That One Time, in ‘Nam… You Know…

Otherwise Known As The Really Crappy Crack-Fiction I Was Tempted to Write for Film Class and Turn in on April Fool’s Day Yet Decided to Only Write for Shits and Giggles Because Phil Would Not Approve the Topic Otherwise and Be a Sad Panda at My Shameless Display of Geekdom

Colonel Kirby found that it was going to be a swell day as the sun rose over Dodge City, located in sunny Vietnam: Tropical Paradise. He had just finished practicing his totally-practical-Norwegian skills and already shooed Sulu away over which color curtains to hang in the vestibule of the canteen. Looking out over the swamp—erm—jungle terrain that lay before him, he decided that he was going to go for a walk.

“Are you sure you want to go, sir?” Peterson asked.”I heard Charlie was supposed to be swarming the area today.” Kirby just looked at the other solder and grinned.

“Nonsense,” he said. Kirby thought for a moment and nodded to himself. “Peterson, why don’t you and Upchuck come with me? It’ll be a swell trip.”

“If you say so, sir. Come on Upchuck! We’re going for a walk!”

“Coming Peter-san!” the little boy laughed as he ran to catch up with the two soldiers, a funny-looking dog trailing at his heels. They all went into the woods together.

Time passed and nothing happened. Well, an alligator ate Peterson, but that is not really important at the moment. What ended up being important was when Kirby’s Cowboy Sense started tingling, alerting him to danger.

“Stay low boys,” he told Peterson and Upchuck. The two listened and watched silently as Kirby inspected the ground before them. Suddenly, his foot was caught in a snare, lifting the man up in the air and dangling him like a retarded rabbit.

“Alright! Food!” Kurtz cheered as he lumbered through the woods. He stared and Kirby and frowned. “You’re not food.”

“Of course I’m not food,” Kirby replied.

“If you’re not food, then I need to start being philosophical; I deplore being philosophical,” Kurtz mused. “Then again, what does it mean to be philosophical anyways…?”

“It means cutting me down soldier,” Kirby frowned. Kurtz ignored him and went on philosophizing, leaving Peterson to cut down Kirby. Since they did not have anything better to do, they followed Kurtz as he pondered his way through the brush.

Kurtz was a big man, so the pondering went on for a long time. Before any of the men, or Upchuck and his odd-looking dog, knew, they were suddenly in a random camp in the middle of nowhere. The solders occupying the camp were all gathered in a singular shack surrounded by hookahs and bongs and whatever else have you that one can smoke potentially toxic substances in. Someone was playing Glenn Miller records, for no apparent reason, and the entire display disturbed Kirby.

“Soldiers! What is the meaning of this?!” Kirby took the nearest soldier and spun him around. “Who’s in charge here?!”

“Uhhh… I dunno. Hey, Lance! Who’s in charge again?” A blond balancing on a surfboard, pretending he was in the middle of a killer run, answered.

“I forgot Chris. Wait a second… wasn’t Hamilton?”

“Nah… that guy’s just a pussy. Lincoln might know though.”

“Where is this Lincoln?” Kirby’s blood vessels were ready to burst… but he took it out on Peterson instead.

“Over there teaching the kid to smoke.” Chris pointed over towards the other side of the shack where Lincoln was wearing a stovepipe hat (made out of a literal stovepipe) that fell over his eyes and was attempting to show Upchuck how to properly smoke a bong. The author herself doesn’t really know what smoking a bong is like, so we won’t dwell on that topic.

“What is going on here soldier?!” Kirby barked. Lincoln looked up at him with a stupid grin and chuckled.

“A war.”

Kirby was at his wit’s end. He pulled Upchuck away from Lincoln by the collar and stormed out of the camp. He did not even bother to make sure Peterson was coming, so the poor grunt had to make sure to drag out Kurtz with him.

“Peter-san! What’s that?” Upchuck asked after a little while. The boy pointed at a tattered-looking stuffed animal on the side of the road.

“It’s a trap,” Peterson said. He crept over towards it and was about to touch it when –BOOM— …the ground exploded. The stuffed animal, however, remained intact.

“Pity. Alright, let’s go!” Kirby said without missing a beat. He, Upchuck and Kurtz kept on going through the jungle. Before long, they came upon some mountainous terrain. It was treacherous; Peterson fell off six times.

Then without warning, a teenage girl popped out of the brush on the side of the road, holding a Japanese sword. She pointed it at Kirby and scowled.

“Die now,” she sneered. She charged at Kirby, who tried to use Peterson as a human shield. It did not work however. Rocks fell; everyone died. The author remains curious as to why this story still exists.