Spitball Army

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Dearest Hank and I went to the show here at the base tonight, and Darling it was good.

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Trumbo (2007): The travails of blacklisted Hollywood writer Dalton Trumbo told largely through readings from his voluminous correspondence. Shame (2011): Proof that filmmakers are still enamored of The Ambiguous Ending. And Fassbender? Amazing acting, and all of that other stuff, too. Purification (2012): I can never get those two hours back.

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Earlier this week, I saw a realtor’s directional sign to an open house. Her name: Fifi Twitty. I kid you not. She must be in the dogbird seat.

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I received three letters from Mom yesterday and she wants to know why you don’t write oftener.

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I just saw a banner advertising a Black comedian using the name Frank Chocula. I kid you not.

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This card pictures the “Replica of Abraham Lincoln’s Birthplace” at the 1933 World’s Fair held in Chicago, Illinois.

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Approximate playing time: 73 minutes.

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Darling, Hank and I were to the movie here on the base. It was not so bad but I did not enjoy it with out you.

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Wearing my late father’s t-shirt: comfortable, soft, not at all like his sun-leathered skin. His smell has been washed out of it.

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