Love : The Art of War

Thursday, September 21, 2006

It can be hard to go from Hero to Zero. That's what has happened to me. My company runs its operations twenty four hours a day 365 days a year and 367 once every four years. There are three different squadrons code-named Green,Blue,Red. Each platoon competes with the other for the love of our collective Father the Generalissimo. Each member is assigned a rank based on time served in the trenches with special mentions and postings to those few good men, that are willing to sacrifice body and mind to the greater glory of the company. I had until recently served all my time with codename Green, which is a bit of a misnomer as the members consisted of mainly seasoned veterans the old wolves if you will. I had earned the respect of the Green crew. I have proven myself time and again. Then word came down from up high, I was being transfered to the 'Reds'.

The Red crew is aptly named. The most vile, wicked and bloodthirsty of the three, populated mostly by exconvicts and murderers. The Red crew is like Lord of the Flies. An imposing horde of savages.To themI am newly made, without skill or ability. A cabin boy to fetch coffee and receive whippings. This has the added burden of inspiring speechs from the idiots. Social order is a complicated structure with dominant males challenging newcomers to their territory. It is tricky navigating this psychological fray. So the gorrilas in the mist harrass me incessantly. I cannot simply pound my chest and engage in barefisted combat with these Beta male maniacs. This behavior is not untolerated but rather frowned upon. As an Alpha male I must never sink to a Beta level by risking my Alpha status to mere psysical combat.

Conquest is best served by overcoming enemies without wasting time and energy fighting. Something Beta males are not aware of. So as the natural leader of this wolf pack I must embrace these morons as my own. By winning over the Omegas with generous attention, teach them to stop drooling and show some civility. The last few weeks have placed a strain on my energy levels. Resisting the urge to kill can be stressful. It is only natural to want to destroy the weak and inferior, a reptilian complex buried deeply in our subconscious as a tool to ensure the greater glory of the species uncontaminated by the inferm. Its ugly and I dont like it. So I dont play let's torment the weak. I play charm and disarm. Make love an Art of War.


pbinpg said...

So.... Why arn't you writing a book about the slightly ascended gorillas in the mist,or more approtiatly,the almost smart monkeys who toil beside you. You have the talent but not the will. Try it you will be surprised.

thedeviluno said...

Most writers are recognized posthumously.

thedeviluno said...

I toil in obscurity.

Anonymous said...

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