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Scrap Metal Jacket
About
half of Iraq's new police battalions are still being established and
cannot conduct operations, while the other half of the police units and
two-thirds of the new army battalions are only "partially capable" of
carrying out counterinsurgency missions, and only with American help,
according to a newly declassified Pentagon assessment. Only "a small
number" of Iraqi security forces are capable of fighting the insurgency
without American assistance, while about one-third of the army is capable
of "planning, executing and sustaining counterinsurgency operations" with
allied support, the analysis said. -
NYT 7/21
Gunnery Sergeant Hartman: Private
Faraji, what the hell is that you've got sticking out of the barrel of your
rifle?
Faraji: Sir, that's an antenna, sir!
It helps our reception during the sand storms, sir! On a good day we even
pull in the Lifetime Channel, sir! Ironic, isn't it, sir!
Hartman: You get that goddamn hunk of
metal out of your rifle right now, you dumb hunk of shit. All of you losers,
ATTENTION! Do I hear laughing? Did one of you girls just giggle? It was
Cowboy. Shoot him, Faraji... Oh that's right, you can't, cause you've got a
goddam television antenna stuck in the barrel of your rifle! Listen up you
pukes...
Faraji: Sir, what would you recommend doing
in order to improve our television reception, sir!
Hartman: You're not here to watch television,
you idiot. You're hear to learn how to kill. Private Joker, why did you join
my beloved Iraqi Security Forces?
Joker: Sir, to kill sir! To create all manner of havoc, sir!
Hartman: So you're a killer?
Joker: Sir, yes sir! That, and the money is just spectacular, sir. At least
by local standards, sir!
Hartman: Let me see your war face.
Joker: Sir? We are not currently translating well, sir.
Hartman: You got a war face? AHHHHHHHH! That's a war face. Now let me see
your war face.
Joker: Most frightening, sir. Let me try. Ahh!
Hartman: Bullshit you didn't convince me. Let me see your real warface.
Joker: AHHHHRROOOOGGAAABOYDABOYDAGARRR!
Hartman: You didn't scare me; work on it. Now listen up. Tonight, you pukes
will sleep with your rifles. You will give your rifle a girl's name, because
this is the only pussy you people are going to get. Your days of
finger-banging ol' Ghazwa Al-Alkhalidi through her pretty pink burka are
over! You're married to this piece. This weapon of iron and wood. And you
will be faithful!
Private Faisal Ghazika: Sir, I do not believe
that my religion allows me to enter into a union with a rifle, sir, but even
if the Koran is silent on the matter, I personally find the idea most
disturbing, sir!
Hartman: What's your name, you fat whiner?
Faisal: Sir, Faisal Ghazika, sir.
Hartman: Faisal? Like Faisal of Afghanistan?
Faisal: Sir, my third cousin sir!
Hartman: That name sounds like royalty are you royalty?
Faisal: Sir, yes sir! Not meaning to brag, sir, but until recent times my
family ruled the area of...
Hartman: Shut up, Faisal. Do you suck dicks?
Faisal: Sir, no sir! You are coming very close to overstepping your bounds
sir!
Hartman: Bullshit. I bet you could suck a golfball through a garden hose.
Faisal: Sir, no sir! And now I must challenge you to a fight sir!
Hartman: Not a very good of an idea at your current level of readiness, is
it fat boy?
Faisal: Sir, perhaps you're right about that
sir! But give me another two or three years of training, and I'm sure I'll
be able to kick your ass sir!
Hartman: Who's ass was that, Private?
Faisal: Sir, I meant the enemies ass, sir!
Hartman: That's what I want to hear, private. You know, come to think of it,
I don't like the name Faisal; only faggots and sailors are called Faisal.
From now on you're Gomer Pyle.
Gomer: Sir, yes sir! |
