I love getting mail from all my in-country Vietnam friends. We are becoming a much smaller club much faster than I anticipated. Well, sort of. The club actually expanded exponentially last week with the inclusion of the Yankee and Dixie Station Squids. Be that as it may, I cherish every one of my 731 days on the red clay. Where else could we “be all we could be”? Imagine getting to play with real assault weapons, Claymores, Semtex and a host of other really keen things and with no accountability? I don’t recall ever being told “Sorry dude. We have a strict limit of 3 hand grenades per soldier per day. Put that crate back in the Conex.” Of course, familiarizing yourself with the ordnance is a must, too. That’s a given.
Which brings us to this particular interesting snippet of Al Quada incompetence sent in by my good buddy Ed. Ed’s an ex-LRRP from northern I Corps days whom I represent. As a former po-lice lieutenant, he always finds these choice vignettes. Some of the stuff he sends me is right out. For those of you with a keen eye, that’s a homemade Paki PPSh 41. You never, never never chamber a round and then insert the magazine on any PPSh while pointing it at your head (or a friend). Oh that Captain Charles had been this inept with his weapons in the jungles of Southeast Asia.
The following video is not recommended for the faint of heart. Once upon a time, a progressive-type gal at a cocktail party in 1982 was apprised I had participated in the SEA Olympic Games and she came over to ask what it felt like to shoot at (and possibly kill) people. This was the second time this happened but I was still nonplussed. I had never really given much thought to that concept so I struggled for a metaphorical, ETOH-induced analogy she might easily grasp. The best I could dredge up on such short notice was ask if she had ever gone deer hunting-or, hell-hunting at all. Or even fishing for that matter. I then asked her to imagine an armed deer with 20/20 vision shooting at you in earnest. Or a determined piranha family intent on giving you a radical body-sculpting procedure. I still got the thousand yard stare as if I were demented. I completed my analogy with the observation : “It was a war thing, ma’m. You probably wouldn’t understand.” I’ll grant we did agree on that much.
I could have shut up at that point and now, with the benefit of my years, I should have. My decision to make another analogy about how, when you’re getting bitten by Mr. Mosquito, you unconsciously just reach over and terminate him was poorly received. I think I blundered on about “You don’t much think about Mrs. Mosquito at home or how all his little mosquito kids are fatherless now. And it’s not like you have something against all mosquitoes in the whole f–king world or think Mr. Mosquito is racist.” I’m pretty sure I lost her at Mrs. Mosquito. Alcohol does that to you. The important thing is that I tried to reach out and share it with her. To this day, Cupcake continues to remind me that maybe I need to share fewer life experiences. I’d like to think I’m a work in progress.
Enjoy this if you were ever shot at or wounded. For some reason, it warms that little Darwinian evolution-part of your heart. It’s an ego builder as well. Thank your lucky stars you aren’t as stupid as Akmehd to monkey around with a loaded SMG. Either that, or Ed ‘n me are really depraved, ex-junkie Nam crazies and have sick, severely demented senses of humor. Pity us.
And that’s all I’m gonna say about that.
And the latest collection of FacePlace humor you have sent us: