Bling-Bling! I Got My P.O.W. Medal, Bitches!


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By Sgt. Bowe Bergdahl, U.S. Army

[Translated from Pashto. -ed]

Oh hey guys, I’ve got a riddle for you: Who’s got two thumbs and is the greatest American ever? Yeah, this guy! Sergeant, soon to be Staff Sergeant, Bowe Bergdahl, America’s latest hero! Fresh off from my all-expenses paid five-year vacation in Pakistan, all set to come home, snap some necks and cash some checks.

But before I get my mandatory photo op at the White House — WITH THE PRESIDENT! — I just wanted to set the record straight and talk to some of the haters out there. Because apparently you can’t even walk off post in the middle of the goddamned night without someone using loaded words like “AWOL” or “desertion” or “treason,” or some shit.

So here’s the truth: I didn’t desert. I just really wanted that Prisoner of War Medal.

OK, I know what you’re thinking: “Bowe, what in the hell are you talking about?” Well check it out: it’s not like the Medal of Honor; they don’t just give them away. Do you have any idea how hard it is to be captured by the enemy these days? It ain’t like just jumping on a grenade. You’re talking weeks of planning, studying the area, learning useful phrases like “I surrender.” I mean if it were easy everyone would do it.

Five years, in a room on some Pakistani army base, with an X-Box and cable TV. Shit, I’d be doing that in garrison anyways. And now I’m making the big bucks off that.

How big? Try 100 GRAND! That’s right. FIVE FREAKIN’ YEARS of back pay. Should I get a Nissan Z or a Harley Street 750? Fuck it, I’ll get both! I’m rolling in the dough now, and that’s before I get my book deal and Hollywood movie with a major studio. I hear they’re already lining up Matthew McConaughey to play yours truly? How awesome is that!

Now I’m gonna be walking around base wearing my awesome stack when some hot-ass female comes up and is like, “What the heck is that one?” and I’ll be like, “Oh, nothing… just my FREAKING P.O.W. RIBBON. Yeah, they traded five Taliban commanders to get me back, so I’m kind of a big deal.”

The next sound you hear will be those panties dropping faster than I dropped my rifle.

Don’t forget the free language lessons either: now I’m fluent in Pashto AND Dari. All those Fortune 500 companies that want to invest in Pakistan and Afghanistan: they’re gonna be lining up to hire me. I mean, the day I hit the job market I’ll be worth more than Mark Zuckerberg.

Or maybe I’ll give my new best buddy John McCain a call, have him hook me up with some political office or some shit. And anytime anyone asks me anything, I’ll be like, “I don’t know, cause I was a P.O.W.”

Well, gotta go. I hear the Pentagon is flying me out to Vegas for a weekend at the Bunny Ranch for *reintegration* training, since apparently I “don’t know what a woman looks like anymore.” Ha! As soon as I hit the ground there, I’m making a big ol’ Bowe sex sandwich, with some extra UH-UHHHHHHH — if you know what I mean.

And I earned it.

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