Good Sunday Morning, Stroock's Books commune.
We've not a whole lot to say this fine morning.
On a whim we went cigar hunting yesterday. Our own brand, the Arturo Fuente Hemingway Short Story, has been stuck in the supply chain, and we haven't seen one for months. We stopped by our regular hole-in-the-wall shop, and by Grapthar's Hammer, there they were. We were as elated as Elaine Benes was upon finding a Duane Reade with a case of Today's Sponges in stock. We grabbed a handful of Short Stories and got out. Was $8.39 now $9.95. Dang, inflation. We're a little groggy this morning. That's seven cigars we've smoked this year, which is ahead of the pace we hoped to set.
France is voting and we expect the Globalist to win. Yawn.
We've read reports that the Ukrainians took out a bunch of Ruski generals in an arty strike, or some such. This blog remains impressed with the Uke's grit and stick-to-itiveness. Our sense is that the Ruskis are making headway in the east. The Yugoslavianization of the Ukrainian War continues apace.
We've already given away our good idea for the week of 4/24/22, which is to spend the summer finishing The Final Storm. That would clear the way for a nice Ost Front summer reading project.
We'd like to finish that Long Beach Island scene in The New American Order today. We like a lot of things.
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