WarBlog 2
13 November, 2006
The day is finally here: I just turned 25, and for my birthday I'm going to hell. Not in a cutesy "I'm such a stinker" way, or even in a "that joke went way too far" way. I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell in the "see you when I get there Jeffrey Dahmer, Adolph Hitler, and John Elway" type way. And be quiet about that last one. The Drive? The Fumble?!? It was the hand of God that put in Maradona's goal, but definitely the hand of Satan that caused Byner to lose the AFC Championship for the Browns. I'm sure Elway's soul was a small price to pay for football glory. If he didn't end up selling it to Beelzebub it would have gone to a chain of automotive dealers anyway.
I'm going to hell for entirely different reasons than the people I just mentioned. I got an e-mail from my mom today. She sends a couple a week asking what I have been up to. Since I've been sitting at a desk doodling for the past few weeks I have nothing to tell her, but it made me think. My mom is like any other mom out there, so I'm sure that Joey Bullet-Catcher in the Army and Johnny Mortar-Magnet in the Marines get letters from their parents concerning their day to day lives. I just have to wonder what they write back. "Dear mom, killed 5 Hadji's today. It was a good day." Or, "Dear dad, we ransacked a village looking for a terrorist. Tons of casualties; they say it's a modern-day Mei-Lai. Look for my name in Time Magazine!" I'm sure that's not how they all go. Most of those kids barely squeaked by in high school, so there would be more grammatical errors, right Sen. Kerry? Despite the fact that I haven't killed anybody myself, I still feel responsible for a certain amount of death.
"Dear mom, I brought 50 Navy SEALs into Afghanistan today to hunt down Al Qaeda members in the mountains." "Dear dad, I brought 100,000 pounds of ammunition into Iraq today. There sure will be some dead insurgents tomorrow!" "Hey everyone, I just flew a $250 million dollar aircraft into combat to deliver 1500 pounds of Girl Scout cookies. I'm a steward of American tax dollars!" I guess these would be my letters. I know I haven't killed anyone, but I sure have facilitated others in their quest to kill. And here's the rub: I couldn't give two shits about it. I really couldn't. I feel like I'm far enough removed from the action that I'm insulated from reprisal. If I cared it might be a different story, but not likely. Here in the Army of Mars we blindly march towards the fires of hell to avoid the pain in our heads controlled by our leaders. We do what we're told but we're not brainwashed; we know exactly what we're doing, we just do it anyway… and we could care less. For me it's the path of least resistance, a form of my laziness, really. Three cheers for unapologetic apathy!
I've finally figured out why everyone is so kind to military members, despite how ridiculous we can be sometimes. It's not because we're willing to lay down our lives for our country, it's because we're willing to lay down our afterlives. So the next time you see a soldier, sailor, airman, or marine pat them on the back and tell them, "thanks for the soul" and run away as fast as you can. If you don't you'll get caught in your own version of hell: a conversation peppered with thousands of 'sir's', 'ma'am's', and 'HUAH's'. Don't worry if you do get caught in that excruciating exchange though, because the person on the other side is soldiering his way to more leg room for you in Heaven. But again, here's me not caring. Mercenary pay is pretty good right now. It allows me to be more materialistic, which I'm sure puts me one step closer to that fire and brimstone.
"Mama, we all go to hell…"
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