B for Bandana
Yesterday I poured spoiled milk in my coffee and worse, I drank it. This old Army issue tin cup and I have been through harrowing times but I'll never get rid of it. One of the dents that creases its side was from a stray press bulletin that would have ended my career had the cup not deflected it by just fractions of an inch, but that's a story for another day. Today, we're in full retreat, so I'll have to be brief.
Word came down yesterday from Central Command that our secret weapon, the PS3, which the troops had been counting on to even the odds in this struggle, was delayed for six months. To say the men were disheartened would be as much an understatement as saying Lincoln regretted going to the Ford Theater. You could see it in their eyes.
Oh, they've got heart, for the moment at least, but who knows. In the dead of the night, when their comrades are asleep in their foxholes, first one, then in pairs, like bandits in the night, they will make that crossing to the other side, waving their snack stained white THX t-shirts in front of them like oversized surrender bandanas. The theater of war is a harsh mistress and in the end, all that many of them want to do is return to the only theater that really ever mattered to them, their home theaters.
Does this spell the beginning of the end for the Blu-nees? Can they hold out those six long months until their secret weapon arrives? And will it even be ready then? After all they've been through, after all the broken promises, can they even believe the words of their commanders?
And what about the DVDites? Even now, you can hear them in the distance, as word spreads, cheering from across the wide stretch that separates the two massive armies. It's just a matter of time before their courage runs red and bold and they climb out of their fortified bunkers and rush headlong towards us to finish the job.
Until next time, if there even is a next time, this is Fred Manteghian, somewhere near the front lines.