This Most Wonderful Of Days...
10 November 1775 was a terrible day for a lot of people.
To my knowledge, 10 November was never celebrated among the pirates of the Barbary Coast, the Mexicans, the Germans, the French (except in 1918), the Spanish, the Moro, the Japanese, the North Koreans, the Chinese, the Communist Vietnamese, the Syrians, the Cubans, the Baathists, and Al Qaeda. Nor has it ever been celebrated by the bedwetting maggots who infest the fair cities of this land chanting "give peace a chance," and "no war for oil."
Fuck 'em.
There are people in this world, and in this country in particular, who don’t appreciate that freedom and liberty must be defended; that one cannot embrace principles unless one is willing to fight to preserve them some times. Thankfully, there are those, my brothers and sisters, who do. Today is their day.
On that day our Continental Congress passed a simple resolution creating one of the proudest and most illustrious traditions of any military service on the globe, over which perches an eagle, and behind which lies an anchor. That tradition was carved and honed by every man that ever fired a musket from the tops of a frigate, assaulted a Japanese held island, stifled a Chinese assault over frozen hills, and it continues to be stamped out by the men and women who carry a weapon through the sands and mountains of Iraq and Afghanistan today. Today is a day that all of us who wear, have worn, and who shall some day wear that symbol of freedom and loyalty, celebrate that act of Congress which gave us our place in the world. Our motto itself bespeaks an undying allegiance to the principles under which this country was founded: Semper Fidelis, Always Faithful.
The entire world knows and respects the United States Marine Corps. The Germans, who only once had to stand against my beloved Corps, and even then for only a few months, to this day utter the title with awed reverence. I once had a German friend who, when he found out I had served in the Marines, asked me if I spit napalm. I answered "Ne, scheiße..." He laughed, though a bit unsure as to whether I was telling the truth. Another German friend of mine, who treated me to a trip to a pistol range, told the RSO behind my back as I was about to fire: “Watch this, this is my friend from America. He’s a Marine.” That, ladies and gentlemen, is respect.
That respect has not come cheaply, however. I can personally point to three names that I know on a wall at Camp Lejeune, a monument to those that perished in Beirut in 1983 trying to bring peace to a severely troubled land. I had the honor of meeting my Marine Corps figurative “grandfather,” a man who drove Amtracs (Amphibious Tracked Vehicles, to the uninitiated) at Tarawa, whose first day on that scrubby atoll cost him 90% of the friends in his unit, the 2nd Tracked Vehicle Battalion. I served in the 4th Assault Amphib Battalion, one of four grandchildren to the men and vehicles that created and perfected the role of amphibious assault in the Pacific during World War II.
Nothing has shaped and molded me to be a more loyal, more astute, and more confident person than my days as a Marine. I served in a time that being in the military was frowned upon. I was just another olive-clad lackey of Ronald Reagan, a has-been holdover from an unpopular war. I was on standby for the first Gulf War, but am today too old for the second. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t go if the recruiters would let me. Believe me, I’ve tried.
Don’t put too much faith in that movie “Jarhead.” I read the book; put it down after five pages. I have yet to see the flick but I will, even though I am well aware that Hollywood will use it to malign my beloved Corps and all who serve in it, ridiculing their dedication to accomplish a difficult and sometimes impossible mission, their love of their country, and their dedication to one another. I do not refer to my fellow Marines as brothers and sisters for nothing. (The term “Jarhead” originated as a moniker of derision by a bunch of Squids, but is now a proud epithet. Marines once got into fights over being called “Jarheads,” now we call each other that.)
Marines lead a hard life. They are usually the “first to go and last to know.” They get shot at, blown up, cursed at, spit upon, and ridiculed, but even after such derision, the United States Marine Corps continues to defend even those who mock them. Marines build schools. Marines care for children who have the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Marines deliver food to areas of the world where the All Righteous And Benevolent United Nations fear to go. Most importantly, Marines will cut the throat of any scum-sucking maggot who oppresses or threatens the rights of others to live in a free world.
So, this greeting goes out to my fellow Jarheads, to Tom Fasulo, an entomologist who once slogged through the jungles of Viet Nam, to George Haggard, a firefighter for NASA who was wounded at Chosin Reservoir, to David and Lee Wilson, two fine young men that I reenacted with and who have both just recently returned from Iraq, and to anyone and everyone who wears, wore, or will wear the eagle, globe, and anchor. These people gave this country their time and service, some of them gave their lives, but all of them assisted in establishing the United States Marine Corps as the finest fighting force on the planet, worthy of the respect of nations, and the fear of the enemies to peace and liberty.
Happy Birthday, Marines. Here’s to another year!
Semper Fi,
The Almighty Mattski
PS - In the words of my Senior Drill Instructor, SSgt T. Gerhardt, Jr.: "God bless mommy, God bless daddy, and God bless Chesty Puller, where ever he is."
To my knowledge, 10 November was never celebrated among the pirates of the Barbary Coast, the Mexicans, the Germans, the French (except in 1918), the Spanish, the Moro, the Japanese, the North Koreans, the Chinese, the Communist Vietnamese, the Syrians, the Cubans, the Baathists, and Al Qaeda. Nor has it ever been celebrated by the bedwetting maggots who infest the fair cities of this land chanting "give peace a chance," and "no war for oil."
Fuck 'em.
There are people in this world, and in this country in particular, who don’t appreciate that freedom and liberty must be defended; that one cannot embrace principles unless one is willing to fight to preserve them some times. Thankfully, there are those, my brothers and sisters, who do. Today is their day.
On that day our Continental Congress passed a simple resolution creating one of the proudest and most illustrious traditions of any military service on the globe, over which perches an eagle, and behind which lies an anchor. That tradition was carved and honed by every man that ever fired a musket from the tops of a frigate, assaulted a Japanese held island, stifled a Chinese assault over frozen hills, and it continues to be stamped out by the men and women who carry a weapon through the sands and mountains of Iraq and Afghanistan today. Today is a day that all of us who wear, have worn, and who shall some day wear that symbol of freedom and loyalty, celebrate that act of Congress which gave us our place in the world. Our motto itself bespeaks an undying allegiance to the principles under which this country was founded: Semper Fidelis, Always Faithful.
The entire world knows and respects the United States Marine Corps. The Germans, who only once had to stand against my beloved Corps, and even then for only a few months, to this day utter the title with awed reverence. I once had a German friend who, when he found out I had served in the Marines, asked me if I spit napalm. I answered "Ne, scheiße..." He laughed, though a bit unsure as to whether I was telling the truth. Another German friend of mine, who treated me to a trip to a pistol range, told the RSO behind my back as I was about to fire: “Watch this, this is my friend from America. He’s a Marine.” That, ladies and gentlemen, is respect.
That respect has not come cheaply, however. I can personally point to three names that I know on a wall at Camp Lejeune, a monument to those that perished in Beirut in 1983 trying to bring peace to a severely troubled land. I had the honor of meeting my Marine Corps figurative “grandfather,” a man who drove Amtracs (Amphibious Tracked Vehicles, to the uninitiated) at Tarawa, whose first day on that scrubby atoll cost him 90% of the friends in his unit, the 2nd Tracked Vehicle Battalion. I served in the 4th Assault Amphib Battalion, one of four grandchildren to the men and vehicles that created and perfected the role of amphibious assault in the Pacific during World War II.
Nothing has shaped and molded me to be a more loyal, more astute, and more confident person than my days as a Marine. I served in a time that being in the military was frowned upon. I was just another olive-clad lackey of Ronald Reagan, a has-been holdover from an unpopular war. I was on standby for the first Gulf War, but am today too old for the second. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t go if the recruiters would let me. Believe me, I’ve tried.
Don’t put too much faith in that movie “Jarhead.” I read the book; put it down after five pages. I have yet to see the flick but I will, even though I am well aware that Hollywood will use it to malign my beloved Corps and all who serve in it, ridiculing their dedication to accomplish a difficult and sometimes impossible mission, their love of their country, and their dedication to one another. I do not refer to my fellow Marines as brothers and sisters for nothing. (The term “Jarhead” originated as a moniker of derision by a bunch of Squids, but is now a proud epithet. Marines once got into fights over being called “Jarheads,” now we call each other that.)
Marines lead a hard life. They are usually the “first to go and last to know.” They get shot at, blown up, cursed at, spit upon, and ridiculed, but even after such derision, the United States Marine Corps continues to defend even those who mock them. Marines build schools. Marines care for children who have the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Marines deliver food to areas of the world where the All Righteous And Benevolent United Nations fear to go. Most importantly, Marines will cut the throat of any scum-sucking maggot who oppresses or threatens the rights of others to live in a free world.
So, this greeting goes out to my fellow Jarheads, to Tom Fasulo, an entomologist who once slogged through the jungles of Viet Nam, to George Haggard, a firefighter for NASA who was wounded at Chosin Reservoir, to David and Lee Wilson, two fine young men that I reenacted with and who have both just recently returned from Iraq, and to anyone and everyone who wears, wore, or will wear the eagle, globe, and anchor. These people gave this country their time and service, some of them gave their lives, but all of them assisted in establishing the United States Marine Corps as the finest fighting force on the planet, worthy of the respect of nations, and the fear of the enemies to peace and liberty.
Happy Birthday, Marines. Here’s to another year!
Semper Fi,
The Almighty Mattski
PS - In the words of my Senior Drill Instructor, SSgt T. Gerhardt, Jr.: "God bless mommy, God bless daddy, and God bless Chesty Puller, where ever he is."
posted by The Almighty Mattski | 15:37
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