In 1992 I entered Marine Corps boot camp at Parris Island, South Carolina. As we all know or have a general idea about, boot camp isn't the place to go to have fun -- you get yelled at, you get called everything in the book, and nothing you do is right according to the drill instructors. In the evenings we would get our shower times, and when not showering or shaving, we were polishing your boots and getting ready for the nightly inspections. On this night I managed to get my shower and shave and beat the herd waiting to get under one of the ten showerheads and scrub off the dirt from that day's training. I was at my bunk polishing my boots when I heard a large volume of yelling; and we all knew it wasn't coming from recruits, since carrying on like that will ensure you a quantity of pushups that no one on this Earth should endure.

Our worst drill instructor, Sgt. L (name withheld), forced everyone back out by their bunks to stand at attention. This guy loved to punish you for anything, no matter how small. And before he would do something big and terrible to you or everyone, he would "tell you a story." And then he would tell us a story about whatever that rarely pertained to the situation at hand -- we all thought he did that to just hear himself talk.

I was standing there in my towel, listening to this guy go on and on about whatever -- after a while you don't hear anything, you just wait for him to stop talking and get on with the punishment. So my eyes started wandering around and I noticed the first guy across the squad bay at the end was holding his towel up and it wasn't secured. I thought he is going to get in trouble. And then I noticed he had a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth like a very skinny cigar. So I was trying not to laugh, imagining the horrors he would have to endure when Sgt. L noticed him, thinking "Better you than me, ha ha, I got my shower and I'm all done, woo hooo!"

Sgt. L was still going, so everyone's eyes started wandering, looking for anything to focus on besides all the hot air now filling the room. I looked back up at Mister Toothbrush and this time his cheeks were puffed out, the toothbrush still hanging out of his mouth and a white peppermint foam starting to show. And... he was slightly trembling. Since I was lucky enough to be standing next to a concrete pillar, I devised a trick to slightly lean my head back and giggle to myself so the drill instructors couldn't see me. Every time I composed myself, I would tip my head forward and try to look serious, but of course I would always look back up at Mister Toothbrush and have to lean back and giggle again.

I had to tell someone about this -- this was waaaay too funny for being in Marine boot camp. So I nudged my bunkmate and motioned with my eyes in Mister Toothbrush's direction. He finally saw what I wanted him to see and he leaned back and started giggling, forcing me to giggle too, almost to the point of making sounds loud enough for us to get busted.

Well, he in turn nudged the next man, and so on and so forth, until most of the guys on my side of the squad bay were trying desperately not to get caught giggling, waiting until Sgt. L's back was turned to let a few muffled giggles out to release some pressure. I look back up at the guy, thinking, "OK, I've laughed enough, I can handle it, I wanna see this guy spit his toothpaste all over the floor." I was looking at him and now his trembles were full-blown shakes, and he was sweating; his cheeks had puffed up to capacity and foam was pouring down his chin and onto his neck at this point. Visions flashed of him finally gagging on the toothpaste and coughing it out all over the drill instructor. I almost let out a large loud laugh when I thought of that, but somehow I managed to hold it in and just tremble myself, giggling away behind my good old pal, Mister Concrete Pillar.

Now, Sgt. L always ended his stories with, "OK, now you nasty maggots just stand the hell by, for the apocalypse is coming." He did so, and then walked into his office. And as soon as the door closed, Mister Toothbrush turned and spit his toothpaste into his boot then uttered rather loudly, " I can't take it, I'm sorry!" He then ran off into the latrine area. We all started laughing and knew we all were going to get it. Then we looked as Toothbrush was scooting in his flip flops and noticed the back of his towel was a light soggy brown, and on the floor were little puddles and hunks of poop, like his ass was leaving breadcrumbs in case it got lost. The moment of realization hit us all and we were now in full blown laughs, doubled over; a few fell back and sat on their footlockers laughing so hard.

Then it happened. Sgt. L flung open his office door and came out yelling at us, arms flailing around. He was furious. He was walking rather briskly to the center of the squad bay so he could yell at all of us but his voice was suddenly halted. Why, you ask? He managed to come out of the office barking away and didn't notice the poop trail on the floor in front of him. And as he was walking, his boot heel caught some of the poop puddle, and he slipped.

You know the kind of almost-slip you have like when walking on ice, where you slide forward on one foot and then you suddenly catch yourself, arms thrashing around, trying to grab something that's not there, with that stupid HOLY SHIT look on your face? Yeah, one of those slips. Sgt. L managed to catch himself and stood back up. He turned around and looked to see what he just slipped on, and then noticed the trail of poop leading to the latrine area. He looked at his boot, looked at the trail again, and then ran in the latrine after Mister Toothbrush, who was by then surely seated on the toilet that had no doors. Use your imagination -- the apocalypse he promised us had arrived.

-- Ziburism