“But here’s the thing: Those Baby Boomers who started this “you don’t want to flip burgers” bullshit did flip burgers. Or roof houses, or mine coal, or wax porn stars’ assholes. And that wasn’t something to be ashamed of back then — that was the era before you needed a bachelor’s degree to get a job waiting tables (but more on that in a moment). But at some point between my grandfather’s time and now, getting your hands dirty became something to be ashamed of. My generation perpetuated that. We made it socially unacceptable to:
A) Do any job that requires sweat and/or a uniform.
B) Work 70-hour weeks to get ahead.
So if you don’t do either of those things, what’s left? Getting an education and waiting for a good job in your field. But now, when we catch you doing that, we mock you and tell you to go flip burgers. And that’s bullshit. We told you your whole lives that those jobs were for idiots and failures. You think you’re too good for those jobs because that’s what we’ve been fucking telling you since birth.”—
10 November 1775. I was born in a bomb crater. My mother was an M16 and my father was the devil. Each moment that I live is an additional threat upon your life. I eat concertina, piss napalm, and I can shoot a round through a flea’s ass at 300 meters. I travel the globe, festering on anti-Americans everywhere I go, for the love of mom, Chevrolet, baseball, and apple pie. I’m a grunt. I’m the dirty, nasty, stinky, sweaty, filthy, beautiful little son of a bitch that’s kept the wolf away from the door for over 225 years. I’m a United States Marine. We look like soldiers, talk like sailors, slap the shit out of both of them. We stole the eagle from the Air Force, the rope from the Army, and the anchor from the Navy. And on the 7th day, when God rested, we overran his perimeter and we’ve been running the show ever since. Warrior by day, lover by night, drunker by choice, Marine by God. Semper Fidelis.
The self-less sacrifice of day to day military personnel, especially combat veterans, is under appreciated. And you got the American society wanna run as fast as they can to the counter tops, to the fuckin’ newsstands, and grab mother fuckin’ Us Weekly’s and fuckin’ People Magazine just to see what fuckin’ Jake Gyllenhaal did on Thursday afternoon. You know what I did Thursday afternoon? I put one of my mo’fuckin’ Marines on a plane. I put that motherfucker on the bird to fuckin’ nowhere. I picked his lifeless ass up body, put him on a stretcher, and put him off. Why don’t they put that, why don’t that be in a mother fuckin’ magazine? Or how ‘bout let’s put a day in the life of fuckin’ any average Marine out here, going through the streets of Ramadi. Their biggest concern is that, you know, they couldn’t buy a mocha latte at fuckin’ Starbucks because it was under construction. Our biggest mother fuckin’ concern is getting blown up on fuckin’ 2 9er 5 in Michigan. But we’re gonna go home and they’re gonna say, wave their little flag, and say “Welcome Home, thanks for, thanks for preserving our right to go on not giving a fuck”.
There it is folks. We’re sitting here fighting for your freedoms. You got the right to say what you want, we got the right to punch you in your fuckin’ mouth if we disagree.