"Wine is fine but whiskey's quicker",

Ozzy Osbourne's voice crackled on the army radio,

"Suicide is slow with liquor"

"I'll fuggin show you", cried Ozzie Lyons from across the barracks, a tooth dropping out of his mouth as he did. He lifted the 20-year aged bottle of Glenfiddich that the company had been saving for the Colonel's upcoming 50th birthday, and downed it in one manful swig.

He came to several hours later. That same colonel was slapping him across the face, "Gawdammit Ozzie geddup, the Viet Cong's firebawmmin our camp again". Ozzie took a moment to arrange this new information, and to get his eyes both facing the same way. "WHAT", he gutteranced. Seeing the urgent need to flee, he rammed a clenched fist in to the colonel's face, knocking him to the ground. With one threat dispatched he ran haphazardly out the door, screaming "WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?" as he went.

Ozzie ran all around the camp like a dog chasing its tail, setting off several mines in the process, until he ran face-first in to a brick wall. His vision faded, and after a few moments the word "WASTED" appeared across it. With this, Ozzie passed out for the second time that day.

When he woke up, some damn Chinese looking people were dragging Ozzie along the ground. "you Goddam commies", screeched Ozzie as he flailed fruitlessly, attempting to escape his captors' clutches. Despite is protestations (more like protestants amirite), the Vietnamese were able to drag him through the mud and throw him in to the back of and old, white, dust-caked windowless van.

Everything was hot. The van was hot. Ozzie was hot. Cypress Hill were terrible. Lucina was very hot. "I'm thirsty already", said Ozzie. He clenched a hip flask that he kept stuffed under his shirt for just such occasions and drank heartily from it. "thank god fer Tesco value gin", he thought, "I almost remembered muh stoopid brother's name".

The van stopped with a start which threw our hero against its siding panel. His weight was enough to dislodge the panel and send him flying out the side. Coincidentally, Ricken was under the panel at the time and the jolt had snapped his neck. Meanwhile, to get back to important things, Ozzie was face down with a mouthful of vietnamese dirt.

"He trying to esscape!", said a racist caricature of a Viet Cong soldier. Within moments, 20 guns were trained on Ozzie's head. "Once again it's awnn", he thought to himself with quiet confidence, and he began to hear this almost location-appropriate tune (watch?v=gLU_F_3Z2ek).

The onslaught began with the soldier unlucky enough to be in front of him at the time. Ozzie let out a war cry, "RRRRRAAARRAGGGHGH", and lunged, shoved his arm down the poor soul's throat, tore open his stomach and ripped his heart out. Blood volcanoed from the once-human husk as he lifted the heart out to display to the men that once called that corpse a friend.

With his free hand, Ozzie took the gun from the falling sack of meat. "COME GET SOME" ( /7uVmhy3yDwg?t=119) Ozzie cried as he mowed down several of the enemy at once, all of whom were too stunned to respond by the incredible display of gore they had just seen.

Only one remained. He cowered in a corner, unarmed, begging for his life to be spared in some god damn foreign talk. Ozzie paced slowly over, taking the time en route to lift a knife from one of the fallen. His laughter constantly growing as he approached his last victim.

He reached the shivering mess and swang haphazardly with his knife, creating a huge gash across his forehead.

"RESPONSE?", shouted Ozzie.

He lunged again, ripping the cartilage on the man's right shoulder.

"RESPONSE?", he shouted again.

Ozzie woke up and found himself in a dimly lit room with his arms chained to the wall. "WHAAAAT?", he cried. "Where the hell am I?"

"You're in a Viet Cong prison. We all are" said an unseen voice to his left.

"Garrrrsshh derrnit, I thought I was killin commies", said Ozzie, deflated.

"You kill us?" said a distinctly racist-sounding Vietnamese voice in front of them, "Ha, you knocked out when you fall out of van". At this, a cacophony of laughter erupted around Ozzie. He was distraught. Was he not, in fact, the badass killing machine he had always believed himself to be?

"I just wanted to kill Fidel Castro", he mumbled to himself. The voice on the left spoke out again. "Fidel Castro? This is Vietnam". "Yeh, I know" replied Ozzie. "Fidel Castro's in Cuba".

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?"

The situation seemed hopeless for Ozzie, but little did he know he would soon be rescued by the cause of a faint noise he could hear in the distance. It went "rat-tat-tat-tat"…

p.s. i'm working on the next chapter in which Ozzie will return...

p.p.s yes I know that song came out in 1980 but this is MY fanfic and and I can do what I want

p.p.p.s don't forget to rate and R&R and review.

p.p.p.p.s yes "a sword" is my gf irl stop asking

p.p.p.p.p.s ...

to Galtar