Junior’s Upgrade – An Ode to Military Humor

Ah, hello there. The old man (Wright Masters) is dealing with the travails of life and has less time lately to write up new stories. And that’s where I come in. Dear ol dad requested that I write a few stories from my time in the military for your reading pleasure. But who the hell am I, you may ask. I’m the little hellion that tortured him in all his recent stories. That’s right I’m W.G. Master II aka Junior. Now my dad likes to call me Gil (when not cursing me for some Trouble). He likes that moniker because he can use it as a shorthand for my middle name, Gilbert, when he is really referring to me as his favorite screw up, Gilligan. Yes, that Gilligan. The one stranded on an island annoying his skipper, which my dad seemed to identify with to commiserate their illusionary shared misery caused by their respective Gilligan(s). Most other people just like to call me Junior, if they’re an annoying person who doesn’t realize that since my middle name is different from pops’ (middle name) I am not a junior but a second (or Duece) as in a version 2.0 from my dad’s version 1.0, or in military lingo I’m W.G. Masters Mk. 2 while pops is Mk. 1. Confused yet? Yes/no, well that’s okay! Just know that I am an upgrade from my dear old dad. Now when I was a wee little lad and in those impressionable years, I admired my dad as most young sons ought to do. So, I wanted to join the military when I grew up. Even as I grew up I joined military type organizations. Instead of boy scouts, I went into Civil Air Patrol. In high school I was in JROTC…disregard the fact that I was also sent off to military school because my folks couldn’t keep me under control at the time. Good ol New Mexico Military Institute (NMMI)…I hated but enjoyed that place. After high school I despite my rents’ (read mother) disapproval, I walked into a recruiter’s office and signed my ass over to the military. I was probably the easiest sell that recruiter (SSGT Biaze) ever got. Now you’re wondering why I said I was an upgrade over my pops, when I joined up all the same. Well you see the old man joined the ARMY, while I signed my soul over to the United States Marine Corps. As a misguided youth myself, I joined Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children, while my dad and his fellows Aren’t Really Men Yet. See clear upgrade, and that’s not even mentioning the uniforms, because clearly Marines win that contest hands down. Though many exercises in futility ensued after my mother discovered what I did.

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