Lost Time Incident

June 02, 2003

Rally Round

Boys, boys, boys. When we all decided this was going to be the flag for this company, I thought we agreed we were going to take care of it. We were going to keep its colors bright. We were going to accept no other flag before it. It was to be a shining, textile beacon to the world to inform that world that we are united, heavily armed, and not to be messed with because we are like brothers.

You are all my brothers.

And that's why I'm disappointed in you. I'm as disappointed in you as I was in my father when he promised to buy me a stroke mag at the liquor store and instead spent the money I gave him on more liquor and with the change he bought gasoline and moved to another city. Leaving me and my sister and my mother to fend for ourselves.

That first winter, my mother and I, in a moment of weakness, almost cooked and ate my sister. Things got bad in that family. And that's why this family means so much to me! I thought you all understood that. When we picked this flag.

Gentlemen . . . I hesitate now to call you my brothers because I'm not sure if the blood we all shared that second week of boot camp when we cut the fat of our palms and all shook hands, crying with rich emotion, blending our very DNA to prove our friendship, even with that whiny cunt Sweetchuck who cried when we had bayonet training-- I'm not sure that meant as much to all of you as it did to me.

Because otherwise, explain to me how this could happen!

Let's go back a ways . . . we came out to these woods to take part in war games. Company F, the Fighting Avians, were to square off against us and Central Command would reward the company that came out ahead with a new mop for the communal latrine. Also with some leave time, but the mop's the true prize, gentlemen. Time with your family is time you'll never get back but a clean latrine is forever.

Well, not forever. Until the next guy shits in it, but the principles behind a clean latrine cannot be argued with. You can argue until you're blue in the--

God damn it, boys, listen to me! We came out here for war games and some of you boys accidentally killed one of the Fighting Avians. That's a problem, I'll admit, but it's not one that we can't overcome together. There's the potential for embarrassment, for punitive measures against our company, and these are the circumstance that should teach us to come together and come up with a plan.

What we should not have done is just wrap the dead Avian in OUR FLAG and try and pass him off as a piece of luggage. That's not and never should have been part of our plan. It wasn't planned! You just did it and now our precious flag has been leaked through!

In that means that our very souls, the souls of everyone in this company, has been leaked through. Do you feel that? Do you feel, right there in your heart, that moist feeling of . . . that moist feeling?

I feel it, boys, and let me tell you-- I wish I didn't. It is not pleasant.

So here's what we're going to do. Doc-- Middles-- the two of you go suck some gasoline out of Central Command's jeep. Just a little bit, enough to destroy facial features and fingerprints. Hollyhock, you use your Swiss Army knife to get the teeth. Dental records aren't going to nail us, brothers.

We're family and we're going to get through this. Any other Avians wander by-- you have them come talk to me.

We'll get this whole thing sorted.

Posted by Michael at June 02, 2003 09:34 PM