And Damn You, Tom Brokaw. Damn you to Hell.

From The Beaches Of Normandy To The Streets Of Paris, My Platoon Was A Bunch Of Pussies

You know, people like to throw the term "hero" around a lot when they talk about my generation. But I don't believe the men of the 202nd were heroes. No sir. The heroes were the ones who didn't stay curled up in their foxholes sucking their thumbs or jamming their fingers in their ears. The heroes were the ones who refused to pledge their complete and unwavering allegiance to Hitler the moment the enemy was in earshot. The heroes were the ones who didn't pretend to be dead for hours and sometimes days after a battle had been decided.

Those were the real heroes.

I don't know if it was fate or coincidence that brought us together, but I can say I served with 39 of the most craven, gutless pussies you ever laid eyes on. . .

So go ahead, waste your time reading about your Band of Brothers, your Boys of Company C, your 82nd Airborne Division, your "history." Me, I prefer to read about the way things never were. I prefer the The Squirrels of the 202nd.

Cower on men. Cower on, you members of the Greatest Pants Pissing generation. May you receive in death the 21-Depends Salute you never got in life.

History. Pbbft!