Here are more military stories. I’d like to keep this going as long as I can, so, if you’d like to give your own explanation of why you joined the military or have a military story, please e-mail me with the subject “Military”. Thanks.

This was posted by John in my comments, but I thought it needed more exposure:

I have buried a few Marines. The last one was during the Clinton adminstration. After the minister says his peace, Taps is played and the salute is fired, the flag is folded and presented to the familiy. As you give the wife / mother the flag you are supposed to say “On behalf of a greatful nation and the President of the United States, I present you this flag as a token of appreciation for your husband’s faithfull service.” I substituted the “Commandant of the Marine Corps” for the president. The ladies husband had died, no reason to insult her further.
I have also buried a few Soldiers and Sailors. The Army had a policy that they would not travel more than 50 miles to bury a veteran. The Marine Corps policy was that we would go wherever. So soldeir’s families started calling us for help. This made the news, Army policy changed.
The sailors had been Corpsmen who served with the Marines and wanted us to do the ceremony. One called to talk to me about it before he died. He wanted to make sure that we would do it, he “didn’t want any sailors messing up his funeral.” I assured him it would be no problem and told him to give my name and number to the funeral director he was going to use. Got a call three days later. Sad business, all of the details I did where for older veterans, doing one for one of these teenagers getting killed in IZ would be rough.

DNice writes:

I’ve written a couple of military emails already, but I thought I’d share my most embarrassing moment in the military, just for a laugh (at my expense).
We were on bivouac while I was going through US Army Chemical School at Ft. McClellan, AL. We were at Pelham Range training area off of Ft.
McClellan.
They taught us that the easiest way to go #2 when in the field (and not cr*p in your pants accidentally while copping a squat) was to lean with your back to a tree. This position allows you to do your business in the greatest comfort and least mess.
I woke up in the middle of the night and nature was calling. I crawled out of my tent and decided to warm up at the fire barrel first. There were 2 or 3 other guys there keeping warm (it was November in Alabama … yeah I know, but did get cold at night.) After a few minutes, I took off into the dark with my ET (that’s Entrenching Tool for all you civilian types.. a funky folding shovel) and my roll of TP. Problem was, in the dark, you can’t see too well. And you certainly can’t see that where they burned the underbrush away at this camp site so we’d have a nice open area to put up our tents, they’d also burned the bottoms of the small to medium trees right through.
Its a shame you can’t see that in the dark, because that is useful information. I could have used that information just before I dropped my pants and put my back against the tree. But, I didn’t have that information. And I was now rolling around on the ground with my pants around my ankles, trying to find my TP, and my ET … and my pride.
I found another tree … TESTED IT, this time, and took care of business. When I got back to the fire barrel the two guys there just looked at me in disbelief. “What the heck were you doing out there?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” as I walked straight past them to my tent.
ALWAYS test your trees, gentlemen!

Finally, here is a narrative on joining the military by Barney Rubble:

When I was in the first grade I used to get chased home by the other kids in the neighborhood.I suppose it had something to do with my personality, me being six years old, they being in the 4th, 5th and 6th grade.
Anyway one afternoon I was running home from the bus stop (I Was being chased…again). It had rained that afternoon and the rest of the kids were picking up mud clods and throwing them at me. I made feeble attempts to throw some mud back but, this only resulted in my being hit in the face with mud clods. I was getting pelted left and right. Since I lacked any real athletic ability, my throwing mud back at my pursuers was in vain. I saw my apartment complex and hastily retreated inside.
Once inside my tormentors continued to throw mud at the door in which I had just gone through, they were also hitting the various windows next to the door. I stuck my head out to agravate the kids who were pelting me. “You missed me, NYaaa…CLOMP”, I had just gotten hit once again, this time in the mouth. As I retreated into the complex once again I couldn’t help but notice that the floor in the complex was covered with mud (I was hit with a barrage). I also noticed this strange man, at least feet tall with a flat top, poking his head out of his apartment.
“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE YOU STUPID LITTLE F*#K”, he inquired.
“There’s these kids throw…”, I tried to reply.
“SHUT THE F*#k UP AND TAKE A LOOK AT THIS MESS. WHO IS GOING CLEAN THIS SH!T UP?”.
“I…uhh, don’t know, the janitor”, I suggested.
“I’m the janitor you dumbass and I sure as hell ain’t cleaning up this sh!t”.
He then retreated into his apartment and got out some cleaing supplies. I then did my first field day (unbeknownst to me). After I had done a satisfactory job he then looked at me inquisively. “What are you gonna be when you grow up?”.
Trying to sound tough (and being that I saw a movie with Jeffrey Hunter fighting the Japanese the day before) I relpied, “I gonna be a Marine”.
“OH, you are! Wait right here”. He retreated into the apartment again. This time he returned with a thick brochure (a Marine recruitment tract for sure). It was glossy 8 x 11 showing a bunch of bald headed guys going throught what the man called “boot camp”. This looked scary since all the pictures showed this guy with a big green hat yelling at the bald guys as they were doing push ups, obsatcle courses, shooting, etc.
I asked, “why are these guys getting yelled at?”
“Well that’s because they are getting ready for war, most of these recruits will be going to Viet Nam. The Drill Instructor is yelling at them to psych them up, get them motivated to fight for their country, and also to remind them that they are not a bunch of pussies”.
“Oh!”.
I kept turning the pages some black and white photos appeared showing some guys in the woods, they looked cold.
“World War 1, Belleau Woods”, he explained.
More pictures, this time the guys looked like they were out of the Jeffrey Hunter flick.
“Iwo Jima”.
More photos of Korea and Viet Nam. then the final photo was of a Marine in his dress blues. He had a purple medal with a white stripe on it.
“What he get that for?”, I questioned. “Oh he was injured in battle and lived to tell about it. Here”, pulled off his shoe and showed me his wooden foot, “I got his in Viet Nam at_____________[insert some village that only a 6 year old would forget]”.
“That’s neat”, I replied “can I get a purple heart when I join the Marines”.
“Maybe, go ahead and keep the magazine”.
So I went home and showed my mom. I told her I wanted to be a Marine, go to boot camp and get yelled at. Then I would go to Viet Nam get my leg blowed off so I could get a Purple Heart. My Mom protested and said we would move to Cananada before that would happen.
Twelve years later we were still living in the U.S. and I had gone to my first year of college earning a whopping 1.20 G.P.A. (Smoked a lot of pot I did). So she was bugging me about getting a full time job during the summer, going to summer school, doing chores around the house and not going to any summertime parties (basically anything that would make me feel miserable as only a parent would want their kid to be miserable). Being fully depressed about my circumstances I went to my room to do what most young men do best. Low and behold At the bottom of my pile of Hustler magazines I saw this 8 X 11 glossy recruitment brochure for the Marines.
“Hey mom rememeber when I said I wanted to be a Marine….”