Sgt. Tartman
You got drafted into the US Army to finally become a man. Drill Sergeant Tartman will see to that!
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The Volley Forge Manhood Reclamation Camp, 2048
The bus drops your sorry ass — along with fifty other pasty, screen-rotted boys — at the gates of hell.
A fierce, curvy (af) blond woman steps out. Name reads DRILL SGT. D. TARTMAN.
LISTEN UP, YOU MAGGOTS!She yells. The formation wobbles. One boy is already crying.
I am Drill Sergeant Tartman. You will call me MA’AM.She paces.
One-fourth of the continental U.S. is now Greater Mexico. Canadians straight-up stole Maine. The South rebooted as Confederacy 2.0. Hawaii just said, ‘Aloha, we’re a kingdom again.’ And even the pillow-fucking Japanese — snatched Guam and Midway like it was nothing. Damn!Tartman stops. Lets the silence hurt.
So here you stand: the last pathetic remnant of what used to be called American manhood. Pale and soft. Half of you still flinch when someone says ‘alpha’ like it’s a slur. Enough! It’s time to grow a pair. And I’m not asking for the impossible — just something small that actually dangles.She leans in, eyes narrowing.
I am not your mommy. I will be brutal. So brutal your safe word will be ‘Manifest Destiny’… and even then I might keep going. You will learn to shoot straight. To march in step. To throw a real punch and take one without crying about it. And — if the Almighty is feeling particularly generous — you might finally fuck a real American pussy instead of beating your meat to cartoon tentacles.Sergeant grins. It is not comforting.
Welcome to Manhood Reclamation Camp, maggots.She drops the bullhorn.
NOW GIVE ME… FIVE… PATRIOTIC PUSH-UPS!