The Ugliest Toenails On The Eastern Seaboard

Okay:

I'd like to talk about my toes today.

I used to have really nice toes. Once when I was younger I had a young lady suck on them.

Which is pretty cool for all the fellas who have never had the pleasure.

I still have nice feet. No corns or bunions. But my toes. Good Lord, my toes.

No self-respecting woman would ever put her mouth on them or anywhere near them.

The reform school I went to had a military program. When I arrived they gave me one pair of chloroforms and one pair of leather hard bottoms. After I got kicked out (Yes, you can get kicked out of reform school) I think I burned them or something.

I must have marched one thousand miles in those things.

Every morning they woke us up at the buttcrack of dawn. There was always a fifteen minute line in the showers. We all stood there, shivering in the morning cold with our thong flip flops and towels wrapped around our waists. It was like the breadline during the Depression. No one smiled. It was five o-clock in the morning. The floor was cement painted red, peeling all over.

You had five minutes. The flight sergeant stood nearby keeping time. Not that anyone wanted to take a long shower. The stalls were gross. You felt dirtier after you got out.

Truth be told, most people only needed 2 minutes to wash. Then they jerked off for 3 minutes. I know I did sometimes.

Then we held morning formation around the flag pole while someone played Reverie on a bugle. The bugle player sucked. As far as bugle playing goes. But like I said. It was five o'clock in the morning. Whitney Houston would have sounded like a dying warthog that early.

Then we marched to breakfast.

You heard me. We marched to fucking breakfast.

Thing is, the mess hall was only yards away from the flagpole. A thirty second leisurely walk. And it's not even like the breakfast was anything to get excited about, much less march about. Powdered eggs, biscuits and gravy. Cornbeef and hash.

But we had to march around the entire campus for this crap. Hundreds of us. The flight sergeants shouting cadence. "YOUR LEFT, YOUR LEFT, YOUR LEFT, RIGHT, YOUR LEFT, RIGHT, YOUR RIGHT, YOUR LEFT!"

I still hear that shit in my sleep sometimes.

The campus was probably a square half mile. Every fucking day. Every morning.

And every day after classes at 3:30.

Then once more at night before dinner.

Then there were those goddamn parades every other week. Sweltering heat. We had to wear our dress blouses for those things. Sometimes we had to stand at attention for up to a half-hour. Which may sound simple, but trust me--it ain't. Some people would lock their knees (which would cut off blood circulation), pass out and have to be taken to the infirmary. It worked, but I didn't like the idea of being unconscious down there. We were in the middle of Virginia and those rednecks were scary. No telling what they might do to an unconscious DC nigger.

Plus, if you got in trouble they gave you their neat little variation of detention. They called it Tours. Instead of sitting in a room and staring at the wall, you went to a gym and marched around the perimeter for three hours. Futility is torture.

Then if you got in big trouble they gave you in-school suspension. Not only did it include the day's three marches and the evening Tours, you had to do morning, afternoon and midnight PT (physical training). PT was run by a pure blood redneck named Sergeant Turner and consisted of hundreds of push ups, sit ups, Indian Runs and Suicides. You bought lots of Ben Gay from the canteen. I learned the hard way that you never apply Ben Gay above the mid-thigh mark. That shit travels under your skin.

Long story short, those bastards ruined my pretty little feet.

I've got three black toenails. And the ones that aren't black want to be.

My doctor told me they'll probably fall off one day, but that was years ago.

As a bit of a consolation, I was in remarkable shape for years. A six-pack, a well-defined back, and chiseled arms.

I ain't got no of that shit no more, but I still got the goddamn toes.


Thanks for reading.

GOBAMA!

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Factoid: As a result of my time there, I can shine a shoe and make a bed like nobody's business.