Moon Over Mali

"A fine kettle of fish...."

Our tale begins in a desert outpost of the French Foreign Legion in the northern African country of Mali. France, the leader of the free world,  is once again at war in Africa. They are supported by their loyal ally, the United States of America, which is supplying air troop transport and field kitchens to the effort. The outpost itself is far away from the fighting. In fact, it seems its only purpose is to provide security for the US Army cooks who are feeding the French soldiers. "Dick duty", as we used to call it.

On this particular day, a young lieutenant, fresh out of the French Military Academy in Germany, is being dropped off at the post by an American Huey helicopter. He is welcomed by the gunnery sergeant, who shows him around.

The evenings in the Mali desert are spectacular: A clear moon in a black sky where you can see a thousand stars. During that first evening after dinner, the lieutenant is enjoying a cigarette with the sergeant. Suddenly, a huge Boeing 747 flies overhead. In the moonlight, the words on the aircraft can be read easily.



"United States of America"

"Gee," said the lieutenant in awe. "Could that be Obama?"

"No," replied the sergeant, "but it is Hillary Clinton, the secretary of state."

"How do you know?"

"She flies over here every two weeks like clockwork."

"Where is she going?", asked the lieutenant.

"Who knows? Could be Chad. Could be Niger. Some say Obama simply has her circumnavigating the globe to keep her out of Washington. All we know is that she passes over here every two weeks."

The lieutenant then changed the subject.

"Say, I noticed there are no women on this post. What do you guys do for sex?"

The sergeant took a drag on his cigarette and smiled pointing over to a corner of the post.

"We use old Claude over there."

The lieutenant looked in the corner where an old camel was hitched to a post.

Claude

Shocked, the lieutenant walked away.

"I think I'll turn in."

Two weeks passed. The days were long and the nights longer. Lying in bed one night, the lieutenant could hear a plane rumbling overhead. It was Hillary, but the lieutenant's thoughts were not with Hillary.

He was thinking of sex.

"I don't think that's funny."

The next morning, the lieutenant collared the sergeant after breakfast and asked, "C'mon, Sarge. Level with me. What the Hell do you guys do for sex around here?"

"I told you, Lt. We use old Claude over there."



Claude


Frustrated, the lieutenant threw up his hands in exasperation and walked away.

The days passed. The days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months. Every day, it was the same old routine, eating the American-made French toast and French fries. Every two weeks, the 747 flew overhead to who knows where. But no women. No sex.

Finally, one night, the lieutenant was lying in bed. Sure enough, he could hear the 747 passing overhead with Hillary on board. But he was not thinking of Hillary this evening. He was thinking of sex.

He was thinking of Claude.


"I don't think that's funny."

Rising out of bed, the lieutenant crept to the door and looked outside. Everyone was in bed sound asleep. Only Claude could be seen at the hitching post.

Without thinking further, the lieutenant rushed out the door, grabbed a stool and crept up behind Claude. Setting the stool down behind the camel, he stepped up and did the unthinkable, the unspeakable act.

Claude brayed like a donkey, but the lieutenant no longer cared. He couldn't stop now, and his excitement grew with each thrust.

Finally, as he felt himself climaxing in a grande crescendo, the lieutenant could see the stars exploding in the dark sky like a 4th of July fireworks display.






It was over.

Satisfied, the lieutenant slumped back to his bed and fell into a deep slumber.

The next morning, the lieutenant could hardly wait to tell the sergeant the news. Pulling him to the side, the lieutenant gave him a blow by blow report as the sergeant's eyes grew wide with amazement.

"It was great, I tell you," said the lieutenant.

Finally, the sergeant was able to speak.

"But Sir. We only use Claude to ride into Timbuktu. It's only 10 miles away and there's all kinds of women there."

"Now that's funny!"

Yes, Virginia. There is a Timbuktu.