Sailor At Command Holiday Party Grimly Realizes He Never Left High School
SAN DIEGO, Calif. — Seeing clearly for the first time in nearly six years, sources confirmed on Sunday that Intelligence Specialist 2nd Class Doug Peters sullenly acknowledged the high-school-like petty social constructs presiding over his day-to-day existence in the United States Navy.
Staring blankly at his now-unappetizing hors d’oeuvres, Peters grimly reflected on the cliques, politics and general sycophancy of the high school years he had wanted to leave behind by enlisting.
“Peters has been playing with his food for the past thirty minutes, and hasn’t said a word to anyone,” said Boatswain’s Mate 2nd Class Greg Wilson. “But that’s probably because he’s a whiny little, pretentious, emo bitch who thinks he’s better than everyone.”
In a state he described as “blinders removed,” Peters observed the drunken revelers at the Hilton San Diego Bayfront and lamented, “God, it’s all the same. The sportos, the motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, wastoids, dweebies, dickheads.”
“They’re all still here,” he continued. “Deck apes, airedales, pecker checkers, Marine trampolines and dugongs, BUD/S duds, IT nerds, goats, wardroom preps. Except now we all look like assholes running around in aquaflage every day.”
Drinking deeply, the unplugged sailor’s epiphany appeared to compound in magnitude.
“It’s like, instead of shacking up with whoever has a car, it’s all about whoever has BAH,” he ruminated. “Sailor of the Year? Might as well run for class president and hope you’re popular and ingratiating enough to defeat the other popular kids.”
“And God, the dick jokes. The goddamn dick jokes,” he added mournfully, burying his face into his hands.
Envisioning the lush, rolling greens of a collegiate quad and flocks of buxom coeds tanning and playing Frisbee, sources confirmed that Peters visibly berated himself for neglecting the pursuit of a higher education, only to be struck by the realization that the dynamics of military service rarely progress beyond a sophomoric level.
“Why so glum, shipmate? Buck up!” exclaimed Capt. Jim Flanders, Peters’ commanding officer, making his obligatory rounds. “Take a look around at all these perky little broads, Peters. That’s what I love about these ensigns, man. I get older, they stay the same age.”