The $33 Billion Defeat

Here's the deal, Dear Reader, God's submarine is running silent and deep. Apparently what I have documented I have documented and there's no need to document any more.

I have been asked to tell you the story of how I lost my battlefield cherry, not much of a story as war stories go but there's a reason behind the asking.

It was back in the days before I was blacklisted from journalism. I had plucked the plum so many journalists longed to take a bite out of, I was a combat correspondent in Vietnam; brand new, three days in country, still tasting the kisses of my girlfriend in Tokyo; and I was sitting on a paddy dike talking to a sergeant who was teaching me the ropes, when Pow Pow Pow three bullets hit the paddy dike right below my butt, one of God's Angels having put her finger on the barrel of the sniper's rifle, and lowered his aim.

So, naturally the sergeant and I hit the dirt behind the paddy dike, and as I lay there on my side curled up a with my right hand on my helmet waiting for whatever I was waiting for, the sergeant asked, "You ever been shot at before?"

"No," I said, "this is my first time."

Then the sergeant said, "Wait until it comes over in sheets."

And that's the reason I was asked to tell you this insignificant little war story, because it is about to come over in sheets for America.

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big (build) a new ane,
O' foggage (foggy) green!
An' bleak December's winds ensuin,
Baith (both) snell (biting) an' keen!
BAITH (BOTH) SNELL (BITING) AN' KEEN!