If President Trump Ordered a Nuclear Strike, I’d Do It. If He Didn’t, Screw It, I’ll Still Do It

I’ve spent twenty-eight years in the United States Armed Forces, every god damn one of them with the finest group of seamen I could ever ask for. Almost three decades in the Navy has given me the perspective, perseverance, and grit this nation needs to survive. I do my duty, to my country and to my commander-in-chief. So if President Trump ordered me to complete a nuclear strike on another nation, I would obey his orders. And you know what, it’s been pretty boring on the high seas, so even if he doesn’t, I still might make things go ka-boom-boom.
I’ve been stationed on the U.S.S. Fillmore for the past ten years. We’re a nuclear submarine that sales through the Atlantic Ocean. Every Monday I check the logs and every Monday night we play Monopoly. I’m the cat. It’s not an exciting life. So if I had the chance to send a nuclear warhead to Stockholm, I’d roll those dice. Enjoy your meatballs. Let’s see IKEA put that one back together.
I believe in absolute respect for the chain of command. The order to carry out a strike that would devastate millions and millions of people would not be taken lightly. But I haven’t been given an order to not send the nukes flying, so this is going to be an interesting day.
Budapest, Munich, Beijing, Kiev, London. I’m excited already. One missile at a time or coordinated strike? Who knows, baby. I feel alive for the first time in years.
The official Navy credo states the following:
All Navy members, especially guys that have been there for ages and haven’t seen a lick of sweet shellacking, have the right to shake things up with the use of long-rang nuclear ballistic missiles launched at mid-to-large size population centers, for the purposes of giving the crew “something sexy to stare at on a Wednesday afternoon.”
Fine. I just wrote that. And you know what: typing that was the most fun I’ve had in four years. So you bet your civilian ass if I get the chance, I’m going to take total control of this ship, sail the bitch to the rocky coast of England, and let Europe know that I, Dale T. Ditman, am living life to the fullest. You tell my wife I’ll be a little late to dinner.
Because I’ll be tried for treason and executed. Goodbye Helen.
