I served (USAF, '64-'68). I managed to avoid all but the tiniest little slice of that war. I was uninjured. But in the spirit of the holiday, I thought a reminder might be useful.
Nota bene: Do not think these chickenshit motherfucking ass-wipes have changed a lick. They proclaim their respect "for the troops," but--chickenshit chickenhawks, all--parody the decoration awarded for the honorable shedding of one's own blood for one's country.
If you'd like the features of your face rearranged--say, you don't like the shape of your nose, or the number of your teeth?--show up in front of me wearing a "Purple Heart" bandaid. I'll fix it for ya. That's why I keep my old, wood Louisville Slugger.
And had I seen any of these smiling, smirking shit-swilling ass-wipes wearing a "purple heart band-aid," I would have inflicted on 'em wounds which the fuckers would have needed whole boxes of those precious bandaids to staunch the flow of blood therefrom.
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