Ten November 1775. I was born in a bomb crater. My mother was an M16 and my father was the devil. Each moment that I live is an additional threat upon your life. I eat concertina, piss napalm and I can shoot a round through a flea’s ass at three-hundred meters. I travel the globe festering on anti-Americans everywhere I go for the love of mom, Chevrolet, baseball, and apple pie. I’m a grunt. I’m the dirty, nasty, stinky, sweaty, filthy, beautiful little son of a bitch that’s kept the wolf away from the door for over two-hundred and twenty-five years. I’m a United States Marine. We look like soldiers, talk like sailors, slap the shit out of both of ‘em. We stole the Eagle from the Air Force, the Rope from the Army, and the Anchor from the Navy. And on the seventh day, when God rested, we overran his perimeter, and we’ve been running the show ever since. Warrior by day, lover by night, drunkard by choice, Marine by God. Semper Fidelis