Political Humor | Wars: Dirty Little Secrets, A 3 Act Play

In honor of Memorial Day, we bring you this conservative politics series by our token veteran, Les James. It’s a 3 part series that will run Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Thanks to all veterans for their service.

Act 1: The Formative Years

School Daze

For me, it all started early in life with the Trilateral Commission, Viet Nam, the U.N. and Commies.

Fear of vast shadow government conspiracies and nightly news body counts, coupled with duck and cover drills -which meant crawling under our desks in case of a Russian nuclear attack- filled my elementary school brain with thoughts of certain death, one world governments or having to wear Chairman Mao’s trendy Red Star fashions.

Growing up in Southern California, we also had earthquakes to contend with. Row upon row of un-tempered school glass, letting the sunlight into those halls of learning, were just biding their time. Patiently waiting to rain down their machete-like shards. Transforming the classroom into an abattoir (pardon my French), a slaughterhouse for our tender flesh. Again, their answer was to dive under our desks.

I’m not sure how long I could’ve held my breath, under that desk, as California slid into the Pacific Ocean.

Can you even imagine what a school desk would look like today that was government approved for flying glass, submarine operations and radioactive fallout? Forget about those $2000 toilet seats and $500 hammers.

I wonder if Gov. Schwarzenegger (R?) CA. is even aware of this potential disaster. One well place phone call and we could financially finish off the state. You know they’d have to fund it. It’s for the children. But then the illegals would just move somewhere else and probably not back home.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, me growing up. I knew it was something important. So, let’s get back to this riveting narrative.

Then there were the Hessians, the chief rival to the Hell’s Angles. They were living in our little piece of paradise. These guys were just a couple of blocks away. Any moment they could have gone into a booze and drug crazed frenzy and laid waste to the area before the police could have even arrived.

All in all, I had a most enjoyable and idyllic childhood.

You’re in the Army Now

Add to all of the above, the twenty mind warping, soul stealing, spirit crushing, hippie hating, and baby-killing years I spent in the U.S. Army. Is it any wonder that I ended up the way I did?

Kick volition and freedom of choice to the curb. It’s not my fault. I’m a product of my environment, an environment that someone created, and as soon as I figure out who’s to blame, I’m suing. It’s my right. In the Constitution, it falls under the pursuit of happiness and I’m willing to take a chance that money can’t buy it.

Hang on, back up to the beginning of this section. I’m having another one of those whatcha call it, ah, rhetorical question moments. So I ask you -well, not really- why are our soldiers labeled as baby killers by the very ones who demand the right to abortions? Things that make you go, hummmm. Enough of this, back to the story.

Ranking high amongst the choice assignments I had in the early 80s, was the one defending the West German border against an estimated 5000 Russian tanks waiting on the other side of the Fulda Gap.

Our cushy job was to take 80% causalities within the first two hours, by providing a speed bump for Ivan and his band of merry men, while on their way to Frankfurt. Rumor had it, they’d heard the beer was much better there. Plus, most of the women bathed and actually shaved their legs and armpits. Oh, and their upper lips. There was also something about Hershey bars and silk stocking that I never fully understood.

Mean while back at the ranch, a splinter group of the Italian terrorist front, the Red Brigade, known as the Baader Meinhof Gang -along with other concerned, peace loving citizens- were busy blowing-up my fellow soldiers in their cars or leaving them laying, half beat to death, in roadside ditches.

I walked by two bombs on post -that were fortunately discovered in time- and witnessed the Officer’s Club being ripped apart late one evening by a third. Either by shear luck or divine providence, the club had run out of beer and closed early that night, so no one was hurt. Ran out of beer in Germany? What are the odds?

A friend of mine got to wipe what was left of his German girlfriend off of him one night, when someone thought it would be funny to gut a Berlin nightclub. Oh, those goofy Marxist jokesters.

This brand of slapstick, pratfall, physical humor had been going on for years. So if you believe that this all started with George Bush, think again or maybe just…think. These 3 Stooges copycat antics continued uncheck, and mostly out of the US press, until one group took their vaudeville show on the road. They opened for our Marines in Beirut, and yes, I am saying that they had the same booking agent.

Aside from their obvious ties with the USSR, the PLO was training many of these stand-up terrorists troupes in North Africa. The Sultan of Comedy himself, Uncle Yassar was hosting this laugh fest. That checkered tablecloth on his head always killed me.

Anyway. A big chunk of the funding came from heroin sales. I can only assume that some of the Poppies were grown in Afghanistan. That’s right, Junkies for Jihad. Stick that in your Prius tailpipes and smoke it, all of you sniveling, hybrid driving, whinny voiced “SUV’s support terrorism” nut jobs.

So here we had two “wars” going at the same time in the same theater. The Cold War was rather in-your-face and hard to ignore. Regan kind of saw to that. At the same time and in the same place we were being attacked by Middle Eastern trained, Communist backed, home grown terrorists. We didn’t even know we were in that war.

What did we do about the injuries and deaths of my friends and fellow servicemen and women? Nothing! Well, that’s not entirely true, we decided it was a criminal issue, best left to the police and lawyers. Once you get civilian lawyers involved in military matters…

Someday I’ll tell you about the warm receptions I’d sometimes get on school campuses as a recruiter. I’ve got a couple of really funny stories.

But now it’s over. I’m very glad that the world has been so dramatically changed, that our kids won’t have to face similar times. It does my heart good, to know that’s its all in the past.

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