Spitball Army

We signed the payroll and guess what I get? — I owe the government 88¢ for my first 6 weeks training.

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Spring comes: I break out the rock & roll CDs. The wintry duets of scratchy gamba and wheezy pump organ go to the bottom shelf.

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Card is titled: “Hotel Burchfield – Tuscaloosa, Alabama.”

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Approximate playing time: 78 minutes.

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We started firing our rifle yesterday. That’s really fun as far as I’m concerned.

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In Vernon, not much happens, and the small group of Vernon interviewees tell all about it.

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I’d sold her dozens of classical CDs, so she invited me. But the duo of scratchy gamba and wheezy pump organ set my teeth on edge.

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The duo of scratchy gamba and wheezy pump organ droned on, proving the rumor to indeed be true: they really could not read music.

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The duo of scratchy gamba and wheezy pump organ was listened to from his bedroom by our benefactor, keeping time on a respirator.

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Tomorrow we start firing our rifle, the M-1. Up till now, we have just had schooling on how to shoot. Tomorrow we see if we learned anything.

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