There's just something that just can't be replaced about being one of those poor sons of ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ down there with two tanks of kerosene strapped to your back, liquid fire pouring all over the VC. Man in the dark pajamas, formidable opponent indeed, popping out of one of his spider holes soaked in rice paddy. Ain't nothing in this world harder to ignite with your flame-tosser than someone who's been seeping himself in muddy, maggoty, malaria-ridden water. You poor son' ♥♥♥♥♥. Send you straight to hell with my hellfire. Look both ways before you cross the street. Don't take any wooden nickels, you little VC lunatic.