I hosted a family gathering for lunch today in honor of a birthday. My son Paul is 44 years old, 100 per cent disabled and chucked out of the military on a medical discharge after two tours in Iraq. I say “the military” because he got around. He would say, “Once a Marine, always a Marine.” He served in the Marine Corps, the Air Force Reserve, and the Army, from which he is retired.
He showed up wearing a t-shirt with a graphic of a sniper behind the lettering:
“72 Virgin Dating Service.”
The shirt reminded me of one I saw in Nashville when I was in Tennessee to visit Paul when he was assigned to the Screamin’ Eagles AKA 101st Airborne. Across the top was a stereotypical Arab going full tilt boogie on a camel and waving a scimitar, captioned “Holy War!”
Under that was the same Arab on the same camel headed in the opposite direction with a jet fighter wearing U.S. markings in hot pursuit. That drawing was captioned, “Holy Shit!”
GIs do that kind of thing, and ridicule of the enemy is a custom probably older than the United States. You know, the country that fought a revolution against the lobsterbacks?
I always thought the point of the ridicule was to take the edge off killing people. It’s hard to do…
