Reeve Swainston

🚨FLASHBACK 🚨 Marine Privates are a whole different species. Not “special,” not “unique”; basically feral. Like if you crossed a Rottweiler with a live grenade and gave it a uniform two sizes too big. I was one of these majestic disasters once. I pray I was at least marginally less of a walking liability than the specimen in the video below. I’d like to believe even I would’ve known Clorox doesn’t belong anywhere near your bung-hole, but honestly, I can’t confirm. My first year in the Corps is just one long, angry mixtape of “WHAT THE FUCK, SWAINSTON?!” bouncing off cinderblock walls and N.W.A. blasting on repeat; that same defiant verse about being tired of the [mother fuckers] jackin’. At least I knew that when I finally got tired of them jacking me, I could handle it. Lyrics that are still burned into my brain even though I threw Cpl. Slack’s cassettes against that same wall more times than I can count. If I blacked most of it out, that’s not trauma. That’s my brain doing me a solid. God, save this 👇 young man 🙏