![]() ![]() ![]() If it’s a payday weekend, we drain Heinekens and Red Stripes. Picture a frat party with almost no women and even less common sense. The year is 1998, but I don’t imagine Camp Lejeune barracks parties have changed much since. Twenty or 30 military police - one of the most universally reviled occupational specialties in the Corps - the drunkest we would ever be in our lives. ![]() On the first night of our platoon’s scheduled four-day weekends, we would huddle in clumps around our muggy, maroon-carpeted barracks to drink and talk shit.
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