Warfare and Real Estate

I'm no history buff. But I watch my share of the History Channel. I even CLEP'd two semesters of history in college (hint: just know who Rosa Parks was and how badly the White Man treated the Indians, and you'll pass the American History CLEPs).

I've observed something about warfare. We don't shop around for the best locations. Think about it. We usually wage war in one of three places: desert saunas, hell-hole jungles; or frozen tundra. Why?

War is a big enough pain-in-the-ass without staking out the shittiest places on the planet to host the battles. Who was our real estate agent during N. Korea? Satan?

If we have to kill each other, the least we should do is book a time-share in Boca Raton. Or maybe Belize. I hear it's wonderful year 'round and you can't beat the beaches. Let's stage the battles somewhere where you can fire an M-16 in a Speedo and flip-flops. If I'm going to die, I want my toes in the sand and some good reggae music in the background. You know what would sound really cool? Small-arms fire ricocheting off the steel drum band.

Anyway, Boca and Belize would make for marvelous naval battles, too. So what if the ship sinks? The water is clear and 82 degrees with light swells. Surf back to the beach and order a mai tai. Grab some appetizers and then go kill a few more bad guys. Screw the MREs. I'd rather dine on tropical fruit and coconuts (and the flesh of my fallen enemies, of course). And you could pop those coconuts open with the butt of your M-16.

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