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I am going to be an Iraq War recreationist

Sam Burnett

I am going to be an Iraq War recreationist. You can join if you want.


I will start it when a friend asks me to join his recreationist society but then rejects my application. I will create a new recreation society founded on similar principles but with a cheaper membership fee.


I will make up the costs by purchasing inferior beers for the Club House and changing the labels so they look expensive.


I will initially limit expenditure by purchasing old Civil War costumes from my dead uncle’s estate. The insurgents will be fitted with surplus bulk Keffiyehs from American Apparel. They will look really pretty with the recreated blood splatter from a .50 Barret Sniper Rifle on them.


I will play videogames and use military lingo in my off time. I will say stuff like ‘Fox 3’ when I’m shooting missiles from a helicopter. When I am shot down I use my calmest voice and describe to command exactly what is happening during the crash. This role playing will only stop when I need to change playlists on my iPod.


I will acknowledge the formation of this club will be delayed due to our lack of a definitive timetable in Iraq. You can’t really ‘recreate’ a war that’s still going on. The lack of knowing makes it impossible to plan ahead. Catering bills will cost a fortune since I won’t be able to book in advance.


I will be happy that I don’t want to be a Korean war recreationist. That would suck.


I will scour the Untied States for a piece of land that best fits the criteria of appearing like Iraq for our mock battles.


I will finally find a 30 mile lot of the outskirts of Odessa. On every second weekend it will be used by the Girl Scouts, but we can have it any other time as long as we promise to pick up all the rubbish and spent bullet casings.


I will shout things at minorities on the street. Not because I’m an Iraq War recreationist, but because they are stealing my jobs.


I will create merchandising opportunities for my recreation society that will only be equaled by fornicating sports stars and dead celebrities who signed away life rights on their Mahogany death beds to greedy relatives.


I will take my show on the road. When the cars start to beep at me I will give them the finger.


I will eventually realize that a Iraq War Recreation society is a pretty good way to get tax breaks. Especially when you talk to Mr Stafford over at the Odessa Branch of the IRS who lost the very essence of his being in Fallujah. He’ll help you out.


I will use these breaks to buy that nice little thirty mile piece of land in South Texas.


I will build a Members Clubhouse there. It will be surrounded by barbed wire and landmines, but that’s only to give it the closest possible resemblance to Camp Liberty.


I will tell the recreationist members that for a small fee they can live in the camp, which will from this stage be referred to as a ‘compound’. This will make the recreationist experience more real because it will be like a barracks where we all live.


I will insist that the other recreationists call me General because I have been the longest serving Iraq War recreationist in this compound.


I will be sleeping when the IRS turns up with tanks and several SWAT Teams.


I will call with a list of demands. Only once have they been complied with will I consider giving up my recreationist society (which the media has taken to calling a cult).


I will talk to CNN. Nobody else.


I will be nervous when they cross to me. I will stumble over words and start quoting from Revelations in an attempt to stall for time.


I will duck.


I will roll on the ground. But there will still be burning.


I am going to be an Iraq War recreationist. You can join if you want.







Sam Burnett is from Tasmania. His work has been published on Mcsweeney's Internet Tendency, Yankee Pot Roast and The Bygone Bureau. He would rather be sleeping.

A perfectly healthy sentence, it is true, is extremely rare. For the most part we miss the hue and fragrance of the thought; as if we could be satisfied with the dews of the morning or evening without their colors, or the heavens without their azure. - Henry David Thoreau


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