Our country’s compulsory military service begins at birth.
The infantry is literally made up of infants.
And the air force’s recruits spend their days fed by spoon while drill sergeants shout HERE COMES THE AIRPLANE INTO THE HANGAR! ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
Oh, and the navy spends its time in the wading pool on the lawn, splashing around and squealing.
Sure, they have issues marching and holding rifles and maintaining advanced radar-jamming equipment, and then there’s the discipline issues with “the terrible twos,” but all in all, they’re a good bunch.
Oh, and our large arsenal of tactical nuclear weapons. Those help too.
Tag: war
Payout
Recently, a fucked-up soldier murdered 16 Afghans in the field.
Some were women. Some were children.
The government paid the survivors fifty thousand dollars for each dead relative.
There are twenty-nine million Afghans.
Do the math, and you come up with a trillion and a half dollars payout if we killed them all.
Then, I realized, that you wouldn’t have to pay a dime if we killed them all. Because there’d be nobody left to pay.
Instead, I’m taking off my shoes and my belt to get on a fucking plane.
While this minimum-wage moron wants to fondle my balls.
Turning The Knife
The priestess didn’t struggle or fight when I dragged her to the river and shoved her head under.
The water was so clear, her face so calm and her eyes staring back into mine.
So calm.
I let go of her, but she didn’t get up. She stayed under the water.
I pulled her up and back to the shore, our clothes soaking wet.
“How did you stay so calm?” I said.
That was when she drew a dagger from under her cloak and stabbed me in the chest.
“I was never in any danger,” she said, turning the knife.
War Is Fun
Other kids set up their toy soldiers in battles, arranging men and tanks and plastic barbed wire on their basement floors.
Ralphie’s different. He stages courts-martial, using a television court drama’s action playset to bring the war criminals of his toy chest to justice.
He also turned a hospital set into a VA hospital in which to treat the wounded members of his plastic green army.
Then there’s the brothel…
His sister stomps into the basement, demands her Barbies back, and kicks the courtroom and hospital over before returning to her room.
The door slams.
Ralphie blinks, and shouts: “TORNADO!”
Knowing
Whenever GI Joe used to say “Knowing is half the battle,” I wondered what the other half of the battle was.
My friends didn’t know.
“But knowing is half the battle!” I said.
“Yes, the other half,” said Ricky, the kid who ate paste. “Perhaps the other half is not knowing?”
“Just like that Socrates guy!” said Sue. “He knew that he didn’t know, so not knowing is… knowing you don’t know!”
“Maybe we just need to buy lots of their toys?” I asked.
We agreed, and played GI Joes in the sandbox.
Except for Sue; she played with matches.
Savage – Eighth Anniversary
NOTE: This podcast is now 8 years old.
I’ve heard stories about jungle tribes that didn’t want their pictures taken because they thought that the camera would steal and capture their soul.
They also thought that there were tiny men inside the radio, cargo planes were gods that dropped gifts from heaven, and that the world was created by a giant fish laying the stars like eggs.
We’d have told them they were full of shit, but it’s kinda rude to be trashing people on their turf.
And they had spears. Lots of spears.
We’ll go back with guns next time.
(The mining company will cover the cost.)
Seven of Swords
I knew a warrior who carried seven swords.
They were the finest blades I had ever seen, each more magnificent than the last, and each had its purpose.
One to thrust.
One to swing.
One to parry.
One to stab.
One to riposte.
One to chop.
And with that, he lumbered off into battle.
“What is the seventh sword for?” I shouted after him.
But it’s too late. The weight of the heavy swords left him defenseless, and he’s killed before he can answer.
We buried him, and stuck the most magnificent seventh sword at the head of his grave.
Gift Giving
Back in the Seventies and Eighties, the Russians were known to put explosives in toys, scatter them over Afghanistan hotspots, and let kids bring those toys back to their homes where they’d blow up.
Sometimes, their mujahedeen fathers and brothers would be at home, and the explosion would take them out.
Other times, it would just kill the kid out there in the field of rocks.
So when NATO troops thought to dress up as Santa and hand out gifts to the locals, yeah, that explains why they opened fire on them.
Thank goodness the Santa costume belly-padding was Kevlar.
The Dust
We hide down in the dusty catacombs of the old city, huddling tighter with every thud and shudder when the bombs fall.
The museums… the palaces…
They are all empty, and I look around at the few treasures we managed to rescue.
And then, a loud blast, and part of the ceiling caves in.
Screaming. Shouting.
People yelling ARE YOU ALIVE IN THERE and HELP, but it’s just too heavy to move.
More screaming.
I try to dig, and I pull out an arm.
It is from one of the catacomb’s ancient residents.
More thuds. More dust falls.
More screams.
The Fourth Kind Of Elf
Some elves bake cookies.
Other elves make shoes.
And then a rare few build toys in Santa’s workshop.
Somehow, people forget there’s a fourth job for elves: the military.
I mean, did you ever see Legolas baking cookies, making shoes, or building toys?
Hell no. That dude was killing orcs and other foul monsters with his bow and arrows… Twang! Twang! Twang!
I don’t think he can bake, and I’m sure he doesn’t make his own shoes, but if you asked Santa for “A dead orc with an arrow sticking out of it” I bet Legolas can fill that order.