If Patton's Speech Had Been Edited by the DNC

Note:  The Republican candidate for this  year's election is more or less selected, and now the two parties are steadying for battle. The Democratic National Committee is preparing to whip the faithful into a frenzy.  Now, what if today's DNC had been responsible for providing notes for General George S. Patton's famous speech to the 3rd Army?


"Be seated. Or stand, which will strengthen your core."

Men Soldiers, this stuff that some sources sling around about America wanting out of this war, not wanting to fight, is a crock of bullshit inappropriate. Americans love to fight a challenge, traditionally. All real Americans love the sting and clash of battle to stand up for their beliefs.


You are here because you are real men and women, and all real men and women like to fight but only if necessary. When you, here, every one of you, were kids, you all admired the champion marble Sega “Assault City” player, the fastest runner, the toughest boxer [suggest changing in light of current anti-bully stance], the big league ball players [suggest Pop Warner—“big league” has baggage] , and the All-American football players, some of whom come from distant lands. Americans love a winner. Americans will not tolerate a loser will help others become winners. Americans despise are uncomfortable with cowards the courage-challenged . Americans play to win all most of the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for pay any attention to a man person who lost and laughed. That's why Americans have never lost nor will ever lose a war persevere; for the very idea of losing is hateful terribly uncomfortable to an American.


 
An Army is a team. It lives, sleeps, eats, and fights as a team. This individual heroic stuff is pure horseshit some people’s truth, but not everyone’s. The bilious bastards misguided souls who write that kind of stuff for the Saturday Evening Post [Note: it’s a non-profit organization now; say “Fox News”]  don't know any more about real fighting under fire than they know about fucking long division! We have the finest food, the finest equipment, the best spirit, and the best men and women of every sexual orientation in the world. Why, by God, I actually pity those poor sons-of-bitches the enemy we're going up against. By God, I do. [let’s not overdo it—you made your point]

I want you to remember that no bastard child of a single parent ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard person die for his or her country.

Each man must not think only of himself, but also of his buddy the brave man or woman fighting beside him. We don't want yellow cowards those who are uncommitted in this Army. They should be killed off like rats re-directed. If not, they will go home after this war and breed [what—are you TRYING to sound like a Republican? Say “inspire”] more cowards. The brave men will breed inspire more brave men. Kill off the Goddamned cowards and we will have It takes a village to make a nation of brave men. 

One of the bravest men that I ever saw was a fellow on top of a telegraph pole [relevance—say “cell phone tower”] in the midst of a furious fire fight in Tunisia North Africa [Note: we are not officially in Tunisia] . I stopped and asked what the hell on Earth he was doing up there at a time like that. He answered, 'Fixing the wire widening the bandwidth, Sir.' [General you need a fresh communications brief] I asked, 'Isn't that a little unhealthy right about now?' [Excellent—falls into fitness guidelines] He answered, 'Yes Sir, but the Goddamned wire has to be fixed we can’t win a conflict with dial-up.' I asked, 'Don't those planes strafing the road bother you?' And he answered, 'No, Sir, but you sure as hell do!' [LMAO, sorry] Now, there was a real man. A real soldier. There was a man who devoted all he had to his duty, no matter how seemingly insignificant his duty might appear at the time, no matter how great the odds.

And you should have seen those trucks on the road to Tunisia.  Many of those men drove for over forty consecutive hours. These men weren't combat men, but they were soldiers with a job to do and a union. They were part of a team. Without team effort, without them, the fight would have been lost.  Management would’ve cut them to 25 hours to keep them from getting benefits. All of the links in the chain pulled together and the chain became unbreakable, Which is the kind of partnership and soaring rhetoric that wins wars.

We're not going to just shoot thoroughly defeat the sons-of-bitches opposition, we're going to rip out their living Goddamned guts win big and use them to grease the treads of our tanks make further progress. We're going to murder those lousy Hun cocksuckers by the bushel-fucking basket prevail.


War is a bloody, killing complicated business. You've got to spill their blood stay on message, or they will spill yours win. Rip them up the belly. Shoot them in the guts. When you put your hand into a bunch of goo that a moment before was your best friend's face, you'll know what to do. Be thoughtful, be thorough, and remember the team.


I don't want to get any messages saying, 'I am holding my position.' We are not holding a Goddamned thing. Let the Germans do that. We are advancing constantly and we are not interested in holding onto anything, except the enemy's balls. We are going to twist his balls and kick the living shit out of him all of the time. We are going to go through him like crap through a goose; like shit through a tin horn! [soften this—it’s war, not MMA]


From time to time there will be some complaints that we are pushing our people too hard. I don't give a good Goddamn am unconcerned about such complaints. I believe in the old and sound rule that an ounce of sweat persperation will save a gallon of blood desperation. [see where I’m going here?  Much more visual and direct]


There is one great thing that you men people and women [oops! Never say “you people” to a diverse fighting force] will all be able to say after this war is over and you are home once again. You may be thankful that twenty years from now when you are sitting by the fireplace entertainment center with your grandson child on your knee (should you marry or decide to adopt) and he or she asks you what you did in the great World War II, you WON'T have to say, 'Well, I shoveled shit in Louisiana offered support at home.' No, Sir, friend, you can look him or her straight in the eye and say, 'Son child, your Granddaddy person rode with the Great Third Army and a Son-of-a- Goddamned-Bitch named Georgie General who believed in you by the name of George S. Patton!'[Reminder: don’t self-deprecate; it dilutes your message and makes the troops less inclined to take you seriously. Just a thought.  Good luck with the landing!]