Eric in the Army

If I were going to be in the Army, I’d appreciate an assignment like go watch this hill or stay still and don’t get noticed.  If I had a job to go clear out an enemy building or win a war, I wouldn’t probably get much done.  For the fear, you know?  The fear?  No?

Knowing me, the most likely job I’d have would be to either talk on the radio all day about coordinates and minutes and clicks and things or have to break people’s noses.  “You!  Go break this guy’s nose like we made you do before!”  My nickname would either be Jean Claude Van Radio or Ricky the Nose.  At some point I’d be asked to break a guy’s nose and then break the guy’s nose again.  It wouldn’t work unless there was about six months in between.  Nobody would understand.  I might be sent away.

I’d take pleasure in having my picture taken.  I’d wear my uniform and pose with a gun in front of flags.  I’d smoke cigarettes and drink whiskey from a heavy glass and think about all the latitude and longitude that could have been different.  All the cartilage.  All the muck.  All the grassland.