Look Dear, It’s Poor Wilson Come Home From the War!

Wilson came home yesterday after four weeks in Big Boy doggie boot camp.  Oh, what a pittiful sight!  His hair had turned grey.  It was long and matted from ( he said) all those turrible, turrible hours digging out a foxhole with nothing but his helmet for a shovel, not to mention meal after meal of Spam on a Shingle.  He had one large hairless spot along his flank.  “Don’t worry,” he insisted.  “It’s just a little nick from an enemy bullet.  Nothing to mention to anyone — Really!!!”

But still, the poor fella was hobbling on crutches.  And dirty.  Oh, so sadly dirty.

We mentioned that the nice girls down at the USO had arranged for a welcome-home greeting complete with a bubble bath, electric shears, a pedicure and all the cookies a soldier fresh from boot camp could want.  Boy, oh boy!  Wilson threw down his crutches and hopped in the car as fast as you could say K-Rations.

Four an a half hours later, we picked up our Wilson.  Sparkling white once again, although we had to admit that those scalp-scraping G.I. haircuts leave a bit to be desired.

Later, after a gourmet dinner of steak and lobster, and as we were tucking our hero into bed with more cookies, hugs and kisses, the phone rang.  It was his trainer.  Seems that the story about the close call with that enemy bullet was all a ruse to gain our sympathy.  The true story is that he was caught mooning his camp buddies during a midnight food raid in the Blue Team’s tent, and someone accidentally bit him on the butt in the ensuing scuffle.

Oh, poor Wilson … come home from the war, indeed!

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