User:Alzuun

Say I'm working at N.S.A. Somebody

puts a code on my desk, something nobody

else can break. So I take a shot at

it and maybe I break it. And I'm real

happy with myself, 'cause I did my job

well. But maybe that code was the

location of some rebel army in North

Africa or the Middle East. Once they

have that location, they bomb the

village where the rebels were hiding

and fifteen hundred people I never had

a problem with get killed.

Now the politicians are sayin' "send

in the Marines to secure the area"

'cause they don't give a crap. It

won't be their kid over there, gettin'

shot. Just like it wasn't them when

their number got called, 'cause they

were pullin' a tour in the National

Guard. It'll be some guy from Southie

takin' shrapnel in the buttocks. And he

comes home to find that the plant he

used to work at got exported to the

country he just got back from.

And the guy who put the shrapnel in

his buttocks got his old job, 'cause he'll

work for fifteen cents a day and no

bathroom breaks.

Meanwhile my buddy from Southie realizes

the only reason he was over there was

so we could install a government that

would sell us oil at a good price.

And of course the oil companies used

the skirmish to scare up oil prices so

they could turn a quick buck. A cute,

little ancillary benefit for them but

it ain't helping my buddy at two-fifty

a gallon. And naturally they're takin'

their sweet time bringin' the oil back

and maybe even took the liberty of

hiring an alcoholic skipper who likes

to drink seven and sevens and play

slalom with the icebergs and it ain't

too long 'til he hits one, spills the

oil, and kills all the sea-life in the

North Atlantic. So my buddy's out of

work and he can't afford to drive so

he's got to walk to the job interviews

which sucks 'cause the shrapnel in his

buttocks is givin' him chronic hemorrhoids.

And meanwhile he's starvin' 'cause every

time he tries to get a bite to eat the

only blue-plate special they're servin'

is North Atlantic scrod with Quaker State.

So what'd I think? I'm holdin' out

for somethin' better. I figure I'll

eliminate the middle man. Why not

just shoot my buddy, take his job and

give it to his sworn enemy, hike up

gas prices, bomb a village, club a

baby seal, hit the hash pipe and join

the National Guard? Heck, I could

be elected President.