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Assraelis: Israeli Erotica

March 1, 2007, 12:00am

I'm a big fan of war. What can I say? I'm an asshole. I'm not so big on all the blood and guts and our boys dying over there but I do enjoy the comedic aspect of saying, "We're at war!" or better yet, "This means war!" More than that I like to lie about war. That's a lie. I like to lie about everything when it results in laughs but war-lies have an especially big place in my heart. My go-to is telling people that my father was killed in the bombing of Pearl Harbor to test their math and knowledge of history. Generally people are very stupid and offer me their condolences and say what a terrible war that was. And they're right—the Big One, WWII, was an awful tragedy and yet it's my favorite war of all time. I guess if you have to love just one war you might as well make it the biggest and baddest one ever. When it comes to lies of personal experience though, I tend to lean toward Vietnam. Because of the hit television show M*A*S*H I'm certainly more knowledgeable about the Korean War, but "Vietnam" is a funnier sounding word and it makes me happy every time I yell it. A buddy of mine is a Vietnamese pro skater and years back I changed his name to "VIETNAM!" and have not uttered his real name since. When people are rude to me and my wife turns and says, "What a bitch. I can't believe how she just treated you," I say, "Baby, that's nothing compared to the way our country turned its back on me after spending 16 months in a Korean prison camp in Vietnam. Or how they discarded every one of our boys that came home in a body bag." She generally just ignores me. My lie for whiners who piss and moan in my ear about having a rough day at work or not being able to smoke in bars anymore is "You want troubles? Try being pinned down in the bush for 72 hours by Charlie. They were everywhere: The trees, the grass—Christ! It felt like they had wings and were up in the sky above us. We couldn't fart or shit, we had nothing to eat but dirt and we fucking liked it. I remember Bobbo couldn't take the pressure and lit a cigarette. Charlie zoomed in on the cherry of his smoke and took his whole head off. ONE OF HIS EARS LANDED IN MY MOUTH! We had his brains all over us until they sent in the cavalry to save our asses. So I don't want to hear shit about you having to stand up and go outside to enjoy the freedom that I won for you. YOU WEREN'T THERE!" Recently, I was contacted by a sergeant in our brave army who is stationed over in Iraq. He said that my writing made him and his troops laugh—that for a brief stint on the toilet they forgot about where they were. It made me feel good. I felt as if in some small, insignificant way I was doing my part against the War on Terror. Then I took it a step further and responded, "Sergeant, thank you for your kind words. If it's OK with you, I'm going to go ahead and lie to people, since my words are doing their duty in Iraq, and say that I too am currently serving in Iraq (by proxy). If you wouldn't mind emailing me from time to time to let me know how I am doing over there and how many confirmed kills I've got I'd appreciate that." That was two months ago—I've yet to hear back from him. I hope we didn't die over there. I've got a wife back home...

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