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.
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.
Today, 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.
I fear this may not be enough to share among the troops.
Warmest personal regards,
Sgt. T. Polisher
1st News Division
Post Script: Your favorite latrine may never be the same again.