OMGlit Spring, 2008

A rich white man wearing a thousand dollar suit with a two dollar flag pinned to its lapel paced back and forth on a hastily set-up stage. He spewed the words Islamofascism and terror and crusade from his fat red mouth. With tears running down his face, he spoke passionately about honor and duty and freedom while dreaming of no-bid contracts and strong whiskey and expensive hookers in Washington.

Johnny got his gun. The army gave him a uniform and a rifle with some bullets and shipped him off to a foreign land to fight for god and country. “Jesus Jesus Jesus,” he whimpered and curled into a ball that first night. The mud sucked the boots from his feet and he cried for his mom as the rain and heavy shells fell and the earth shook and his friends vanished into a pink mist.

It’s a postcard California day. High fluffy clouds float through a baby blue sky like giant cotton balls. A cool breeze blows over the Pacific, over the manicured garden, over the deep hole and through the small group. Eight men in dark blue uniforms and bleach-white gloves move like silent machines. Their leader takes the now folded flag. He executes a right face, marches crisply to the disheveled and weeping woman, bows low at the waist, and speaks softly, “On behalf of a grateful nation…”