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User:Alzuun

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          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.