up tight and stuff them in.”
When they were done, she called out, “One shirt.”
Going down the list, she called out two pair of socks, one pair of underwear, two full water bottles and one knife. When she came to the knife, a half-dozen people raised their hands that they didn’t have one. Now it was Tick-Tock’s turn. Going up and down the three rows, he handed out the few hunting knives they had and gave the rest of his trainees whatever decent blades he had found in the kitchen. In addition to this, he also handed every third person a pencil sharpener
When he was done, he said, “I don’t have time to teach you knife fighting for a couple reasons , the first being that I never learned how to do it since I prefer to stand well back and shoot my attacker.” The group laughed, so he added, “And the greater the distance, the better.”
After the laughter at this died off, he said, “ Your knife is a tool for making kindling to start a fire and any number of other things that I’ll go over later, and it’s only to be used as a weapon as a last resort. Don’t start thinking you’re Bizarro the magnificent knife-throwing god and do an overhand toss at an attacking Z because you’ll only be throwing a perfectly good knife away. The pencil sharpener is also to be used for making kindling. Find a stick the size of a pencil and use the shavings.”
When Denise was done with her list, the remains of the group’s belongings lay on the floor in front of them. Tick-Tock watched as they looked down at their property and then back up at him, waiting for him to tell them they could put the rest of their personal items in their backpacks. Instead, he picked up a phone book from a pile stacked on the Ping-Pong table and tore off two inches from it. Walking up to the first person in the front row, he handed it over to him and said, “Put this in your pack.” When the man looked at him oddly, he explained, “That’s your toilet paper. Use it sparingly, since we might be on the road for a couple days.”
Hearing one of his trainees say in a questioning voice, “Phone books ,” without missing a beat, Tick-Tock said, “We’re using phone books because I couldn’t find any copies of Hard Choices, by Hillary Clinton, in the library.”
There were a few chuckles, and f eeling that their training was winding down, a man in the back row raised his hand to ask a question. Tick-Tock had told the group at the beginning that they needed to save their questions for the end. He wanted them to just learn to do what they were told, but he reminded himself that these were not Marine Corps recruits.
Although they still had to learn how to hold and fire their weapons in a safe manner, Tick-Tock decided to relax the mood a little, so he said, “Training’s not over yet, but go ahead.”
“How long will we be walking?” he asked.
Without breaking stride as he moved to the next person and ripped off another section of the yellow pages, Tick-Tock replied, “When I was in the Corps, on my last day of jungle warfare training, we got back from a three-mile run, followed by a forced march of ten miles through what was mostly swamp. We came back to camp and unassed all our equipment. All we were looking forward to was a shower and graduation the next day, but then our instructors came in screaming that we had to get our shit together and get ready for another ten-mile hike through the beautiful jungles of Panama.
“Most of us grabbed our gear and got ready, but a couple guys quit. They were bitching and whining about how unfair it was. They were saying it was bullshit since we were all done with training. The ones that didn’t quit lined up outside and started off at a quick march. That’s one-hundred twenty steps per minute. We’d barely gone half a mile, though, when we came across a couple trucks parked to the side of the road with a bunch of guys hanging around a bonfire drinking beer and having a good old time. Our
When they were done, she called out, “One shirt.”
Going down the list, she called out two pair of socks, one pair of underwear, two full water bottles and one knife. When she came to the knife, a half-dozen people raised their hands that they didn’t have one. Now it was Tick-Tock’s turn. Going up and down the three rows, he handed out the few hunting knives they had and gave the rest of his trainees whatever decent blades he had found in the kitchen. In addition to this, he also handed every third person a pencil sharpener
When he was done, he said, “I don’t have time to teach you knife fighting for a couple reasons , the first being that I never learned how to do it since I prefer to stand well back and shoot my attacker.” The group laughed, so he added, “And the greater the distance, the better.”
After the laughter at this died off, he said, “ Your knife is a tool for making kindling to start a fire and any number of other things that I’ll go over later, and it’s only to be used as a weapon as a last resort. Don’t start thinking you’re Bizarro the magnificent knife-throwing god and do an overhand toss at an attacking Z because you’ll only be throwing a perfectly good knife away. The pencil sharpener is also to be used for making kindling. Find a stick the size of a pencil and use the shavings.”
When Denise was done with her list, the remains of the group’s belongings lay on the floor in front of them. Tick-Tock watched as they looked down at their property and then back up at him, waiting for him to tell them they could put the rest of their personal items in their backpacks. Instead, he picked up a phone book from a pile stacked on the Ping-Pong table and tore off two inches from it. Walking up to the first person in the front row, he handed it over to him and said, “Put this in your pack.” When the man looked at him oddly, he explained, “That’s your toilet paper. Use it sparingly, since we might be on the road for a couple days.”
Hearing one of his trainees say in a questioning voice, “Phone books ,” without missing a beat, Tick-Tock said, “We’re using phone books because I couldn’t find any copies of Hard Choices, by Hillary Clinton, in the library.”
There were a few chuckles, and f eeling that their training was winding down, a man in the back row raised his hand to ask a question. Tick-Tock had told the group at the beginning that they needed to save their questions for the end. He wanted them to just learn to do what they were told, but he reminded himself that these were not Marine Corps recruits.
Although they still had to learn how to hold and fire their weapons in a safe manner, Tick-Tock decided to relax the mood a little, so he said, “Training’s not over yet, but go ahead.”
“How long will we be walking?” he asked.
Without breaking stride as he moved to the next person and ripped off another section of the yellow pages, Tick-Tock replied, “When I was in the Corps, on my last day of jungle warfare training, we got back from a three-mile run, followed by a forced march of ten miles through what was mostly swamp. We came back to camp and unassed all our equipment. All we were looking forward to was a shower and graduation the next day, but then our instructors came in screaming that we had to get our shit together and get ready for another ten-mile hike through the beautiful jungles of Panama.
“Most of us grabbed our gear and got ready, but a couple guys quit. They were bitching and whining about how unfair it was. They were saying it was bullshit since we were all done with training. The ones that didn’t quit lined up outside and started off at a quick march. That’s one-hundred twenty steps per minute. We’d barely gone half a mile, though, when we came across a couple trucks parked to the side of the road with a bunch of guys hanging around a bonfire drinking beer and having a good old time. Our
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