The Smell of Treason in the Evening

"I love the smell of napalm in the morning."

“I love the smell of napalm in the morning.”

1 bottle of Stolichnaya vodka

1 BIC lighter, rainbow-print design with a small hammer and sickle sticker

1 tremendously hand-sewn American flag (made in Trump’s America)

Colonel Phil Hanlon ’69 finished lacing up his spit-shined jump boots and ducked through the flap of his tent into the evening light that shone on Camp Dartmouth.  He strode toward the Green, flanked by Major Carolyn Dever on his right and his aid, Corporal Eng-Beng Lim, on his left. COL Hanlon ’69 ran gritty fingers through his sweaty mustache and stepped over the limp body of Dartmouth Liberation Army Grand General Inge-Lise Ameer, which no one had bothered to move for several weeks. He stood before a mass of exhausted students waiting for his address, their sweaters caked with mud and their faces singed.

COL Hanlon ’69 waved his hand in a circle, directing his men (MAJ Dever is in transition) to form up around the charred remains of the Tremendous American flag. 

“Smell that? You smell that?”

COL Hanlon ’69 kneeled, taking a whiff of the recently burned Tremendous American flag.

“Treason, son. Nothing else in the world smells like that.”

Looking off into the distance, towards the DLA rebels held up in the bombed-out remains of Dartmouth Hall, COL Hanlon ’69 clenched his fists.

“I hate the smell of treason in Trump’s America.  You know, one time there was a protest on the Green, it lasted for two hours.  When it was all over, we didn’t find one of ‘em, not one stinkin’ dink liberal.  The smell, you know that gender neutral, man-hating, anti-capitalist smell, the whole Green. Smelled like… treason.  Someday this protest is gonna end….”

COL Hanlon ’69 wandered off towards the Choates minefield with no explanation and no hesitation.

By Conrad Kissinger