Day 2 of the war

I'm down the the trenches. Bullets whistle by my ears. Johnny's dead, took a bullet right in the eye; I covered up his corpse with a letter from home from his girlfriend. There's a twelve-foot rabbit to my right chewing on a can of tomatoes. I don't know how he got down here. Tanks rumble in the distance. Biplanes and gayplanes buzz overhead, dropping F-bombs. An aircraft carrier launces two Patriot missiles with track-me-down technology, but I'm not worried: The trench is pretty deep. Smoke and blood and succatash cloud my vision. I fire a few shots across the bow; the wrapping returns fire. I'm trapped like a rat. Back to the wall like a dog. Fresh out of feed like a horse with a bag. I can't see the lights of Murky's eyes, they're too ... murky. I smile and toss a grenade, and the rabbit is toast. I crawl along the trench and get tangled up in wire. So this is how it ends. End of the road, ma. No! I struggle with the entangling wires. Yes! An explosion nearby launces me into the air and back into a delightful soothing bathtub, replete with scented oils and floating candles. It's a small war after all.