Tag Archives: guns

If You’re Old Enough to Fight a War, are You Old Enough to Drink Booze?

So at my former boss’ and friend’s blog, he does this meme thing called the Four for Friday. It is the thing I look forward to the most, second only to the fact that Friday also means the weekend is upon us.

Anyway, question #3 from last Friday asked what we thought of lowering the drinking age to 18. Respondents seemed split down the middle about whether they were okay with it or not. Here’s a summary of my answer:

I don’t think it matters much what the drinking age is. An 18 year old irresponsible punk is likely to “grow up” to be a 21 year old irresponsible punk. Unless we can show that statistics for drunk-driving accidents and deaths went down post 1984, then I don’t see any reason not to lower the drinking age… except to say all those 21 year olds in nudie bars are gonna have to start putting up with a bunch of high school students joining them.

Anyway, a popular argument for lowering the drinking age is, “If they’re old enough to fight a war…”

I just wanted to publicly state, right here on my incredibly popular blog that strongly influences many of the world’s most powerful people (pay attention Free Mason lodge leaders… I’m talking about you! Oh yeah, and you too Pres. Bush!), I think the “old enough to fight a war” argument is weak. Here is my reasoning.

I can no longer do military service because of a physical disability. Since I’m not expected to fight a war, does that mean I also shouldn’t be allowed to drink? Or are we saying that only military personnel should be allowed to drink?

You can actually enlist at 17 these days (which is a far cry from the days when 14 year olds were allowed to fight). When I was in boot (1994), there were at least two 17-year olds in my platoon. My own brother enlisted when he was 17 (around 1986). He did boot over summer vacation and returned to finish off his senior year of high school. Think back to those days. Those people you knew. Still okay to let them drink at that time?

But consider this most of all. When you turn 18, you aren’t just shipped off to a war and expected to fight. You are given formal, highly intense, strongly disciplined training to prepare you to go fight that war. The training, in part, prevents you from pissing yourself and running off like a cowardly dog when the bullets start to fly and you see your buddy’s head get splattered all over your lap.

Now, if you are saying 18-year olds should receive intense formal training on how to “drink responsibly” — so you don’t piss yourself and hump your buddy’s dog on his lap when you get a little too hosed — well then, the argument makes a little more sense.

So even though I’m okay with lowering the age limit, let’s at least be sensible with our arguments shall we? Since you can join the military at 17 and be issued a fully automatic weapon without requiring that you hold a federal license, should we go ahead and make it legal for everybody age 17 and older to own fully automatic weapons? They allow that in much of the Middle East and many war-torn African nations. Umm… no. Let’s not do that.

“To Protect and Serve”, or “To Bully and Walk Around Like We’re Better Than You”?

Think about how many times you’ve gotten sick after eating at a restaurant. I can clearly remember two occasions where I left a restaurant only to stay up the entire night hurling my guts out. Once was thanks to Wendy’s, the other thanks to TGI Fridays (the latter of which I have never returned to, nor will I ever).

As much fast food as I eat, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened more often. And surprisingly, Wendy’s is still one of my favorites (I’m eating their spicy chicken combo as I write this… no kidding!) Nonetheless, I got incredibly sick after eating at these restaurants, and yet there was no recourse taken. Why? Well, what was I to do? Call the cops?

Sure. The response would have been, “There’s nothing we can do,” after which they would have hung up then laughed at my idiotic request. But boy, do things ever change when something like this happens to a cop.

Recently, a McDonald’s cook accidently spilled salt on a few hamburger patties, removed what she could, then sent them to the heating lamps. From there, a cashier served it to a cop in the drive through. The cop supposedly got sick, returned to the restaurant, questioned the manager, and finally arrested the cook that prepared his hamburger.

So, a cop eats a too-salty hamburger and some poor McDonald’s employee gets thrown in the coop? Makes me want to become a cop just so I, too, can go around arresting people that piss me off. Hey, I wouldn’t be the first guy to become a cop for the “benefits”.

Lucky for the cop, he just got a salty burger. He could have gotten boot-stomped garlic instead.

Cops love to arrest peopleJust to be clear, I respect the authority of law enforcement and I’m grateful that we have cops and the people willing to serve in that capacity. But if you’ve been around long enough to have more than a few experiences with police, then you know exactly where I’m coming from. Piss off a cop and his entire department will harass you ‘till you move out of town… or commit suicide. There’s nary an adult that I know who doesn’t think most cops are just bullies. That we’re raised and brainwashed to believe cops are the good guys doesn’t do much to counter personal experience, does it?

For all the good cops out there, keep up the good work. For the minority out there that are giving all the other cops a bad name, grow up would you?

Now hopefully this blog post doesn’t get me arrested by tomorrow. I really should know better than to mess with the Brotherhood of the Blue Shield. I just might get arrested for hurling too loudly and disturbing the peace from my 1996 TGI Friday’s food poisoning experience. What is the statute of limitations for hurling too loudly anyway?

As they haul me out of my house in front of my neighbors, all playing their *#@! car stereos way too loud out in the street, I figure I’m going to “get the shaft” one way or another, so I offer… ummm, favors to the arresting officer. Failing that, I can always hope the cop is as gullible as those in Postal 2. I’ll scream, “Look, a donut!” As the cop is distracted, I’ll make a break for it, destined to live the rest of my life on the run.

Hey, it can’t be worse than getting your butt kicked by a blind guy. That poor sap is lucky he didn’t have a gun.