The Boggy Guitar, 2 of 5

2. Mars is Dead

And Elvis failed.

He valiantly strove to defend the ancient honor of War, but even Rambo noticed the holes in his argument. Even Rambo saw through the lies. It was as if the spirit behind the age-old rationales no longer had force. Elvis strummed his guitar and sang thrillingly of duty, honor and glory, but Rambo wasn’t buying it.

“Waita minnit!” Rambo objected. “I wuz dere! I bin in combat, ’member? Dat shit don’ woik in battle; I otta know! An’ say, what do doze lyrics mean? Dat ‘Dull chee A.D. Cora mess pro pot-tree-uh Morrie’ noise?”

“ ‘It is sweet an’ gennel to dah fer yer country’, son.”

“Bullshit!”

At that word, Elvis stopped strumming. He put down his guitar, glared awhile at Rambo, then said, “Right. It is bullshit. Death in battle’s worst of all.”

“Dat’s right!”

“But don’t yew see, boy; takin’ risks lahk that; it shows yew have courage, son!”

“Bullshit!” Rambo swore. “You talk like we still fights wit’ swords! Like all combat wuz hand-ta-hand! Well it ain’t like dat no mo! Dare ain’t nuttin poisonal ’bout it! When da bombs an’ da guns an’ da missiles fire, dare ain’t no point ta bein’ brave; ya duck an’ ya cover like da resta da woims! Dat’s what Sarge himself tot me!”

“I know it’s scary, son…”

“Scary ain’t da point; dese weapons make evrybuddy wimp out! Dare wimp weapons! Dare made by wimps, for wimps, to toin evrybuddy else inta wimps! Dare whole point is to make macho look stoopid. Ya eva charge a machine-gun nest?”

“Uh… no.”

“Me needer, dat’s why I’m still here,” said Rambo. “Dare all wimp weapons! Alla way upta da goddam nukes!”

Elvis heaved a sigh. “Alright, so wimps rule the world. But thass why yew gotta show Manhood, boy!”

“Manhood! What’s that gotta do widdit? I know I’m a man, an’ so do the chicks.” Then Rambo brightened up. “Hey, y’know, Unca Sam’s a lot like soitin loonie chicks I’ve met. Neva satisfied. Always tellin’ ya what ta do. An’ neva does dare own doity woik; just gets sum udda asshole to do it. Y’know, bossy.”

Elvis declared, “Ah knows the very bitches y’mean.”

Rambo said, “Most chicks ain’t like dat, tank Gawd. Nor most guys, needer. An’ it’s a good ting.”

“We cain’t all be chiefs,” Elvis explained. “There’s gotta be some honest Injuns!”

Rambo said, “Me, I loves chicks. An’ I loves Unca Sam. ’Cept for summa da crap dey says ya gotta do fer ’em.”

“They shore put a po’ boy through sheeit, don’t they?”

“But I don’t mind dyin’,” said Rambo. “It’s the killin’ part dat bodders me.”

Elvis scratched his head. “Well, I dunno, son…”

Rambo wailed, “Me needer!”

Elvis sighed. He threw an arm around Rambo’s shoulders and said, “Face it, boy, wah is hayull.”

“Dat’s why I don’ wanna go!”

“But thass the whole point. Learn to enjoy the aroma of burnin’ napalm; it smells like death an’ victory. Yew only go ‘round once in life, so grab all the gusto yew can.”

“Get real, dude!” Rambo cried, pushing Elvis away. “I ain’t talkin’ ’bout boozin’; I’m talkin’ ’bout moida by numbas! One, two, tree!”

Elvis declared, “Boy, yew make gummint sound lahk organahzed crahm!”

Rambo said, “Nah, it ain’t even dat. Da whole ting would make a whole lot more sense ta me if we wuz told to rob folks after we kill ’em. But dat’s lootin’ an’ it ain’t allowed. So all we get ta do is waste tings.”

Rambo sighed. “I done so much killin’ for Unca Sam… I killed lotsa folks. Mosta dem neva hadda chance. Mosta dem wasn’t even armed. Geezers, chicks, kids…

“Dat ain’t brave. No way dat’s brave. So I feel sorry I dunnit. An’ dat’s why I don’ wanna do it no mo.

“I know I ain’t sposta tink ‘bout dis shit, just do ma job. But I can’t help tinkin ’bout it. Not afta what happen yestadee.”