[b]Joseph Heller
He began to wonder with genuine concern just what sort of shithead the Pentagon had foisted on him.[/b]
Cue Colonel Haydon and the silver star.
Clevinger really thought he was right, but Yossarian had proof, because strangers he didn’t know shot at him with cannons every time he flew up into the air to drop bombs on them, and it wasn’t funny at all
Just following orders as it were.
[b]Appleby was as good at shooting crap as he was at playing Ping-Pong, and he was as good at playing Ping-Pong as he was at everything else. Everything Appleby did, he did well. Appleby was a fair-haired boy from Iowa who believed in God, Motherhood, and the American Way of Life, without ever thinking about any of them, and everybody who knew him liked him.
I hate that son of a bitch, Yossarian growled.[/b]
This either resonates or it doesn’t.
Death was irreversible, he suspected, and he began to think he was going to lose.
Next up: taxes.
He wondered often how he would ever recognize the first chill, flush, twinge, ache, belch, sneeze, stain, lethargy, vocal slip, loss of balance or lapse of memory that would signal the inevitable beginning of the inevitable end.
THE end one suspects.
He mashed hundreds of cakes of GI soap into the sweet potatoes just to show that people have the taste of Philistines and don’t know the difference between good and bad.
He thought: That explains a lot.