The sun, that mighty orb of life-giving warmth, was just rising o'er the Eastern sky as I strolled through Iraq. I marveled at the serenity and the utter calmness of this ancient of land. Like a child, I was taken by the beauty of this morning as I walked ever so manly to my appointed station. This land, this ancient land, never fails to intrigue me, nor does it ever disappoint my senses.
I marveled at this morning once more as I unleashed my trousers and pulled down my G.I. boxer shorts. I then, ever so manly, squatted there outside the tent that I had called my domicile for the past 3 years. My poop train roared to life and I could feel the rumblings as it began it's trek to its destination in the sand.
As my poop train snaked its way through my intestines, I opened the file folder that contained the new target that Colonel Pooner and I were to take down. Colonel Pooner, as many of you know, is my warrior soulmate. Our target it seems, was yet another number two operative that we had to either capture or kill or rape, or all of the above. "How many number twos have we either captured, killed, maimed, shot, stabbed, or sexually humiliated?" I asked myself as the engine of my poop train fell from my old war weary buttocks onto the sandy Iraqi soil.
"War is indeed hell, just as General Sherman proclaimed." I said in a low voice as I read on and as my poop train continued to derail onto the sandy soil. How many casualties has the US suffered - how many have been displaced, abandon, orphans, lost limbs, I wondered?
"War is hell, but it's a helluva war!" Colonel Pooners said as he came walking up to whence I squatted. His words were words of encouragement to me and they seemed to frame all the destruction of war into a proper context. Yes, Colonel Pooner, the most manly of manly, was truly the Rasputin of repartee. I marveled at his astute ways of cutting through all the clutter and getting to the heart of any matter. I smiled at his words, then I returned to my reading and pooping.
"It seems as though we have another mission, my friend." I said to Colonel Pooner in voice that was Republican in nature and that also indicated the voracity my straining muscles as they clinched to bring forth my poop train.
"Let me guess, another number two son-of-a-bitching Shi'ite or Sunni bastard? Hell, and is the name of this number two guy Ali, EckBar, Yabba-Dabba, or some other arab nomenclature that we civilized men can't pronounce?" Colonel Pooner asked as he looked at me, groaned a mighty groan, and plopped a mighty poop pile onto the sandy soil underneath his own war weary, manly, hairy buttocks. He then spat upon the ground in total disgust.
I was just about to hand him the Top Secret dossier of our target, when he grabbed
it from my hands, then wiped his war weary, manly, hairy buttocks with
said dossier. "Who the hell cares what the hell the bastard's name is and what he looks like!" Pooner exclaimed as he proceeded to urinate upon the targets photograph. "Hell,
they are all the same to me!" He added as he wiped his arse once more.
I marveled at my friend, my companion, my fellow warrior, Colonel Pooner as I watched him and listened to him. Yes, this man is not only an officer but he is a gentleman too. His thought process and his actions are what every real American shoulds strive for. Yes, I marveled at him. And also, there was a part of me, a small part - deep down in the depths of my soul - that wanted Colonel Pooner to have sexual relations with me in this most ancient of lands. Or perhaps for me to drill him in the old war weary, manly,
hairy arse. Either one of these methods would satisfy that small part of me that resides way down deep in my soul next to my Republican morals and values.
After both of our poop trains had derailed, and we had emptied our bladders of yesterday's wine, we proceeded to walk back to our domicile. There, our hoochie-momma, a Kurd lady by the name of, Pisha Pasha Pasta - or some shitty Kurd
name similar to that - met us. She washed both our naked bodies and we both gave her what she wanted......a good dose of Americana in the form of rough-house loving!
"I hope we are doing the right thing." I said as I aimed my trusted weapon at the crowd of Iraqis that had gathered. I was more than hesitant to fire my weapon.
"BAM-BAM-BAM-RAT-A-TAT-TAT!" was the report I heard as I held my finger off my weapons trigger. It was Colonel Pooner firing his, like there was no tomorrow – or if there was a tomorrow - only he and I would live to see it. Colonel Pooner’s weapon was spreading freedom and democracy.
"Take that you pussy towel wrapped 'Raqis!" Pooner yelled as he emptied his ammo and reloaded. "Hope is for those that are hopeless Hell, think of it this way, Morty. Out of that crowd of 100 or so there is probably at least 50 or so bad guys!" he added as he blasted away. Soon, I too was blasting away at the crowd. Yes, maybe Pooner was right - maybe there was bad guys in that mob, and since they all look alike I supposed that this was probably the right thing to do. I laid down heavy on the trigger and greased a few ‘Raqis myself.
"EVIL DOERS! MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!" Colonel Pooner screamed as he ran towards the Iraqis, firing his weapon the whole way.
After the last shot was fired, and the last Iraqi went to meet Ali, Colonel Pooner stood ever so manly over the dying. I watched as he bent down and stabbed a dying man. A tear came to my eyes; for I knew that was Pooner's way to end the poor Iraqi's suffering and bring him closer to freedom.
"The birthing pains of a new nation. It is up to the fathers of this new country- Uncle Sam and Union Jack - to see this new child of Iraq's grow-up and face it's destiny." I said as I wiped away another tear.
"Yeah, and so far this little bastard is a wild child in the womb." Colonel Pooner replied as he stabbed another of the dying.
