>>
|
No. 53119
Fuckshitville, July 15th, 1969.
I've been spending the last 2 months holed up in this stinkin' hotel room. My dreams are empty, endless plains of darkness, covering up more effectively than a metal safe, and I'm short on explosives. Every time I wake up, I expect to wake up back in the jungle, I'd wake up and there'd be nothing. Whenever I was here, All I could think of was getting home. When I was home, all I could think of was getting back into the jungle. Oh, those jungles. The leaves are white and wet, covered in some strange mixture of Soda and Semen. It gives me nausea just thinkin' about it.
Every minute I spend in this room, I get weaker. And every minute A-Log squats in the bushes, he gets stronger. I'm just sitting here, waiting for a mission.
Fuckshitville, July 16th, 1969.
I've gotten a new mission. Officers brought it up to me like Room Service. It was a real choice mission. And after this one, I'd never want another.
Last year, Colonel C. Chandler, a decorated army officer, went berserk and fleed into his home with a dozen natives, who worship him like a god. The officers told me that he had gone beyond any human logic and reasoning, and that his methods were unsound. My mission is to infiltrate his base, collect as much information as necessary, and terminate his command. With extreme prejudice. The people escorting me in the Son-Chu are mostly just kids, little spergs with one foot in the toilet cupboard, looking for beach and bath salts. There's Robert Stiles, called Mr. Robert Wayne Stiles by his buddies, if he has any. He was some maniac from Philly, who was drafted to this god-awful place, said it was good for him. Then there's Justin, although he calls himself JustinRPG, dunno why he does that. He's from some southern shithole in North Carolina or somewhere around those parts. Then there's this other guy called Andrew, but he absolutely hates that name. He insists that his name is some god-dang Jap name, "Ahuviya Rotem Harel". Another one from Philly, who is basically Robb, except that he's fat. And then there's Homor, who despite being a fuckin' failure in life, manages to be the most sane of the bunch. It may have been my mission, but it sure was his Son-Chu. I'll be leaving for the mission tomorrow, but I'll probably be spending the night reading the documents. Semper fi.
JUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUULLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYY.
|