I am in the cockpit of a B-58 hustler with four 700pound nuclear warheads and tens of thousands of 20mm bullets and an itchy trigger finger. I am on the side that is right because it is the side that I am on. Every soldier thinks this. There are only victims in war; knowing this I’m going to cause as much damage as possible. I annihilate entire villages of rice growers because I want their crops. I know this sounds strange but there’s money in rice and ten times more of it here then my home country.
I don’t care who I burn. I am outraged with the world. No one is innocent. Every human stinks of the earth. My angelic nostrils are sensitive to the foul ape odor. I begged for a new quarter of heaven and found myself rotting in this cockpit. I volunteer for every mission. I am already a major-general because of my skills, my years in the field, my superior will to kill. I would annihilate the earth over and over again if I could stay suspended in the clouds, flying this rocket across the sky and piercing the troposphere, and dodging the missiles and bullets of my enemy. I barrel roll, nose dive, zig zag, twist and weave while climbing ever heights – lights out – star-shine, frozen instruments and engine failure; black out, emergency, emergency free fall and ugly spin – regaining consciousness – taking hold of the throttle and regaining alignment. All systems a go-go, altitude and air speed leveling off, engine control and breaking the sound barrier the hell out of there when I’m out of ammunition.
Human life is not precious. That is arrogance that tells us this. Human spirit is priceless and the value of the soul will never be determined.
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