The moment of zen. Brought to you by assholes like us.
Sometimes, when you're sitting huddled together with about 50 people, just awakened from their slumber, or interrupted from their favorite dvd; mean girls or what have you, in a tiny little bunker while mortar rounds make minced meat out of your favorite chow hall or a buddy's tent, you wonder to yourself: what the fuck am i doing here? why am i wearing 50 pounds worth of gear 19 hours out of the day? why are my cammies dripping with sweat and my balls feel like an oven? why do i run away at every little sound that resembles a dropping box off in the distance?
and why. oh why. does my life not include blow jobs and beer?
this is queer
the force of the gayness of my life is sheer
i just want to go dive off a peer
and make sure im nowhere near
this fucking place called iraq. are we clear?
and why. oh why. does my life not include blow jobs and beer?
this is queer
the force of the gayness of my life is sheer
i just want to go dive off a peer
and make sure im nowhere near
this fucking place called iraq. are we clear?