User:Alzuun

          Say I'm working at N.S.A. Somebody

          puts a code on my desk, something nobody

          else can break. So I take a shot at

          it and maybe I break it. And I'm real

          happy with myself, 'cause I did my job

          well. But maybe that code was the

          location of some rebel army in North

          Africa or the Middle East. Once they

          have that location, they bomb the

          village where the rebels were hiding

          and fifteen hundred people I never had

          a problem with get killed.

          Now the politicians are sayin' "send

          in the Marines to secure the area"

          'cause they don't give a crap. It

          won't be their kid over there, gettin'

          shot. Just like it wasn't them when

          their number got called, 'cause they

          were pullin' a tour in the National

          Guard. It'll be some guy from Southie

          takin' shrapnel in the buttocks. And he

          comes home to find that the plant he

          used to work at got exported to the

          country he just got back from.

          And the guy who put the shrapnel in

          his buttocks got his old job, 'cause he'll

          work for fifteen cents a day and no

          bathroom breaks.

          Meanwhile my buddy from Southie realizes

          the only reason he was over there was

          so we could install a government that

          would sell us oil at a good price.

          And of course the oil companies used

          the skirmish to scare up oil prices so

          they could turn a quick buck. A cute,

          little ancillary benefit for them but

          it ain't helping my buddy at two-fifty

          a gallon. And naturally they're takin'

          their sweet time bringin' the oil back

          and maybe even took the liberty of

          hiring an alcoholic skipper who likes

          to drink seven and sevens and play

          slalom with the icebergs and it ain't

          too long 'til he hits one, spills the

          oil, and kills all the sea-life in the

          North Atlantic. So my buddy's out of

          work and he can't afford to drive so

          he's got to walk to the job interviews

          which sucks 'cause the shrapnel in his

          buttocks is givin' him chronic hemorrhoids.

          And meanwhile he's starvin' 'cause every

          time he tries to get a bite to eat the

          only blue-plate special they're servin'

          is North Atlantic scrod with Quaker State.

          So what'd I think? I'm holdin' out

          for somethin' better. I figure I'll

          eliminate the middle man. Why not

          just shoot my buddy, take his job and

          give it to his sworn enemy, hike up

          gas prices, bomb a village, club a

          baby seal, hit the hash pipe and join

          the National Guard? Heck, I could

          be elected President.