“Tour of Duty: Wartime Sailor” #33
January 26, 1972
And Bob is now making his thiry-third call of the afternoon to our immediate boss, Dick Bormman. Troi Oi!
Crazy executed his first destruction- burn of RPS-classified material today with the aid of our Yeoman. Crazy can just about do it all now — except catch flies in mid-air, forehanded or backhanded.
I felt like “Ernestime” of “Ma-Bell” and “laugh in” today! Having spent seasonal hours of “One Ringy-Dingy, two Rungy-Dingies” and “How I reached the party with when I am speaking?” It’s a real fetch when after several futile attempts you get the world famous “Tiger” operator and then, as I’ll luck would have it, the extension you want is busy. Then, later with a super stroke of luck I got the number to ring and Sgt. Fimmitorey or some such answered to informed me that the guy I wanted to yak at didn’t work there, but he had another number for me and all I had to do was call “Tiger” and put my call through. After gently putting the telephone receiver through the top of my desk and getting teeny weeny plantain chips all over my self and tropical jungle greens, I decided it was time to go and have just “one” beer and forget about this shit for awhile.
January 27, 1972
Bob is so broke now that he was provoked to say, “I can’t even pay attention.” Besides that gem and…
