No Steffy Pwease
By Manly man Jesse Kelly has some thoughts on women Marines serving in leadership positions. They are exactly as good as you’d expect them to be.
That’s pretty much a terrible idea. You’ve got a 50/50 chance of your platoon commander being useless anyway. Now throw in the fact that she can’t drag the biggest dude off the battlefield. Horrible. https://t.co/fJOqZZZoPL
— Jesse Kelly® (@JesseKellyDC) August 13, 2018
Stop womaning up the Marine Corps and leave it alone. You want to make the Navy like Goldman Sachs? Fine. But let the killers be killers.
— Jesse Kelly® (@JesseKellyDC) August 13, 2018
They’re strong and nasty. They can put 80 lbs of gear on their backs and hump for miles. They cuss. They smoke cigarettes. They talk about women (and everyone else) inappropriately.
— Jesse Kelly® (@JesseKellyDC) August 13, 2018
Baddest dude I ever served with is named Adam (I’m leaving his last name out for..reasons). Know where he is right now? He’s in state prison. He’s a violent man. Probably not someone you’d EVER want to meet.
— Jesse Kelly® (@JesseKellyDC) August 13, 2018
Toughest Marine I ever knew? He was a man’s man. Name was Chet Beefpenis. He liked to drive a vintage truck and roll coal. He drank his whiskey straight. He smoked. By smoke I mean he liked putting his mouth directly over his truck’s exhaust pipe and inhaling. Inadvisable? Sure. But that’s the kind of guy you want by your side when you’re in the trenches.
Chet liked to live dangerously. Sometimes he he’d put on a suit he’d doused in gasoline, hang out in biker bars and dare random strangers to put their cigarettes out on him. He was scarred, inside and out. A real man’s man.
Chet liked to played lead guitar in a punk band that didn’t do anything but covers of Florida Georgia Line songs. He couldn’t play guitar and the music was awful, but Chet didn’t do anything halfway and I respected him for his tenacity. In the heat of battle you don’t want someone beside you who knows his limitations, you want someone beside you who’s screaming the lyrics to amiable pop-country at the top of his lungs and frantically playing air guitar in a way that makes it look like this penis caught fire.
For breakfast Chet ate corned beef hash straight from a can. Then he ate the can. Then he would ugly-cry in the mirror while holding his ex-wife’s robe and screaming “Why Sharon?! Why?!!!” for a half hour. It was manly crying. His tears smelled like bacon.
Chet pooped free weights.
Chet was 3 buffalos, 2 sets of of shark claspers and a bottle of Drakkar Noir in a leather trench coat.
Say no more, my dude. We know it’s Bill Brasky. pic.twitter.com/ARw3JiZU6P
— SuperKarateHonkey (@DeathCar72) August 14, 2018