Rotting corpses from the sky… eating brains, they don’t know why

With the upcoming “surge” or “escalation” or “bump” of troops going to Iraq, Lt. Vic Easel is being leaned on by his superiors in the Army to get his recruitment numbers up. The Virtual Recruiter Sgt. STAR at GoArmy.com hasn’t been as successful, because his graphics aren’t very good and he doesn’t sound like Lee Marvin. Plus he won’t tell me if I’ll get to build a giant naked man pile out of people I pull off the street in Mosul.

So I see Lt. Vic Easel wandering around the graveyard the other day. I was there because I found out my old 7th grade teacher is buried there and I wanted to piss on her grave.

“Yes she deseved to die and hope she burns in hell!” I yell in my best Samuel L. Jackson voice from “A Time to Kill” as I zip up my pants and pick up my empty 36oz. Big Gulp that I had purchased for just this occassion.

“Hey Lt. Vic Easel,” I say, walking away from the grave I just defaced with my urine. “Are you here to pay some last respects to fallen comrades?”

“No, I’m on a recruiting mission,” Lt. Vic Easel says.

“In a graveyard?” I say.

“Look, just because you’re deceased doesn’t mean you can’t serve your country,” says Lt. Vic Easel. “Other recruiters have been mailing reenlistment forms to dead soldiers, so I need to take it to the next level.”

“So because of some clerical error you’re out here trying to recruit the dead,” I say. “Or does the Army want a legion of zombie troops?”

“Hell yeah we want zombie troops!” says Lt. Vic Easel. “They can take an IED full in the face and keep marching. They don’t need shore leave. If you ask me, we should have been breeding a zombie army for this war years ago, if not for the politics of it.”

“The politics of a zombie army?” I say.

“Well, zombie breeding legislation gets wrapped up in that whole stem-cell research bullshit,” says Lt. Vic Easel. “Plus the undead traditionally vote Democratic, which means the administration immediately were sour on the whole zombie idea. God damn FDR and his New Deal zombie provisions.”

“Well, good luck with those zombies,” I say, leaving the Lieutenant to court the dead into military service.

The fool, I think to myself as I walk away, he didn’t even bring a voodoo guy with him. He’s just going to be yelling at graves all day.

Then I pass a headstone with a familiar name on it. Hey, I went to high school with him, and he was an asshole. He deserves more than just a pissing. Looks like I’ll be having an impromptu lunch at Senor Spastic’s, home of the Colon-Rockin’ Three-Pound Chili Burrito.