The Jungle - August 14th, 2006

There we were, deep in enemy territory trying to make the best out of a sticky situation, but everyone senses it...the VC are close. My sweat carries the familiar odor of rice whiskey and the air is pungent with the numbing stinch of grass. My comrads are continually busting into the chants of our fathers, " Ho Chi Min is a son of a bitch, He's got the blue ball crabs and the seven year itch" and Forrest Gump lines are flying off the tonge more often than not. This helps to calm the nerves a bit, but the tension is still high, as is my head. Just then a figure materializes to my right, the jungle seems to come alive and I brace myself while swiftly reaching for my hidden blade. I'll be damned if they get me into that Hanoi hellhole. Luckily the man has his finger jammed half way up his nose, as he indicates that he is a local who has a shack on the mountain. Mountain folk are nutty all over the world. Viet-fuckin-nam man!