Nice poster.

People may not like America’s “cowboy” attitude, but when America is willing and able to cowboy-up weaker nations are safer.

I like that one.. During WWII My grandmother was one of those infamous “USO Girls”.They would be at dance halls and their job was to entertain the guys, dance with them, drink with them..etc….
So I am partial to the ones with pin-up girls, I guess because I know from her stories that is what she was like then.

When following the orders of the current commander-in-chief, you’re never sure whether you’re one of the good guys or one of the bad guys.

Back when we had real leaders.
Not mom jean wearing gutless,nutless military hating Chicago thugs.

After moving across three states, I recently re-discovered some of my dad’s books in a dusty old box, one of which was this one, copyright 1944—

http://www.amazon.com/Your-Kids-Mine-Joe-Brown/dp/B0000D5IWZ/ref=pd_rhf_ee_p_dnr_1

Joe E. Brown—

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joe_E._Brown_(comedian)

toured the combat theaters of WWII entertaining the troops (Your kids and mine). No hour was too late or frontline position too far or hazardous to travel to give the “kids” a laugh they so desperately needed. Joe was already past 50 years old. The book is his first hand account. Here’s a slice—

One night on Guadalcanal I had made my way through a big mess tent that had been turned into a hospital ward.
“I guess that’ll be all,” the doctor said as we came to the end.
“What about that guy in the corner?”
He’s a pretty sick boy,” the major said. “He’s not conscious, I’m afraid. We’ve kept him under morphine all day. He’s lost a couple of legs, Mr. Brown.”
“Well, mind if I just look at him?”
“Go ahead. Be glad if you would,” he said. “The worst moment cases like this have to face is the one when they get out of the anesthetic and realize what’s happened.”
I went over to his bed, and there he lay staring up ant the khaki canvas roof. Just a nice red-haired youngster with Kansas freckles on his nose.
“Hiya partner,” I said. “You look hunky,” I said with a broad Dutch accent. “Vas everything gude over in dis corner yet?”
A muscle twitched in his thin cheek, and then he said: “I feel fine.” He couldn’t lift his head, and his legs were missing but he felt fine. He was one of our kids, all right.
“It’s kind of dark in here,” I said. “Can you see me?” I was trying to get those eyes of his to focus, and that mind, which had roamed through the tortures of unconsciousness, to get its feet on something solid again.
“Sure I can see you,” he said drowsily after a minute.
“You know who I am?”
“Sure I know who you are,” he said. “But how the hell did you get here?”
“Never mind how I got here. I got here all right.”
Color was coming back into his face now, and his eyes looked a little steadier. He tried to move his hand but his mind couldn’t seem to find it.
“Good old Uggy Ottmeyer,” he said in a pleased kind of croak. “Hiya, Uggy.”
In a wild wordless prayer I said, “Good please tell me this kid’s nickname,” and then I heard myself whisper, “Hiya, Red.”
“Still trying to call me Red, ain’t you?” he said, and he had a wavery grin on his face. “If I wasn’t flat on my back, I’d get up and sock you one for that, Uggy.”
“You called me Uggy first,” I said, throwing myself into the character.
“Yeah, but Uggy fits you,” Red said. “And durned if you don’t get uglier every year you live.”
“Oh, gwan Red,” I said. “Lotta people tell me I’m getting better lookin’.”
“Well, don’t let ’em kid you, brother,” Red said more normally than he had spoken yet. “Durned if you don’t look more like Joe E. Brown than you ever looked.”
“Okay,” I said, “so I do.” And then we grinned at each other, and I asked what he heard from home, and he roused up and tried to tell me. He would drift off a little between sentences. Sometimes we’d be sitting on the grocery store steps, sometimes we were both little fellas, and later we were working on a farm together. For ten minutes or so that boy with the Kansas freckles was free of Guadalcanal. That kid was home for ten minutes, and all because the ugliest youngster in town looked like me.
“You better go to sleep now, Red,” I said finally. “You get some shut-eye. And when you wake up, don’t you worry about nothing. Okay?”
“Okay, Uggy,” he said. “And thanks for coming.”
“Aw hell. You’d do the same for me Red. Wouldn’t you?”
“Sure I would,” he said drowsily. “You’re durned right I would.”
And I was durned right. For he had; God knows he

My Pleasure.
Sigh. Last sentence should read:

For he had; God knows he had.

That’s what I get for doing this past my bed time.