(Special Preview: From the October 2004 American Spectator)
In a gallimaufry of puerile prose from his 1971 Band of Brothers, the Democratic Party's 2004 Vietnam Vet of the Year publishes sniveling sentiments and hairy-chested boasts that he apparently hoped time would erase:
I, I didn't care about anyone else. You know, I cared about myself and I, I got drafted into the army and it made quite a big change because I was waving flags all the time that I was on my train, you know, down to South Carolina where I got my murder training. And I ... okay, I went in there and my complete moral worth was completely destroyed. I mean I was a worthless human being. The worst thing that you can be in the military is to be called a civilian. And so they had to completely re-socialize us, which they were very effective at doing. I didn't agree with everything, but I went along with it. Then I was sent on to advanced genocide training down at Fort Polk, Louisiana. And this is where I got, you know, this is where I started to hate, hate anything that wasn't exactly like me. Anything that wasn't a fighting machine. Gooks.
I learned at Parris Island that terror works. It's a very effective means of control. I mean me, a Georgetown Foreign Service School man, a former congressman's aide! The drill instructor would go on: "All right, Professor. Come out here in front of? your buddies. Now since you know it all, show us how to disassemble this." And he'd throw me a pistol. I'd never seen a pistol before and I'd make a mistake. Five hundred push-ups. The DI would explain, "See, your college education don't mean a thing."
This sergeant used to be the biggest pig in the world and he just used to take everything -- first man to be on the chow line; first man to grab the best C-rations and leave us with the ham and lima beans, which we used to call ham and shit and so for this reason and for driving us to the point of not knowing where your mind is -- not knowing where the hell to go or what to do -- we just hated that guy and we wanted to see him go. As far as the bounty is concerned, the first man with a witness in a fire fight, who blew his ass away with a round across his eyeballs would get a $1000. And we had a pool going within the platoon. This was around Quang Tri Area and I personally offered $25 for his head.
I'd say that the government, and a lot of the people who sort of run this nation, have been telling a lot of GIs that the biggest detriment to our morale has been the long-haired, protesting, pinko sympathizer type, but think the biggest lift for my morale came when I was lying in Okinawa in the hospital there and a girl wrote me about a place called Woodstock, where 500,000 people had come together and it was so beautiful. It was the first time I smiled in a long time.
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