The French Foreign Legion

The reasons for me joining the French Foreign Legion were many and varied.

Above all, I went there to forget. To forget a love who scarred my heart and did injure my soul.

I can’t remember her name now, I forgot.

I’d been in the sand-locked fort for over a week and, being a man of extraordinary virility, I could stand the isolation no longer.

I approached the battle scarred and somewhat insane Sergeant Major and said to him; “Bloody Puke”; for that was how he was known; “What do you do around here when you must have a fuck?”

Punching me in the stomach, for that was his way, he pointed to a camel and said, as he kicked me in the face, for that was his way; “You see yonder camel…”

Stop”, I said, disgusted, “I don’t want to hear a another word you sick fuck”.

He shrugged his shoulders and kicked me in the head, for that was his way.

Another week passed. I could stand it no more. In the dead of night I did go to yonder courtyard and made passionate love to the camel therein. We both enjoyed it very much.

Post coitus, we lay together looking at the stars adorning the desert sky like so many diamonds. I smoked a cigarette, a ‘Camel’ whilst Dorothy, for that was her name, chewed on the hay I had brought to her as a gift.

Bloody Puke appeared as if from nowhere. Striding toward me he yelled; “What the fucking hell do you think you’re doing you dirty bastard?

I stood and, before I could do up my trousers, he kicked me in the bollocks causing me to drop to the floor.

Now on my knees I said to him; “You told me you used the camel…”

Yes. To ride into town”.

He then stabbed me in the stomach with his bayonet, for that was his way.

Dorothy, for that was her name



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