Endless Arlingtons

I was, unfortunately, the first one out of the chapel. I had known him well enough, but I had never met his wife or his children. By all accounts, including our brief friendship, he was a good man and a good father. But, he was a great Marine and one of the finest I had ever known. His life was the Corps and he gave it to her. And, for his country, though I doubt the Empire cares for the fallen dead anymore.

There his widow was. She and his family had been ushered out of the somber chapel before the rest of us could leave and provide our condolences to the macabre “receiving line.” She was fighting back tears with a toddler on her hip. A small boy clung to her legs weeping uncontrollably. Their other son, a teenaged boy, closed his eyes and held his mama’s hand waiting for it to be over.

I glanced at the Marine’s father, a lifetime working man clearly uncomfortable in a suit. He looked tired and gray. Like his late son, he was strongly built and stood up straight. The worse pain for a parent is to bury their own child. I could see it in his eyes then, even though I wasn’t a father at that point.

In my head, I knew what to say. But, when I saw his grieving family, the only thing that came out was a quiet, “I’m sorry.” That’s when they all started crying more, except the late Marine’s father. He extended his hand and I shook it. I walked away from the rest of his family for a well-needed cigarette. Sometimes, you don’t think, you just act on instinct. I waited for the rest of my brothers to make it out, some in uniform and others in dark suits.

The Marine was buried in Arlington. The chapel service was for the locals that couldn’t make it to the Empire’s warrior graveyard. He had wanted the small service in the shady and green Shenandoah. Resting in Arlington with other fallen Marines was the cost of service. I wasn’t unfamiliar with Arlington. To be fair, it is both haunting and beautiful. Despite foreigners and tourists walking about and chirping away, it always remained strangely quiet whenever I would visit. I suppose the ghosts keep it so.

I had to attend as part of a funeral delegation there once. It was a unique visit to be sure. It was orders and we considered it light duty. We would act as representatives and cheer up the deceased’s relatives, where at all possible. And while in the cemetery, we would visit our brothers’ resting places and leave behind a small token to remember them on their headstone.

I suppose to a normie or shitlib that’s reading this, it appears odd with your worldview. After all, we’ve been designated as pure evil by the media and those that track “hate.” Evil doesn’t feel remorse or pity. Evil doesn’t love their people; they only hate the “other.” Well, if you’re buying that pre-packaged garbage propaganda, you’re a sucker.

You’re not the only one being duped either. I was being duped when I was visiting those graves. I thought my brothers died for “freedom.” There isn’t any of our freedom in Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria or any other place Uncle Sam wants to wage war. Our freedom is in this land and it’s being eroded away each and every year. Died for “freedom” in a desert or a cold mountain range, give me a break.

To quote Rhett Butler, “Waste always makes me angry, and that’s all this is: sheer waste.” That’s what I saw outside that chapel and at those graves. A tragic waste of good men for nothing. Decades of wasted and destroyed lives and families – meanwhile, opioids ravage our people, foreigners displace us, nationwide financial idiocy and a degenerate culture that pollutes our children. Yet, you’re supposed to buy that this is normal in America: your sons and daughters die abroad thousands of miles from home for literally nothing, while your country disintegrates into an AIDS patient.

There’s another way forward and it’s not the status quo. The status quo is simply endless Arlington visits, weeping widows and little quiet chapels in the Valley.


  1. Not having been a veteran, I don’t feel qualified to promote this important narrative to our youth. However, coming from combat veterans, this is the only way we can break this cycle of destructive choices. That, and providing alternatives to our Southern youth that increase the probability that they will be gainfully employed and primed for a long and happy family life.

  2. Yet, you’re supposed to buy that this is normal in America: your sons and daughters die abroad thousands of miles from home for literally nothing, while your country disintegrates into an AIDS patient.

    Well, it is the “new normal” in America. I buy it in that respect, but I reject out of hand that it should be the normal, or anything like the normal. That you and I and everyone else feels it necessary to include “your daughters” who are dying in foreign lands literally for nothing is disgraceful beyond belief.

  3. Southerners need to stop sending their sons (or daughters) to fight and die in the pointless wars of the yankee empire, and stop telling the lie that you are defending our freedom. You’re not and you’re wasting your time and our money while risking your life.

  4. Southerners need to stop sending their daughters, first and foremost, to dedicate their lives to this idiotic cause. I have four daughters; not a single one of which would ever commit herself to such stupidity. Why? Well, because, first and foremost, I never have lied to my daughters about their proper role in society-building. Far from it, and quite the contrary. Female participation in our military is a scourge thereupon. That is all. It is one of several bases we’ll ultimately have to separate. Tammy Duckworth, go screw yourself.

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