Buff

The most important job in boot camp besides latrine queen is floor God

Yes the latrine is the first room a petulant drill Sargent wants to rip apart

But just ponder this, how can the drill Sargent get to the latrine, or anywhere for that matter, he or she must walk

The military is obsessed with shiny things, but what is the shiniest, a freshly and properly buffed floor

Yes go ahead look down you know I’m right

There is nothing like seeing your reflection gazing back at you with ponderous intent than your own reflection

There is nothing as temporary and fleeting as that same floor blemish free for mere moments before a misplaced geel beat smashes down, indicating domination, respect, intimidation

I can still hear the heel taps my drill Sargent wore that announced the end of peace and contemplation

It caused panic and disloyalty amongst fellow prisoners if their own volition

There is nothing as satisfying as standing just outside of the barracks or a long hall, inhailing neverdull and floor striper with just a hint if bowling alley was that you bartered for with a pack of smokes or some Thunderbird and knowing you have reached perfection, when you Bellow socks only muther fuckers and the drill Sargent takes a tumble on his ass sliding halfway down the bay

I don’t even hear the first seventy-fuve minutes of the six hour ass reaming I’m about to receive, and neither does my crew standing like a true band of brothers, quietly admiring our work, quiet professionals who soon will separate and never attain this level of accomplishment. We are the floor gods, you are only allowed in our world when we say and after we have mentally masturbated ourselves for a task completed

Even the drill Sargent pulls us aside to quietly tell ya how impressed he is, only to cut that feeling off as it leaves his mouth. For a nano second we are his equals, nay, his betters

Look at that buffed floor and know that people who you are not worthy to associate with gave prepared the way 

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