Dear Jack: I Got Rejected from the Military

Dear Jack,

I got rejected by the military for having flat feet. I’m pretty bummed out about not getting to serve my country. Where do I go from here?

Thanks,

Kyle McGuire

¡Hola Kyle!

Let me tell you why it’s not that bad, my guy. Military service is not the be-all, end-all of service to one’s country. 

Take my best friend since I was ten years old. The guy’s a financial wizard. He wakes up every morning in his big ass house, paid for by his big ass salary, and spends his days crunching big ass numbers for the Department of State and NASA – saving millions of dollars for these organizations and the American taxpayer. Total nerd shit, but commendable nonetheless.

You wanna tell me that my four years of military service – which was mostly spent in a drunken blur sandwiched between deployments to a war that 90% of the world thought was illegal – was a more important contribution to the welfare of our country than my nerdy friend’s work supporting space exploration initiatives and American diplomacy? I don’t think so, my flat-footed friend. He’s out there doing big things for Uncle Sam and spending his leisure time on golf courses with his millionaire tech buddies while I, his old bestie, am writing a bi-monthly advice column and answering emails from my editor telling me to calm down on the caca poopoo peepee jokes as I take sips from a plastic Taco Bell cup that’s filled with tap water from my bathroom faucet. 

Besides, being a military veteran is a little overrated. Aside from some front-row veterans parking at Lowe’s and the occasional 10% discount at Taco Bell, you’re just another dude out there trying to survive in this world like everybody else. And if you don’t find a new purpose after you get out of the military, like many don’t, you’ll come dangerously close to being one of those weirdo vets who can’t let go of the past and walks around in public in an XXXL shirt emblazoned some vaguely threatening quote like, “If you go down on my flag, I’ll go down on your ass!” Or worse, you’ll find yourself writing a bi-monthly advice column while you drink tap water out of an old Taco Bell cup and wondering when the next episode of Mark’s Head Bobbers and Hand Jobbers is going to drop. 

Here’s a simple plan of how you can serve your country without having to put on a uniform:

1. Apply for your undergrad at some bitchin’ party school like Arizona State. Make sure you get the Gardasil vaccine because you don’t want to be like all of us older millennials who have to lug around warts for the rest of our lives. 
2. Have some amazingly fun college years as you watch your friends who joined the military age like Mickey Rourke. Get your bullshit degree from the party school, then get accepted into a more reputable school for your post-grad in engineering. 
3. Graduate from Stanford and get a sweet job at some giant defense firm where you’ll start at $400k a year designing weapons of war that will be operated by borderline illiterate 18-year-olds from Idaho who still think the world is 6,000 years old. Take solace in the fact that they will spend the rest of their lives getting 10% off at Taco Bell for their service to our country that involved killing people with the very machines you built. 
4. Purchase a summer home in some quaint New England coastal town with the millions of dollars you now have in the bank. One day, as you’re driving around town with your beautiful wife and children, you notice there’s a lack of exotic food options in town. So you decide to become a Taco Bell Franchisee to make a few extra fun dollars. 
5. You’ve always kind of regretted that you never did an enlistment in the military, so you decide to give back to the veteran community by offering a 10% discount at all of your Taco Bell locations because you, Kyle, are dedicated to serving those who served. 

Everybody wins in this situation. You get to serve your country and give back, and they, the veterans, feel appreciated. 

I really wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors, young man—live más. 

I love you,

Jack Manford Mandaville I

P.S. Caca poopoo peepee.

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