As Gormogon readers know, hippies can be counted on for four things: (1) access to high quality weed; (b) reeking of patchouli; (q) hairy women; and (7) hating on the military. ‘Puter offers for your edification some facts whith which to beat down your hippie (or other bleeding heart) acquaintances the next time (and there will be a next time, and soon) they start in on our military.
By now, you’ve certainly heard about the earthquake in Haiti. Truly a horrible tragedy. Millions of people affected, perhaps hundreds of thousands dead. Haiti on a good day is a hellhole. After this tragedy, it’s worse. No food, no water, no sewer, no hospitals, no shelter. Add to that no functioning government and bodies stacked on the street like cordwood in 90 degree heat, and you’ve got the makings of a nightmare.
So what’s President Obama’s first order of business? Call up the International Red Cross? The United Nations? Oxfam? Amnesty International? The SEIU? Nope. Send in the military.
First on scene was the Unites States Coast Guard cutter Forward, in Port-au-Prince’s harbor within hours of the earthquake. Forward’s sister cutters (Valiant, Tahoma and Mohawk) are en route as ‘Puter writes. The United States Navy’s aircraft carrier Carl Vinson (CVN-70) was rerouted from Norfolk, Virginia within hours as well. The Navy’s 1,000 bed hospital ship Comfort is preparing to get underway shortly. Members of the 82nd Airborne are heading to Haiti, along with thousands of Marines, to provide security as needed.
What does this mean for Haiti? It means that America, on its own dime, while fighting two wars and in the middle of the Great Recession, is going to once again bail out Haiti. Our soldiers and Marines will risk their lives in abhorrent conditions to protect Haitian civilians. Our ships will provide free first-world medical care, clean water, electricity and food to thousands and ask nothing in return. And how can America do this?
America can do this, because despite the protest of dirty, nasty hippies, and the continued efforts of liberal Congresspeople to defund the military, we have the biggest, baddest military on the planet.
We can reach out and touch someone where ever that person may be found, be he friend or foe. Just ask the cowering Taliban in Pakistan, awaiting the tell-tale drone of our UAVs and the soon-to-follow flash of light that signals their messy end. Or conversely ask the Haitian who are soon to experience America’s vast generosity.
And that ability, my hippie friends, is worth every penny we spend on our military.
Always right, unless he isn’t, the infallible Ghettoputer F. X. Gormogons claims to be an in-law of the Volgi, although no one really believes this.
’Puter carefully follows economic and financial trends, legal affairs, and serves as the Gormogons’ financial and legal advisor. He successfully defended us against a lawsuit from a liquor distributor worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in unpaid deliveries of bootleg shandies.
The Geep has an IQ so high it is untestable and attempts to measure it have resulted in dangerously unstable results as well as injuries to researchers. Coincidentally, he publishes intelligence tests as a side gig.
His sarcasm is so highly developed it borders on the psychic, and he is often able to insult a person even before meeting them. ’Puter enjoys hunting small game with 000 slugs and punt guns, correcting homilies in real time at Mass, and undermining unions. ’Puter likes to wear a hockey mask and carry an axe into public campgrounds, where he bursts into people’s tents and screams. As you might expect, he has been shot several times but remains completely undeterred.
He assures us that his obsessive fawning over news stories involving women teachers sleeping with young students is not Freudian in any way, although he admits something similar once happened to him. Uniquely, ’Puter is unable to speak, read, or write Russian, but he is able to sing it fluently.
Geep joined the order in the mid-1980s. He arrived at the Castle door with dozens of steamer trunks and an inarticulate hissing creature of astonishingly low intelligence he calls “Sleestak.” Ghettoputer appears to make his wishes known to Sleestak, although no one is sure whether this is the result of complex sign language, expert body posture reading, or simply beating Sleestak with a rubber mallet.
‘Puter suggests the Czar suck it.