“Don’t laugh,” I shouted.  “Its not funny.”

My green fatigue pants had finally given up their purpose.  Forty days and forty nights of sweat, dirt and grimy living off the jungle floor had finally taken their toll.  And since no one wore underwear, more was exposed than I cared to show.  All the ‘wait a minute vines’, razor wire, and thorny bushes were causing cuts and scratches in all the wrong places.  These filthy pants had split, in one fell swipe,  from the end of the front zipper through the rear belt loop.  There was no fixin them, no needle, no thread, and no replacement pants until resupply which might be days away.