Letters From Iraq: Wrestling

Hellooo.

I’m trying something new today. I’m writing on my computer and taking it over to the internet terminals on a thumbdrive. Maybe today I won’t get kicked out for staying over my allotted time.

It’s frustrating because it takes 30 minutes just to load the hotmail access screen. I’m usually able to squeeze in a nap, catch up on my reading, or maybe play a quick 9 holes of blast crater golf before I’m able to start my first e-mail. The golf is the trickiest thing to accomplish, what with the sand traps and all. So basically I want to take this chance to blame the internet for my bad e-mail habits. The internet and one time Presidential candidate Ralph Nader. Everything is his fault.

I just got back from eating breakfast (which is everyone else’s dinner). The dining facilities out here are pretty sweet. A bunch of Iraqis make and serve food. When I say, "make" I of course mean, "warm up." Today they warmed up meatloaf and chicken cordon bleu. I’ve always liked the meatloaf here because I find it to be very genuine. I think it’s much easier to eat a meal that’s appropriately named. What is that stuff? It’s an ambiguous loaf of meat. Some sort of… meat… loaf.

Along with the gourmet cuisine military bases are equipped with the classiest entertainment. Today I watched some sort of professional wrestling award ceremony. Really, who wouldn’t want to recognize those athletes who spend their entire lives in life or death battles, using all of their strength, agility and martial prowess to become the greatest warriors on the planet? Wait, agility means some sort of genetic inability to act right?

I asked a friend of mine out here why so many people like wrestling. He said he thought it was because wrestling is like a soap opera of professional sports. It is very dramatic I guess.

I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you that have offered or sent things out here. A lot of people have asked me if I want anything out here. It’s awfully nice of you, and I’ll let you know as soon as I can figure out how you can mail me the last 4 years of my life. But until then, beef jerky is always welcome here.

In answer to another popular question: the weather forecast for the next few months is partly sandy with a chance of dust.

I can’t talk too much about actual operations, mostly because we’re afraid the Iraqis have the ability to hack into our personal e-mails, translate them, and then glean information from them. I don’t know if the lack of computers, internet connections, or electricity have affected the terrorist information gathering abilities much, but hey, we can’t be too careful.

Regardless, I have a hypothetical story that happened to… a friend of mine… an imaginary friend. It in no way reflects what I have done personally because the story involves practices that would make some Marine Corps officers spontaneously combust (it’s science). Anyway, this friend was on an imaginary mission when his unit discovered an IED that failed to go off. They theoretically tried to find the trigger man without success. This imaginary friend was then theoretically instructed to detonate the IED with a sniper round. It was theoretically cool.

I took a break writing this letter and went to the gym a few minutes ago. They had a TV on. I had the opportunity to watch a little more wrestling. It’s like a car wreck, nay, a train wreck. The scene is disgusting and horrible and nauseating but try as you might a dread fascination washes over you, and sure enough your eyes slowly creep back to the carnage. And then they snap back to something else - anything else – and then the process repeats.

I wonder if children are more prone to hitting each other with chairs and lasers and other conveniently placed furniture since the creation of pro wrestling?

I guess I should quit this letter. I’ll probably just save personal e-mails and then respond to them next time I get online so please be patient. If you’re not the patient type, I suggest you call my roommates; P., T., or W. They only like to be contacted between the hours of midnight and 4 a.m. though. Just tell them I told you to call. Same with my mom.

Toodles!

El Pocket Lint