What was the one thing you came away with after watching "Full Metal Jacket" for the first time? Did it have to do with the duality of man, as Mathew Modine's character suggested? Maybe you gained a new perspective of the Vietnam War?

For me it was "Damn, I could never take a dump in one of those military bathrooms with no stalls." Whether you're shameless or shameful, such an environment would keep most poopers puckered until your blue eyes turned brown. So you can imagine how elated I was at Boot Camp when I saw how modern the facilities had become.

A year and a half after enlisting, I was sent to Saudi Arabia for Operation Desert Shield. The unit to which I was transferred was one of the first to deploy, and had already been in country for five months by the time I got there.

The posh surroundings hardly resembled anything I had expected. There was a huge tent where warm meals were served, a generator to power the TV and VCR that played tapes sent from home and endless rows of Port-o-Johnesque latrines. This is war? Hell yes!

After about a week, we got word to pack everything in and start heading north, thus ending Operation Desert Vacation. We convoyed for hours and hours at a time, stopping only to sleep. If we were lucky, we might stay put for a day or two. The privacy of enclosed "sit down" style latrines was replaced with an open air "squat-n-squeeze" hole in the ground surrounded by a roofless tent. There may have been more than one hole, but I can tell you we only went in one at a time.

Given the ideal digging conditions in Saudi (lots and lots of deep sand) and in accordance with the aforementioned "one at a time" rule, on more than one occasion I was forced to venture out into the dunes, entrenching tool and shit paper in hand, seeking a place to deposit my Infidel load.

The terrain was much less digger-friendly in Iraq: lots of protruding jagged rocks and only a foot or so of sand before hitting solid rock. We knew we'd be staying at this particular location for a while, so we had to dig a fancy defensive perimeter, i.e., about 5 or 6 holes positioned in a half circle around our camp. While digging one of the holes, I discovered the rock layer.

In a stroke of military genius, someone (not me) decided to hit the rock layer with a 20-pound sledgehammer to "break it up". After about 5 futile seconds, we figured we'd just increase the circumference of the hole and fill sand bags, pile them up all around the hole and put on a plywood roof. It was only about 3 feet from bottom to top, but for 4 hours a day, it was home.

One sunny day while on guard duty, the urge to purge hit me. I had to go NOW. I tried to hold it, but knew I'd never make it back to camp. Finally, when we could see our replacements coming up the hill, I told the guy with me to head back and I'd stay to officially change the guard. That gave me a 2-minute window to do my business.

The second he left, I assessed the situation and went into MacGyver mode. I fumbled with the buttons of my BDU pants while simultaneously reaching for an empty MRE bag. Squatting very awkwardly, I aligned the bag directly below my ass and let loose.

Thank goodness MRE's make for some solid stool, because I totally missed the bag. The 7-incher slid out, clung to the side of the bag for a moment, then slammed to the rock floor with an audible "thump". Glancing back, I saw that my replacements were only about 30 feet away. Panic-stricken, I grabbed the turd with a leather glove and shoved it into the bag. War truly is Hell, for there would be no wipe.

I had just finished buttoning my pants when they appeared at the opening of the bunker. They looked at me strangely for a second as I grabbed my shit (literally) and got the hell out of there.

It's never too late to thank your brave men and women in the military -- those who have shit in far away lands, weary and in danger, so you don't have to.

-- Che Guanovara