Neither Here Nor There: Draft volunteers

The Plainview Daily Herald ^ | Nov 5 2001 | NICKI BRUCE LOGAN

[CommiesOut]

Neither Here Nor There: Draft volunteers

by NICKI BRUCE LOGAN

Herald Lifestyles Editor

From The Plainview Daily Herald

Draft volunteers

It took a few weeks, but we´re laughing again, mostly at ourselves. I guess you can call it war humor, but these two letters I received did get me laughing, the first step in the healing and coping process. The first is from a female friend who lives in West Virginia, and, I might add that she is the first of many women who sent it to me showing that by the time we hit middle age, we are definitely thinking alike, and the second from a male friend, who also is middle aged. Both make sense to me.

Dear 43 (President George W. Bush):

I have a suggestion for the war effort. Take all American women who are within five years of menopause - train us for a few weeks, outfit us with automatic weapons, grenades, gas masks, moisturizer with SPF15, Prozac, hormones, chocolate, and canned tuna - drop us (parachuted, preferably) across the landscape of Afghanistan, and let us do what comes naturally.

Think about it. Our anger quotient alone, even when doing standard stuff like grocery shopping and paying bills, is formidable enough to make even armed men in turbans tremble.

We´ve had our children, we would gladly suffer or die to protect them and their future. We´d like to get away from our husbands, if they haven´t left already. And for those of us who are single, the prospect of finding a good man with whom to share life is about as likely as being struck by lightning.

We have nothing to lose.

We´ve survived the water diet, the protein diet, the carbohydrate diet, and the grapefruit diet in gyms and saunas across America and never lost a pound. We can easily survive months in the hostile terrain of Afghanistan with no food at all!

We´ve spent years tracking down our husbands or lovers in bars, hardware stores, or sporting events . . . finding bin Laden in some cave will be no problem.

Uniting all the warring tribes of Afghanistan in a new government? Oh, please . . . we´ve planned the seating arrangements for in-laws and extended families at Thanksgiving dinners for years . . . we understand tribal warfare.

Between us, we´ve divorced enough husbands to have learned every trick they could devise for hiding, laundering or covering up bank accounts and money sources. We know how to find that money and we know how to seize it . . . with or without the government´s help!

Let us go and fight. The Taliban hates women. Imagine their terror as we crawl like ants with hot-flashes over their godforsaken terrain.

I´ll be waiting to hear from you, Mr. President.

And from a friend with a grown son:

A couple of weeks ago I indicated that if I could, I´d enlist today and help my country track down those responsible for killing thousands of innocent people in New York City and Washington, D.C. But I´m 50 now and the Armed Forces say I´m too old to track down terrorists.

You can´t be older than 35 to join the Army. They´ve got the whole thing backwards. Instead of sending 18-year-olds off to fight, they ought to take us old guys. You shouldn´t be able to join until you´re at least 35.

For starters:

Researchers say 18-year-olds think about sex every 10 seconds. Old guys only think about sex every 15 seconds, leaving us more than 28,000 additional seconds per day to concentrate on the enemy.

Young guys haven´t lived long enough to be cranky and a cranky soldier is a dangerous soldier. If we can´t kill the enemy we´ll complain them into submission. "My back hurts!" "I´m hungry!" "Where´s the remote control?"

An 18-year-old hasn´t had a legal beer yet and you shouldn´t go to war until you´re at least old enough to legally drink. An average old guy, on the other hand, has consumed 126,000 gallons of beer by the time he´s 35 and a jaunt through the desert heat with a backpack and M-60 would do wonders for the beer belly.

An 18-year-old doesn´t like to get up before 10 a.m. Old guys get up early just to show we can (and to steal the neighbor´s newspaper).

If old guys were captured we couldn´t spill the beans because we´d probably forget where we put them. In fact, name, rank and serial number would be a real brain teaser.

If it wasn´t for the age barrier, I´d pretty much get into the Army without a hitch. According to the Army Internet site, I´d need to pass an entrance exam (officially called an ASVAB), but the sample questions I saw weren´t exactly headache material. For example:

A magnet will attract:

a) water; b) a flower; c) a cloth rag; d) a nail

I took a wild stab and guessed, "nail," knowing they´d probably stick me in some desk job with Army Intelligence after boot camp.

If 12 workers are needed to run 4 machines, how many workers are needed to run 20 machines?

a) 16; b) 18; c) 3; d) 60

Let´s see . . .three workers per machine times 20 machines . . . e-r-r-r...h-m-m-m . . .u-h-h-h . . .60?

Finally, they wanted to know if I had command of the English language, just in case I had to describe an enemy camp from memory. Small most nearly means:

a) Sturdy; b) Round; c) Cheap; d) Little

I knew this cheap, little, round, sturdy guy once, but I wrote down “little.”

Now you know where the first questions come from for the “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire” game show.

Boot camp would actually be easier for old guys. We´re used to getting screamed and yelled at and we actually like soft food. We´ve also developed a deep appreciation for guns and rifles. We like them almost better than naps. The Army could lighten up on the obstacle course, however.

I´ve been to the desert and didn´t see a single 20-foot wall with rope hanging over the side. I can hear the Drill Sergeant now.

“Get down and give me . . . er . . . one!”

And the running part is kind of a waste of energy. I´ve never seen anyone outrun a bullet. I´m reminded of the story of the young bull and the old bull standing on a hill looking down on the cows. “Let´s run down there and make love to one of those cows,” says the young bull.

“How about we WALK down there and make love to ALL those cows,” replies the old bull.

Patience is something most 18-year-olds simply do not have. For good reason, an 18-year-old has the whole world ahead of him. He´s still learning to shave, to actually carry on a conversation, to wear pants without the top of the boxer shorts sticking out, to learn that a pierced tongue catches food particles, and that a 200-watt speaker in the back seat of a Honda Accord can rupture an eardrum.

All are great reasons to keep our sons at home to learn a little more about life before sending them off to a possible death. Let us old guys track down those dirty, rotten cowards who attacked our hearts nine-eleven.

The last thing they´d want to see right now is a couple of million old guys with attitude.

What do you think? A combination of middle-aged women with hot flashes and old guys with attitude should make any sane person surrender in a New York minute.

Of course, no one ever said a terrorist was sane.

[CommiesOut]

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[Free the USA]

bump

[Carry_Okie]

OK, an Army of old men, and another of post-menopausal women...

Talk about "Divisions"!

[Ole Okie]

Some time ago, Rush proposed the establishment of a Women's Division led by Sargeant Molly Yard.

It is considered a truism that if a group of women are together for a length of time, their menstrual cycles tend to synchronize (I sure as heck can't vouch for this.)

Rush proposed that attacks by the Women's Divison be timed so that ALL THE ATTACKERS WOULD HAVE SYNCHRONIZED PMS.

No enemy would survive.

[jmp702]

Funny stuff. bttt

[struwwelpeter]

I'm too fat and slow to heft that ruck anymore, but I'll sit around the tent playing my harmonica if they'll take me.