For some time now, he's been peddling these charming AI-generated "documents"—carefully disguised as precious relics from the 1950s or 60s, supposedly hammered out on Herbert W. Armstrong's (HWA) very own typewriter. You know the drill: artfully crossed-out typos, those adorable key-shift glitches, a splash of dramatic red ink here and there, all the classic pre-digital flair to fool the faithful into thinking they've unearthed long-lost apostolic wisdom.
Today, he blessed us with yet another masterpiece—one of those "letters" that looks exactly like the usual pre-computer-era church drivel. Except, of course, even back in the day, God's chosen apostle wouldn't have dared send out something riddled with so many sloppy mistakes. Most official correspondence by the 1960s was proudly produced on those sleek IBM Selectric typewriters (which debuted in glorious 1961, thank you very much). Heaven forbid HWA himself would tolerate such amateur-hour errors in his divine missives.
Anyway, as Bwana Bob loves to say, just scroll to the very last paragraph. There it is—the glorious slip-up where our boy Samuel casually mentions "purchasing" the Ambassador Auditorium.
Ah, yes, because nothing screams "authentic 1950s HWA letter" like casually plotting to buy a building that wouldn't even exist until the early 1970s (dedicated in 1974, for the historically challenged). Brilliant move, Samuel. Truly inspired. Nothing says "time-traveling forgery" quite like referencing a future real-estate transaction in a supposed vintage document. Oh, and by the way, the crooked type print, like you placed the paper on the copier glass crooked, though somehow kept the very last paragraph perfectly straight, is a nice touch.
Keep 'em coming, champ—we're all dying to see what anachronistic gem you drop next, particularly for a building that you will NEVER buy!
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