences of falling out and making a beeline for the nearest latrine. I did not want a flogging, nor to hold a parade rifle. So I decided to carry on as best as possible. Well, my innards did not know anything at all about military discipline. They would do just what nature intended. Remember that this was during the summer, and we were wearing shorts as part of our uniform. (One might want to search "Hitlerjugend" or, in English, "Hitler Youth" to get an idea of what our uniforms sort of looked like -- except that ours were more of a blue color). The more we marched, the more I had to really go! I was getting desperate. I really didn't want to let loose while marching around the school grounds -- not only would that be embarrassing, but I would certainly get into trouble. I didn't know what would be a worse offence -- to dash to the nearest latrine, or to shit my pants in rank and file. There was no way in hell I was going to hold on for another hour and forty minutes! I just knew a flogging or something was waiting for me around the corner, one way or another. Then the unexpected happened. Caught up in my little predicament at this Nazi-run school, my sphincter began to give out. But it wasn't merely the escaping of a turd. It was warm, gushy, and semi-liquid. I had the fucking runs! It was wet! Great, just great. Juuuust what the doctor ordered. Instinct kicked in. Now that I had begun to shit in my shorts -- and now that I was going to get disciplined for that anyway -- I thought, fuck it! I left ranks and darted for the closest building. I heard yelling behind me, but at this point, I tuned it out. I didn't care about the disciplining I was going to receive -- all I knew was that I had to find a loo, and fast! Leaving ranks to head for the nearest place where I assumed a latrine might be, the running only made matters worse. I wound up letting go entirely. This wet torrent began to fill my shorts, and this vile light-brown river of muck began running down my white legs, and the whole company must have witnessed my predicament, I'm sure. If any of the other comrades who might have taken notice, I imagine that they would be bright enough to see what was going on, and hopefully offer me support in my defense against being harshly disciplined. I remember hearing some "eews" and the like... in retrospect, I guess I had been noticed! I left a disgusting, light-brown telltale trail of mushy splats giving away my whereabouts as I searched for the closest latrine. By the time I had gotten to that welcomed latrine, I had already dumped my load. However, thank God no one was around -- since they were all out marching all over the bloody place, I could take off my soiled shorts and try to rinse them out in one of the basins. I can't remember whether I got out all the mess, but after I put the wet shorts back on, I felt another round brewing. This time I was there at the latrine, so after struggling to pull down my wet shorts before soiling them again, I dumped more liquid-like fecal matter in its proper place. Because I went to the infirmary, and they found that I was actually sick, and not just putting on an act to avoid the marching, I was spared the harsh punishment that I had been expecting; though I still did not received any kind words of compassion or sympathy from that Nazi fuck, Herr Arschloch. Post new comment
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