How I Almost Died Drinking With Recon Marines

The Worst Shot Ever

Good God! What was I thinking?

Have you ever partied with US Marines for the USMC’s birthday?

DO. NOT. DO IT. Just don’t.

In fact, run away!

Otherwise you’re in for trouble. Why? Because these crazy dudes love to drink the world’s absolute worst shot! Absolute. Worst.

I am not kidding. Not at all. Some call it the Suicide Shot. Others call it the Man Shot. We’ll call it the Marine Corps Birthday Shot. The world’s most awful shot.

How did one super awesome sailor come to be drinking with a bunch of Recon Marines celebrating the USMC’s birthday?

Well. These were the days before the internet ruined everything. It was a joyous time to be alive and bored. And I was suuuper bored at the Navy’s dive school. After getting injured in training, I was sent to roll-back land while the rest of my class moved on. It was then that the Navy thought it wise to billet me with a Recon Marine who was also injured at NDSTCS.

This was also a time before MARSOC. And let me tell you, this young Recon Marine was just dreaming about the day MARSOC would be around. It was all he talked about. No longer did he or the other Marines want the once feared combo of gold jump wings and gold combat scuba pinned to their chest. No, they wanted the gaudiest pin imaginable. So gaudy, it would strike fear into the heart of every Navy SEAL everywhere. He wanted to crush those Navy SEALs. Have them breakdown in tears once they learned their beloved Budweiser wasn’t the gaudiest.

“Dude, we’ve got to go out.” My excitable Marine Recon roommate yelled. “It’s the Marine Corps birthday.”

“What the fuck is that,” I answered, like a true Navy sailor who couldn’t tell you if the Navy had a birthday or what the pointy-end of a ship was.

“Come’on. We’re going out.”

So we did.

What a mistake.

Soon thereafter I was in a circle-jerk of future Recon Marines that had secured a round, high table at Schooners, a legendary establishment still kicking in Panama City, Florida.

Three burly Marines came rushing back to the table after totally ignoring a pair of hot FSU girls at the bar. They placed shots of tequila, a shaker of salt, and lime wedges on the table. One dude from Arkansas had a crooked smile on his face as he unscrewed the salt shaker and poured out its contents. Pulling out a credit card, he started shaping the salt like he was about to bump a line of coke.

Royally confused, I asked, “What the f*ck you doing?”

He smiled a crooked smile, ignored me completely, and rolled up a dollar bill. Ominously, the other Marines started pouring piles of salt onto their fists.

Do you know why Marine’s won the battle of Guadalcanal?

It’s because they’re nuts. Absolute mutants. Don’t mess with them!

In unison, the Marines snorted the salt, let out a pained grunt, then slammed back their shots. Appalled, I winced, not knowing the insanity was about to hit some next level shit.

Eat the limes? That’s for p*ssies. These Marines started squirting lime juice in their eyes. Not like a little. Like as if their eyes could eat the limes. They rubbed the limes in. Squishing it against their face. Yelling out some crazed war cries.

Then, all teary-eyed, they started slapping each other. Not like a ha-ha, kid-slap. More like a giant burly Marine winding-back and smashing you as hard as he can in the face.

The upside to all this?

After USMC Birthday Shots, Marines are basically deaf, blind and 100% dumb.

With eyes closed and ears ringing, they’re yelling at dudes 2 inches away like they were halfway down a football field. So no one, absolutely no one, noticed this pale-ass sailor slowly walking backwards and ghosting the table. Turns out it was the right move.

The Marines ordered several more rounds of Birthday Shots and the FSU girls liked a sailor who bought their drinks. The red-neck riviera prevailed as it normally should and all was right in the universe. Marines spent the night slapping each other while a sailor got laid.

For some military history: Today marks the USMC’s birthday, November 10, 1775. Celebrated since 1921, the party gets saltier and saltier every year. Happy Birthday, you crazy bastards!