My Fault?

Why the silence, boss? Could it be you can't get your head around this little wargame of ours? It is a trip most defintely, as my mom might say. Though there'd be a weird-out for sure, Lucy Sunshine over here in Saudiland. She'd probably figure it was the end of the world live and in person, no waiting. Sometimes it sure do look that way.

Anyway, I happen to know that I'm getting my mail good and reglar just like the Man wants us to: I'm in the business, after all. Boris writes me six or seven times a day, thats a story all by itself. So it isn't like your letters have got misrouted to Bagdad or something. Did I do something to offend your sensibilties? What is it, you think just because I'm in the Reserves that I'm somehow responsible for the policy that got me sent here?