PI was like entering an alien world. My senior DI was M/Sgt Quiller, Herbert D. He was among other things a philosopher and genius with the English language, sort of like a Marine Eric Hoffer. (Hoffer was a longshoreman who wrote books, not that Quiller, H. D. would ever write a book) Herbert D. could use the word f*** as a noun, pronoun, adjective, verb, and adverb in one sentence. He gave me many things to take with me through life.
Quiller, H.D. spaketh: "If the Marine Corps wanted me to have a wife they would have issued me one with my 782 gear." So I made sure my wife had a galvanized bucket and scrub brush when I married her. When a recruit got a Dear John and started to cry Quiller, H.D., in a moment of extreme compassion, asked the recruit what was wrong. The recruit explained that the love of his life had deserted him.
Quiller, H.D. had the entire platoon gather around him, put his hand on the recruit's shoulder, and began to explain life to a bunch of 17 and 18 year olds eager to receive his perspective on love…."Love, people, is a feeling that starts out in the back of your brain, travels down your spinal cord, and out through the head of your dick. Love is 6" deep. There is nothing as overrated as a piece of ass and there is nothing as underrated as a good shit." Having solved the recruit's problem he gave us 100 pushups and resumed training.