My Dear Little Simone,                   [October 29, 1916]

     It is exactly two years ago to the day that I got smashed up. I recall that at that time there was no communication trench between the first line of trenches and the command post. After nightfall you could be groping around for hours looking for the commander's post, as naturally there was no light to show you where it was.
     We used to call that guarding the cows.
     I was guarding the cows when my number came up.
     Today being a Sunday, I'll take advantage of it by announcing that I loathe work of any kind.
     I was born idle and I worship laziness. They claim that work ennobles one, but I claim it makes one vile. At the risk of confirming my out and out amorality, I proclaim that were I not obliged to earn my living, I wouldn't do a damn thing, nothing, nothing and nothing.
     As it's a Sunday, I'll recount a little tale which you may know-
     One day the Good Lord was taking a walk among the Balkans-He meets a native who looks much aggrieved-He inquires of him "What is the matter, my good friend?"-Silence-"Well, I shall grant you whatever you wish and to prove to you that I am good to everyone, your neighbors will receive the double of what you have received." "In that case," said the Balkan, "make me blind in one eye."
     There you are-And still, because it's a Sunday, I'm going to give you a little problem to solve. You may already have been asked to solve it before. There are two cows in a beautiful green meadow-one of them is white, thin, mere skin and bone-the other one is black with a shiny coat-fat and radiant with health -All of a sudden-the enraged and furious white cow leaps on the poor, placid black cow and sticks its horns up its butt. So now, which cow can say, "I've got horns up the ass?????"  

     Destouche.