February 9, 1991
Languishing in the sandy wastes near Kabrit, Saudi Arabia
Dear Lynda:
Howdy babe! How goes it? I’m doing great.
It was like Christmas this morning. We received a bunch of packages and mail. I got four from you and one from your parents. Thanks a lot. Be sure to tell your folks thanks for me. I really appreciate the boxes.
I’m on duty once again. It’s 10:30pm this time around. Things are pretty slow as I’m sipping on the coffee you sent.
My cold’s getting worse. I can barely breathe. I’m OK when I’m outside, but in this stuffy, dusty, nasty tent I get all clogged up.
I don’t really have a bunch to tell you this time around. I’ll try to think of something.
We stuffed our faces this morning with all the chow you sent. I shared half of my goodies with the troops, and chowed the rest with Cowan and Stratton. I’m saving the Oreos until I get some cartons of Saudi milk. The chow last night really sucked, so I was very happy to get the boxes.
My chow last night consisted of some sort of creamed chicken slime on top of bug-ridden rice. Somebody else said they found pieces of glass in their food. It’s rare when you can’t find something exotic in your chow. I guess I really can’t bitch too much. The Iraqis are not getting chow at all!
Got a good letter from you today too. Got one from my great Aunt Ruth and my barber as well. I really enjoy reading everyone’s letters. I don’t keep them, however. I’d have to have another pack for the mail I get. As soon as I read the letter and answer it, I burn it.
That may sound mean, but I don’t want some “Jack the Iraqi” searching through our trash and finding a loved one’s address. Hard telling what they might try to pull.
One thing you might send me, I think I may have mentioned already, is some reading material. Recent sports pages, paperbacks, whatever. Copies of the Indianapolis Star would be nice.
Did you ever find a short-wave radio to send? I’m not sure what they cost. Shouldn’t be too much. AM/FM radios aren’t worth a damn out here, and I don’t want to mess with a Walkman and tapes. My little transistor radio bit the dust a long time ago.
They’ve given priority to packages and mail, so we shouldn’t have any problems getting stuff…at least until the big push happens.
They’ve also effectively cut off our phone calls back home, so I don’t know when I’ll be able to talk to you again. Everyone called too much and tied up the tactical phone lines, so we can’t call any more…at least for a while.
I hear you’re having a pretty hard winter this year.
Cowan and I were talking about that, and we agreed that we’d love to be there…
You and I in front of the fireplace, bashing the cat, and eventually doing other things!
I have an hour remaining on my duty before I can hit the rack and start dreaming about you.
Take care of yourself, and I’ll do the same.
Keep the home fires burning warmly and brightly.
I love you forever.
Semper Fi!
Paul
Languishing in the sandy wastes near Kabrit, Saudi Arabia
Dear Lynda:
Howdy babe! How goes it? I’m doing great.
It was like Christmas this morning. We received a bunch of packages and mail. I got four from you and one from your parents. Thanks a lot. Be sure to tell your folks thanks for me. I really appreciate the boxes.
I’m on duty once again. It’s 10:30pm this time around. Things are pretty slow as I’m sipping on the coffee you sent.
My cold’s getting worse. I can barely breathe. I’m OK when I’m outside, but in this stuffy, dusty, nasty tent I get all clogged up.
I don’t really have a bunch to tell you this time around. I’ll try to think of something.
We stuffed our faces this morning with all the chow you sent. I shared half of my goodies with the troops, and chowed the rest with Cowan and Stratton. I’m saving the Oreos until I get some cartons of Saudi milk. The chow last night really sucked, so I was very happy to get the boxes.
My chow last night consisted of some sort of creamed chicken slime on top of bug-ridden rice. Somebody else said they found pieces of glass in their food. It’s rare when you can’t find something exotic in your chow. I guess I really can’t bitch too much. The Iraqis are not getting chow at all!
Got a good letter from you today too. Got one from my great Aunt Ruth and my barber as well. I really enjoy reading everyone’s letters. I don’t keep them, however. I’d have to have another pack for the mail I get. As soon as I read the letter and answer it, I burn it.
That may sound mean, but I don’t want some “Jack the Iraqi” searching through our trash and finding a loved one’s address. Hard telling what they might try to pull.
One thing you might send me, I think I may have mentioned already, is some reading material. Recent sports pages, paperbacks, whatever. Copies of the Indianapolis Star would be nice.
Did you ever find a short-wave radio to send? I’m not sure what they cost. Shouldn’t be too much. AM/FM radios aren’t worth a damn out here, and I don’t want to mess with a Walkman and tapes. My little transistor radio bit the dust a long time ago.
They’ve given priority to packages and mail, so we shouldn’t have any problems getting stuff…at least until the big push happens.
They’ve also effectively cut off our phone calls back home, so I don’t know when I’ll be able to talk to you again. Everyone called too much and tied up the tactical phone lines, so we can’t call any more…at least for a while.
I hear you’re having a pretty hard winter this year.
Cowan and I were talking about that, and we agreed that we’d love to be there…
You and I in front of the fireplace, bashing the cat, and eventually doing other things!
I have an hour remaining on my duty before I can hit the rack and start dreaming about you.
Take care of yourself, and I’ll do the same.
Keep the home fires burning warmly and brightly.
I love you forever.
Semper Fi!
Paul
No comments:
Post a Comment
Feel free to comment away with your bad-ass selves.
Cursing and foul language is fine...even encouraged here. In fact, I think cussing is fucking wonderful.
Just remember...this is MY house, and I will not be insulted or maliciously messed with here.
Good-natured ribbing is cool, but if you and I don't have some kind of previous relationship, you had best mind your fucking manners or I will relegate you to the intardnets dustbin for being a cunt.
To know me is to love me.
Or something.
Maybe.