Every day when I walk home to my house I pick up the household mail. I, of course, peruse the address bar of each and every strip of paper, just to see if somebody out there know I’m alive and have sent me mail to tell me so (or maybe some useful stuff to boot). Today, however, I received a most unwanted letter from an institution that I hoped had filed me “long gone”, “dead and buried” or simply “To fat to fit in a truck”.

I got my letter of enrollment to the military. And I don’t want to go! First of all: I’m no fighter. Even though I’m pretty big and strong for a seventeen year old boy, I’ve never hit anyone (except my sisters, but they deserved it). I don’t want to lose a whole year, trotting around in forests and assembling guns. You might as well shoot me for all I care about the military.

Hopefully they’ll change the rules so I don’t have to go and get me a gun (pun intended, not enjoyed).