How far we have digressed as a species. Physically, 80% of American kids can’t even qualify for Army basic training because they’re too fat or too stupid.
Even after years of rigorous physical training, our soldiers can’t carry all their gear into the battlefield without debilitating stress injuries to their spine. We’re moronic slugs of fat, nothing more.
Now I know what Hollywood thinks about the freedoms guaranteed all Americans by the U.S. Constitution, and how jealous King Hollywood is of Congress’s power to declare war. Congressmen are old, degenerate, putrid crones huddling in a circle on some remote mountaintop.
The War Powers Act that gives the President the power to make war is a nubile young girl in drug-induced ecstasy. Then Obama shows up in the guise of heathen savior, the constitutional lawyer that Hollywood anointed as Godhead with the authority to unravel every last Constitutional thread of liberty…
The gay hordes have long since overwhelmed Tinseltown. Alas, the craggy rock orifice of Thermopylae is not the sensual female Hole of God but, with the addition of a prostate-like wall of stone, the fountain of endless homosexual joy.
The military welcomes gays serving openly with great enthusiasm. They welcome the weakness, strife, unfettered sexuality, extreme narcissism, and arrogance. What was weak before is now infinitely more so. Hallelujah.
As a culture we are lazy and unfit. The only sports we partake in are vicariously or virtually. Even our esteemed athletes last no longer than a year or two in the big leagues. Most athletic contests are little better than staged professional wrestling events where grown men wear brightly-colored tights.
These pathetic caricatures of manhood hug and dance each other after scoring, as if they had just scored with a foxy dame. It’s all pomp and circumstance, gladiators in the Coliseum — and there aren’t even any ravenous lions to make it dangerous, just busty cheerleaders.
In large stadiums with big screens overhead, athletes love to watch themselves as they run for a score. What conceit, what arrogance.
Can’t let the public know that our “pro wrestling” athletics is really all make believe, now can we?
Then who would buy all the sports gear from Nike to make their fat, flabby, weak, lazy selves feel superior and athletic while they vegetate on the couch on Sunday afternoons (and now on Monday evenings, on Thursday evenings, and on Saturday all day…) — when, in fact, they are barely even human any more.
Even the star athletes are feminized characters, to whom testosterone is an illegal performance-enhancing drug. Victory always takes last place behind ego, money, athletic sponsorships, fame, and even infamy.
There aren’t 300 men in the whole 6 billion human beings alive today as fit and sturdy as the Spartan’s teenage boys, much less the 300 seasoned warriors themselves.
They’re the last men who were truly all they can be.
The 300 are immortal all right.
