While you’re all out there in Moscow, enjoying Snapper Season in all of its mini-skirted splendor, I’m here in The Celibate States of America, my body furiously producing bile as fast as it is accumulating unspent semen.

This past week (and weeks), Americans from coast to coast have been gushing and bleeding their mawkish hearts dry on behalf of the survivors of Pearl Harbor. It’s all part of a belated, overwrought and overdone appreciation of the hippies’ parents, now called “The Greatest Generation”, a sickening mutual love-fest between Baby Boomers and their federal-budget-parasite parents.

First of all, let’s get something straight. In Pearl Harbor, America got its collective ass KICKED. I mean K-I-C-K-E-D! It was the single-worst blowout in American history. They say the Chosin Reservoir Campaign was America’s worst blowout, but “they” are dead-wrong: the Marines in that battle fought with a kind of uncommon bravery that would have brought tears to Hannibal’s eyes, and they took down far more Chinese than Chinese did Americans.

Not so at Pearl Harbor. Think about it, the shame of it all. A bunch of backwards Japs—who just a few years earlier were still swinging from trees—putter thousands of miles over the Pacific Ocean in outfitted crop dusters...and lay waste to the entire American Navy. They achieved the seemingly-impossible, with a kill ratio that only Americans are accustomed to racking up in Third World campaigns.

Why are the losers of that battle not mocked, kicked and beaten with sticks to this very day, paraded through Middle American towns in chains and leg irons to be abused by the locals just as a reminder to what America does to its losers? Why the fuck should we, should my generation, the Generation of Winners, weep one wasteful tear or drop one hard-earned dime on a film commemorating these utter morons?!

Let’s get back to the basic point here: We LOST the Battle of Pearl Harbor. It was the Japs who were courageous and brave. And decent—they didn’t firebomb Oahu and think it was cool, the way we did to so many Jap cities. Contrast that to the Greatest Generation’s crewmen who, on December 7, 1941, were too busy either buggering each other or trying to bugger their best friends’ girlfriends to man their posts and take up positions. You’d think they’d have been just a little bit prepared, considering that ungodly wars had been waging on three continents for years already. It’s not like it took a Nostradamus to tell them that America might, just might, get involved in a war that the rest of the world was already fighting. But no, the Greatest Generation sailors were just too fucking stupid. So they stood around, yukking it up, drinking beer, slapping each others’ backs, telling awful jokes, trying on cute sailors’ outfits, when suddenly, they looked up at a cloud of crop dusters with little orange circles painted under their wings and said, “Geepers, Joe, whatcha think that is?” “Duh, I dunno.” KER-BLAM!

President Roosevelt must have had a stroke when he heard about the Navy losses. Eyewitnesses say that he burst out of his wicker wheelchair in a rage, jabbing his cane, knocking over vases, poking Washington’s portrait. “Those idiots! Line the survivors up against the wall! Make an example of them! My presidency is ruined!”

Every day, every hour, American airwaves are filled with tall tales of retirees’ sacrifice and courage in WWII. Sacrifice?! Tchya, right! Americans were great at sacrifice in WWII—they splendidly sacrificed about 20 million Russians before invading the sparsely-defended coast of Normandy, at the very end of the war, and only when it was clear that the Russians might get to Berlin and beyond; they sacrificed millions of civilians in savage air raids on defenseless cities (Hamburg, Dresden, Tokyo, Hiroshima, etc.), then came back home, re-imposed the old Racist/Sexist Order that had broken down during the war, and expected everyone to worship them. Well I don’t.

The reason I don’t is that I worship winners, not losers. In WWII, the Greatest Generation nearly lost the war, and took huge losses, and several years, along the way to eventual and inevitable victory. In the wars in my generation, there were no losses or even near-misses or drawn-out campaigns; WE KICKED ASS EVERY TIME. We had no Pearl Harbors or Khe Sans. We had Panama, The Gulf War and Kosovo, three of the greatest lop-sided victories in mankind’s history. We didn’t lose 330,000 soldiers; in my generations’ wars, we lose per capita no more than the average daily attrition from road accidents, disease, etc.

For getting their asses kicked, they get a blockbuster film and the tag “The Greatest Generation”. The hippies, through their total domination of today’s media, don’t need to call their own generation “The Truly Greatest Generation”—they just assume that everyone knows that it is.

Well, folks, I’m here to remind you of a little something called “Reality”. The reality is, you, the Baby Boomers, got YOUR ASSES KICKED IN VIETNAM! Maybe that’s why you’re only interested in a film about your parents’ bitch-slappin at Pearl Harbor—makes you feel right at home. Not only did you get your asses kicked in ‘Nam, but you sent the poor and the dark to do your bidding (and to be fair, they were kicking hardcore Charlie ass in the jungle until right around The Summer Of Love) while you, middle-class whitey, dressed up like Jesus, got stoned, and fucked as many stupid hippie girls as you could lay your filthy hippie hands on. Like your parents, you know a lot about sacrifice: as in, sacrificing the lower classes, sacrificing millions of Vietnamese, Laotians and Cambodians, sacrificing even the people who sacrificed for you, like the returning Vietnam Vets and your parents, both of whom you mercilessly scorned on your way to the hot tub. And like your loser parents, you make out as if the Vietnam War was YOUR own tragedy. At least your parents eventually won their fucking war, though it took them four loser-long years to do it. Folks, let’s get one thing straight: a loss is not automatically a tragedy. A loss is a SHAME.

In my generation, we count our wars in days or hours. The 78-day Air Campaign. The 100 Hour War. In the history books recounting the wars fought by people from my generation, there will be no dashes between years because no wars were or will be fought over a period of years. We win wars. We win them fast. And we kill unbelievable amounts of enemies on the way, while losing almost none of our own.

You can have your little tragedies, if that makes you feel good. My generation doesn’t have tragedies. You know why? Because WE WIN WARS. Know what the score was in Panama? About 1000 dead greasers to about 25 Americans, most from friendly fire. Gulf War? About 100,000 molten camel jockeys versus 150 Americans. Somalia? 550 to 18. Kosovo? Roughly 4000 to Zero! That’s right, a shutout! Who the fuck has ever scored a shut-out in a war? Who? I’ll tell you who: MY GENERATION! Why? Because MY GENERATION KICKS ASS!

Granted, I was opposed to that sleazy war in Kosovo, in part because I have an unhealthy admiration for the Serbs. But facts are facts, and I think even many Serbs were pretty impressed. While the hippies considered a bunch of dirt-dwelling skeletons in pajamas to be a formidable enemy, we faced an experienced modern army of white people and BLANKED THEM. Zip-zilch-zero. Goose eggs. 4000-Love. Game-set-match. Top that! You can’t.

But for all the discomfort of having to live through yet another annual tear-fest on behalf of the Loser Generations, we, the Generation of Ass-Kickers, can at least take comfort in vengeance. While we’d all like to take a cane and beat the first gray-haired veteran to a pulp for humiliating our country at Pearl Harbor, we don’t want to wind up in jail. But we can point at them and laugh. Why? Here’s why: ‘member that whole dot.com craze-thing? Guess who lost all their retirement savings in that scam? Yes, you sir, in the back?

“Uh, like, old people lost their life savings and stuff?”

Right you are, sir! See how smart people in my generation are? True, a lot of 20- and 30-somethings went down with the dot.com bubble, but at least we’re young enough to count it as a wild adventure, a good experience, and now we can move onto other phases in our lives, other jobs, other means; and then there are the thousands and thousands who actually made millions and millions, thanks to the idiocy and gullibility of the Greatest Generation, who, guided by their eternal greed, believed the hot air we were selling them. They’re fucked; they can’t go out and get another job. We’re not fucked; we can get another job.

So, next time you see a begging old veteran, don’t cane him. Just laugh at him. He’s not only a loser, he’s a poor, stupid loser.