Stick that in your industrial military complex pipe and smoke it, G Dub. Or shove it up your ass. Your choice.

I take a quick study break to bring you this breaking news report:

My brother is coming home from tour numero two very soon. [First tour extended by six months + second tour after saying he wouldn't have to go back = angry Danielle.]

Some of you may remember that last year I was accused of not supporting our troops after making a harmless joke in the beloved [and greatly missed] Big 10 of the Echo.

Turns out this unpatriotic bitch has a brother in the armed forces. [And a Marine at that. Even though he works for everything I stand against, at least he's on the team that kicks the most ass.] [Suck on that, you twat. Yeah, I am still a little bitter about those comments, you ignorant hate-monger.]

At any rate, last month he watched [yes, as in saw first hand, maybe even got splattered a bit] one of the men he was stationed with get his head blown off. And his best friend was sent home last week without a leg. [I believe that means he gets a Purple Heart. I don't think medals are nearly as rad as legs. They may be shiny, but they can't wrap around another body in the shower. I'm just saying . . .]

[(First tour extended by six months + second tour after saying he wouldn't have to go back) X injured friend] ^ dead friend = George W. and all of his toadies are assholes.

[That's math, bitches.]

As far as I know Sean is uninjured. He's currently in Germany. [Yay beer! And Lederhosen! And beer!] Soon he will be in California to debrief. And then . . . . . . home to Houston on December 19th!! [That's our brother Jason's birthday, which makes the return even better.]

So happy. You can't imagine.

If it weren't for a Bib Interp test tomorrow, I'd be running around screaming and smiling like a nutter.