I’m to the point now where I don’t think I fought for the country. I fought for some politician’s view on something. I remember one dude in particular that I killed him. I shot his buddy, and then I came through his room. I killed him in front of his wife in a bedroom because he went for a gun.

And I think about him now, and it’s like, all right, why did I kill that guy? Well, because he went for a gun. Okay, but why did he go for a gun? Well, because I was in his fucking room at two in the morning. Well, why was that in his room at two in the morning? Well, because George fucking Bush was pissed that Saddam Hussein allegedly wanted to kill his dad. So we invaded.

And then I start to think, was this guy funny? What if I met him in Paris over a coffee? Would we actually have liked each other? I just killed him because a politician sent us here for weapons of mass destruction that didn’t exist.

War is Murder. Time to kill the euphemism