Harsh light drifts through your partially torn fleabag motel curtains, waking you from a deep, booze-fueled slumber. You were dreaming about being pelvis-to-pelvis with some poor PFC’s hometown hottie, who you managed to fireman’s carry back to your hotel after the Marine Corps Birthday Ball last night (Semper fuckin’ Yut young padowan). Upon stirring, however, you quickly realize that your prize from last evening may never grace the pages of Maxim, but she could win a blue ribbon at the Onslow County Fairgrounds for the tractor pull. Not to worry pal, today is the day of days.

Now I know what you’re thinking, if you’re not a Marine who gives a fuck about the birthday? And if you’re a Marine, how could any day of the year be better than the ball?

Veterans Day, friends. A day where we can all gather together and salivate over one another’s buck-oh-five receipts, while also monetarily raping the local restaurant economy. We know what you’re thinking, Veterans Day is cornier than all fuck. And we agree. It is corny. You don’t want to rub shoulders with the local turds who have failed to separate themselves emotionally from the military even after discharge and now sponge off it like a fucking leech. You certainly don’t want to be seen by your higher-ups out in town, setting the world ablaze. But herein lies the beauty of V-Day:

1. If your higher-ups are worth their weight in salt, they’ll know better than to be at Applebee’s for the free apps.

2. Free apps at Applebee’s.

3. We can tell you firsthand that there are few joys available to the junior enlisted gods of war that bear the burden of fighting this nation’s battles greater than making senior married NCOs and officers uncomfortable around their families.

No self-respecting Gunnery Sergeant, Sergeant First-Class, and whatever the fuck the other ranks are wants to take his family out to a nice, cheap meal on Veterans Day, where he assumes society will suck his metaphorical cock like his wife never would, only to be cucked into Cooper’s Color Code Black by a group of young, hard charging, poon-slaying, hole-beating instruments of foreign diplomacy.

Gather up the crew, numbers are essential in this environment. Much like being a boot/cherry, you want a deep squad to achieve maximum effects on target.

Recon your objective. Find the joints with the juicest deals, it’s there you’ll find the highest value targets. We’re talking screaming eagle haircut having, blue jean pants tucking, Poland Spring dip spitter carrying, lifers. That’s what you want to strike.

Isolate the objective. As we said, numbers are key here. Chances are there is gonna be a line to get in. There are several ways to get to the front of that line. You need to use your combat hunter skills to exploit the weaknesses of this line, in order to create enough panic to make the people in front of you leave. How you choose to do so is entirely up to your imagination. Several of our studies show that graphic detailing of sodomy can take you from last to first in a heartbeat.

Gain a foothold. Breach that wire and get to that overwatch position, we’re talking about the bar. Not only is it the quickest way to keep your crew hydrated, it’s also an excellent vantage point to survey the scene and decide how and where to strike next.

Secure the objective. How this will be accomplished is entirely up to you. Sometimes it is necessary to destroy the village in order to save the village. Shatter dreams, not glass objects. You’re in a place with a bar, so you’re allowed to speak however you please. It’s Veterans Day, god damnit, and you earned this free meal and this experience. Give it back.

Another easy variant to throw into this chemical cocktail of jean creaming is the “Boot Night,” effect. Mentioned in David Rose’s epic, “Spent Shell Casings.”

(On a side note, tip well, and be courteous to the serving staff, you never know who will be the daughter/son of a First Sergeant looking to make some bad decisions.)

-Bertier & Casper