Quagmire In Iraq

Although the two retired Colonels are in their early 70’s, they are
still spry enough to fight for America if called. On a special mission
to find WMD, the two Colonels now serve as war correspondents for
RepublicanPress.com


Quagmire In Iraq
by: Colonel Morton T. Morton, US Army (ret), RepublicanPress.com War
Correspondant


I awoke from my slumber and rubbed my eyes to remove the sand, sleep and
other shit that had gathered during the sandstorm during the night. I
looked over at my partner, my friend, my war buddy, and Army brother
Colonel Michael Pooner Dawgivich. He too was waking to the hot morning
of this ancient country. We are just two old warhorses here on the
ground in Iraq. We are Republican warriors of honor, valor, and
integrity. We are compassionate conservatives and we are here in Iraq
to show these camel-jockey-towel-heads the meaning of morals and family
values.

I gathered my thoughts together and slowly rose out of my sleeping bag.
I yawned twice, and with my arms raised above my head I stretched, and
during the act of muscle tension--I farted three times. I walked slowly
outside our little nylon pup tent to look for a place in the sand to
relieve my bowels. I undid my trousers and dropped them and my
Army-issued boxers down around my ankles. I squatted and prepared for my
early morning poop in the sand.

As I squatted and strained, I could hear Colonel Pooner as he prepared
our morning breakfast. My mind flashed back to all of the wars that
Colonel Pooner and I have fought in. My mind raced with images of
yesterday's wars. My mind flashed through those images as fast as a
moonshiner's car going down a dirt road. Images of people and blood,
villages burning, explosions, babies crying, women screaming, pigs being
raped, etc. I could feel each battle as it flashed through my mind. I
could hear the report of each rifle from the past. I could smell the
black powder of yesterday's battles, and I could smell the poop of today
as it began its trek onto the dusty sand.

My nose was also treated to the aroma of camel tits frying in an iron
skillet. My nose was tempted with aroma of buzzard eggs as they sizzled
along side of the frying camel tits. My nose then got a whif of the
poop package that rolled from my buttocks, and the aroma of all three
made me hungry. I hurried my pooping process and grabbed a nearby weed
and I wiped my buttocks of all the excess fecal matter.

I returned to the front of our nylon pup tent just in time for
breakfast. Colonel Pooner looked at me as he handed me my plate and
said, "Morty those damned democrats are at it again. They're saying
that this Iraq thing is becoming a quagmire. A quagmire like Vietnam was
a quagmire. A quagmire like the one we suffered in that Asian land when
we were young and full of piss and vinegar." I listened to my friend's
repose of words, as I wolfed down the buzzard eggs and camel tits. I
looked up at my friend and said, "Pooner you are right. This war is
nothing like Vietnam. Sure, maybe we're fighting an enemy we can't see.
Maybe we don't really know what we're fighting for, but this is nothing
like Vietnam."

After we had eaten, Colonel Pooner and I smoked 2 joints while we
listened to "White Rabbit" by Jefferson Airplane, and "Fortunate Son" by
Credence Clearwater Revival. This war is nothing like Vietnam, I
thought as I took a toke off the joint. How can these democrats say
this war is like Vietnam? After we finished our joint, we drove our
little Jeep over to the Basra whore house. "Let's go if see if we can
find a few sweet little momma-sans Mortie, and show them the meaning of
conservative values." Colonel Pooner said to me. Colonel Pooner and I
were serviced and given a bath by one of the Iraqi working girls.

After doing our patriotic duty at the Basra Whorehouse, we drove over to
the Basra Holiday Inn for a meeting with the Arab leaders of the town of
Basra. Colonel Pooner and I were to instruct these local rag heads in
the art of building a better city and country.

"We want you camel jockies to have a country we can all be proud of. We
want you to be the kind of people that we can show to the world. You
must know that shooting at us is not the answer. Hell, we have freed
you sand hoppers from a terrible dictator and now you must do as we say.
Paul Bremer is a good man, or as you say in your land, He number one
and Saddam is number 10. I know that you rag heads want to help us find
Saddam. He is 'boo coo bad!' You people help us and we will will bring
number one jobs over here. One more thing, stop this quagmire talk to
the American press." I said to all of the four hundred rag heads
gathered there in that convention hall. As I took my seat I heard a few
of the rag heads applaud.

Colonel Pooner then stood up and said to all, "Rag heads, dot heads,
camel jockeys, sand hoopers, and shakey shieks, I want you to know that
America, 'big A', is here to help you and your mamma sans. We come in
peace and we would like to get a piece. America number one! G.I. Joe
number one. Paul Bremer number one. George W. Bush number one. Oil
number one. Saddam number ten! Saddam boo coo number ten! No more
quagmire talk, or we will have to burn the village to save it! America
free. Iraq on the way to being free! Go back to work and make America
happy! Go back home and make more little rag heads and dot heads! Lets
all try and get along and no more shooting at G.I. Joe. You be good Arab
and do like G.I. Joe says and Uncle Sam bring boo coo jobs to you."
Colonel Pooner finished and a few applauded.

Colonel Pooner and I headed out of the Basra Holiday Inn feeling like we
really had gotten through to these Iraqis. Colonel Pooner looked at me
and said, "Morty, this ain't no quagmire. The liberal press in America
wants this to be like Vietnam but it ain't." I looked at him and said,
"Ain't no way this is a quagmire. Ain't no way this is like Vietnam, you
and I were in Vietnam and we should know!" I had just finished saying
those words when a rocket propelled grenade(RPG) came flying in from
somewhere. The RPG missed us but blew our little Jeep to smithereens.
"Damn, Charlie blew up our jeep!" I yelled as I watched our jeep burn.
"Don't worry Mortie, I've got a few surprises for these sand gooks,"
Colonel Pooner said as he rolled another joint.