Griffin

Mother— How fares the farm? Hast thou acquired a taste for fowl? Seahawks make a fine feast. The hunt has ended, yet I remain sleepless in Seattle beneath the cover of night. They boast of a Dark Side. Curious. Even in the dead of night, their Dark Side is plain as day. —CW

Mother— I marched upon Atlanta expecting Falcons, only to discover pigeons with a generous advertising budget. The Peach Brigade was routed, their feathers scattered and dignity plucked. Let them question my fitness for battle. I question their fitness for war. Yours. —CW

Chicago— Come forth from hibernation! The long wait is over, the drums sound anew & our unit marches upon Carolina! Let every man of the North answer the summons, for whatever last winter took from us, let this autumn return. Panthers make fine pelts for Northern winters. —CW

Mother— With bated breathe, our troops arrived at the gates of destiny. The Dairy Platoon was stifled as our unit was armed with lactase pills. As the last of the candlelight flickered, Lt. Moore recovered the aerial ballistic. The Frenchman, LaFleur, bent his knee. Yours. —CW