Pride

It's one of those seven deadly sins. I am well aware of that. I'm sure that there is a nice little comfy spot in Hell (ouch, are those spikes?) awaiting me for all my other sins, so feeling pride really isn't something I'm worried about much. What exactly am I proud of you might asking yourself. I'll tell you. I'm proud of my younger siblings. Why? They're both Marines.

Now, I'm not brown-nosing or anything here. Although, maybe I should think about it, since the balance of power has shifted, and they could wipe the floor with me if they so desired. You see, they have been conditioned by the United States Military to be trained killers. I can live with that, since they are trained to take out any threat that could potentially ruin our collective way of life. My brother is most likely headed to Iraq within the year, if not sooner. He'll be jumping out of helicopters straight into the heat of battle in a location that I could only dream about spelling correctly, much less pronounce. It scares me. I am grown up enough to admit fear. It's a basic human emotion. Without fear, we wouldn't live past a much younger age than what we do now. But I don't let this fear keep me up at night really. I am confident in his skills as a Marine and I am much more concerned with his lack of civil restraint that he exhibits while interacting with the general populace. But hey, what 20 year old fully knows the meaning of restraint.

I am less concerned about my sister, who thanks to the conservative government will most likely never see battle. Although, while she was at bootcamp, we were all worried about her, especially my mother "Oh, mai onlee girl . . chee iz mai baybe"(attach spanish accent to this last phrase for it to make sense). But she got through it. She's a tough girl. Personally, I knew she could do it. And the best part is . . . if I ever decide to start up a militant organization of my own (The Anti-Traffic Sons of Liberty of Southern California), she can get me fragmentation granades for a buck fitty a piece. So cheap. Haha!

It seems that Marines are surrounding me lately though. My sister in law's husband is a Marine. The freaking Sal is an ex-Marine (he calls it inactive duty). Which is good. When the zombies decide to rise up from the grave (and you know they will eventually, they're just biding their time) there will be people around me that can help me deal with the situation. Seriously though, I have fired millions of rounds of live ammunition . . . . in videogames. I have no idea how to load and set an actual assault rifle in real life. But I'm sure they'd assist.

So my advice for the coming apocalypse. Hang out and befriend members of your country's military. Sure they can be a little gruff and rough & tumble at times. But would you rather be holed up in a defensible position with a bunch of IT guys or a couple of people that are trained for the situation. I don't know about you . . but I intend to keep my brain un-munched.