What are the earliest examples of military hazing? I don't mean rights of passage like in Spartan society, but malicious abuse.
https://youtu.be/M0w2C9HWuUQ?t=66
>>1112639
Prior to modernity corporal and capital chastisement weren't "abuse" nor were they "malicious," but rather reinforced the natural and fundamental order of the world.
So I suppose Martinet / Prussian discipline.
>>1112686
You forgot rum, sodomy and the lash.
>>1112639
heh you can always count on the russians to be the lowest of the lowest subhumans you can find pretty much in the whole world
clean germany, russian, turkey, israel from the mother earth and this would be a much better place for everyone
>>1112806
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6y-RSdUgbVk&feature=youtu.be&t=42
>>1112806
t. Georgian
>>1112816
>the comments on that video
Jesus christ why does everyone think joining the military is some magical portal to a new universe civilians could not comprehend? Does Shub Niggurath show up in basic to open your mind or something ?
>>1112639
>‘Did you get any?’
>‘No,’ I reply.
>‘Why?’ Said says with surprising calm.
>‘I don’t know where to get bananas.’
>‘What?’ he says, finally letting rip. ‘What, you don’t want to look for what I told you to find? Useless prick! You’ll go and look, got it?’
>He starts to hit me viciously. If the others beat me because that’s the way it is, Said beats me out of sheer hatred. He enjoys it, gets a real pleasure from it. A stinking nobody on civvy street, he is top dog and master of souls here.
>Said is weak, and his punches are not as hard as Boxer’s or Timokha’s, but he’s stubborn and vicious and he hits me a long time, for several hours. He does it in bouts; he batters me, then sits down and rests while forcing me to do press-ups. As I do, he kicks me in the back of the head with his heel, and sometimes smacks my teeth from below with his boot. He doesn’t do this so often, evidently the hole in his shin hasn’t fully healed over and is bothering him, but he lays into the back of my head with vigour in an effort to bust up my face on the floorboards. Eventually he manages, and I fall and lie there on the filthy boards, blood running from my split lips.
>Said lifts me up and starts to hit me again, using his palm on my broken lips, aiming all the time for the same place, because he knows that will be more painful. I jolt heavily from every blow and moan. I am tiring now as I press myself up and shield myself with my arms, tensing my muscles so that the kicks don’t go deep into my body I have lost count of the blows and it seems Said has been beating me from the moment I was born, and this was all I have ever known. For heaven’s sake, I’ll get you your lousy bananas! But Said no longer cares about bananas. He is joined by a few more of the recon and they surround me and smash me in the back with their elbows. I stand doubled up, shielding my stomach with my arms, but theydon’t let me fall over so they can also kick me from below with their knees.
>>1113249
>They shove me into the latrines, where a thickset Tartar called Ilyas hops and kicks me in the chest. I fly backwards and smash the window with my shoulders, sending shards of glass cascading over me, over my head and stomach. I manage to grab the frame and stop myself from falling right through. I didn’t even cut myself. Once again they knock me from my feet and I crash to the floor. This time I don’t get up, I just lie there amongst the broken glass and all I can do is try to cover my kidneys and groin. Finally the recon take a breather and have a smoke.
Said flicks his ash straight onto me, trying to get me in the face with the burning tobacco grains.
>‘Listen lads, let’s take him down a few more pegs - let’s screw him,’ he suggests. Beside my face there is a large, jagged piece of glass. I grab it through my sleeve and it sits snugly in my palm like a knife, a long fat blade, tapering at the end.
>I get up from the floor, clutching the shard. Shame I don’t have the keys to the armoury... Blood drips onto the shard from my split lip. I stare right at Said, Ilyas and the rest of them, I stand in front of them holding a blood-smeared piece of glass, watching them smoke. Said doesn’t flick any ash on me now.
>‘OK,’ says one of the recon, ‘leave him, let’s go. We haven’t got any antiseptic anyway...’
>They leave. The cicadas trill in the expanses of the steppe outside the broken window. Fighter bombers take off from the runway and head for Chechnya. A single lamp shines on the empty parade ground. There isn’t a soul around, not a single officer or soldier.
>The swarthy major was right. I am alone in this regiment.
>>1113251
>That night they rough me up even worse, wreaking vengeance for that flash of resistance in the latrine, and the whole recon company piles on top of me to administer the beating, not even letting me get out of bed. This isn’t even a beating - they are grinding me down to nothingness, like scum, and I am supposed to act accordingly, not try to wriggle out of it. They throw a blanket over me and force me from the bed, drag me into the corridor and beat me there. It carries on in the storeroom, where they lift me up by the arms and pin me to the wall so I don’t fall. I start to lose consciousness. Someone delivers a fearsome punch to my right side and something bursts, piercing my very core with a burning pain. I gasp hoarsely and fall to my knees, and they carrying on kicking me. I pass out.
>The recon have gone. I am lying in the corner of the storeroom on a pile of jackets and the walls and the ceiling are spattered with my blood. There’s a tooth on the floor. I pick it up and try to push it back into the gum. In the end I throw it out of the window. I lie motionless for a while.
>The pain is so bad I can’t breathe; every muscle feels mangled and my chest and sides have become one huge bruise.
>After a while I manage to pull myself up and along the wall to the door. I lock it and collapse again on the pile of jackets where I remain until almost morning.
>When dawn breaks I take a razor and start to scrape the blood off the walls. I can hardly breathe and I can’t bend over. Something in my right side has swollen up and is pulsating. But I have to clean the blood off and I scratch away with the razor on the wallpaper. It takes me a long time to scrape away the brown drops, and I’m not too careful as I work, tearing away the wallpaper. ‘Radiomen!’ yell the drunken recon, their feet pounding on the floor. If they remember that I’m in the storeroom they will smash down the door, drag me out and finish me off.
>>1112639
>when the guy is stepping on everyone and one of them farts
>>1112806
t. Liberated
>>1112705
the fuck did he just do?
>>1113918
He messed with the rifle scope.
So /his/ got any records of WWII IJA abusing their soldiers and stories? I heard about the hazing/beatings officers did; never really checked into it.
>>1113918
Declared war on Poland.
As Poland.
It happens more than they are willing to admit.
>>1112930
No... That would be your Drill Instructor.
1. I can confirm that when the ice melts in your panty hose that said hose will retain water.
2. Sea water is 28degF above the Arctic Circle
3. Upon post vomit examination the Goldfish, while dead, holds up quite well (except the eyes).
4. Eggcicles are not a tasty summer treat.
