Don’t thank me for my service, go fuck yourself.
I want that to be my new response and the one that everyone else uses. This weekend when I go to get my free haircut and that cute little 22-year-old that never does my eye brows is finishing up, I want her to be caught off guard. “Thank you for your service, sir”. “Don’t thank me for my service, go fuck yourself” Oh man the look on her face. That’s what you get for not cutting back these caterpillars. Get a real job kiddo. Sorry, not sorry.
Yer god damn right I’m going to Texas Roadhouse and getting my 6 oz free filet. No, I’m not leaving a tip. I’m a veteran. I served. It’s my right. As the waitress swings by to give her thanks right before I leave, yes it will be a female, I’ll kindly reply while looking her in the eye, as I was trained to do, “Don’t thank me, go fuck yourself” Maybe she’ll think I have PTSD. Hell, she’ll probably be happy I didn’t walk in and shoot the place up with my freshly purchased AR-15 equipped with a bump stock that people like that fuckstick Gregg Lavelle couldn’t find the balls to ban. BTW, you’re a pussy Gregg. Yes, I spelled your name wrong on purpose. And no, I won’t thank you for your service. Good riddance. You blocked constituents off of your facebook page. You deserve to lose coward. You live in N. Wilmington in a fucking bubble and you as an elected official can’t take a few critical words from social media? You aren’t fit to serve. Don’t thank me, go fuck yourself. America. Fuck yeah.
But I digress
Man do I ever recoil when people say to me, “Thank you for your service” I don’t know what else to say, so saying, “Don’t thank me, go fuck yourself” seems like what I’m going to stick with going forward. It seems appropriate. Admit it, you like it.
But why is that the natural response anymore? When did this nonsense start? It wasn’t until what, 5 years ago? It had to be from that fucking fraud of a media outlet. It’s definitely conservative in nature. God knows a liberal, antifa, pole smoker wouldn’t thank a veteran. Am I right, Frank? (Air high fiving you right now brother!)
I don’t finish washing the dishes at home and my kids proudly, warmly, sincerely thank me for scrubbing the melted shredded cheddar off their plate? You know how freaking hard it is to clean dried, melted Costco cheddar which has oozed out of a decrusted grilled cheese sammy? No, fuck you, you little shit, go get your own damn water from your red sippy cup that has to have 3 cubes of ice in it.
After a sweaty night of coitus, I don’t roll off, huffing and puffing, after what probably felt like an eternity to her and say, “hey thanks for your service” Though I should. Maybe spot her a finsky for the effort next time? I’ll report back after Christmas. That’s the next scheduled event.
You see, your America, the one you live in that makes you believe if I tell you I served my country you need to thank me, that’s not my America. In fact, it’s not fucking American at all. It’s some coopted bullshit that is akin to the fake fucking war on Christmas. It’s some conservative media concocted jingoistic nonsense meant to divide us. To give you a sense of pride. A sense of nationalism. A sense that because you say it, it means you care; thus, you are a patriot and love America.
It’s like this fucking nonsense that came out of nowhere right before the election. Remember the caravan of big strong men coming to rape your wife? Which, let’s be honest, 90% of you reading this right now have wives that are fat, lumpy, celluloid ridden piles of shit that a Guatemalan travelling 1,000 miles on foot wouldn’t be able to harden his tamale for even if it meant Trump granted him asylum.
Get real man, don’t thank me for my service. You aren’t any more of a real American than I am b/c I wear sea green chino’s from vineyard vines and you wear Dickies.
Ok so we’ve established this, go fuck yourself. You don’t care about my service. You don’t care about this country. You don’t care about doing shit to save our democracy. You think thanking a veteran for his service is some sort of patriotic response. That’s what this is boiling down to. Do you feel like you did something for your country when you say it? Like you carried that rifle in boot camp? Did you get a mental picture of the boot camp stuff in Full Metal Jacket? In your head while thanking me, You were double timing it on a 12-mile hike with your jungle boots on, and had to duck and cover while the drill sergeant was hurling invectives at you. Hooroah, DRILL SERGEANT!!!
No? That’s not it? Well, why do you say it? Really? Why didn’t you say it like 10 years ago to me? Where was my god damn free Lube Job then? Huh? I know god damn well you didn’t thank anyone 15 years ago. Why didn’t you say it to me like 20 years ago? Why do you thank someone for their service now? What’s the god damn point? Do you have a clue? Any?
Let me answer that for you. No. You’re a pathetic excuse for a free-thinking American that can’t see how manipulated you are.
Do you realize that only like 15 years ago we started an illegal war? It’s not a big deal any more I know. Waterboard under the bridge, right. We went into war with the “Army we have”. IEDs blew up Humvees that had no doors filled with 19 y/o kids that didn’t have body armor. NBFD. We went into an illegal war unprepared, had our children murdered, and gave the people in charge a pass. Do you know that the country where the bombers of 9/11 were from is Saudi Arabia and we, Obamba too, sold weapons to those pieces of shit? We did nothing to the actual people responsible. Meh, oh well.
So again, don’t thank me for my service, go fuck yourself. As long as it’s not you serving, sure it’s easy to say thanks isn’t it? Thanks Betsy. It means a lot. Now ring up my fucking Fruit of the Looms, America’s choice jalapeno flavored salt and vinegar kettle style chips, and don’t put that single use American flag in the same bag as that discounted 10lb bag of chicken wings. Did I tell you I’m putting that flag up Sunday morning? One day a year, old glory shines bitches!
Hey, you reading this, what sacrifice did you make? Ohhhhh you’re a real American aren’t you, you thank people for their service. Oh I know, I don’t live in your real America do I. I don’t know the struggles you have. The one that has me battling the traffic of Main St. Middletown. Oh, honey look at the bunting on that house. This is our America isn’t it. Kids! Take a picture and put it on your Instagram. I’m gonna send this one to mom. She’ll be so proud. Your America right, the one I assume is in Bear Delaware or somewhere in Kent or Sussex county? The one that has a cousin in Rockford and can’t quit oxy. Oh your America in Felton? That makes your America a whopping 30 minutes’ drive from 10,000,000 million people. So, In case you didn’t know you live in the in the greater Philadelphia market. Or DC, or Baltimore.
Your America is my America you moron. You just choose to believe your world is different than mine. One thing we both can agree on though is the America those LARP kids live in, well that aint our America. I mean What. The. Fuck? Cab Calloway kids man. Sheesh.
Hey Bill? Do you still have a yellow magnet on your car? NO? Why the hell not? Hey, I want you to lean in closer, and read this, DID YOU KNOW WE ARE STILL AT FUCKING WAR? Thanks for hanging in there for a few years until the yellow faded or the lease expired on that king cab F150.
I will be honest though, I don’t see them for sale at the Dollar General anymore. I guess you can get a pass for your waning patriotism. Next time you swing by and have to buy those mylar balloons for Austin’s birthday, make sure to hit up the cashier and tell her (yes her) that you want to speak to her manager. When he comes out of the back room exasperated, glasses askew, combover no longer combed over, green button-down shirt all untucked and hanging awry over his black belt, find out why there aren’t any yellow ribbon magnets for sale no more.
And……by now you know I’m a veteran, and I tell people I am. Yet I hate hearing people thank me for my service. Hey guess what, go fuck yourself. It’s my right, I’m a veteran. My guess is 90 percent of the 10 readers (1) that visit this site aren’t veterans. Did you thank someone because you are ashamed you didn’t serve? Do you thank them because you wouldn’t ever tell your children or grandchildren to serve and you feel the least you can do is thank someone that had the balls to serve?
You see, if you are going to thank me for my service, I think it mostly means you didn’t serve. And that means you’re a pussy. Ipso Facto that means to me, you are a fraud. It screams to me that you know deep down you don’t, and won’t ever have the stones to serve your country. You won’t tell your own children or grandchildren to serve the country because they could die. They could be sent to war. Serving in the military is for other people that don’t have the opportunities your kids do. My god, imagine little Tucker sent to fight an illegal war and die. Jesus how awful. Imagine little Cayliegh went into the Air Force got raped or sexually assaulted by one of her peers and never finds justice. Man, that is awful. Hey, tell your son I said, “Thank you for you service!”
“ohhh my god he died in training exercise? Sheesh, my bad” go fuck yourself.
My guess is that you don’t think much about people serving most of the year. My guess is when having those icky thoughts thrusted upon you, the shame you feel inside is lessened by throwing out what seems to be a from the heart, sincere, patriotic response.
So next time you hear someone is a veteran I want you to think long and hard, long and Ron Jeremy long and hard. I want you to search deep down, balls deep down, into that pit of your stomach now filled with anxiety and shame, shame at the thought of Ron Jeremy’s dong and shame at the thought that the reason you thank someone for their service is because you don’t want to actually process those awkward feelsies, those squirmy, leg crossing emotions you now are overwhelmed with, those feelings that are telling you that you aren’t a real american, that you aren’t a patriot, that you’re a coward. A coward that wants to think he’d run into a school being cut down with automatically rifled bullets, but never ever in a million years would actually do it.
You don’t want to have to think about the very real possibility that Travis will be murdered by an Afghanny. Murdered in a war that was started when he was still kicking a soccer ball in the wrong direction down at MOT on a cold Saturday morning which you were running late on, and didn’t have time to pick up that beloved pumpkin latte. That latte that would have kept your hands warm while you listened to other dads, festooned in Cabela camo vests yap away about their sons travel fall ball aspirations.
We know you don’t want to think that Carol Ann will be raped and beaten in a foreign country by her recently promoted NCO. We sure as shit know that you are powerless over what could happen and is way more likely to happen to your son, daughter, grandson, or granddaughter in the military, during the theater of war which we are still waging in several countries.
In closing, if any of you thank someone for their service, your penance is to go buy that magnet you never replaced.
But honestly just don’t thank me or anyone for their service. When you do though, I hope you here me in your ear saying, “Don’t thank me for my service, go fuck yourself”