The Private Thoughts of G.I. Joe

Joe stood against the wall, right where the boss-lady wanted him. Usually, the retired Jarhead worked in the other room, but since the boss-man wasn’t around, the boss-lady commandeered his services.

Anyone that knew Joe, knew what he was about, that security was his thing and that there was no one tougher than he was when it came to the protection racket. That’s why he didn’t complain when she posted him on the far side of the room, overlooking the entire floor and a clear view to the door.

No, Joe didn’t expect anything to happen while on duty. He only wanted to be ready in the event the shit ever did hit-the-fan.

“Come and join us, Joey,” Barbara called out. He smiled and shook his head no. It was obvious that the little hottie had no idea how seriously he took his job. Then she cooed loudly, “Kenny-poo!”

Joe’s mood suddenly soured. While he didn’t hate the guy, he couldn’t understand what a beautiful babe like Barbara saw in the little Queer-doe, as he wiggled his skinny ass across the room.

“You called?” Kenny preened.

“Yes, I did sweet-cheeks,” Barb answered, “Go and try to get Joe to join us,” she said as she looked up at Joe, adding, “All work and no play, makes a man worthless.”

“Ah, shit,” Joe whispered, knowing that if seeing the little homo wasn’t difficult enough to take, having a conversation with him made things even worse.

“Come on, Joey,” Ken smiled, reaching out and drawing his finger-tips across Joe’s forearm, not knowing how the mere presences of the pastel-clad fudge-packer turned the older man’s stomach.

“It’s Joe or Joseph, not Joey – I’m tired of tellin’ you that,” Joe responded to the name change, “And no, I’m stayin’ right here.”

“Fine, suit yourself, sweetheart,” he stated with a wink.

Touching, sweetheart, winks – it all set Joe’s teeth on edge and it was all he could do to keep from verbally lashing out at Ken. But he knew that engaging in an argument might lead to his pounding the snot out of the flamboyant homosexual.

As he stood his post, he watched as Barbara continued to faun over her boy-toy. She had once told Joe that it was her and Kenny’s destiny to be married despite his attraction to the same-sex.

And in his watching, he couldn’t help but notice Barbie’s inviting ass, good-sized tits and shapely hips. He also noted that she could use a few more pounds, especially around her waist, “But I wouldn’t kick’er outta bed,” he though, “‘Less there’s more room on the floor.”

Joe sighed at the idea that she could waste so much time on Ken, knowing how Joe felt about her, and that he was perpetually alone. It didn’t seem fair that he had no one falling all over themselves for him and that he seemed to be moving towards a life of never-ending bachelorhood.

Joe had seen some crap during his day’s in the Suck. He always felt an ebbing under current of anger, a seething rage that he couldn’t get rid of and never fully understood. PTSD, they called it.  It caused his mind to go to dark, uncomfortable places and play with his sense of right and wrong.

As Joe slipped into this mind-set, the thought struck him again; if he could only get rid of Kenny somehow, in her sorrow and pain Barbie would fall into his arms for comfort and from there, everything else would naturally slide into place.

“But how?” the old Marine fantasized. He had thought of it all and in the end he never came to a satisfactory conclusion, “After all, I’ve seen the boss-woman literally rip the cock sucker’s head-off and a day later the ass-bangin’ son-of-a-bitch is back out on the floor with the rest of the fuckin’ toys.”

“Maybe I should feed his faggot-ass to the dog,” G.I. Joe smiled as he contemplated Ken’s fate. In silent glee, the battle-hardened toy pictured Ken’s mangled, chewed up turd-encrusted face in a long sheeth of Fido’s crap.

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About Tom Darby

French-born, American-raised, U.S. citizen, husband, father, friend, veteran, and writer.
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