From: Scott Abraham
Subject: Nam on my mind
Date: 1999/05/02
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All of this bull**** about The Land of Bad Things is causing the
residual Agent Orange (and a ****load of Hanoi Gold I smoked, along
with the acid) to induce flashbacks.
I havn't been sleeping well. I keep having nightmares, tossing and
turning, my body soaked in fear sweat.
I'm back in that hot and stinky place, stuck on that bare hilltop, the
rain cutting visibility down to a hundred yards, the mud a thing that
seems to have a will of its own.
The stink of cordite fills my nostrils. The gorge rises in my throat,
tasting of another of those scrufulous barbecue pork c-rats.
I'm down to my last mag. Everyone else is dead, their bodies propped
in the eerie positions they found as they fell.
I could swear they are praying.
Charlie is out there behind the wire, massing for the final charge
that will overrun my shallow hole in the ground.
I can hear them moving, and they start to chant:

Ho, Ho, K2 Ho
Ho, Ho, Olin Ho

I peer over the sandbags, and see them charge. They can't walk
through the mud, so they have planks on their feet covered with skins,
sticks in their hands, dressed from head to foot in black Patagucci.
They reek of patchouli oil.
I scream, "Come and get it, you pinna slopes!"
I fire until the barrel glows cherry red, and never run out of rounds.

They all fall down, but then get up and keep coming. They get closer,
and I can see the duct tape hanging in shreds from their garments.
Two are carrying the oddest thing. It looks like a park bench, and
taped to the bench is the ELB, naked, moaning "Suckee, ****ee, seven
and three".
I know what will happen if they capture me. I pull my Randall, grab
the Pride, and scream "You'll never take me alive, coppers"
Then I wake up, shivering in mortal terror.


Two Buddha, War Hero

Vail: Sweet dreams



What shame you bring to your family Scott