Just because you're winnin'
Don't mean, you're the lucky ones
"
And when you stare you don't think I feel it
But I'm gonna deal it back to you in spades
When I'm havin' fun you know I can't conceal it
'Cause I know you'd never cut it in my game, oh no
This reminds me of a joke. This guy comes into a bar, walks up to the bartender. Says, "Bartender, I got me a bet for you. I'm gonna bet you $300 that I can piss into that glass over there and not spill a single, solitary drop." The bartender looks. I mean, we're talking, like, this glass is like a good ten feet away. He says, "Now wait, let me get this strait. You're tryin' to tell me you'll bet me $300 that you can piss, standing over here, way over there into that glass, and not spill a single drop?" Customer looks up and says, "That's right." Bartender says, "Young man, you got a bet." The guy goes, "Okay, here we go. Here we go." Pulls out his thing. He's lookin' at the glass, man. He's thinkin' about the glass. He's thinkin' about the glass. Glass. He's thinkin' about the glass, glass. Thinkin' about his dick. Dick, glass, dick, glass, dick, glass, dick, glass, dick, glass, dick, glass, dick, glass. And then, *foosh*, he lets it rip. And he-he's pisses all over the place, man. He's pissin' on the bar. He pissin' on the stools, on the floor, on the phone, on the bartender! He's pissing everywhere *except* the fucking glass! Right? Okay. So, bartender, he's laughing his fuckin' ass off. He's $300 richer. He's like, "Ha, ha, ha, ha!" Piss dripping off his face. "Ha, ha, ha, ha!" He says, "You fucking idiot, man! You got it in everything except the glass! You owe me $300 punta." Guy goes, "Excuse me just one-one little second." Goes in the back of the bar. In back, there's a couple of guys playing pool. He walks over to them. Comes back to the bar. Goes, "Here you go, Mr. Bartender, 300." And the bartender's like, "What the fuck are you so happy about? You just lost $300, idiot!" The guy says, "Well, see those guys over there? I just bet them $500 a piece that I could piss on your bar, piss on your floor, piss on your phone, and piss on you, and not only would you not be mad about it, you'd be happy."
"Withdrawing in disgust is not the same as apathy"
My friends, it has often been said that I like war. Friends, I like war. No friends, I LOVE war.
I love holocausts. I love blitzkriegs. I love defensive lines. I love sieges, charges, I love mop-up operations, and retreats.
Wars across prairies, in streets, in trenches, in grasslands, in frozen tundras, through deserts, on the sea, in the air, I love every act of war that can occur upon this earth.
I love blasting the enemy to smithereens with artillery salvos that thunder across the lines of battle. My heart leaps with joy whenever a soldier is tossed into the air and cut to pieces by well placed sniper rounds. And there is nothing like a tank operator using a Tiger 88 to destroy enemy tanks.
And the feeling that comes when a soldier runs screaming from his blazing tank only to be mowed down by heavy machine gun fire, is such an exquisite feeling. Like when ranks of infantry brandish their bayonets rushing into the enemy line.
It moves me deep within my heart to watch a fresh recruit stabbing over and over into the bloated chest of a long-dead enemy. The sight of deserters being strung up from a street lamp is an irresistible pleasure.
And there is nothing more arousing than the sounds made by prisoners of war dropping like flies, screaming in agony as they're mowed down by ear piercing schmeissers. When a band of pitiful resistance fighters makes their final stand with nothing but small arms, only to have their city smashed to atoms block by block by 4.8 ton bombshells, I'm in ecstasy.
I love it when my forces are ravaged by a Russian armored division. It's so sad to see towns and villages that were supposed to be defended at all costs, being laid to waste, their women and children being killed. I love to be squashed under the heel of the British and American war machines. The humiliation, as my men crawl around like vermin, ducking the yark bombers flying overhead.
Gentlemen... All I ask for is war, a war so grand as to make Hell itself tremble. Gentlemen, I ask you as fellow brothers in arms, what is it you really want? Do you wish for further war as I do? Do you wish for a merciless, bloody war? A war whose fury is built with iron, and lightning, and fire? Do you ask for war to sweep in like a tempest, leaving not even ravens to scavenge, from this Earth? Very well. Then war is what you shall have. We are a clenched fist, ready to strike down all who oppose us, with our might. But... After enduring over half a century wallowing in the darkness, for us, a simple "ordinary" war will no longer be sufficient. We need a MASSIVE war! A war beyond any other that man's history has ever known!
We are but a single battalion... The remnants of a defeated army numbering less than a thousand strong. However, I believe that each of you old warriors is worth a thousand of their sickly soft children! We represent a force that could easily defeat an army of a million and one men! It is time for us to awake the ones who sent us screaming into oblivion, and who now lie sleeping.
Let's drag them out of bed by the hair, and remind them of what we are! We will remind them of what it feels like to live in fear. We will remind them of the sound our jackboots make against their throats. We will remind them, that there are more things between Heaven and Hell than are dreamt of in their philosophy.
Our Kampfgruppe of one thousand battle-hardened warriors will burn this world down to ash. Yes, my friends! Soon, General Discussion's charred remains will illuminate the night sky! I have brought you all back just as I promised I would. Back to our favorite battlefield. Back to our beloved war!
At last, the sea lion has crossed the ocean and is heading up the hill! Attention soldiers of the Off Topic battalion, this is a message from your commander: Friends... let's bring them Hell.
This rant should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
