...
And topping it with a good blast of black ire.
The first hour and twenny here are worth your time.
...
No. Really. I can't not cry to hear about the sacrifices of our boys in WWII—like the ones who made sure not to yell while falling from the cliff to their deaths so as not to give away their mission—because I happen to have heard and seen quite enough acts of unbearably-tragic heroism done for the express purpose of keeping us safe from these fuckers now. I can't not want to kill people wasting that.
We have to endure jackasses waxing PC about The Holocaust till we all want to hurl... never again never again never again... yadda yadda yadda... when more and more each day we find RESEARCHERS POINTING to grossly EXAGGERATED facts about it... and bullshitters waxing patriotic about the lovable old coots who survive to this day... when the plain and simple fact is that we saw an amazing number of our own flesh and blood go leap into very probable death on the beaches of Normandy to save our asses from precisely this shit our own government is pulling on us now. I think about the guy who held his ground with his rifle to back the Germans off his platoon. I think of the kids throwing themselves on grenades to save their friends.
Tears and snot shoot out my face and my insides squeeze and trade places when I think of those brothers... those brothers who gave all the jackasses the room to posture about the extermination of The Chosen... and Brokaw the payday for using their valor to fuel the slaughter of brown people overseas... and us our ability to even bitch about any of it.
We can blather on forever about how rotten that war, and every other, really was, but we cannot blather about the intent of our dead. We know it. And we are shitting on it right now.
The ingratitude is killing me.
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