Military Recruit Taking Stupid Pills! A military recruit in Army basic training who has obviously taken some stupid pills according to his Drill Sergeant. In the military you can’t smoke pot, have crazy earrings, funny jewelry, as a male have a pony tail or wear your hat backwards. This list goes on and on. Those that violate the rules are just plain stupid.

The Day a Recruit Took Stupid Pills

You know, they say there are no stupid questions. But then, there’s Private Peters—our newest recruit—and I’m pretty sure that guy’s been sneaking Stupid Pills into his daily MREs. It was like the Army found him wandering around, lost in a shopping mall, and decided, “Yeah, he’ll do.”

Now, this wasn’t your average, everyday cluelessness. No, Peters had a gift—a rare talent for turning even the simplest tasks into a spectacle of confusion. And, for whatever reason, he was assigned to our platoon. Lucky us.

So one fine day, we’re out in the field for weapons qualification. Easy stuff, right? Load, aim, fire. The Army’s bread and butter. Even the slowest guy in the unit usually figures it out after a couple tries. But not Peters.

“Alright, Peters, it’s your turn. Get down in the prone position,” barked Sergeant Davis.

Peters blinked. “Uh… prone position, Sergeant?”

The rest of us groaned. “You know, belly on the ground, rifle out front,” Davis replied, a muscle twitching in his jaw like he was trying to hold back from losing his mind.

Peters hesitated for a second, then dropped to the ground. But instead of lying on his stomach, this genius rolled over onto his back like a turtle, rifle pointed straight up at the sky.

Sergeant Davis blinked. “Peters… what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m in the prone position, Sergeant!” Peters replied proudly, lying there like he was about to sunbathe instead of qualify with a rifle.

“No, Peters, you’re about to shoot down a cloud. Get on your damn stomach!”

Peters scrambled into the correct position, but it didn’t take long before he was messing things up again. This time, he loaded his magazine backward. Backward. How someone manages to put 30 rounds of ammo in the wrong direction is beyond me, but if anyone could pull it off, it was Peters.

“Private, how in the name of all things Army green did you even manage that?” Sergeant Davis asked, incredulity oozing from his every word.

“I, uh… it looked like it fit this way, Sergeant,” Peters replied, as if he had been puzzling over a particularly difficult Lego set.

The rest of us were doubled over, trying not to lose it. I swear, Peters could screw up walking in a straight line if you didn’t draw arrows on the ground for him.

But the highlight of the day came during PT. Sergeant Davis had us doing jumping jacks. Easy, right? Well, not for Peters. He was flailing around like one of those inflatable tube men outside of car dealerships. His arms were going one way, his legs another, and somehow his helmet was spinning on his head. It was a physics-defying nightmare.

“Peters, what in the holy hell is that?” Sergeant Davis demanded, staring at him like he was witnessing the birth of some new, horrific dance craze.

“Uh, jumping jacks, Sergeant!” Peters replied, gasping for air but beaming like he’d just solved world hunger.

“Looks more like you’re fighting off a swarm of invisible bees,” Davis said, shaking his head.

By this point, even Sergeant Davis had given up on trying to understand the enigma that was Peters. And then, of course, came the final straw—the day Peters lost his rifle.

We were out on a night patrol when Peters came running up, eyes wide, face pale. “Sergeant, I can’t find my weapon!”

The entire platoon stopped. You could hear a pin drop. Sergeant Davis’ face slowly turned red, like he was about to explode.

“Peters. Where the hell did you last see your rifle?”

“Uh… I had it when we left, Sergeant…”

Davis was now fully in are you kidding me mode. “You mean to tell me, Private Peters, that you just lost an entire riflesomewhere out here?”

Peters nodded. “Yeah… I guess so.”

The rest of us were holding our breath, waiting for Sergeant Davis to unleash hell, but instead, he just pinched the bridge of his nose, like he was dealing with a migraine. “Private, how exactly does someone misplace an entire weapon?”

Peters shrugged. “I dunno, Sergeant… it’s dark?”

By now, even Davis had reached the end of his rope. “Peters, the only reason you’re still breathing right now is because Ican’t lose you like you lost that rifle. Now get out there and find it before I bury you and your stupid pills in the sand!”

Peters eventually found the rifle… in his hands. Yes, that’s right. He had been holding it the whole time.

As we marched back to base, Sergeant Davis just shook his head and muttered to himself, “Stupid pills… I swear to God, they’re handing them out now.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I spent an entire deployment watching a recruit take stupid pills every single day and somehow survive.

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