letter from camp x-ray

[Sweet]

to the moderators - if this is distasteful to you, please delete....

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From: Camp X-Ray, Guantanamo

Dear Mom,

What can I say? War is hell, but Guantanamo is fabulous. Temps are
hovering in the low 70s, finally got rid of that rat's nest the Talibans
called a beard, and am eating better than we ever did at Osama's. I've
already put on 10 pounds.

When I get out of here, I'll bring you a box of Fruit Loops. When do I
get out of here -- now there's the question of the millennium. But, hey,
who's in a hurry? Like I said, they feed us, let us shower, pray, write
home. They even gave us a mattress, prayer mats and a copy of the Koran.
What a bunch of twits.

Speaking of which, have you been following the news about our
maltreatment here? It's a hoot. Amnesty International and a bunch of
other bleeding-heart organizations have been giving the Americans hell
for being "hard on us." They said that shaving our heads and beards was
a human-rights violation because it humiliated us. I'm telling you, who
needs Comedy Central? Me? I'm just happy to be rid of the lice, but
don't tell anybody. Ha, ha.

Our self-anointed protectors also say that making us live in these
open-air pens is cruel. Obviously, they've never lived in a cave. We've
got a roof - remember those? - and plenty of shade. The soldiers
watching over us are sweating like pigs in their tents while their guys
still in Afghanistan would probably trade their baby sisters for a
weekend in my "cell."

Anyway, all us guys are loving the attention, as well as the
distraction. We're just waiting for the right moment when we can get
back to business. All that training wasn't for nothing. One chance,
that's all I need, and a Marine's aortic valve will be my breakfast. I
hope it's a woman. Nah, just kidding, Ma. The sexes here are totally
equal, and women act and talk just like men. If they were our women
living under our laws, we'd have to shoot every last one of them. But so
typical of these Western psychos. Americans don't realize that they're
their own worst enemies.

They're so consumed with doing the right thing, with being sensitive
(even soldiers have gender-sensitivity training, for Allah's sake) and
not hurting anybody's feelings, that they're practically rocking us to
sleep at night.

Hey, tell Amnesty International I need cable! And while they're at it, I
could use some Dasani water. This local stuff is a tad cloudy.

As far as I can tell, the only American with any spine or sense is that
dude Rumsfeld. Of course, he was a soldier before John Gray started
carrying on about Mars and Venus. Are Americans stupid or what? They
believe that men are from Mars and women are from Venus. Yeah, right.

Anyway, Rumsfeld understands that we would disembowel any American
without hesitation or regret. He seems to get it - that our whole
purpose in life is to destroy America. We don't hate freedom, Mr.
Prezzie Bush; we just hate you and all your stinking ilk. That goes for
all you hyphenated-Americans, too.

Think hard. We shoot our own mothers for stepping outside their houses
without our permission, and you think we'd hesitate to rip out a
soldier's jugular when he bends down to make sure our handcuffs aren't
bruising our little wristy-poos? You gotta love 'em, Ma. We've used
their naivete against them before; we'll do it again and die happy.

Well, I better go now. They just called us to prayer (die laughing
here), and I'm hoping for a quick nap before dinner. Ciao for now.

Love,

Muhammad Mohammed Achmeed.

[Jonty]

Yeah that's funny, but sad because I can well believe the do-gooders acting like that too.

Here's something I found:

Message from a Recon Marine in Afghanistan
Published: November 11, 2001
Author: Saucy Jack

The following was read on the Sully and Scooter (Radio KOGO in San Diego) Show
Saturday, November 17th.

Just outside of Ab Gach, in the northwest panhandle of Afghanistan between Tajikstan and Pakistan.

November 11, 2001

Bizarre,

It's (expletive) freezing here. I'm sitting on hard, cold dirt between rocks and shrubs at the base of the Hindu Kush mountains along the Dar'yoi Pomir River watching a hole that leads to a tunnel that leads to a cave.

Stake out, my friend, and no pizza delivery for thousands of miles. I also glance at the area around my ass every ten to fifteen seconds to avoid another scorpion sting. I've actually given up battling the chiggers and sand fleas, but them (expletive) scorpions give a jolt like a cattle prod. Hurts like a (expletive). The antidote tastes like transmission fluid but God bless the Marine Corps for the five vials of it in my pack.

The one truth the Taliban cannot escape is that, believe it or not, they are human beings, which means they have to eat food and drink water. That requires couriers and that's where an old bounty hunter like me comes in handy. I track the couriers, locate the tunnel entrances and storage facilities, type the info into the handheld, shoot the coordinates up to the satellite link that tells the air commanders where to drop the hardware, we bash some heads for a while, then I track and record the new movement.

It's all about intelligence. We haven't even brought in the snipers yet. These scurrying rats have no idea what they're in for. We are but days away from cutting off supply lines and allowing the eradication to begin. I dream of bin Laden waking up to find me standing over him with my boot on his throat as I spit a bloody ear into his face and plunge my nickel plated Bowie knife through his frontal lobe.

But you know me. I'm a romantic. I've said it before and Ill say it again: This country blows, man. It's not even a country. There are no roads, there's no infrastructure, there's no government. This is an inhospitable, rockpit (expletive) ruled by eleventh century warring tribes. There are no jobs here like we know jobs.

Afghanistan offers two ways for a man to support his family: join the opium trade or join the army. That's it. Those are your options. Oh, I forgot, you can also live in a refugee camp and eat plum-sweetened, crushed beetle paste and squirt mud like a goose with stomach flu if that's your idea of a party. But the smell alone of those "tent cities of the walking dead" is enough to hurl you into the poppy fields to cheerfully scrape bulbs for eighteen hours a day.

And let me tell you something else. I've been living with these Tajiks and Uzbeks and Turkmen and even a couple of Pushtins for over a month and a half now and this much I can say for sure: These guys, all of em, are Huns. Actual, living Huns. They LIVE to fight. Its what they do. Its ALL they do. They have no respect for anything, not for their families or for each other or for themselves. They claw at one another as a way of life.

They play polo with dead calves and force their five-year-old sons into human cockfights to defend the family honor. Huns, roaming packs of savage, heartless beasts who feed on each other's barbarism. (Expletive) cavemen with AK 47's.

Then again, maybe I'm just cranky. I'm freezing my (expletive) off on this stupid (expletive) hill because my lap warmer is running out of juice and I can't recharge it until the sun comes up in a few hours. Oh yeah! You like to write letters, right? Do me a favor, Bizarre. Write a letter to CNN and tell Judy and Bernie and that awful, sneering, pompous Aaron Brown to stop calling the Taliban "smart." They are not smart. I suggest CNN invest in a dictionary because the word they are looking for is "cunning." The Taliban are cunning, like jackals and hyenas and wolverines. They are sneaky and ruthless and,
when confronted, cowardly. They are hateful, malevolent parasites who create nothing and destroy everything else.

Smart. Pfft.

Yeah, they're real smart. They've spent their entire lives reading only one book (and not a very good one, as books go) and consider hygiene and indoor plumbing to be products of the devil. They're still figuring out how to work a Bic lighter. Talking to a Taliban warrior about improving his quality of life is like trying to teach an ape how to hold a pen; eventually he just gets frustrated and sticks you in the eye with it. OK, enough.

Snuffle will be up soon so I have to get back to my hole. Covering my tracks in the snow takes a lot of practice but I'm getting good at it. Please tell my fellow Americans to turn off their TV sets and move on with their lives. The story line you are getting from CNN is utter (expletive) and designed not to deliver truth but rather to keep you glued to the screen through the commercials. We've got this one under control. The worst thing you guys can do right now is sit around analyzing what we're doing over here because you have no idea what we're doing and, really, you don't want to know. We are your
military and we are doing what you sent us here to do. You wanna help? Buy some (expletive) stocks, America.

Saucy Jack