Beauchamp dispatch exhibition [someone]

No day at Ace of Spades HQ is complete without making fun of the deepprofound mindthoughts of Scott Thomas Beauchamp and his New Republic enablers. So, as suggested by Will last night, here's a chance to see what almost happened...

Top Ten Rejected Scott Thomas Dispatches
(draft and TNR versions)

Draft #10 (geoff): Cook spilled some soup on the floor - I had to clean it up.
TNR #10: Hush-hush biowarfare supplies leaked to the environment. My soul deadened as I cleaned up another one of Bush's messes.

Draft #9 (Stashiu3): Buddy lights wrong end of cigarette and subsequent flare-up singes his eyebrow.
TNR #9: While out on combat recon, we were so low on ammunition because of Bush's horrible management of the war that we were reduced to throwing Molotov Cocktails. One of them broke as my buddy was throwing it and he was incinerated in place. We all laughed about it later.

Draft #8 (geoff): Had a summer landscaping job. Damn sprinklers kept spraying me.
TNR #8: Routine waterboarding of innocent soldiers to ensure we weren't leaking the sordid, awful truth of Iraq to TNR. Soul repeatedly deadened.

Draft #7 (geoff): Nicked myself shaving this morning. Damned disposable razors!
TNR #7: Insurgents decapitated a cooperative Iraqi sheik this morning. They just left the sword right there next to him. Can't really feel my soul. If I have one.

Draft #6 (kat-missouri): I cut my knuckle on the Bradley's oil pan. Luckily, I had some Sponge Bob band-aids that Elspeth sent me in my pocket.
TNR #6: The days roll by in an endless cycle of soul deadening violence and blood. Small children flock to our Bradley every day, waving and screaming "meester! meester! Have you seen my dog?" Sarge screamed, "They're CBIEDs (child bound improvised explosive diapers; full of sh*t and piss)! Run over them before the Bradley is full of sh*t and piss!" The driver of our Bradley didn't even blink when he floored the accelerator and ran down fifty of the little SOBs. He marked it down in the little pink "Hello Kitty" notebook he kept in a Bratz purse hanging from the rear view mirror. One of them little brown hajjis got his hand stuck in the tracks of the Bradley and we dragged him for a hundred feet, through a market stand, over a wall and into the Al Faw palace pool before it was finally clean cut off his arm. He got up and smiled. His fingers were still twitching on the pavement. Everybody laughed and laughed.

I told Elspeth that story and she sent me a single left hand glove with Sponge Bob on it to give to the little boy next time we are out. Elspeth is my muse of endless bleating mindthoughts pouring from the sick kaleidescope of my chrystal balls.

I think the war has finally made me depraved enough for Elspeth to let me fornicate with her when I get back from the soul deadening war.

(Your own entries, please, in the comments. And feel free to update the post via Open Blog.)

posted by xgenghisx at 04:30 PM

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