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Cork it. Let me relate a transcribed rant from the filthy to you:
"I am a wasted mess; a useless, fucking wasted mess. God my head hurts. God knows, I need a drink. God knows, I need a drink quick. The jim-jams are coming and then the snakes and spiders. Then I’ll see the NVA again. Shit man!
Jesus, my ears hurt. Shut-up, Sarge! Shut-the-fuck-up! Incoming!? I can’t run, Sarge. My leg is gone. Look ma, no leg!
They are staring at me again. They are staring at Sad Sack on his fucking crutch with his fucking tin cup. Stare you fools!
Don’t remind me of Khe Sahn, Vietnam-fucking-Republic-of! Don’t remind me of the A Shau Valley! Don’t remind me of Hue. There is a slight chance I’ll go over the edge if you remind me again.
I was a lean, mean fighting Marine once. I had a GTO back on the block, once. I had a girl in the world and a future; once. I had a … a, what? Fuck it, I don’t know and I don’t care.
These cigarettes smell like piss. I smell like shit. It’s just a thing man, nothing but a thing. Fuck it. God it’s cold. Who stole my coat? Who stole my goddamn guitar?"
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