a word from Col. Kurtz: "To raise a stench, a stench so strong as to break the stride of...of a pack of jackals. To be familiar with death as maggots are with manure. The world needs us now, and we will stay here until mushrooms grow out of our faces. These men, these tired ticks that crawl across...across the anvil of history. A time for giants, and they send us pygmies armed with chalk, computers, tennis rackets, Santa Monica hotlines to human misery. The eager students of suffering and violence. The sick and twisted hippies, long haired hypocrites, rotting with decay.
In every powerful civilization, violence stills those inner ancient passions, that primordial slim that lies in the bottom of our minds waiting aeons and aeons to be ... only to be stirred and - what? And the silkworms...the silkworms writing those fawning reports of victories while we die out here like blind martins. The experts, the air-conditioned priests, who only look for the breaking point in human misery. McNamara ... Bunker ... Rostow ... Bundy ... Bunker ... Bunker ...Johnson."