We’ve all heard the saying “Trust a Marine with your life, not your wife.” Those words ring truest on November 10, when Marines gather to celebrate their branch’s birthday and its core values of alcoholism, debauchery, and adultery. So dust off your dress blues and get ready for some mando-fun, because we have with the six guys guaranteed to hit on your wife at the Marine Corps Birthday Ball:
1) Your battalion commander: Have some sympathy for the man. He’s recently divorced and in his mid-40s, though he looks like he’s 70. He drinks more than a Lance Corporal, except he drinks alone. You would, too, if you had to deal with hundreds of Marines’ worth of bullshit. Maybe he’s just being friendly; It’s not like there are other Lieutenant Colonels at the ball for him to hang out with. You know what? Tell your wife it’s okay with you if she fucks him.
2) The one boot who’s out-of-control hammered: This kid is dead set on destroying his life. He’s already told the Sergeant Major to fuck off, and his date is a hooker who will likely be dead by the end of the night. The kid’s underage and he just asked First Sergeant to help find his fake ID. He lost it in the bathroom cutting lines of coke. He’s only halfway through puberty, but he’s bragging to your wife he makes Seabiscuit look poorly endowed. He is the reason hazing happens.
3) Your platoon commander: Believe it or not, Lieutenant Chadwick McChadman was something of ladies’ man in college. He’s got a polo on under his blues coat and he thinks your wife is going to be impressed he was a brother in Alpha Sigma Sigma. Don’t try to punch him, though: his dad’s a lawyer.
4) The only civilian in the afterparty bar: This guy was just trying to have a normal night and drink his pain away. All of a sudden the bar is full of a bunch of pricks with medium fades. While heading for the door, he accidentally bumps into your wife and says “Excuse me.” Your overeager friends take it as an excuse to fight him.
5) Your best friend: This one’s for you, Shane. Fuck you, man.
6) You: You start pregaming at three in the afternoon because you’re not a communist. By the time the guest of honor finishes rambling about how his drill instructor inspired him to be a douche for the rest of his life, you’ve had enough alcohol to give your grandchildren liver problems. After your fifth piss break, you get disoriented and mistake your wife for some random woman. You’re shocked how easy it is to get her back to your hotel room.