PARA!

It’s good fun being a para, see. We get to go to hot places where we kill people in lots of weird and wonderful ways. Take last week. Me and the lads were punching each other in the arsenal when Colonel R.G. Basher burst in. “HUT!” he yelled, generally. “Report to the mess immediately for orders! Last orders!”

Quickly, we raced over and were drinking them when, suddenly, General P.V.C. ‘Bomber’ Jacket crashed in with the lad with the small arms. “AHOY!’ he went unnaturally. “What you lads need is a war! Any war! And I know just the man to start it. ME!”

Instantly, we leapt into a plane and flew off. Later, when we were high up, we jumped out and landed. SNAP! HA-HAH! You don’t need parachutes when you’re as tough as us.

Anyway, up ahead we could make out a small village nestling peacefully in a lush valley full of timid, four-legged thingies that we shot and ate.

“Where are we?” I whispered privately.

“Who cares, kid?!” Bomber hollered. “CHARGE!”

Later, after several minor bloodbaths, we piled into the pub and shot everyone but the barman, as usual. See, we like to nail their tongues to the floor and kick ‘em around the room. That way they don’t complain while we’re raping their beer.

OFFICIAL!!!