Animal Farm

"I smoked a CAO Brazilia while composing this.

“You ain’t going to believe this,” Sergeant Rollercoaster says as I enter the TOC.

Sergeant Rollercoaster has a flair for the dramatic. As I described him in “Your Filthy Little Mouth,” he is a competent NCO and a good leader, but as a New Yorker, everything to him is a crisis.

“Can I put my stuff down first?” I say.

I stand in the door of the TOC. Sergeant Rollercoaster is sitting by the computerized battle tracker.

“I’m done. I’m done. I mean it. I’ve had it. I’m done.”

“What’s wrong?” I say as I stow my rifle and my gear in my little TOC cubby.

“It’s the whole freekin’ thing. When we get back, I’m going to Atlantic City. I’m done with this unit. I’m done. I’m done.”

“[OPSEC],” I say, using his first name. “What happened and maybe I can fix it.”

“Oh you can’t fix it. This is just proof that any idiot can get a college degree… no offence.”

“None taken. What happened?”"
Big Tabacco