Once upon a timer there was a young bomb named Jeff. He was a fearful clever bomb, he had studied Political Signs at Umbrage University, and had a First Degree in Burns. He was well-red on Oriental matters and had studied the great works of Nagasaki and Hiroshima.
One day Jeff woke up to find himself on board a jet plane, just like his hero Tom Cruise. At once he got a little nervegas, as he was bomb shy, and he realized he would soon be meeting Persians unknown. Today would be his big day, his change to really shine.
His was an important job, though it didn’t payloads. The plane flew across the border from India and soon the bombbay doors were opening. Jeff watched his clustermates leave one by one. He could see they were having a blast, two of them had a wingding at the hospital and razed the roof.
Yet Jeff was not happy when it was his turn, for he had a gyroscopic moral compass. The pilot told him his target was a weapons factory, but if there were missiles why were they sitting in total silos?
Suddenly the voice of the resident himself came on the radio, live from the Wight House at 2200 killahurts. “This is not an exorcise,” he yelled, “it is a demon-stration of our power. We are oil depending on you. You must free that factory, the World is watching CNN.”
Suddenly Jeff realized that he too was one of the weapons of mass distraction. He dropped from the fighter plane. As he fell he remembered the V2 of WW2, how they had claimed they were only following ordnance. At the last moment he made a coarse correction, landed in the sand, and deserted. He wasn’t just a war head, he knew what was right.
As Jeff sat in the sun he felt tired and depleted. He knew he would never be considered a Patriot. But he was a smart bomb, and it was a dumb war.