My Friend, Jed

My friend's name is Jed. Jed's a marine. He was a marine even before he was a marine. This post is dedicated to him.

Jed hit full-blown puberty at six months gestation and came into this world with a full beard, chest hair, and an adam's apple the size of a tennis ball. When his dad started handing out cigars at the hospital, Jed snagged one, fired it up, and inhaled. Sucked the whole thing down with one toke and then announced his own Apgar: "Ten, baby!"

He was a member of Mensa before he was five, played Division I football in the second grade, and once killed a Sasquatch for not honoring a bet. I met him when we waited tables together in college.

He'd been working there a while when I started and was one of the server trainers, a genius move on the part of the management. They used him to weed out the weak and wayward. My wife also worked there and had him as a trainer on her first day. She has no memory of it.

Jed used to carry five glasses in one hand just because he could. I don't mean shotglasses - I'm talkin' 20-ouncers! He could handle eight tables, keep the cooks stocked, haze the newbies, and still manage to pump out 15-20 one-armed push-ups in the dish room every time he bussed one of his tables.

He had marine written all over him. So I was thrilled when he called to say he had enlisted.

Basic training is supposed to be hellish. You're supposed to be overwhelmed by it. Wish you were dead. Jed was in heaven. He was having the time of his life. At last he was in a place where it was acceptable to make grown men cry. But the drill instructors had to ask him to go a little easier on the other recruits because their retention rate had plummeted.

Of course, he didn't stay an enlisted man very long. They made him an officer and immediately made good use of his reputation by utilizing him in psychological warfare.

Remember when we caught Saddam cowering in that rat-hole in Tikrit? Rumor has it that he had just heard that Jed was being deployed. They didn't show this on the news, but Saddam had soiled himself multiple times and was mindlessly muttering, "vill be good boy naw, vill be good boy naw."

And that Abu Ghraib thing? When I heard about that, I knew the military brass had nothing to do with it. I'm telling you, if they wanted some prisoners abused, there's one man they would have called and I know for a fact he was in Oklahoma at the time. Still, a lot of those pictures bore a striking resemblance to some of the things I saw while waiting tables at J.Alexander's.

He actually did deploy a couple of months ago. He likes it so much he's got his eye on a summer home in Fallujah. I don't know if you noticed the lack of bad news about the war in the media. Apparently, the "troop surge" is working. Just happened to coincide with Jed's arrival.

I've started a letter writing campaign to get Jed reassigned. It's high time we got our hands on Osama. With Jed on his trail, I guarantee Osammy wouldn't be holed-up in some cave - he'd be running like a scalded dog. Jed smells fear and cowardice as if it's bloated skunk roadkill, so it would take him about .5 seconds to zero in on him and introduce him to the toasty hereafter. It's a wonder to me they haven't already sent him in there after him. Of course, it may be that they want Osama alive.

I know you've never met him, but I can tell you with pride that I sleep better knowing that Jed and others like him are out there fighting for those who can't. If I were a terrorist over there right now, I'd be getting blond highlights and converting to Christianity in a New York minute. Evil is not safe around this man and I suspect things will be wrapping up before long.

Jed, if you're reading this, may the Lord bless you and your family. Please bring me a nuddy-butty.

And oh, yeah..."it puts the lotion on the skin."