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Dear sport,

Your grandmother and I “tuned in” to a new program last night. Well, we never, just never, have seen so much juggling!

The series is presided over by three judges. Two of them are genuine British types. The third one is named Howie. I don’t care for his goatee. He also seemed like quite a poor sport. After the first juggler balanced himself on Howie’s head, he spent the next few minutes sulking. The British gentleman, who your grandmother says is Larry King’s son, specifically voted the juggler along in order to taunt Howie. How wicked those Brits are! Do you remember when we visited London after your high school graduation?

Oh dear, I worry about teenagers today. A girl named Stephanie walked onstage and screamed through a song. She sounded just like that horrible Lady Googah. We much preferred the adorable trio of lads named the “SH’Boss boys” (is this part of your Internet slang?). By the way, did you notice we are using The Internet to compose this message? Those lads rhymed about education and having fun — over music! We think we’ve finally learned to enjoy “rapping,” although only when the themes are positive and the performers are non-threatening. At least they weren’t British!

The series is hosted by a lovely fellow named Nicholas. In Los Angeles, he was wearing a jacket with blue suspenders, just like your grandfather wore when Gram Gram and I were going steady. And in Atlanta (on the television), Nicholas wore a suit that looked just like the suit your great-grandfather wore when he shook President Roosevelt’s hand!

Much love,

P.S. We never hear from you!

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America's Got Talent
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