The prospect of a three day weekend makes me giddier than a priest in a playground!!!
I would like to use the Friday five to give five reasons why, that while I respect and admire our armed services and more than admire a man in uniform, I will never serve our country in such a capacity.
1). I hear that camoflauge face paint makes you break out and I'm not trying to be in some deep dark jungle and have to worry about pimples.
2). If I were to be taken prisoner I would be the WORST P.O.W. There's a good chance I'd spill all of the secrets for a roll of two-ply and a snickers bar. And not even the king size snickers, I'm talking fun size snickers.
3). I have only shot a gun twice and it was a horrible horrible experience, my friend had a farm in PA that we would go to every year for his b-day and when we were all 10 his dad (ex marine) thought it would be a good idea to teach us to shoot guns. He made us all fire a handgun (A glock) and a rifle. When I fired the glock I fell back on my ass, and when I fired the rifle it left a HUGE bruise in my shoulder. Plus it made me very uncomfortable to be that close to something that deadly. PS fast forward 10 years and I'm working feet away from Anthrax, Ebola, and other agents that carry a hazard level of Biosafety Level 4. Hmmmmm
4). I refuse to lay down my life for a country that only recognizes me as a second class citizen, where (the baby jesus willing) if I decide to settle down with a consort, I would not be given the same rights as other couples. Also while serving I wouldn't be able to be proud of having such a relationship and would have to "don't tell". Eff that noise.... plus I'm gayer than christmas.
5). When my grandparents were my age, my grandfather was fighting a war for a country that had told him that because of his ethnic background he was a traitor. My grandmother and her family were placed in a high security internment camp because of their familial status and due to the "fine medical care" my great grandfather contracted pneumonia and died, after being refused transportation to a nearby hospital. They don't talk about it, preferring to show the medals my grandfather received. The only time I ever heard a story about the camps was when my great aunt who now doesn't know who I am or who anyone else is told me in a hushed tone about the one day they were all playing baseball, and someone hit the baseball under the fence and someone's little brother who was about 7 went to go get it. He had made it about 20 feet outside the fence when a guard in a tower shot him in the back and killed him. If war can make someone detached enough to be able to shoot a child then I want no part of it.