The Bastards

Lieutenant Colonel Chuck– “Peacetime Charlie” – The lonely commander of the Bastard battalion. PTC loves himself because his father won’t. He brews his own IPA and he’s working on white milk stout. How do you know if a dude is a novice woodworker and a do-it-yourself garage organizer? Believe me, he’ll tell you at his Camp Lejeune McMansion during the Officer Christmas party.

Sgt Major Bert – The senior ranking enlisted man of the Bastard battalion is a physical giant but a mental munchkin. He prioritizes the frivolous things like glow belts and haircuts because he’s a parachute rigger and forgot what a gun looks like. If Bert was a sex toy, he’d be PTC’s anal beads.

Corporal Kirk – Impossibly dumb, oblivious, and slovenly. The anti-Marine who somehow pinned on corporal chevrons. He’s got no talent, no popularity, but that boy can lick a window clean. He can’t shoot a back azimuth. He can’t pronounce back azimuth. He’s overweight. He’s out of shape. He can’t run. He can’t do a pull-up. What? You thought I’d pivot to a redeeming quality? WRONG! He’s a fat corporal and he sucks.

Chow Cat – You’ve heard of the lance corporal underground, right? Chow Cat invented it. A filthy, vulgar fat cat that lives outside the chow hall and heckles the Marines wherever they are. He knows everyone, sees everything, and eats anything. A bit of a God complex. Can take all the Bastards down with what he knows.

Lieutenant Brock – “Adj”. A slight, nervous, young lieutenant with a very demanding job as battalion Adjutant. He’s the punching bag for PTC, Bert and his mother in law. He has no time for friends because PTC said so. Enjoys hiding in the air conditioning vent when he’s stressed–which is most of the time.

Lt Jack – You’ve never met a man so vehemently sold on his own ideas. Bananas taste better outside because he read it in a book that doesn’t exist. Jack has been to 300 Tom Petty concerts in his lifetime–mostly because he said it, but didn’t mean to, and had to double down when “the guys” called him a liar. Ardent defender of “Friends” as the greatest sitcom of all time and ready to die on that hill. An infantry platoon commander who loves what he does, but his hands will remain firmly in his pocket–and believe me, he’ll tell you why!

Lt Henny – Imagine a philosophy major who doesn’t know how to argue. If you like Marvel Comic Universe, you’re fuckin’ wrong! If you don’t like Cormac McCarthy, you’re fuckin’ wrong! Henny is the weapons platoon commander which he believes has earned him a spot in heaven. He’s 5’6” (and he acts like it) with a ridiculously great head of hair and an industrious chin. Every worthwhile life lesson, according to him, has already been explained by Seinfeld or Curb.

Lt Lavin – If you called Lt Lavin aloof, he’d be conspicuously uninterested in your assertion. He’s too smart to notice you and too entitled to care. He begrudgingly graduated from the Naval Academy, his 5th school choice after Harvard, Yale and some others (what’s that oversize parking lot from Good Will Hunting?), and accepted a commission as a Marine Officer. He’s perpetually late, amazingly clumsy and incurably unaware of himself. He knows the first 10,000 numbers of Pi. He made $4 million trading coffee futures when he was 16. Own Fuckin’ Program, All Fuckin’ Day.

Lt Rod – Platoon commander by day. Highly sought after chip n’ dale by night. Fiercely competitive and always trying to please PTC. He’s good at his job. But knows he plays second fiddle to Jack, which eats him alive. Wants to be loyal to the LTs but usually can’t help himself from back-handedly throwing them under the bus.

Schweeper – He’s a former Marine Sergeant who is now a lunch server at the chow hall. He’s a southern boy who’s universally loved by leaders, peers and subordinates. He’s a good looking guy with a nice build, a thin face and beard. He wears a hair net on his face and his beard. He’s always in his lunch server smock/uniform and shorts. Very much still involved in the Battalion affairs.

Lieutenant Spicy – “The XO” – The ultimate shyster. The definition of organized chaos. Bitter, disgruntled, and grumpy–like a good XO should be. Infinitely resourceful, scrappy and the most reliable member of the team–though, the bar is not very high. He’s in charge of the LTs. He’s a burnt out football coach–hell bent on winning. His favorite food group is double breakfast baconators. His second favorite is tummy grenades–because, according to him, they cancel each other out.

Vice – He’s literally the walking depiction of military crutches of survival. His head is an energy drink, his ears are tins of chewing tobacco, his nose is a pocket pussy, his lips are slim jims, and his teeth are red, white and blue nicotine gum. His tribal tattoos are meaningful–so he says. He believes nearly everything is a conspiracy that he needs to expose. Chow Cat is his archenemy however, one could not exist without the other.

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