Story #2304

The drill sergeants found out that one of us was wiccan. So they saved some chicken bones, and made them apart of said privates uniform. Smoked him and his battle buddie when ever he didn’t have the chicken bones with him. So when ever it was time to move out or go to chow, or some shit, the drills would yell “private mc whateverthefuckhisnamewas, consult the bones!” And he would start shaking them in his hands, and we would all have to crowd around him, chanting in sync. Then he’d throw the bones and say, all offended and shit “yes drill sergeant, we could move out”. Once he got ballsy and told them the bones said no. So they smoke all our asses off until the bones told them personally that we can leave

Sand hill