[ IP ] A new kind of enemy .

I've read most of the reports about what some are calling `` The Destroyer'' and the way it ( It? I think it's actually a she, only women can be that god damn evil ) ate buildings and shat some monstruous ooze that then developed life and proceeded to be eaten by it's maker ( the bitch, that is ). 
 
 I've also read and interviewed decens of marines that were deployed from every fucking part in the world. Most of them were chinks, second most were Yankies, and from then on there even were some poor fuckers from *Chile*. Every government in the world was taking action against the giant bug. So it was n't really surprising when a hundred thousand american marines were sent over there faster than taking a crap in the woods. 
 
 What really was a surprise is that inbetween these anonymous men that were going to die caustic, indescribable deaths I, *a fucking journalist*, was being deployed there too. Fuck, I thought, and then parachuted along with a giant, kind hearted black man strapped to my back in a perpetual violation. He died few seconds after the jump; as the army later found out, the monster had airborne threat protection, *too*. Spores and spikes and even some fucking bugs were being shooted out of gross craters in it's back. 
 
 In the plane we were given some kind of drug that made fear your little bitch and also made you spontaneously crap your pants in the strict sense of the word. Well, upon landing I was able to verify that he got bit ( bit? I thought, because really the wound was so absurdly brutal that calling it a bite was like calling a 50 caliber bullet a piece of wire ) in the neck and also *a huge damn spike* thrusted into his forehead. `` Fucking hell!'' I screamed at the monster, but he did n't notice me, and ( what do you know ) another big fucking guy, this one built like a god damn panzer lifted and threw me inside of a Humvee-ish vehicle. 
 
 What the **fuck** did they want me to cover, I asked myself, when you could take a fucking picture of the beast via *satellite* and say `` that dot in there looks like this'' and couple it with a wide-angle lens picture for people to understand what was going on in Iraq. You get my point? Did they want me to describe just how abominable is this thing? Well, picture a giant atrocious scorpion that spits stuff that kills and eats it's own sentient shit. Or you could just *look, at the motherfucking pictures*. 
 
 We were inside the vehicle and I asked some guy where the fuck were we going. He turned around to face me and I realized he was covered in shit, excrement from other soldiers that apparently did this everytime they were deployed, I later learned that this happens in every operation the United States Marine Corps is involved in, the only extraordinary fact now being that this time they had previously snorted a thought-and-sphincter vanishing agent. 
 
 He mumbled some incoherent words and then did what I suppose was dying. Jesus, I thought, trying to conjure memories from what awful thing I had done in the past that some bastard in the White House decided to throw me into the next Orbital Carrier plane leaving for Iraq. As the armoured vehicle's door opened and all fifty marines inside and me got down from it we were able to get a sense of how big the motherfucker was, and how utterly bizarre was the fact that some dumb motherfucker thought foot soldiers were going to be able to do something besides dying and feeding it. 
 
 I lit up a cigarette and smoked it while watching it go. It seemed to move really slow, due to it's size, and I had the feeling I was on some weird drug and that my dealer was probably groping me while I layed twitching on his living room carpet. But no, this was, however outlandish, reality. Once you stopped believing in it, it remained there. 
 
 You have to understand my thought process here, I was the only american journalist in the whole fucking country and it was being invaded by a bug from hell. So I started walking around the melted city hoping to find an intact keg of beer in some tabern or bar in this god forsaken land. In midst of that thought it came to me that it was precisely the opposite happening, God was responsible for this happening, *he* had sent the monster down to Iraq, in fact he *was* the monster, hoping to get some prayers out of humans to get some pussy in whatever fucking realm he lived. Fuck him, I thought, Nietzsche let us down, hairy fucker was pretty convincing about having killed God. I finally found a tavern and Allah be fucking praised, there was beer, not a keg, damnit, but a six pack of damn Heineken. Fuck, I thought, `` They used the A-bomb with the japs right away but not with this horrible manifestation of divinity?'' I sat down in the middle of the debris and started writing this column, hoping to make it as horribly insulting as possible, to illustrate how horribly grotesque and insulting life on this planet has become. 
 
 When I finished writing it I had run out of beer. I walked back to the camp them marines had set up and found puddles of shit and gore. Conveniently there was a military issue motorcycle some dingbat who now bubbled beside it had brought with him. I looked at God one last time and it seemed to have moved a little to the right by now. God was a terribly inneficient monster when it came to moving around, I thought. 
 
 I rode the motorcycle back to the landing camp and walked inside one of those big airplanes I had been brought in. `` Can I bring the bike?'' I asked, they told me no. 
 
 I arrived home two hours ago and will be sending this to my editor along with a photograph I took from the soldier who was covered in shit. I hope this article sinks in when you read it. 
 
 Sincerely, Hunter S. Thompson.
