My Best Cold War Christmas Ever
hall. There must have been 200 rounds of 5.56MM NATO hanging from the scraggly boughs of our tree, but no matter. It was just like home, sort of. Our cook, who’s name I can’t possible mention, had been banished to the site for professional reasons. Tasked with ruining a perfectly good meal, he proceeded to do so in the finest traditions of the Army and the greasy spoon. No one was surprised. We should have used our scepters on him, I suppose, but it was the season of being nice, so we simply starved.
And To All A Good Night
As with all stories, even with one as stupid as this one, there is much more that I can say, but I won’t. Dickens didn’t tell you what happened to Scrooge, other then promise that he got Tiny Tim all well and kept Christmas better than any man living in London, something like that. As for me, I think he went back to his old ways pretty damn quickly and used Tim as fuel to heat up the office. First the crutches, then the boy’s corpse.
But never mind that. Did we get arrested for stealing for the forest? Did our cook get boiled with his own plum pudding? And did we exchange presents? That is for another time and another Yule, and I hope yours is as special as mine was that Christmas so long ago.
Even now, I can hardly think about it with pondering the mystery of this impenetrable season. It’s magical, all right, but not all magic is the good kind, is it?
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