E-Mail This Article to a Friend NEW RECRUITS The other Private Jessica BY MIKE MILIARD

It put everything in perspective for me. It really did teach me the definition of sacrifice. I can’t even fathom being out there right now.

— Jessica Simpson, on her visit to Iraq

Act I. A dusty, sun-baked roadside, somewhere near the Sunni Triangle. Parched palm trees line the road and oil-well fires smoke on the desert horizon. In a sweltering Humvee, up-armored with scrap metal, Pv2 Jessica Simpson, fresh from Fort Benning, slouches in the passenger seat, filing her nails. Pfc. Nick Lachey mans the wheel.

Jessica: Nick, why does everyone here keep talking about IUDs? All the women around here are covered in, like, black sheets and stuff. They probably don’t even have sex. Anyway, why would they want one of those when they could just take the Pill?

Nick: IEDs, Jess, IEDs. Improvised explosive devices. The insurgents here looted a ton of explosives from stockpiles the Pentagon didn’t secure, and now they wire ’em up and leave them on the side of the road to try to blow up our Humvees. That’s why we had to go digging through that junkyard to get armor. Sometimes they set them off with cell phones.

Jessica: I hope they use Motorolas. That Samsung I had that time totally sucked; it was always dropping calls.

Nick: (Silence)

Jessica: Nick, what is this food that I have here in this plastic? I know Chicken of the Sea is really fish. But this says it’s chicken, but it’s, like, dry and weird-looking.

Nick: It’s chicken, Jess. It’s an MRE. That stands for Meals Ready To Eat. Some of the guys around here call ’em "Meals Rejected by Ethiopians." Heh heh. Man, I’d kill for some Buffalo wings and a beer right now.

Jessica: Sorry, Nick. I don’t eat buffalo. Hey, Nick, the air out here in the desert is so dry! I have a hard booger in my nose, and it makes it — I think it’s going to make it bleed.

Nick: (Sighs) If that’s the worst you have it here, you’re lucky. There were 14 Marines killed near the Syrian border last week. Jess, hand me that pack of Camels on the dashboard there, would ya?

Jessica: Ugh. Camels. I can’t believe that one spit on me yesterday.

Nick: You deserved it. You called it a "platymapus."

Jessica: Well, I thought that’s how you pronounce it! Nick, is that weird, taking my Louis Vuitton bag with me to a war zone? Man, these uniforms and all this gear sure are heavy. War ain’t made for girls. My boobs are in the way. What does it mean when you take a really big breath and it hurts? It hurts really bad right here.

Nick: It means you shouldn’t talk for a day and a half.

Jessica: Whatever. I have bubbles in my tummy ... it’s just air. It’s not stink. Promise. But I hope we get back to the Green Zone soon. I gotta go to the latrine and drop the kids off at the pool. I sure hope those civilian contractors have gotten the sewers working.

Nick: When we get back, I want a divorce.

The sun starts to set, and a muezzin sounds a call to evening prayers from a minaret in the distance. Jessica sticks fingers in her ears as Nick steps on the gas. Exeunt both.