Vive la France!


From Stepping Off, Sydmor Press, 2019:

4/11/03, 1448Z
Scour my writings for complimentary references to the French or the UN, and you’ll flounder—until now. We looted the UN building—Hans Blix will be shocked at his long-distance bill—taking flags, blue helmets, and other knick-knacks. By phone, we learned that many wives saw our firefight live. Our embedded reporter screamed, “They’re being used as human targets on the streets of Baghdad.” Fox News sure nailed that.
We also took a pallet of French humanitarian rations. Whoa, that SMAW must have caused a concussion: I forgot to record that after the firefight, Ponch fed us humanitarian rations. They’d looked tastier and tastier the hungrier we got. Actually, they’re awful. U.S. rations are deliberately so bland that nobody could object to any component. God, Buddha, and Allah might not agree on much, but when they break bread with Gandhi and Pamela Anderson, they needn’t fret about causing culinary offense. We shared one ration per four men. I got “bean salad,” MRE chili less the spices and shredded hog anuses.
Frenchmen took the opposite tack: “Our food beats yours—try it.” It has heavenly spreads, cheeses, crackers, and meats. Nothing is kosher or halal; everything is delicious. They’re saying, “If you’re hungry enough, your god will forgive you. Eat like us and raise your country from the shitter, n’est-ce pas?”


Sorry, Hans.


What the French hand out. Not one in 1000 people would choose U.S. rations over this.


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