Saturday, November 11, 2017
And yes, boys and girls, it's November 11th, Veteran's Day (formerly Armistice Day, before we began numbering successive World Wars). The day when, by federal decree, you not only get a bank holiday and a three-day weekend for something most of you never did, but you're nominally supposed to remember the almost literal real three-percenters who've actually served to give you other slacker 97% the freedom to ignore and spit on us the rest of the year (something at which a growing number of the populace truly excel, even compared to the yardstick of the late 1960s, which is really saying something).
I jest (a tiny bit, and with a modicum of bile), given what's probably the overwhelmingly respectful and decent readership hereabouts, no small number of whom are in that three percent club, but unlike Memorial Day (which some civilian idiot lackwits still can't comprehend is for The Fallen), today is the day for everyone who served - honorably - in the republic's military forces.
Which honor, along with about $5, gets us one cup of burned coffee at Starbuck's 24/7/365.
But as we don't yet live in the Heinleinian Utopia where only we proven worthies get to vote, and the rest of you get to lump it, we will content ourselves knowing that we few, we happy few, are your betters, whether we have this day or not, mainly because we don't spend the other 364 days a year reminding you of the fact, nor refer to our elected leader as el heneral and Maximum Leader For Life, unlike so many of our neighbors in this and other hemispheres' Republiques de Bananes.
We'd really be happy if you lot could manage to simply salute the flag instead of burning it or wiping your hindquarters with it, sing the anthem standing up, show the barest minimum of courtesy to them and the republic for which they stand, and generally, not make us regret the sacrifices we make or made on your behalf, and simply treat your citizenship in the greatest country on earth as the unbelievable honor and privilege it is, and simply exercise it with an appropriately small measure of respect and the teensiest of gratitude to those who make it possible. That shouldn't be too much to ask of those among the population who enjoy all the benefits, without ever having taken so much as a physical exam.
But if even that minimal effort is too challenging for those douchenozzles who deserve nothing so much as a healthy bitch-slapping with a tire iron, we'd settle for their simple respectful silence, just for a day.
And hey, you're welcome. The hours were rotten, the pay was a joke, the sacrifices cannot be measured, it's years of my life I'll never get back, some of us died for being in the club, even in "peacetime", but we got to meet the greatest bunch of people in the world: our brothers and sisters in arms.
And as in the rest of life, the friends we gather are generally life's way of apologizing to us all for the relatives we were saddled with at birth.