“There’s nothing quite like watching a Marine, decked in a perfectly spectacular uniform, blowing chunks all over the floor of a restaurant. I can’t imagine the logic behind wearing all the gold and navy bells and whistles at 3 a.m., but Sgt. Pukey and his female comrade arrived in a stumbling mess, falling out of the taxi and onto the sidewalk before coming in and ordering chili dogs. With the glazed eyes of one who’s had too many mixed drinks, the guy got halfway to the bathroom before spewing what looked like green tomatillo sauce all over the floor and decided to run for the toilet, leaving a trail of vomit so the cops could find him when they came to break down the bathroom door after he locked himself in. Being the passed-out guy in a public bathroom is bad enough, but being a Marine in full uniform slumped over a toilet covered in your own puke (and then getting dragged through the trail of vomit you left through the restaurant by sheriffs because you can’t stand on your own) is just unacceptable. Not even your girlfriend wanted to help you get to the dry cleaners the next day. The few. The proud. The drunk. The Marines.”

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