Oh. Another talking head. No brains, no balls, just a head with a place to jabber away.
Dear Bobert:
I am the Commanding Officer of the Idaho Legion, the finest, most combat-ready, group of drunken layabouts in The West. I posted the response(s) of the Legion. You see, they were a bit undecided, and the conversation went something like this:
"Septemer ten, the day that [whole strings of deleted expletives] had them planes driven inta the buildings." "Aw, wadda you know? That was on Sep...Septimmer twelve, ya drunk." "Yer both fulla [former bovine nutriments]. It was the 'leventh. I remember, 'cause I was out of booze then and nearly sober." "[Place of eternal damnation], let's jist tell 'im to tell what's-his-name that it was sometime along in there." "Okay, swell, now pass the bottle, ya [male sexual member] before I cut off your [bodily appendage]." "You an' who else, [insult deleted]?" And it degenerated from there.