Spitball Army

The walls around this table are adorned with photos of Strom Thurmond and Richard Shelby. My BBQ plate tastes of vinegar and ash.

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They have a picture show every night and you have to go. The entertainment makes me tireder than the training we go through.

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Well, here we are in Los Angeles. We finally got this far anyway.

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Well, my watch crystal came off. Then I started to wind it and the main spring is broken. I guess I don’t need to know what time it is anyway. I’ll be going by the bugles before long anyway.

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This breakfast recipe is easier than making a cup of coffee. And it’s seriously delicious.

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Thin, flat, square: record album. Large, circular, centerless: hula hoop. Envelope: money.

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This is the day….Christmas Day 1944. My first Christmas out of Indiana and our first Christmas – you in Indiana and me thousands of miles away.

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The mayo in the jar was runny: he suspected his visiting mother who, in her thrift, would add water to near-empty shampoo bottles.

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The range flashed “F2;” flames burst out the oven door. Under the layer of black molten sugar was a perfect sweet potato casserole.

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