My "prissy little beret"

Some anonymous punk wrote to me in a previous topic:

Hey, General, that prissy little beret you wear reminds me of those girly-men, the French. What's up with that?

For your information, this "prissy little beret" is military headgear. While you were pooping your diapers (and I don't mean the one's you're wearing today), I was crawling on my hands and knees getting shot at by Japs (and I ain't talking about Jewish girls, either). But hey, don't thank me, I'm just a frigging soldier, defending your freedom.

As far as the "girly-men" French go, you need to go back to school. The Frogs got Washington's neck out of the British noose. If it weren't for the French, we'd be speaking English in this country. Well, you know what I mean.

The French are courageous people. A helluva lot of French bodies litter Europe on fields covered with poppies, dying in the fight against the tyranny of the Kraut. Ever heard of a place called "Vimy"? Of course not, it's not in Nebraska, and they never mentioned it on Seinfeld.

It was a French Canadian Special Forces guy that gave me this beret while we were "bending the elbow" at the Legion Hall. Of course, he was only bending one elbow since he's missing an arm - but he's got enough "book ends" to supply the New York Public Library. I also met some of the French Resistence that stood up to your boy Hitler - and those are some tough dudes. There's a picture of one of them at the top of this article. They could still kick your fat, lazy, know-it-all American ass.

Now let's talk about the women. French broads are not like the American harpys who are afraid to be feminine. I couldn't find any American gal that didn't look like a short-haired chimp with an attitude. So, I married a Frenchwoman. Best move I ever made. She actually cooks decent food, and doesn't have the table manners of a Rosie O'Donnell or the masculinity of a Hillary Clinton. Guys, if you want to marry a real woman, avoid Americans. Yankee gals want nothing more than a couple of "Uncle Frank's suitcases" (or three), and if they can't have a pair of their own courtesy of God the Father Almighty, they'll just take yours! Hell, I can't even tell broads from fellas these days. Oh, actually, I can: the American women are the ones with the muscles and crew cuts.

Finally, "prissy" and "girly" do not describe a French soldier in a beret, but rather are more accurate descriptions of adult men from the mid west who drink milk. There is something perverse about it. One time when I was visiting the grandson at Fort Wayne, and I saw grown men by the dozens drinking milk with their lunches. Holy crap! Do you want a bib and a diaper as well? Did the wet nurse give two-week notice or something?

You guys need to wean, grow a set, and start behaving like men. I asked one of these mouthbreathers why he was drinking lactations from a cow udder, and he just gawked at me. The same guy's ball-busting wife probably has breast implants and feeds her kid with a bottle of chemical powder - while her fat husband, who never served a day in the military, is slurping on bovine udder secretions, pushing his eighth Little Debbie into his cakehole, and probably pontificating about how "girly" the French are. Go figure.

The French don't drink milk, I can tell you that much. The last thing I have to say to you is: Embrasse mon âne!