Now, for physical fitness, I just want one day a year where I’m not visually assaulted by uglies and fatties. Seriously, Virginia, these retinas need a day off. If the Mormons have Lucky Blue, we need good PR somewhere. So we will be implementing the Paris Hilton diet. We can’t afford Coke, but if Hunter can get crack, I’m sure we can find something crystal for all of you dweebs. As you might be able to tell from my slight frame and sweet masculine voice, I’ve already started.
If you can’t fit through the door at the Sam Phil Side Door, then you don’t fit in this army. I like my men skinny and hairless; that goes for all you beardos out there, too. I want all of you under 115, freshly shaven, waxed, and douched, ready—I mean perked up for your physical assessments when I drop by unannounced (maybe in the bathrooms) later this quarter. All this liberal body positivity and “woke” principles have completely undermined the integrity and central focus of our nation’s armed forces: to be the manliest, hairless, strongest, straightest men of this country, and I guess women too.
If I hear another Grindr notification south of Stonewall, we will be banning all cellular devices across governmental organizations. Until the RNC. No more yoga either, that stuff’s for hairy hippy chicks, not our fighting brigade of twinks and otters, NO BEARS.
“Whether you’re an airborn ranger, or a chairborn ranger,” you’ve gotta stay DL level hot and mysteriously unmarried. If we all work to serve our lord and savior, Daddy Donny, then maybe some of you chunkers will make it to his court. I know we all vie for the attention and admiration of our collective dom. But only the slimmest, fittest, and at the end of the day, you’ve got to be the richest (He’s looking for a sugar daddy, that’s the only reason we still talk to Russia), will become a concubi- I mean, constituent of the crow- kin- cabinet of officials in the President’s inner circle. Outro music *rock national anthem* and that’s how Petey peeps it. We out.
