Three Beers Till Deployment

"I composed this while sitting in a nonsmoking room.

One.

I’m sitting in my hotel room… alone on my Sleep Number bed and drinking the last three beers from a case that I bought on Monday. I’ve noticed that my Sleep Number is 50, and now that I finally have it right, I have to leave tonight and sleep on a hard armory drill floor.

Everyone was released to spend their last few hours with their families. I am not calling Super Yenta.

Why?

Well, as much as I’d like to see if my Fuck Number is different than my Sleep Number, she’s not taking this too well. I won’t have her drive all the way up to my armory just to send her home in tears.

One goodbye is enough.

Some of my soldiers are scared. I can see it in the way that they talk to their parents. They sequester themselves in nooks and crannies of the armory, holding on to their parent’s hands until they absolutely have to let them go. I occasionally walk in on them when I stomp through the Armory, unlit cigar in my mouth, yelling that I need to see so-and-so. They usually turn and look at me while give me a peevish smile. I raise my hand and back out of the room, happy that I didn’t curse at them in front of their parents."
Big Tobacco