Friday, March 24, 2017


Dear Dummy --
You doubtlessly expect and have been expecting this letter and have a fair idea of what I'm preparing to say. I 'm sure you wish I'd kept my thoughts to myself and avoided scaring the crap out of you but tough crap. You're not getting out of it that easy.

No, no no!

Here it comes, bro! Yessir, and I know you know what's coming. but that's not going to get you out of it. I've got a speech with your name on it bro. Like the ending of every patriotic movie you ever saw. Get ready to get a lump in your throat and tears in your eyes. You ready? Outstanding. 

OK, that''s more or less the introduction. Now get ready for my my big speech. Imagine a flag's waving and somebody's playing stars and stripes for ever. Anyway, here' the speech.

Adolph Hitler is a goddamned monster, which isn't blasphemy, because that's exactly what he is. He will drag the world to a new dark ages with a mew kind of darkness that makes all the racks and guillotines look like sunshine and rainbows. The United States of America and her allies can't let that happen, as I'm sure even your minuscule brain comprehends. We're at war, in case you haven't noticed They started it, we're going to finish it. We're going into the ring no holds barred and all bets are off. (No referee, either.) As I know from persona experience, once you start a fight with a bully or he starts one with you, you can't call it quits until the fight is done ad his ass is throughly kicked. Marquis of Queensbury rules will not apply, little bro.  (The fanatics we're up against have no fear of dying and are all hopped up on amphetamine pills  to boot.) We'r in it for the long haual. We can't say "uncle" and tap out. It's root hog or die time. Axis oe allies. one of us will stand. One will hit the canvas, face down.

Ugly fight is what it's going to be. But America has a secret weapon. 


I say this not boastfully but in wawreness of my God given talents.

I have an natural born instinct for flight,s imply put. That's why Uncle Sam is training me to fly the greatest flying machine known to man and fill the graves of Nazi Germany with dead nazi. Or Japanese graves with dead japs. I'm not particular on the subject.

Please understand that I do not intend to make myself at home in an American grave i the immediate future. But you do realize, little brother, that it's a possibility? A remote one, I assure you. Based on my handful of training flights, i can tell you I'm not just a good pilot. I'm an outstanding pilot. But oustanding pilots get killed. I'm not trying to be morbid with this train of thought. Something tells me you'll take it poorly if I land my P-52 on the Big Aircraft Carrier in the Sky.  Don't take that as an insult, sheathed. But I jus t know your little brain would wants to shut that fact out and whistle in the dark. Please don't. I could die. That's what happens in war. It's a fact. Face it.

Now here's the final  point of my obnoxious sermon. Being momentarily alive, I don't need a seance or a ouija board to give you the message. I can write it out plain and send it in the U.S. mail! (As you surely know,s being as how you're reading my letter at this very moment.) OK. You ready? Outstanding. Here goes .... 

If I should wind up in line outside the pearly gates slightly earlier than I expected, don't go all to peiceslike a blubbery little girl. Be tough. Be an man. Grow a spine and an extra set of balls. 

Cause you'll need 'em bro.

Let's say some sheathed in a stupid Speedy Alka Seltzer hat arrives at the Hotel with a telegram trying to be all nice and polite about the fact that I'm as dead as a hog crossing Atlantic boulevard. Hold on a second ...

Getting all choked up, bro. The senseless loss of that fine young man who is me just gets me right here. Buy War Bonds!

Anyway, should this bad news arrive, I assure you that Ma-Maw will go Cbattoahootchie bughouse crazy and take out all her hurt crazy ugly angry feelings out on you. Don't be surprised should this occur. EXPECT it to occur. If I die, she will take it out on you. And you can take that to the bank, little bro. No, it's not fair. You might point that out while eh's ranting raving and throwing things at you and curing your guts and damning your immortal soul, but it will have little effect on hurricane Ma-Maw. Don't try to reason with a crazy woman. That's just plain crazy. The smart thing to do is find some place to hid and pray and let the storm pass. That's the best I can tell you.

She will probably send you to military school. Pretend it's your choice, not a damn prison sentence. Make the most of it. Aim your ass to college. Or else.

If you screw up and feel sorry for yourself, i sincerely promise you my ghost will haunt your ass. I'll look up Papa Fugate and bring him along too. We will ride your sorry behind like two ectoplasmic drill sergeants. It'll be from for your good, you little shitass, but from a ghosts's perspective that's mighty hard work. I don't imagine he'd feel too happy about the prospect.

Well, I hope this has encouraged your sorry ass. please pray for me. And pray we win this damn war.

-- Marion

No comments:

Post a Comment