EVERYTHING I LOOK AT IS LAUGHABLE, because it hasn't known the war. Everything I look at is laughable, because it hasn't known this war. Washington, the word, is a joke to my mutherfucking mind. The puppets and pixies who make mistakes there fart like shitstink inside their pinstripe deathsuits. The Aeneid is shit. Walter Cronkite, I rip your ass off. Those sorry Stones, they think they know the half of it with the WACs on the cover of that record album, the gold star for a WWII veteran. There's a reason they'll never dare to make a Vietnam veteran into a gold star, and that's only partly because the term Vietnam veteran will only conjure reactions of menace and despicable ambivalence. People never knew they could care so little about a flesh 'n' blood human who went to combat before the stinkpit of Vietnam came along, a lovely country with a bunch of yeast-infection autocrats invading its inner recesses and sending bacteria like boils into its inner plague.

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