Original subtitles

(sparks sizzling)

(intense music)

? Five, four, three, two, one ?

- [Announcer] "Heavy Load."

(lighthearted music)

- Sir.

(hands slapping)

- What'd you just fucking call me?

Does it look like I play volleyball with my shirt off?

No, it doesn't, I work for a freaking living,

and I know you two didn't just barge in here

without knocking and asking for permission to enter.

- Drill Sergeant, private- - Open your eyes, Fox!

I want you to watch me unfuck 18 years in 10 weeks.

- Drill sergeant- - Oh no,

you don't get to speak,

but you are gonna pay for Private Fox's fuck up, severely.

Arms out.

(slow dramatic music)

Here you go, hero, 1,000 pounds for you, hold it.

Don't worry, Fox, I got one for you too.

There you go.

I swear to God, if either one of you drop this,

I'm gonna smoke you until the walls sweat.

- Drill sergeant- - Oh.

So now I'm a Drill Sergeant,

thank you so much for the promotion.

- No, but-

- Oh, are you still trying to talk?

Air squats! Go!

Did I say to drop your weight?

I didn't think so, fucking start again.

(heavy breathing)

Getting heavy there, Torres?

- No, Drill Sergeant, but-

- But what?

Are you some kind of fucking hero?

Or are you just a private

that needs to shut his doggone mouth right now?

The rower, go!

(dramatic music intensifies)

How about now, Torres? Is it heavy now?

- Yes, Drill Sergeant.

- Fox, what the fuck are you doing?

Waiting for cocks to fall from the doggone ceiling?

- No Drill Sergeant, Private Howard started-

- Shut up.

Go!

(privates grunting)

Freeze!

Why don't I help you out with that, Torres?

(paper ripping) (energetic music)

There Torres, that should be a lot lighter.

It's only 500 pounds now.

- Drill sergeant, Private Harris-

- Goddammit!

Still trying to talk without permission!

Flutter kicks. Go. (Torres grunting)

Come on Torres, that should be half as hard.

Just like you and your freaking girlfriend every night.

- Drill Sergeant- - The next one of you

to freaking talk is gonna clean the latrine

until your doggone contract is up!

The freaking coat hanger marks on the back of your skull

must be why you're so doggone uncoordinated.

Seriously, this is the byproduct of when cousins fuck.

They're your legs, you grew 'em, get 'em up!

Six inches. Six inches, Fox!

If you think that's six inches

somebody fucking lied to you!

Literally a million sperm and you,

you two are the fastest ones?

I don't even know how that's fucking possible.

(paper booms) (energetic music ends)

(Torres crying)

(Torres panting)

(Torres grunting)

(paper crunching)

Why are you eating that paper, Torres?

- I thought you wanted me to Drill Sergeant.

(paper crunching)

I swear, you dipshits just love

putting shit in your mouth, don't you?

Position of attention, move!

Why did you two fucksticks come in here to bother me anyway?

Huh? What's so dogging important?

You run outta toilet paper again?

There's no monsters on your bunks, already fucking checked.

What is so fucking important?

- Drill Sergeant,

Private Howard drank bleach on accident.

He forgot to empty his camo back after cleaning it.

- Again, another example of you clowns

putting shit in your mouth that you're not supposed to.

That shit's diluted though. He'll be fine. Probably.

- Drill Sergeant, Private Howard's been vomiting

in the bay for the past 10 minutes.

- Move.

- Sir?

- Yeah? How'd that paper taste?

- Probably better than bleach.

(energetic rock music)

(energetic rock music continues)

(energetic rock music ends) (person shouting)

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