Friday, September 22, 2006
Young in The Green Zone
-What’re we suppose to do again?
-I don’t know. Something to do with lots of money.
-Shall we steal it?
-Nah,no challenge there.
-Keep those vodka-tonics coming,Hasan!
-I’d like to fuck him if I weren’t a young Republican.
-You get this alleged job ‘cuz of your father?
-Yeah,he’s a neocon with a flaming brick up his ass.
Our family’s big in defense stocks too. Peace’d mean
fewer cars and lower-tier golf club.
-My father a loyalist too. Pervert and renowned preacher.
Hasn’t screwed the mother in years. Depends on
jerking off to Penthouse pictures. Gets sermon
thoughts that way-–pubic hair tickling the route to glory.
-Never mind all the greasy human frailty. He loves God and
The President! Besides...I’m not disgust-proof! Yuk!
-Well the Party is. Anyway,we’re ‘spose to read all these reports! Christ!
-Throw ‘em in the fuckin pool.
-Sure. That’ll solve...
-No,I’m not kidding. Here!
-Christ! Down like rocks. And our Hasan laughing.
-I intend to,quite soon,boost the white man’s burden up his
hairy...! Well,it’s a duty,actually. I mustn’t be irreverent.
I apologize. Adored British ritual: Bugger the wog as he
sinks to the prayer rug.
-I prefer All American Wall Jobs. What’s Iraqi-speak for Take down your pants?
-Everything’s a Wall Job. Look at this place! It’s one humungous Wall Job.
The War’s another.
-That’s disloyal!–if I gave a shit. Ah but I do love summer camp!
Even so,why don’t we sneak out from THESE walls and find
some women?
-Uh uh. This is a fuck-the-boys country. It was chosen for that.
-Is this...reality? I only just got my degree.
-There is no reality.
-What’re we suppose to do again?
-I don’t know. Something to do with lots of money.
-Shall we steal it?
-Nah,no challenge there.
-Keep those vodka-tonics coming,Hasan!
-I’d like to fuck him if I weren’t a young Republican.
-You get this alleged job ‘cuz of your father?
-Yeah,he’s a neocon with a flaming brick up his ass.
Our family’s big in defense stocks too. Peace’d mean
fewer cars and lower-tier golf club.
-My father a loyalist too. Pervert and renowned preacher.
Hasn’t screwed the mother in years. Depends on
jerking off to Penthouse pictures. Gets sermon
thoughts that way-–pubic hair tickling the route to glory.
-Never mind all the greasy human frailty. He loves God and
The President! Besides...I’m not disgust-proof! Yuk!
-Well the Party is. Anyway,we’re ‘spose to read all these reports! Christ!
-Throw ‘em in the fuckin pool.
-Sure. That’ll solve...
-No,I’m not kidding. Here!
-Christ! Down like rocks. And our Hasan laughing.
-I intend to,quite soon,boost the white man’s burden up his
hairy...! Well,it’s a duty,actually. I mustn’t be irreverent.
I apologize. Adored British ritual: Bugger the wog as he
sinks to the prayer rug.
-I prefer All American Wall Jobs. What’s Iraqi-speak for Take down your pants?
-Everything’s a Wall Job. Look at this place! It’s one humungous Wall Job.
The War’s another.
-That’s disloyal!–if I gave a shit. Ah but I do love summer camp!
Even so,why don’t we sneak out from THESE walls and find
some women?
-Uh uh. This is a fuck-the-boys country. It was chosen for that.
-Is this...reality? I only just got my degree.
-There is no reality.
