----- Original Message ----- 
From: Jon & Amanda Morsics <mailto:surfgator@ev1.net> 
To: Pat Kennedy <mailto:ReefRashMan@houston.rr.com> 
Sent: Saturday, January 19, 2002 8:49 PM
Subject: Fw: Message from Marine Recon in Afganistan

Thought you might find this interesting ... got it from a friend at work. 

 The following was read on the Sully and Scooter (Radio KOGO in San 
 Diego) Show on Nov. 17: 

    Just outside of Ab Gach, in the northwest panhandle of Afghanistan 
 between Tajikstan and Pakistan, November 11, 2001. 

    Bizarre, It's (expletive) freezing here. I'm sitting on hard, cold 
 dirt between rocks and shrubs at the base of the Hindu Kush mountains along 
 the Dar 'yoi Pomir River watching a hole that leads to a tunnel that leads 
 to a cave. Stake out, my friend, and no pizza delivery for thousands of 
 miles. 
      
    I also glance at the area around my ass every ten to fifteen seconds 
 to avoid another scorpion sting. I've actually given up battling the 
 chiggers and sand fleas, but them (expletive) scorpions give a jolt like a 
 cattle prod. Hurts like a bastard. The antidote tastes like transmission 
 fluid but God bless the Marine Corps for the five vials of it in my pack. 

    The one truth the Taliban cannot escape is that, believe it or not, 
 they are human beings, which means they have to eat food and drink water. 
 That requires couriers and that's where an old bounty hunter like me comes 
 in handy. I track the couriers, locate the tunnel entrances and storage 
 facilities, type the info into the handheld, shoot the coordinates up to the 
 satellite link that tells the air commanders where to drop the hardware, we 
 bash some heads for a while, then I track and record the new movement. It's 
 all about intelligence. 

    We haven't even brought in the snipers yet. These scurrying rats 
 have no idea what they're in for. We are but days away from cutting off 
 supply lines and allowing the eradication to begin. I dream of bin Laden 
 waking up to find me 
    standing over him with my boot on his throat as I spit a bloody ear 
 into his face and plunge my nickel plated Bowie knife through his frontal 
 lobe. But you know me. I'm a romantic. 

    I've said it before and Ill say it again: This country blows, man. 
 It's not even a country. There are no roads, there's no infrastructure, 
 there's no government. This is an inhospitable, rockpit (expletive) ruled by 
 eleventh century warring tribes.  There are no jobs here like we know jobs. 
 Afghanistan offers two ways for a man to support his family: join the opium 
 trade or join the army. That's it. Those are your options. Oh, I forgot, you 
 can also live in a refugee camp and eat plum-sweetened, crushed beetle paste 
 and squirt mud like a goose with stomach flu if that's your idea of a party. 
 But the smell alone of those "tent cities of the walking dead" is enough to 
 hurl you into the poppy fields to cheerfully scrape bulbs for eighteen hours 
 a day. 

    And let me tell you something else. I've been living with these 
 Tajiks and Uzbeks and Turkmen and even a couple of Pushtins for over a month 
 and a half now and this much I can say for sure: These guys, all of em, are 
 Huns. Actual, living Huns. They LIVE to fight. Its what they do. Its ALL 
 they do. They have no  respect for anything, not for their families or for 
 each other or for themselves. They claw at one another as a way of life. 
 They play polo with dead calves and force their five-year-old sons into 
 human cockfights to defend the family honor. Huns, roaming packs of savage, 
 heartless beasts who feed on each other's barbarism. (Expletive) cavemen 
 with AK 47's. 
       
    Then again, maybe I'm just cranky. I'm freezing my (expletive) off 
 on this stupid (expletive) hill because my lap warmer is running out of 
 juice and I can't recharge it until the sun comes up in a few hours. Oh 
 yeah! You like to write letters, right? Do me a favor, Bizarre. Write a 
 letter to CNN and tell Judy and Bernie and that awful, sneering, pompous 
 Aaron Brown to stop calling the Taliban "smart." They are not smart. I 
 suggest CNN invest in a dictionary because the word they are looking for is 
 "cunning." The Taliban are cunning, like jackals and hyenas and wolverines. 
 They are sneaky and ruthless and, when confronted, cowardly. They are 
 hateful, malevolent parasites who create nothing and destroy everything 
 else. Smart. Pfft. Yeah, they're real smart. They've spent their entire 
 lives reading only one book (and not a very good one, as books go) and 
 consider hygiene and indoor plumbing to be products of the devil. They're 
 still figuring out how to work a Bic lighter. Talking to a Taliban warrior 
 about improving his quality of life is like trying to teach an ape how to 
 hold a pen; eventually he just gets frustrated and sticks you in the eye 
 with it. OK, enough. 
      
    Snuffle will be up soon so I have to get back to my hole. Covering 
 my tracks in the snow takes a lot of practice but I'm getting good at it. 
 Please tell my fellow Americans to turn off their TV sets and move on with 
 their lives. The story line you are getting from CNN is utter (expletive) 
 and designed not to deliver truth but rather to keep you glued to the screen 
 through the commercials. We've got this one under control. The worst thing 
 you guys can do right now is sit around analyzing what we're doing over here 
 because you have no idea what we're doing and, really, you don't want to 
 know. We are your military and we are doing what you sent us here to do. 
    You wanna help? Buy some (expletive) stocks, America. 
    Saucy Jack