Dear General N,
10-4 to the aforementioned matter which you have referenced in your previous missal. Or other words and numbers to the same effect and appropriate applicability. And while we're on the subject, could you please call NORAD and get the fuckin Air Force to stop strafing the house. The chipmunks are getting a little twitchier than usual and the refrigerator door keeps flying open. Broke my last fuckin bottle of cocktail sauce, too. Got nuthin to go with my vanilla pudding, now. And don't get me started on Crazy Nikita downstairs. She keeps screaming at her husband to do something or she's gonna kick him in the balls. He said to go right on ahead with any of her ball kicking plans; it don't bother him none because the last time he checked, his balls was so far up his ass already that the doctor thought he had two sets of tonsils. An unnatural freak of nature, as it were. Them two are a couple of pieces of work, I'll tell ya. Ain't no peace left worth disturbin since they moved in.
Damn the pellikanz and the pineapplzz,
Full speed ahead
Wally
(this is a rebuttal from my tax accountant, if you must know. Every good American should have letters like this arriving in their morning inbox.-Crank)
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