A 28 year old Berner sits at home, complaining about the unfairness of her part time barista job (“they want me to take out the trash & that makes my heart so angry”) only paying $11.50 an hour when the text comes in. “You’ve been drafted. Report for duty tomorrow. 10:00 sharp.”
Terrified, she texts back “NO THANK YOU.”
A response comes quickly. “Trump says you must report for duty tomorrow at 10 a.m. bring running shoes.”
She screams. Her heart is really angry now.
“How do you know me?!” She texts back. “I never signed up!”
Response: “FAFSA”
A response comes quickly. “Trump says you must report for duty tomorrow at 10 a.m. bring running shoes.”
She screams. Her heart is really angry now.
“How do you know me?!” She texts back. “I never signed up!”
Response: “FAFSA”
Well they’ve got her in a real pickle now. She did get some financial aid, which she’d totally prefer to just like, donate back, since she didn’t even quite complete her womyn’s studies degree (it was the principle of the thing: the department hired a MAN to teach WOMEN’S LIT.)
She types back, thinking hard. “Yeah like is there a way I can roll what they gave me for FASFA into my student loans & get out of this? Obama was President when I got that help & I don’t want to go to Trump’s WWIII. I also suffer from PTSD already so you probably don’t want me.”
The Army doesn’t respond immediately, and she considers just blocking them. But then she remembers an article she read on Daily Kos about how W spied on people’s phones through the patriot whatever thing and she realizes they’ll just break through her block or something.
Finally the Army asks, “When we’re you diagnosed with PTSD?”
Now we’re talking.
“I walk dogs on the side to get some extra money to try and pay off my school loans and gas money,” she types. “One day out of nowhere a terrifying pit bull tried to ATTACK ME.”
Now we’re talking.
“I walk dogs on the side to get some extra money to try and pay off my school loans and gas money,” she types. “One day out of nowhere a terrifying pit bull tried to ATTACK ME.”
“Oh no,” the Army says. “How long were you in the hospital? How bad were your injuries?”
“My injuries were all internal,” she fudges, remembering how scared she felt with the pit bull scratching at his fence & barking at her like mad. It’s cruel of them to make her relive it!
“My injuries were all internal,” she fudges, remembering how scared she felt with the pit bull scratching at his fence & barking at her like mad. It’s cruel of them to make her relive it!
“What organs?” The Army asks.
“Well my heart, for one,” she begins. She starts to type another long message about her night terrors when the Army rudely interrupts her.
“Just come to the base tomorrow at ten. We can discuss this then. Bring running shoes and cut your hair off.”
“Well my heart, for one,” she begins. She starts to type another long message about her night terrors when the Army rudely interrupts her.
“Just come to the base tomorrow at ten. We can discuss this then. Bring running shoes and cut your hair off.”
Her night terrors are much much worse that night. The next day as she’s walking out of the hair salon with her head shaved, she realizes that her town doesn’t have a military base. Also girls aren’t registered for the draft. And WWIII isn’t actually happening.
Bamboozled again.
Bamboozled again.
