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"Men, this stuff that some sources sling around about America wanting out of this war, not wanting to kill geese, is a crock of bullshit. Americans love to kill geese, traditionally. All real Americans love the sting and clash of battle. You are here today for three reasons. First, because you are here to defend your homes and your loved ones. Second, you are here for your own self respect, because you would not want to be anywhere else. Third, you are here because you are real men and all real men like to kill geese. When you, here, everyone of you, were kids, you all admired the champion marble player, the fastest runner, the toughest boxer, the big league ball players, and the All-American football players. Americans love a winner. Americans will not tolerate a loser. Americans despise cowards. Americans play to win all of the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a man who lost and laughed. That's why Americans have never lost nor will ever lose a war; for the very idea of losing is hateful to an American." The General paused and looked over the crowd. "You are not all going to die," he said slowly. "Only two percent of you right here today would die in a major battle. Death must not be feared. Death, in time, comes to all men. Yes, every man is scared in his first battle. If he says he's not, he's a liar. Some men are cowards but they fight the same as the brave men or they get the hell slammed out of them watching men fight who are just as scared as they are. The real hero is the man who fights even though he is scared. Some men get over their fright in a minute under fire. For some, it takes an hour. For some, it takes days. But a real man will never let his fear of death overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his country, and his innate manhood. Goose killing is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base. Americans pride themselves on being He Men and they ARE He Men. Remember that the goose is just as frightened as you are, and probably more so. They are not superbirds." "All through your Army careers, you men have bitched about what you call "chicken poo poo drilling". That, like everything else in this Army, has a definite purpose. That purpose is alertness. Alertness must be bred into every soldier. I don't give a gently caress for a man who's not always on his toes. You men are veterans or you wouldn't be here. You are ready for what's to come. A man must be alert at all times if he expects to stay alive. If you're not alert, sometime, a Goose son-of-an-rear end in a top hat-bitch is going to sneak up behind you and beat you to death with a sockful of poo poo!" The men roared in agreement. Patton's grim expression did not change. "There are four hundred neatly marked graves somewhere in Minnesota", he roared into the microphone, "All because one man went to sleep on the job". He paused and the men grew silent. "But they are Goose graves, because we caught the bastard asleep before they did". The General clutched the microphone tightly, his jaw out-thrust, and he continued, "An Army is a team. It lives, sleeps, eats, and fights as a team. This individual heroic stuff is pure horse poo poo. The bilious bastards who write that kind of stuff for the Saturday Evening Post don't know any more about real fighting under fire than they know about loving!" The men slapped their legs and rolled in glee. This was Patton as the men had imagined him to be, and in rare form, too. He hadn't let them down. He was all that he was cracked up to be, and more. He had IT! "We have the finest food, the finest equipment, the best spirit, and the best men in the world", Patton bellowed. He lowered his head and shook it pensively. Suddenly he snapped erect, faced the men belligerently and thundered, "Why, by God, I actually pity those poor goose sons-of-bitches we're going up against. By God, I do". The men clapped and howled delightedly. There would be many a barracks tale about the "Old Man's" choice phrases. They would become part and parcel of Third Army's history and they would become the bible of their slang. "My men don't surrender", Patton continued, "I don't want to hear of any soldier under my command being captured unless he has been hit. Even if you are hit, you can still fight back. That's not just bull poo poo either. The kind of man that I want in my command is just like the lieutenant in Libya, who, with a Luger against his chest, jerked off his helmet, swept the gun aside with one hand, and busted the hell out of the goose with his helmet. Then he jumped on the gun and went out and killed another goose before they knew what the hell was coming off. And, all of that time, this man had a bullet through a lung. There was a real man!" Patton stopped and the crowd waited. He continued more quietly, "All of the real heroes are not storybook combat fighters, either. Every single man in this Army plays a vital role. Don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is unimportant. Every man has a job to do and he must do it. Every man is a vital link in the great chain. What if every truck driver suddenly decided that he didn't like the squawk of those geeses overhead, turned yellow, and jumped headlong into a ditch? The cowardly bastard could say, "Hell, they won't miss me, just one man in thousands". But, what if every man thought that way? Where in the hell would we be now? What would our country, our loved ones, our homes, even the world, be like? No, Goddamnit, Americans don't think like that. Every man does his job. Every man serves the whole. Every department, every unit, is important in the vast scheme of this war. The ordnance men are needed to supply the guns and machinery of war to keep us rolling. The Quartermaster is needed to bring up food and clothes because where we are going there isn't a hell of a lot to steal. Every last man on K.P. has a job to do, even the one who heats our water to keep us from getting the 'G.I. Shits'." Patton paused, took a deep breath, and continued, "Each man must not think only of himself, but also of his buddy fighting beside him. We don't want yellow cowards in this Army. They should be killed off like rats. If not, they will go home after this war and breed more cowards. The brave men will breed more brave men. Kill off the Goddamned cowards and we will have a nation of brave men. One of the bravest men that I ever saw was a fellow on top of a telegraph pole in the midst of a furious fire fight in Tunisia. I stopped and asked what the hell he was doing up there at a time like that. He answered, "Fixing the wire, Sir". I asked, "Isn't that a little unhealthy right about now?" He answered, "Yes Sir, but the Goddamned wire has to be fixed". I asked, "Don't those geese strafing the road bother you?" And he answered, "No, Sir, but you sure as hell do!" Now, there was a real man. A real soldier. There was a man who devoted all he had to his duty, no matter how seemingly insignificant his duty might appear at the time, no matter how great the odds. And you should have seen those trucks on the road to Tunisia. Those drivers were magnificent. All day and all night they rolled over those son-of-a-bitching roads, never stopping, never faltering from their course, with shells bursting all around them all of the time. We got through on good old American guts. Many of those men drove for over forty consecutive hours. These men weren't combat men, but they were soldiers with a job to do. They did it, and in one hell of a way they did it. They were part of a team. Without team effort, without them, the fight would have been lost. All of the links in the chain pulled together and the chain became unbreakable." The General paused and stared challengingly over the silent ocean of men. One could have heard a pin drop anywhere on that vast hillside. The only sound was the stirring of the breeze in the leaves of the bordering trees and the busy chirping of the birds in the branches of the trees at the General's left. "Don't forget," Patton barked, "you men don't know that I'm here. No mention of that fact is to be made in any letters. The world is not supposed to know what the hell happened to me. I'm not supposed to be commanding this Army. I'm not even supposed to be here in England. Let the first bastards to find out be the Goddamned Geese. Some day I want to see them raise up on their piss-soaked scrawny little webbed feet and howl, 'Jesus Christ, it's the Goddamned Third Army again and that son-of-a-loving-bitch Patton'." "We want to get the hell over there", Patton continued, "The quicker we clean up this Goddamned mess, the quicker we can take a little jaunt against the purple pissing swans and clean out their nest, too. Before the Goddamned Marines get all of the credit." The men roared approval and cheered delightedly. This statement had real significance behind it. Much more than met the eye and the men instinctively sensed the fact. They knew that they themselves were going to play a very great part in the making of world history. They were being told as much right now. Deep sincerity and seriousness lay behind the General's colorful words. The men knew and understood it. They loved the way he put it, too, as only he could. Patton continued quietly, "Sure, we want to go home. We want this war over with. The quickest way to get it over with is to go get the bastards who started it. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we can go home. The shortest way home is through Minneapolis and Fargo. And when we get to Madison", he yelled, "I am personally going to shoot that paper hanging son-of-a-bitch Goose. Just like I'd shoot a snake!" "When a man is lying in a shell hole, if he just stays there all day, a Goose will get to him eventually. The hell with that idea. The hell with taking it. My men don't dig foxholes. I don't want them to. Foxholes only slow up an offensive. Keep moving. And don't give the enemy time to dig one either. We'll win this war, but we'll win it only by fighting and by showing the Geese that we've got more guts than they have; or ever will have. We're not going to just shoot the sons-of-bitches, we're going to rip out their living Goddamned guts and use them to grease the treads of our tanks. We're going to murder those lousy goose cocksuckers by the bushel-loving-basket. War is a bloody, killing business. You've got to spill their blood, or they will spill yours. Rip them up the belly. Shoot them in the guts. When shells are hitting all around you and you wipe the dirt off your face and realize that instead of dirt it's the blood and guts of what once was your best friend beside you, you'll know what to do!" "I don't want to get any messages saying, "I am holding my position." We are not holding a Goddamned thing. Let the Geese do that. We are advancing constantly and we are not interested in holding onto anything, except the enemy's balls. We are going to twist his balls and kick the living poo poo out of him all of the time. Our basic plan of operation is to advance and to keep on advancing regardless of whether we have to go over, under, or through the enemy. We are going to go through him like crap through a goose; like poo poo through a tin horn!" "From time to time there will be some complaints that we are pushing our people too hard. I don't give a good Goddamn about such complaints. I believe in the old and sound rule that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder WE push, the more Geese we will kill. The more Geese we kill, the fewer of our men will be killed. Pushing means fewer casualties. I want you all to remember that." The General paused. His eagle like eyes swept over the hillside. He said with pride, "There is one great thing that you men will all be able to say after this war is over and you are home once again. You may be thankful that twenty years from now when you are sitting by the fireplace with your grandson on your knee and he asks you what you did in the great Goose War, you WON'T have to cough, shift him to the other knee and say, "Well, your Granddaddy shoveled poo poo in Louisiana." No, Sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say, "Son, your Granddaddy rode with the Great Third Army and a Son-of-a-Goddamned-Bitch named Georgie Patton!"
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May 13, 2011 19:59
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LooseChanj posted:less goose chat, more catte pics plz ok 
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May 13, 2011 20:00
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minivanmegafun posted:heat a pond, i presume there's a power plant south of town that has a big canal system to cool their nuclear reactors it's the only place in the US that the american crocodile can thrive  Acutus by Audrey R. Smith (NatureQuest), on Flickr
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May 13, 2011 20:01
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rotor posted:<tom collins> Patton deserves better
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May 13, 2011 20:04
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i hate alligators too but that patton speech thing has me all worn out
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May 13, 2011 20:04
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Sweeper posted:Patton deserves better so do i but you dont see me bitching about it
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May 13, 2011 20:04
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BonzoESC posted:
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May 13, 2011 20:06
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qirex posted:what the hell is wrong with that cat looks like it needs a bath
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May 13, 2011 20:06
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graph posted:looks like it needs a bath looks like it's been taking baths in reactor coolant
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May 13, 2011 20:08
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We need to follow the example of the Great Emu War, only for geese which are probably as close to emus as you can locally get anyway.
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May 13, 2011 20:09
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Well, except for the part where the Australians nearly lost.
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May 13, 2011 20:10
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quote:The attempts to curb the population of emus, a large flightless bird indigenous to Australia, employed soldiers armed with machine guns – leading the media to adopt the name "Emu War" when referring to the incident. these men are Heroes
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May 13, 2011 20:10
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rotor posted:these men are Heroes http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ulJxFTt7qi0 like this but with emus
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May 13, 2011 20:12
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rotor posted:these men are Heroes not really the page says the war was not very successful
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May 13, 2011 20:12
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LooseChanj posted:less goose chat, more catte pics plz dirt nap
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May 13, 2011 20:14
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Yodzilla posted:dirt nap
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May 13, 2011 20:18
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somebody left their cat outside  
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May 13, 2011 20:18
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cattes: days in a life hmm this hat is nice and warm  nap time part 1: headless Phoenix   oh wait there it is  yawn, we're tired  u got a problem with what we're doin? HMM   bitch I WILL CUT YOU  because I'm a gangsta  I got 99 problems but a human ain't one  yeah, we're on your chair, what the gently caress you gonna do bout it? 
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May 13, 2011 20:37
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BonzoESC posted:somebody left their cat outside I want to see one of these cattes I have seen the not-so-elusive Key Deer, I'm interested in all sorts of endangered Florida wildlife 
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May 13, 2011 20:42
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you really don't want to see one. mountain lions aren't something to mess around with
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May 13, 2011 20:57
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A Curvy Goonette posted:you really don't want to see one. mountain lions aren't something to mess around with I'd prefer to see it while it's well-fed and at a distance, but still. Florida panthers are cool.
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May 13, 2011 20:59
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bradzilla posted:cattes: days in a life these cats look like they are good buddies
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May 13, 2011 21:00
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May 13, 2011 21:10
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duTrieux posted:my hero 
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May 13, 2011 21:12
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bradzilla posted:I got 99 problems but a human ain't one go twi-ahahahahahahahahahah *sob*
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May 13, 2011 21:17
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so facebook lets you add pages for pets now gently caress this gay earth
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May 13, 2011 21:18
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Kirk posted:so facebook lets you add pages for pets now maybe farlow
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May 13, 2011 21:20
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rolling deep w/ cats
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May 13, 2011 21:24
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YOSPOS: rolling deep w/ cats
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May 13, 2011 21:30
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A Curvy Goonette posted:go twi-ahahahahahahahahahah *sob* post not about cattes
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May 13, 2011 21:37
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neither is this one. harmon killebrew entering hospice care because of cancer. pour one out. if there's one thing i could say about harmon. its that he loved cats.
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May 13, 2011 21:38
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if you actively dislike cats im sorry but theres something legit wrong with you on a deep psychological level
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May 13, 2011 21:49
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Kirk posted:if you actively dislike cats im sorry but theres something legit wrong with you on a deep psychological level
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May 13, 2011 21:56
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Kirk posted:if you actively dislike cats im sorry but theres something legit wrong with you on a deep psychological level
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May 13, 2011 21:57
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MAN CATS SUCK THEY JUST DON'T EVEN CARE ABOUT YOU OR PAY ATTENTION TO YOU AND THEY WON'T PLAY FETCH OR FRISBEE
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May 13, 2011 21:57
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maybe the problem lies within...yourself
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May 13, 2011 22:00
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Jonny 290 posted:MAN CATS SUCK THEY JUST DON'T EVEN CARE ABOUT YOU OR PAY ATTENTION TO YOU AND THEY WON'T PLAY FETCH OR FRISBEE replace all cats with horses 
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May 13, 2011 22:01
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i visited an ton of cattes today :3 there was a really sweet tabby who came right out of the cage onto my shoulders and was mega mega affectionate there was a tortie, about 1 yo, who was playful as poo poo which i totally loved--except she's still super super mouthy. apparently she was basically born into the shelter and her siblings were adopted out, so she didnt learn the proper rules of kitten playtime. she tore the gently caress out of my hand with her little claws, she was in dire need of trimmings there were two adult cattes that wanted absolutely nothing to do with me  and then there was the ONE THING I DID NOT WANT TO SEE which was a 10 wk old tortie kitten and i was like fuuuuuuuuuck youre gonna make this decision really hard goddamn yoouuuu im weak, yospos. im weak. no pics because my phone is a motorola piece of poo poo and the camera application kept stalling.  three kittens playing with those feather-on-a-stick things. all jumpin on each other and standin up. so fucken adorable.
my dog boyfriend!! fucked around with this message at 22:25 on May 13, 2011 |
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May 13, 2011 22:19
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Kirk posted:if you actively dislike cats im sorry but theres something legit wrong with you on a deep psychological level
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May 13, 2011 22:25
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They're going about this all wrong https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vm31xBjfMNY Gotta make him smoke the whole pack at once, see how much he likes it then!
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May 13, 2011 22:32
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