Speak Out

Anyone can say they're a Vietnam veteran. Anyone can say "I did two, three tours in Vietnam, I was a medic, humped the boonies, got shot at, plugged guys with bandages and morphine to ease the pain. Anyone can say, "When I came back they dissed me, treated me like dirt but I ain't no whiner, I'm a genuine hero."

But not me. I'd never do that. I'm the real McCoy. The genuine article. The real deal. I served six thousand combat tours in Vietnam. I have the paperwork and medals to prove it.

At a warehouse in Secaucus, New Jersey, surrounded by electrified chain link fence, armed guards with six legged pit bulls who speak in tongues watch over my one hundred and eighty thousand Medals of Honor. On Tuesdays I charge $5.00 for the Radical Walking Tour.

I've been awarded the Distinguished Services Cross so many times the Army sent me a telegram in 1978: SIR, PLEASE BE ADVISED WE HAVE RUN OUT OF SHEET METAL AND RIBBON FABRIC. THE JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF HAVE COMMISSIONED A TEAM TO SCULPT YOUR LIKENESS ON MT. RUSHMORE. CONGRATULATIONS AND GOD BLESS THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

The Silver Star is the third highest medal awarded for gallantry in combat. I keep all two hundred eighty thousand, one for every citizen in Dentville, Wisconsin, in six hundred solid oak treasure chests. On rainy days I'll open the lid of one such chest, scoop my hands deep into the glistening pile, lift hard with all my strength, hurl them high into the air. When the fog is thick the tinkling stars shower down, winking; it reminds me of the Milky Way.

Do not doubt me. You have my word this is all terribly true. As a matter of further documented fact, I was no ordinary medic during those dim days of yesteryear. No sir. No mam. I performed brain surgery in the dark, twelve men at a time, without out benefit of anesthetic. I reversed the blood flow of entire platoons to obtain the element of surprise. I called in B 52 strikes with my sinus cavities. I was born in a bomb crater on the 3rd of July.

In my pack I carried entire battalions of tanks and cannons; slogging thru jungle, the rotor blades of helicopters poked out from beneath my helmet, snagged on clouds, slowed me down. I fired my M-16 eighty two trillion times. It never once jammed or malfunctioned. I dug eight hundred forty seven thousand foxholes, pissed six hundred million gallons of highly toxic piss, I ate two hundred billion tons of C rations: I defecated four hundred million metric tons of highly enriched Government Issued poo. A not unmodest sum, don't you think?

Anyone can say they were in Vietnam. But I'm the real McCoy, the genuine article; I have the medals and papers to prove it. Meet me in Secaucus, NJ tomorrow at 2:30 in the afternoon, I'll give you a tour. But those under eighteen will not be admitted.