Friday, August 31, 2007
Ted "Draft Dodger" Nugent Can Go Fuck Himself. An open letter to Teddy Chickenhawk.
I was suitably impressed by your recent brandishment of a "machine gun" to embellish a few back-handed threats against several Democratic politicians. Damn, we could have used a stud like you in the A Shau back in '70 and '71. God knows, there were times when I looked over my shoulder hoping to see a little outgoing 50 cal, but it's funny, every time I looked, you were never there. Hey, you were probably still busy stateside trying to launder those shit-encrusted jeans you wore down to the draft board.
Trust me, Dude, if crapping your drawers was the intent, based on what I know about you, we could have accomodated you in the first 30 seconds of any of the repeated firefights we engaged in during Operation Lam Son 719 and Operation Texas Star.
I hear you're a big hunter, Teddy. Surely you've heard that man is the ultimate game. Of course, you're probably wired a little differently than I am. You see, Teddy, 35+ years after the fact, I still wake up every now and then haunted by the faces of the two men whom I am certain that I killed. I try not to think about the fact that over my months in the bush there were almost certainly more than two, but these particular NVA grunts were only 50 meters outside our perimeter, and after I lit them up, their comrades were unable to retrieve them. We dragged the bodies in the next morning. I've got no problem with rationalizing that it was me or them, Teddy. But, unlike you and every other chickenhawk drum-pounder I've ever heard of, I refuse to celebrate their deaths.
Now, why don't you piss off and blow up a few more animals on a canned hunt? Maybe that's what you need to get it up with the under-age girls that your own daughters claim you relish. But please remember, you once had a chance to lock and load against someone able to shoot back. You chose to shit yourself instead.