The Drill Sergeant isn’t interested in your excuses, your dreams or anything else much about you. He has but one purpose in life, and that’s to turn your cringing civilian ass into a lean, mean (and incidentally, Banal) fighting machine.
He ain’t got time to listen to your complaints, your ideas, your daydreams or anything else. He just wants to get his job done, drink a couple of beers, and go back to his spartan private quarters to masturbate over his picture of Mamie Eisenhower. And his job is teach you what you need to know in order to survive in this man’s army – conformity, submissiveness, how to clean a floor with a toothbrush, homophobia and enough racism not to feel guilty about raping enemy civilians. If you’re really lucky, you may learn some combat skills, but don’t count on it.
The Drill Sergeant isn’t necessarily a bad guy. True, he wants to break your spirit and crush your individuality, but he thinks he’s doing you a favour. After all, he’s a soldier, and you’re just a dumb private – and maybe even a dumb conscript private, at that. What he teaches you is for your own goddam good, goddammit. And if it should happen that he believes suffering improves memory retention, that homophobia is the natural state of all men, that the President is something nobler, purer and finer than normal humans (and never farts), and is, in fact, god incarnate, well, so be it.