In Perilous Days -- A Beacon of Thrift

We've blown our hearts open.

One of our own is down, and will stay down. Some provisional short-term measures to feather out dissent are in order. With forget-me-not blood trust, I mark you for not thinking of it first.

There is nothing more than peppery submission in this club. Deliveries have been soft and late to elderly drop-points, and Legion contacts recommend personnel changes. Raking is late, and New York Cares interference was a nickel short of naughty. We will not suffer chuckles from well shorn financiers. They will suffer.

Provisions:

1. Laundry service terminated. Buttondowns and cool shorts will be washed one at a time big-boy style: with quarters and elbow grease. Enjoy the work. Complaining cuts you in half.

2. The hard knock promises. Seniors enact that old song and dance on Juniors to connect club charter to club chatter. The end we experienced is a beginning. We are on a bouncing thing so remember to remain limber.

3. Social Saturdays. Every other Saturday now requires a small meeting. Stephen presides and everyone understands the meaning is fun. Bring a dangle, but don't forget that we're a men's club.

4. Tighten up.

5. Scale back official recipes to the necessary content. We fed an army on this one, but we don't own a houseboat. Our service will be done hungry if necessary. Shut up.

The NYGA\B is a stronger place for Mark's passing. Let us remember now who we were once.

Ratified,
Doctor Eight