I come by my warped sense of humor honestly -- from my mother. When I came out of my coma, a Donut Dollie came by my bed to ask if I needed anything. Among of myriad of other issues, my right hand and arm were shattered, with muscle loss and severed nerves. So I had the Donut Dollie send a letter to my mom saying that I broke my arm and wouldn't be writing much for a while. My mom wrote me back a short note written on a photocopy of this telegram. It simply said, "This is how the Army describes your broken arm." What? My arm was broken -- I wouldn't lie to my momma. Having a sense of humor of it's own, the Army left off that one of my gunshot wounds to my chest left a nasty exit wound in my back -- and my most painful wound of all, a shrapnel wound to my butt. If the cheap bastards were trying to save characters in the telegram, they could have left that other crap off and just said the Commies missed your boy's face -- I got wounded everyplace else in my body.