10 November 1775: I was born in a bomb crater. My mother was an M16 and my father was the Devil. Each moment that I live is an additional threat upon your life. I eat concertina, piss napalm, and I can shoot a round through a flea’s ass at 300 meters. I am a rough looking, roving soldier of the sea. I am cocky, self-centered, overbearing, and do not know the meaning of fear, for I am fear itself. I am a green amphibious monster, made of blood and guts, who arose from the sea, I travel the globe, festering on anti-Americans everywhere I go for, the love of Mom, Chevrolet, baseball, and apple pie. I’m a grunt. I’m the dirty, nasty, stinky, sweaty, filthy, beautiful little son of a bitch that’s kept wolf away from the door for over 235 years. I’m a United States marine, we look like soldiers, talk like sailors, and slap the shit out of both of them. We stole the eagle from the Air Force, the rope from the Army, and the anchor from the Navy. And on the 7th Day, when God rested, we overran His perimeter, stole the globe, and we’ve been running the show ever since. Warrior by day, lover by night, drunkard by choice, Marine by God.
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