And a plate of Sardines? ( A Bulgarian soldier in Italy)

Day 388, 07:05 • Published in Italy Bulgaria • by Imaginapolis

WTF, right?
Wrong. We're here, we drink beer, get used to it!

My Dearest Veneta,
It's been a week since our platoon was shipped to Italy and France and I'm starting to miss our Motherland a lot. Right now I have five Italian soldiers uncomfortably close to me, for we are packed tight in this tin can, appropriately named Sardinia. The smell of sardines is high and so is our spirit. Even the Italian Generals are high, but that's ok, since they fight better this way.
All day long I run around with a gun in my hand, then lay in the hospital and think about you and your hairy ass. For after the Motherland, I love you the most. Then I lay bricks and curse in my native tongue, my targets usually are the New World's Imperialism and the cheap Q1fish they feed us.

But I figured it all out.
That’s what this War is all about - walls and sardines. Getting on, getting off. Getting the sardines on. Getting the sardines off. That’s force. That’s Erepublik. That’s life.

What else did I want to ax you? Oh yeah, don't fuck nobody, ok?

Remeber your loving,
Hrista

P.S. I totally forgot to say
That Canada is mighty gay!