Toledo Tales

(Toledo, OH) Local embellishment specialist Dwayne Baxter told Toledo Tales reporters that his experiences serving in the Marines during the Vietnam War have convinced him that Iraq War veterans are "a bunch of fucking pansies."

"Listen: I once watched a buddy get blown up while I was shaking his hand, and all that was left was a bloody forearm, still twitching while the rest of him was splattered across forty yards of a gook village," he recalled. "And the scariest shit? The dead guy's hand gripped mine even tighter for about ten seconds, like it was Walter's way of saying: 'Bro, take care, you hear?' Man, it don't get more fucked-up than that. But these Iraq War vets? A bunch of limp-wristed, skirt-wearing douchebags, if you ask me."

Baxter said that claims about posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) among Iraq War vets are without merit.

"I ain't never seen such a group of pathetic, terrified-mutt ninnies as the PTSD types coming back from Iraq," he said, pausing to puff his Lucky Strike. "Back in 'Nam, it was either shit or get your fucking legs blown off by some bicycle-riding 10-year-old bomb-carrying girl who says: 'Mister, Mister' and then tosses a chunk of smoking C-4 in your face. BAM!!! Straight up: Vietnam was a MAN'S WAR, the kind of shit that separated the men from the diaper-wearing crybaby little bitches, not like this hand-wringing PTSD horseshit."

Baxter recalled a particularly gruesome scene from just outside Phnom Penh.

"We just finished this top-secret mission to take out some military officers when an artillery shell dropped in on us, taking out six good men from the platoon," he said. "Then this Viet Cong chick comes out of nowhere, grabs me by the crotch, and says: 'You fuck me NOW!' Before I know it, she's chomping on my Johnson like it's a buttered corn cob, and we're going at it like a couple of stray dogs, dig? And just as I am about to shoot my load, this crazy commie tells me to spooge it on her back while she starts humping my dead buddy Raymond's mangled thigh bone, sticking right through his torn pant leg. I says to myself: 'Fuck that!' And I grabbed my M-16 and blew her fucking head off, just as I am blasting off this geyser of man-juice all over my fatigues. Then, for just a second, Raymond's eyes open, and he gives me that little smile, and I knew right then and there I done the right thing with that Vietnamese whore. Now THAT'S some posttraumatic stress, mister."

Labels: Iraq War, posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD)