Seems like the shooting is gonna go on forever. I guess it’s not so bad being a pacifist, shooting people indiscriminately, since I’m not really aiming at any particular person. I’m just shooting down as we fly by.
I take a break as we past the hordes of troops and wait until we turn around. I daydream about the day selective service selected me. This was not a war of convienence, this was a war of necessity the newspapers said. “Report At Once” the draft notice said.
Pardon me, they’re not called “draft notices” any more, they are “Military Selections.”
“Military Select”…sounds like a soup.
I went in that afternoon.
I figured I smoked some dope the day before, they would give me a physical and say, “near-sighted, too-short, drug addicted, no-go.” But there I was being interviewed the same day, the think the physical was just a formality…they needed bodies with arms and fingers to pull triggers.
“Any reason why this man’s Army should not let you in…” The sergeant asked.
“I’m a drug addicted, homosexual, pacifist, with issues toward authority with the early symptoms of leukemia and ebola…sir!”
“As long as you don’t got flat feet.” Came the reply.
Another round toward the children below. I don’t know when we’re gonna run out of bullets but I think its soon.
COMING NEXT: One more round, or see you in St. Louie, Louie…