all the way to baghdaadd

sport the forces. they ride on truck! toyotas and humvees. look out, suspected sniper an nine o'clock. kick down the door and rise through the stairs. keep your gun at the ready! al-wahid hides in a spider hole! IED!

good buddy, you're legs are gone. vaprized in the splatter of the poofing bomb. hoa! the roars around are loud! medivac the chopper! concentrate your fire! evacuate the kill-zone! no man left behind!

we ride into the night, snacking on popped corn and freeze dried turkey. it's tasty stuff hooo-ah. we got these little glow sticks to light the way. you can connect your cd player to the tank. and ride to glory in the dark.

woa sheepish, the enemy falls at the tread. we've found evidence that al-wahid is attacking under the influence, high as alah, ready for his seventeen virgins in paradise. it doesn't surprise me. he wears a hood with the eyes cut out, eager to die for the awesome and ancient lord. is democracy chopped liver?

the desert is home to snakes. they slither and rattle, spit and bite. they hide in holes and don't die. their teeth can pierce a boot. kick it and the whole nest'll come. or they'll hide, and slide in as you sleep.

the forces operate out of the palaces. the opulence is unimaginable. marble as far as the eye can see. fancy wood moldings and chandeliers. operations are coordinated from here. on laptops and sat. phones. the pool where saddaam must have swum is still full. but its a dingy grey from the dust. the whole place smells like cheap perfume.