Posts Tagged With: covid-19

Letters from the Front Lines — Day 46

BobMarleyRochester-668x445My Dearest Mr. Daquano,

Thank you for including a photograph of Mr. Marley. It helped convey your meaning, mightily. Knowing your proclivities, but one image came to mind, and it was not the dreadlocked bard of the reggae genre.

It was Bob Marley, of the sorry dick joke. The underrated comedian who shares the same name. I guess my whiteness is showing.

Today, Captain Crank and I found ourselves locked out of Forward Operating Base Frat House. All of the entryways were barricaded, and likely booby-trapped. We could hear the voice of one Lance Corporal Houston within..

IMG_0938Were it intern season, I would have been left with only one thought to surmise — that the young Lance was sharing his Kielbasa recipe with an impressionable co-ed (at a proper social distance, of course). Alas, since this scourge has descended upon us, no intern has darkened the doorstep of the entire News Division, much less, Frat House.

That was when it came to me. Also missing from our morning muster, was Private Slappy. It became abundantly clear, that, in this time of scant barbers, and do-it-oneself snippery, the well-coiffed Lance was sharing hair styling tips with the vacant-eyed Private.

When the Captain and I finally broke through the barricades, the sweet scent of lavender, leather, and bourbon permeated Frat House. (Sadly there was neither cigars nor Barry White.) Private Slappy looked none the better for the lesson.

Warmest personal regards,

Sgt. T. Polisher
1st News Division
9th Battalion

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Letters from the Front Line –Day 43

IMG_0506My Dearest Mr. Daquano,

Sincerest apologies.

My meaning seems to have been misconstrued.

When I stated that the men are debating whether to return, I meant it in a more rhetorical sense. Hyperbole, if you will.

Your vocabulary has improved so, that I sometimes forget that you are still my little simpleton. Please allow me to explain.

I was simply comparing how annoying a screeching scanner and bloviating anchor must be for this isolation to be the preferable condition.

When I mentioned that missing smiling faces would be a lie, I simply meant that the only time anyone smiles is in times of fakery, as in waiting to be cued for a live shot.

Worry not, gentle one, I long for the days when we can, again, sit together and pass less than secretive insults at Mr. No-Hustle, and the good Senator.

And lest we forget, hold each others’ calls, and fill the grotto with flatus.

Warmest personal regards,

Sgt. T. Polisher
1st News Division
9th Battalion.

Post Script: For confusing you so, and causing you to fret, the season’s first Icee is on me.

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Letters from the Front Line — Day 38

My Dearest Mr. Daquano,

I loathe to worry you in this time of great upheaval, but today’s missive almost did not happen.

I shan’t bore you with the details, but suffice to say two men, thrice my girth, attempted to knock me from my perch with the sort of chest-bum rampant in the NFL. Sadly, this was not a celebratory expression.

empty toilet paper roll

The perils of a face full of massive man-titties pales in comparison to the conditions inside Forward Operating Bases Frat House.

At the outset of this experiment in isolation, you may remember the run on essential toiletries, namely, bathroom stationary. Ever the forward thinker, my wife, the enchanting Miss Gail, took it upon herself to circumvent the mass ass-paper run at the local grocer’s stand, and instead, order large quantities on-line.

94422754_3198590536838429_4887463158379184128_oToday, the long-awaited shitment arrived. Good old American tissue, soft as a . . . well . . . you know. Shipped directly from . . . China? The land whence this all began?

When situations are as dire as they are here in the Frat House, we question not the origin of such gifts. The Chinese have guaranteed us plentiful paper – a veritable ton of tissue — the equivalent of 108 rolls of American turdy wipes for the paltry sum of 19 dollars U.S.

I opened the package with such glee, it awoke Captain Crank from his afternoon slumber. Upon looking within, my hopes were dashed.

IMG_0873I fear this may not be enough to share among the troops.

Warmest personal regards,

Sgt. T. Polisher
1st News Division
9th Battalion

Post Script: Your favorite latrine may never  be the same again.

Categories: corona virus, covid-19, Fun, Life Or Something Like It, news, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Letters from the Field — Day 36

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My Dearest Mr. Daquano,

It is another glorious morn here at Forward Operating Base Frat House. Our entire staff made it though this weekends “weather event” unscathed, and eager to continue our effort to calm the fears of the populace.

It has been somewhat odd, returning to Frat House. My days working from home, as the governor ordered, required only a modicum of clothing, and even less personal hygiene.

And I had no one to talk to, except for myself. While it was good company, I did miss all the good gossip.

For instance, did you know that Lance Corporal Houston is an award-winning journalist? Apparently, he has benefited greatly from our tutelage, and editing.

I find myself laughing at Private Slappy constantly. His tales of night feedings and lack of sleep harken back to days on the farm, when tending to expectant livestock required round-the-clock watchfulness.

Captain Crank’s hat is even more crooked than usual. Closed salons are proving a hindrance to his mane.

And, probably the biggest news, did you know the Captain has two sons. For the life of me, I cannot remember their names. I think they both begin with the letter, “M.”

I continue to look forward to the day when we can tell tales in person.

Warmest personal regards,

Sgt. T. Polisher
1st News Division
9th Battallion

Categories: corona virus, covid-19, Fun, Life Or Something Like It, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Letters from the Field — Day 34

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My Dearest Mr. Daquano,

Sadly, I will judge you, harshly. Your intention to languish in melted ice cream — of any flavor — would require the forcible removal of your man card.

Otherwise, I am overjoyed that your relationship with the loquacious Ms Kitch is progressing happily. It has done wonders for your vocabulary, if not your spelling.

I think the good General has lost complete control of his faculties. Yesterday, he relinquished all decision-making to the young and handsomely coiffed, Lance Corporal Houston.

I think the power may have gone to his head. (Notice the sly grin on his eager face.) He now works all day without removing his sport coat, even when he retires to the latrine for reading.

It worries me so that such power has been entrusted to someone so young, and of so lowly rank. The young Lance is certainly wise beyond his years, but to command an entire division may be more than that for which the lad is prepared.

It has, however had its benefits here at Forward Operating Base Frat House. Yesterday, Private Slappy and I were able to bribe our way out of live shots with a well-placed 40 oz. Schaefer Light lager.

Today, I hope to leave early. It may only cost me a can of hair spray. And really, of what use is that to me.

Warmest personal regards,

Sgt. T. Polisher,
1st News Division
9th Battallion

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Letters from the Front Line — Day 32

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My Dearest Mr. Daquano,

I am flummoxed.

Private Slappy and I parted ways yesterday to work on separate stories. With all the time and energy I have put into his stories since this daft experiment in remote news rooming, thought I had trained the boy well.

Sweeping wide shots. Detailed tight shots. Expressive sound. Action/reaction. Well-lit interviews. Captured moments. Tight script.

It has all been for naught.

Yesterday he came back with video more reminiscent of Captain Crank and that Reynolds fellow.

I have failed as a Drill Instructor.

I shall turn in my mentor card post haste, and cancel the speech I had scheduled for the young minds at our flagship university.

Warmest Personal Regards,

Sgt. T. Polisher
1st News Division
9th Battalion

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Letters from the Front Line — Day 30

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My Dearest Mr. Daquano,

Has it really been an entire month that I have not seen your homely face and disfigured physique? I perish the thought.

It is a depraved disease, indeed, that keeps us apart.

24129841_10212939781022152_6563068290520468342_nSo lonely was I last eve, that I scoured my photographic repositories for nostalgia’s sake. Oh, the fun you and Major Doofus had knocking footballs off my dome and through your uprights. How I long for those carefree days filling the sports department with our flatus.10471219_10204952772511931_2741076323039023589_o

Or, the hours of enjoyment you always find in tying the shoestrings of my running shoes together, while I pretend not to notice. Ah, to have those lighthearted days back.

The memes of our hi-jinx you so joyfully add to social media accounts always bring a smile to my wrinkled face. Not mention a chuckle to my heart.

Your Buffonery knows no bounds, much as my affection for your childish spirit and your propensity for jocularity at Mr. Nipsy No-Hustle’s expense. It is my fervent hope that soon we shall be reunited to relive some of your favorite old comedy routines at his expense.

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I hope that once life returns to a semblance of normalcy, we can re-create the evening when I gifted you with the threesome that has always been your desire.

Warmest personal regards,

Sgt. T. Polisher
1st News Division
9th Battallion

Post Script: Run, those skinks are mating!

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Mail Call — Day 29

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Precious Rick,

I am bewildered to learn that you received hate filled messages from our adoring viewers. Your compassion and gentle care of touching souls on a deep and personal level is what separates you from the many others who have stepped inside an audio booth and tried their hand at the field of journalism. I’m sure the Russians are attached to this atrocity!!

I’m overcome with joy knowing that you have commandeered a 21st century device with which to communicate properly. I hope the occasional fart that you so affectionately record will be of the utmost quality.

In any case, I’m glad you’re now a lowly nothing Photog again, able to freely grab yourself and spew profanities on a whim to unsuspecting lens meat.

BTW, maybe you can identify this massive dinosaur looking creature that has decided to homestead in front of my modest home. This beast has most certainly made it easy to quarantine, and for my family to become hermits.

Leaving the house would be tantamount to a Jurassic Park adventure!!

Unrelenting affection,
Left Eye Daquano
2nd Regime
69th Battalion

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Mail Call –Day 24

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Thine steed Rick,

What a wonderful idea!!!

Your genius knows no bounds. The thought of us being superhero’s side by side in tights and matching capes makes my nether region tingle!! Having Tiberius Doofus be the dim-witted buffoon will add authenticity and make all the “slightly off” adults feel a sense of pride that one of their own is on the big screen.

Like most nights before I drift into my slumber, I recite lines from the American classic Smokey and the Bandit. This time I thought about recasting this modern marvel of cinema with people from our newsroom.

Nipsy No Hussle will play Big Enos Burdette. Lil Enos, played by Captain Crooked Hat. Junior the Moronic son will of course be played by Maj. Doofus.

Colonel Kielbasa with his hair and movie star looks will play The Bandit. Heck, he even has the car. That will help our budget greatly.

Now to make it a authentic 2020 reboot, and spice it up with a little controversy, might I suggest the effervescent Mrs. Poe to play the role of Frog!! Can you imagine the shock waves we would send through the Fallopian Tube of Freedom, Livingston Parish??!! An interracial version of Smokey and the Bandit!! Let the hi jinx commence!!

I’m open to suggestions as to the casting of the rest of the star studded cast.

Until we gaze into each other’s eyes again, may your dreams be filled with us fighting crimes in capes and making fun of the doofus.

Missing my beloved turd,
Left eye Daquano
2nd Regime
69th Battalion

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Letters from the Field — Day 23

My Dearest Mr. Daquano,

Sleep is but the only respite I receive from this insipid disease. But, still in my sleep, I toil for us, my darling. And it is slumber that hath provided the best news of the past three weeks!

I can scarcely contain myself at the glorious news. But I hesitate to share it, that in doing so may register it null. Marvel and DC are currently in a bidding war to turn us into the next graphic novel heroes! And it has everything to do with last night’s dream.

You, I, and Major Tiberius Doofus, that’s right Major Doofus, teamed up for one action-packed hootenanny of an adventure. 

We we’re all on a plane parachuting, on jet skis no less, into some god-forsaken hinterland inside these borders. Don’t bother yourself with the details of how, why, or which one of us stuffed a backpack full of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches instead of a parachute. Suffice it to say we eventually returned to earth barely worse for the wear.

Once on the ground safely, we teamed with Lance Corporal Houston to infiltrate the lab of a mad scientist who threatened to save the world from global warming by turning everyone into houseplants.

Hilarity and mayhem ensue, mostly at the expense of Major Doofus.

It is my every hope that the final sale price is sufficient to rescue us from our separate isolation and deliver us to a private island where we can enjoy all the bananas we care to eat.

Warmest Regards,

Sgt. T. Polisher

1st News Division

9th Battalion

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