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Gee Golly, War is the Pits!
By: A G-Rated GI

As the recent edited for TV broadcast of Steven Spielberg’s “Saving Private Ryan” re-affirms, there’s no place for foul language in today’s world - including even the middle of violent wars or movies made exclusively for adults. The following is an example of how the respectable soldier of today conducts himself in a war zone, taken from a real life account of a firefight in Iraq:

Oh, hi there. Seems we’re a bit lost here. You see, we’re escorting these trucks of ammunition to Karbala and apparently we made a wrong turn somewhere. Do you speak English? Oh well, apparently not. Oh, ha-ha, you’re number one too. Thank you very much, sir. Whoopsie-daisy, seems you lost your rock there. Oops, there goes another! Pretty gosh darn close to my head I might add. That’s okay though, I doubt anyone will be rebuilding with that rubble anyway – too many rough edges. Anyway, looks like we’re getting ready to roll, so see you later friend.

Gadzooks! What was that?! A roadside bomb? Flipped the flippin’ truck in front of us five feet in the air and over on its side. Is anyone wounded in there? Oh frankenfurters, nobody’s coming out. Razza-frazzing insurgents! Boy do they ever tick me off!

Come on Gary, let’s see if there’s anyone alive in there.

Incoming! Get down! Get down! Well I’ll be a whiskerless walrus - It’s a flippin’ ambush!

Stay behind the Humvee. I’ll call for support on the radio… Ah man, the blasted thing is on the blink.


Well just hold tight, I’m sure…RPG! Move your buns! AAAGH! CRUD! I’m hit in the freakin’ shoulder, pardon my French. Man, that smarts! Gary… Gary? Gee willickers Gary, you’re hit somethin’ awful. Man, your flippin’ guts are hanging all over the place. Gary? Just hold on buddy… Gary? Don’t leave me Gary. You’re all I got in this gosh darned heckhole. Gary? NOOOO!!!

Son of a strawberry pail! Now I’m mad. Madder than a wasp in a jelly jar!

Is that all you scruffy faced scoundrels have got? Eat my hot led you poo-heads! Take that, and that, and… oh sheepdip, you got me good this time… oh criminey… I can’t move my cotton-pickin’ legs. Ooh… you sons of second-rate pastry chefs, I’ll get you. Just you wait and see. You booger picking street sweepers.


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