EPISODE CCXVII - SWEATY MARGE AND THE SQUEEGEE GUY
Broski sat morosely on his bunk as chaos reigned around him. The Commandos' Barracks had virtually come apart at the seams as the primarily non-commissioned soldiers fed on the
hostility their Commander had created.
Lost in his own pain and sorrow, the corporal barely noticed the demolition of their group living quarters. His canteen cup rested beside him, propped up against a pillow for support as he polished it gently
with a diaper he'd purchased anonymously through the mail. "Nobody understands", he uttered, his voice choked with emotion. "They don't understand that there's more to me than just killing."
His canteen cup stared up at him blankly, and he could vaguely make out his own features in its glistening surface.
"You're right", Broski replied, his eyes drifting distantly toward the ceiling. "I know we should go on with our life, but there's just something...missing." He looked back down at the
cup. "No, I didn't mean you", he assured, scrambling to undo what emotional damage may have already occurred. "You're everything a canteen cup could be, and more. But sometimes I feel
as though...", he shook his head forlornly, "Oh, never mind." The cup remained motionless.
"No", he remarked, "it's not important." He reached for his prized possession, noting each shining curve.
A trooper landed hard against his bunk, sending the canteen cup crashing to the floor. Broski's eyes narrowed as a cold rage began to build between his shoulder blades. "You're gonna pay for that",
he advised the private between clenched teeth.
"It wasn't my fault! He pushed me!!", the young commando stammered, pointing behind the corporal.
Broski turned to look behind, and came face to chest with an extremely large PFC, who sneered down at him with clear contempt. The corporal looked up. "Big mistake, pal", he informed the larger
man just prior to driving a knee into his groin.
