The international conglomerate which owns this publication was concerned that OOZE's humor was too American and wouldn't earn enough foreign dinero. So they brought me in as a figurehead to speak to all the little peoples of the world. I said, "Are you kiddin'? I just finished deliverin' bombs to those lousy towel-heads, and now I gotta deliver jokes?"

But I accepted this challenge like the man I am.

I took a look at the material, and it was all this namby-pamby intellectual crap. Not like the kinda yuks you'd get from a good issue of "Soldier Of Fortune." What were they givin' me here? One piece was about Nietzsche on a rafting trip. Nietzsche! Where were the big bazooms? The leggy, foul-mouthed showgirls? The shrapnel stickin' to your privates when you greased up your monkey? That's the humor I know and love, and the kind of humor that translates into any language. Viva la comedia!

How's this? "A Jew, an Italian, and a Pollack walk into a bar. The Jew says, 'Bartender, give me a glass of your finest Manischewitz!' The bartender gives him a glass and he drinks it all in one gulp! "Oh Vey!" he says. Then, the I-Talian goes up and orders a glass of red vino. The bartender gives him a glass and he too drinks it all in one gulp. "Mama Mia!" he says. Then the Pollack goes up and asks for a glass of detergent. The bartender gives him a glass and he, too, drinks it in one gulp. "Oh shit!," says the Pollack," I forgot the fabric softener!" Ha ha ha ha! Show me someone who can't relate to THAT!"

Sit back and prepare to laugh more furiously than an M-161A Assault rifle set on full auto.

Love, Major Bud Rock U.S.M.C.