Member-only story
War & Sex
Seven Fictional Conversations
Dedicated to the memory of George Carlin, who I wish was still around to cut through the ever-new and ever-increasing layers of dazzling deception dished out to get people to be willing to die and kill for The War Racket.
ONE
The line to the entrance of the bawdy house stretched the entire length of the city block—corner to corner.
> I suppose there are some risks with the ladies. Disease, y’know. . .
• Probably. A good chance even. But hey—we might get killed any day now anyway.
> True true. And to feel a warm body against mine . . .
• Yeah, the hunger is eating me alive.
> Me too.
• For whomever the angel may be up there ahead awaiting me — for her to spread her thighs, and for me to place my face upon her furry bouquet—well, I would gladly get syphilis and go blind.
> They have treatments. Takes a month I hear. And you don’t get paid while you’re treated — and lose leave rights for a year.
• I heard they write to your family and tell them what you’re being treated for.
> Nah. They stopped that part after a major committed suicide after his wife had been informed.
