I’ll Back Out Of My Parking Space As Slow As I Goddamn Please
By Delbert Gantsy III, a Korean War Veteran
Now listen up, you bunch of shit-flinging monkeys. I am tired of hearing caterwauling about how slowly I back out of my space at the Post Exchange. I’m not about to claim that it isn’t true. What I am saying is this: I earned the right to back out in the manner and speed of my choosing, and to do so without hearing a bunch of unblooded virgins mewl about it.
You’re, what, in your twenties? You know what I was doing when I was your age? I was sucking muddy ice off the lip of my foxhole on Hill 264 because I’d run out of water the morning before, and had already drank all my dead buddies’ canteens dry. My commander and platoon leader were both dead, my platoon sergeant had been put on an ambulance with half his leg and ass blown off, and they had made my buddy Joe the acting company commander.
The Topkick was nowhere to be seen, and two days later, after the Big Red One relieved us, we found his body with fourteen slugs and a bayonet in him, his …
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