Germans, Fries, and Fresh Prince.

"30 seconds yanks! God be with you!" screamed Sgt. Randall. The dark, cold lion of the English Channel billowed, tossing the tiny, cramped landing vehicle to and fro between its massive paws. Thoughts of loved ones, family, and other cherished memories danced through our heads like ballerinas as each man on the craft stared the menace known as Death in the face as the craft and soldiers sailed onward to their doom. Closer and closer we get to the French coastline as the speedy boat rifles through the raging sea. The signal is given to open the back door to each landing craft as they arrive at their perilous destination, and there the heroism and the chaos jointly begin; a quest to smash through the German lines and uproot Hitler's sinister plans at a place called Normandy. I screamed out my battle cry and lunged forward following Sgt. Randall. I had barely placed my foot upon the sand before a loud "DUYYYY!" Wait. What? "DUYYYY!" This time louder then before. It was louder then the shocks and pounding of machine gun fire. I whirl around from my position at my desk and fling off my headphones. "WHAT!" I bellowed. "Lets go make some french fries!" It was my brother. "What the fuck? No. It's fucking 2:42 in the morning. Who makes fries at 2:42 in the morning?!" "Awww come on! I'm hungry! Fries are the shiznits!" "I AM NOT COMING ON ANYTHING TODAY." Ten minutes later I'm downstairs peeling potatoes while watching The Fresh Prince of Bel Air. "WAIT A FUCKING SECOND. HOW THE FUCK DID I GET FROM KILLING GERMANS TO MAKING FRENCH FRIES?" My brother looks up at me and laughs. We continue to watch as Will makes fun of Carlton for being a total midget. I smile and laugh along with my brother.