Corporal Ortiz sings, "does your head feel heavy?", and the rest of us sing it back to him, running up the dusty hills of Camp Pendelton. "Do you feel like your dead?, some of us are gagging now, but we toss it back to him anyway. "Then you must be-e-e", a couple are contemplating falling out, someone else pukes, but most can still sing it back. "A whop-per head !" and I'm both pissed off and consoled by the repetition of that stupid tune yet again as we crest the hill and recover at a shuffle along the ridgeline.
Here it is twenty-some-odd years later, and my head feels like a boulder on a dandelion stem while barely keeping my eyes open at work. And here comes old Ortiz out of the dust of my half-dream like a jolly Mexican tooth fairy pissing me off and making me laugh all the way up this son of a bitch.
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