Tales of Christmas Past: Festive Excerpts from the Diary of Biff Diddle

Washington Free Beacon | 12/26/2018 | Biff Diddle
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Note: The following passages are excerpted from "The Twelve Days of Biffmas," a holiday-themed chapter in the forthcoming self-published memoir "Diddle Me This," by Free Beacon Ombudsman Biff Diddle. Enjoy!

"Merry Christmas, Džemila." I didn't care that she was a Moslem, and I knew she wouldn't indulge my lame attempt to change the subject, but the least I could do was delay the inevitable. Such is life, as they say—a fleeting, foolish exercise in delayed inevitability. The battle for Mostar was no different. The city's east side was under siege again, this time by Croats, who'd shelled the Old Bridge the previous month—our last remaining supply line to the west—sent it crumbling into the Neretva. The inevitable hung over us like an assassin's blade.

Merry - Christmas - Biffushka - Smile - Džemila

"Merry Christmas, Biffushka," she said, forcing a smile. Džemila looked especially stunning that night, and I told her as much, stroking her cheek with one hand while the other shoved cartridges into a Dragunov magazine. I knew the HVO tank formations wouldn't stay silent for long, so I kept talking. I recalled our most recent English lesson, and my riff about Santa and his lists. I asked her what I'd have to do to spare myself another year in the "naughty" column.

The shelling resumed, but Džemila didn't flinch. Without saying a word, she calmly collected the scraps of green wrapping paper on the floor, and scrunched them into a tight ball. The ring box lay open on a crate between us, surrounded by glistening 7.62mm rounds. Before I could stop her, she snapped it shut and buried it deep in her Fila rucksack. "Too dangerous for Santa here," she said, leaning close enough to graze my mustache with her lips. "But you can kiss me one last time." So I did.


I hesitated before walking out. Zara was waiting...
(Excerpt) Read more at: Washington Free Beacon
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