Reveille ripped Private Jonny away from the safety of his hedonistic unconsciousness and transformed his newly awakened world into a hellish nightmare. “Oh Jesus.” he moaned, as he rolled over in his rack to get up for the morning inspection. He’d had a particularly rough evening the night prior and was in bad shape yet again. The back of his OD green service pants were torn out at the seat, and he was still wearing a shit-smeared rubber. “Medic! Corporal, get over here, dude! I’m not going to make it!” he screamed to Corporal Bloer, the unit corpsman. “Shut the fuck up, Jonny. I can’t believe that you fucked the general’s son in the ass again! You’re supposed to be my twink!” said Bloer. “Well, you always said that the worst thing on you is a drunken Irishman, so don’t get too upset, you fucking fag!” chuckled Jonny. He staggered to his feet and hastily pulled off his shredded pants and dangling jimmy-hat and threw on his fatigues. The platoon assembled in front of their racks and stood at attention just as Sergeant Rahmjobb kicked open the doors to the barracks and began screaming at the nearest set of troops. When the sergeant got in Jonny’s face he said, “Jesus-H-Christ. Well, you obviously take it deep in the ass!” “YES, SERGEANT!” screamed Jonny. “I’D ALSO LIKE TO CRAM MY BONER IN YOUR CHEESY ASSHOLE, SIR!” he added. “Is that so, private?” said the sergeant with a faint smile. He brushed a crumb out of his bleached soul-patch and eyed Jonny for a response. “YES SIR! AS A MATTER OF FACT WE COULD GO INTO THE LATRINE RIGHT NOW, SIR!” the private screamed at top-volume. At the other side of the aisle, private Emmons let out a barely audible chuckle. Rahmjobb turned around and with unmerciful swiftness, grabbed Emmons by the throat in a chokehold, bent him over and rammed the end of a grenade launcher in his rectum and fired the projectile while simultaneously kicking him behind a row of metal gear lockers. Poor Emmons didn’t know what hit him. He exploded with a wet pop and in an instant the wall of the barracks and the back of the lockers were covered in meaty chunks of gore. “Anyone else have anything to say?” said Rahmjobb. “NO SIR!” came the reply in unison. “Very good. Private Guzelspouph, form a detail and get this shit-hole cleaned up. Jonny, you come with me for a latrine inspection.” said the sergeant. He did an about face and followed a bow-legged Jonny to the shitter. Once inside, Jonny pulled off his pants but left his codpiece on as the sergeant took off and folded his crisply starched uniform. “What’s with the banana hammock, private?” said the sergeant. “That’s for you to find out, sir.” said Jonny as Rahmjobb got onto his knees and pulled it aside so that he could trumpet his own rendition of reveille on Jonny’s skin flute. As the codpiece gave way, a coiled spring snake like you’d buy at a joke store burst out and rocketed into the sergeant’s face. Rahmjobb was so stunned that he sharted and then looked up at Jonny just as he was bringing down a ten pound sledge hammer at full force. “YAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!” screamed the private as the sergeant’s head turned into a splattered pumpkin. His inert body slumped to the floor and Jonny donned his fatigues to get prepped for work at the mess hall. “Sorry, sarge. You were a serious piece of ass, and you know that I don’t say that lightly, but today was just not your day. I hate it when you wear that damned musk oil. It reminds me of getting schtooped at the barber shop when I get my high-and-tights.” Private Jonny walked out of the latrine and formed up with the platoon and marched to the mess hall for work detail. Once inside, the mess hall commander Lieutenant Tom Hotdork mustered the men and assigned them their duties. Jonny, along with specialist Pendergrease and private Pypedyner were given the prep station as their “command.” Jonathan walked over to Pendergrease and Pypedyner and the three of them marched to their station to get everything set up. As Pendergrease was pulling plastic buckets out of the lowboys, Jonny got behind him and ripped his pants off, slathered his veined dick with astroglide and stuffed it into his scabbed asshole so quickly that Pendergrease jerked his head up and hit it on the bottom of the counter. That didn’t seem to matter really, because he started to moan and ram his butt into Jonny’s thrusting waist. Pypedyner definitely liked what he saw. He pulled off his tear-away warm-up pants and jumped up on the counter top. He rapidly jerked himself stiff and hammered his schlong into Jonny’s slack mouth. He grabbed the back of his head and started to violently skull-fuck him. Jonny’s eyes bugged and he blasted a soupy load into Pendergrease’s gizzards and then ate one himself, the poor bastard. Jonny pulled down his own pants, squatted over and defecated a steaming pile of mush onto the tiled floor. “Cleanup on aisle 5!” he said, laughing. “Jesus, Jonny, you are a fucking madman!” said Pypedyner. Pendergrease didn’t have too much to say. The initial bonk on the head when Jonny penetrated him, plus all of the subsequent knocks as he was getting jack-hammered had put him into a coma, and he was now laying basically lifeless on the floor with jizz running out of his bleeding ass. “Oh man. That fucking pansy. Now what are we going to do, Jonny?” said Pypedyner. “There’s only one thing to do, my dear friend. Pick up that sack of shit and we’ll toss him into the meat grinder. Fuck, we’re low on ground beef anyway, and the menu tonight has burgers, tacos and Swedish meatballs, so the timing couldn’t be better. How could you not see that, you fucking imbecile!” said Jonny. All Pypedyner could come up with was, “Oh, right.” Jonny flew into an immediate and uncontrollable rage and grabbed the back of Pypedyner’s head and dunked it into the deep fryer. He had to use tongs to hold it down as it fried up, lest he burn his hands. He needs his hands un-marred so that he can constantly jerk-off and wipe his stinking ass! “This is working out better than expected. Now I’ll have enough ground beef for the rest of the week, plus a surprise fried calf’s head!” said Jonny to himself. He walked back to the Lieutenant’s office and rapped on the door. “Yes, private, come on in.” said Hotdork. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. You’ve gotten some really high marks from your co-workers, so I’d say that you, my good man, are up for promotion!” Jonny was flabbergasted. He’d killed everyone that he’d ever worked with, so he had no idea where the lieutenant got his information which was obviously bunk. “Uh, sir, I…” muttered Jonathan. “Now, now, there’ll be none of that, private. Come over here and immediately perform fellatio on my pumped-up poo-pounder. THAT’S AN ORDER!” screamed Hotdork. “YOUR WISH IS MY WILL, SIR!” said Jonny as he got to his knees. He fumbled with the lieutenant’s fly and fished out his skipjack tuna tube steak and gobbled it up with an immediacy that he hadn’t known since the last time that he had explosive diarrhea onto the wall of the shower stall. Hotdork said, “OHHH, OHH YEAHH, AAAGGGHHHH!!!” He pulled Jonny up from beneath the desk and turned around so that his butt was right in Jonny’s face. He then said, “Come on, make my butt-hole feel good.” He spread his cheeks and pressed his anus to Jonny’s face and heaved with all of his strength. In an instant, there was a sound that could be heard across the kitchen and into the dining room. Officers and Enlisted alike looked up from their pots and pans; their dinners and deserts, as the lieutenant’s bowels gave way. At first, the fart exploded flecks of fibrous debris which formed the cap of what was to become the main bore of the poop log onto Jonny’s face, creating a camouflage-esque crust of warm slop. Next came another baritone fart, which quivered Hotdork’s bung-hole. Since he was at such a close range, Jonny noticed a couple of boils which, he deduced, were most likely herpes pustules at one corner of the lieutenant’s puckered poopie. Oh well, that was probably from me anyway, he thought to himself as Hotdork shrieked, “AHHHH!” and the main log came out like a crowned skull and then launched like a booster rocket into Jonathan’s mouth, filling it with sludge and knocking him to the side as if he’d been cuffed. “UUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!” moaned Jonny. “THAT’S RIGH! AND NOW LOOK AT WHAT’S NEXT!!!!!” yelled lieutenant Tom Hotdork, who spun around revealing his boner spraying jizz in flying arcs. The lieutenant was moaning uncontrollably and fell backward behind his desk. Jonny took the opportunity to wipe the poop out of his mouth and run outside. He jumped into the seat of the bulldozer that was in the parking lot and fired it up as diarrhea started to run down his leg. He brought the machine forward at full speed and demolished the wall of the mess hall and drove into the mess hall office obliterating everything in his path while yelling, “IT’S FIVE O’CLOCK SOMEWHERE, DARLING!” Hotdork peeked up from behind his desk and saw his doom approaching, so he desperately started to reinflate his rubbery weenis. When that failed, he laid on his back and thrust his hips into his face in a last-ditch attempt to blow himself just as private Jonny drove the bulldozer through the office wall and crushed him like a walnut husk. Jonny calmly turned off the engine and dusted himself off. He had to double time it back to the barracks so that he could watch the movie where the farmer fucks one of his sheep in the ass and then sends it stampeding into the 4H craft room. “Damn, this sure is a fucked-up world we live in.” he said while saluting his barracks watch officer. The officer looked down at the bulge in Jonny’s fatigues and winked at him. “Yep, here we go again!” he said and immediately started to finger his own butt-hole as the lights went dark on another day in the life of the man who really had all of the answers… Private Jonny.