Monday, November 28, 2005


Dear Sir,

Everything has really dried out here now, and the earth is again cracked and crumbly. You have to go down at least four feet to find an earth worm, except for a few small retarded ones that don’t realize the danger of the heat at the surface. I wish we could learn from those night crawler friends of ours. The ground is so hot that you can’t stand still in fear of burning your feet. I have sweat out enough liquid to make another one like me. So I needn’t have worried about dieting. For those people who hate to write or at least never have the time to, I am designing postcards with the lettering already done, so all people have to do is sign them and send them off to keep in touch. If that is a success maybe I will branch out into Christmas letters where everyone tells you the highlights of their year. Since the advent of the computer I have been inundated with these strange beasts of literature. Most of the time everyone seems so happy and in control of their destiny’s that it makes me want to puke. I'll give them Christmas letters that will cause their gums to bleed and their bladders to burst, not any of this sentimental crap. Something that they can serve up with their nasty fruit cakes, that nobody can swallow either. I was in the market for a better car, when I had lunch with Vinnie and Doris at that new Chinese restaurant. After sucking the last bits of hot mustard off my chicken bone, I opened my fortune cookie to I swear to God it's the truth, a fortune that read....THE NEXT CAR YOU BUY WILL BE TROUBLE FREE FOR FORTY THOUSAND MILES.... Well naturally I took it as an omen, and so purchased the last vehicle I had been looking at. Well it took thirty days before the clutch went out, and the inside door handle fell off, so now I have to open the window to close the door. So much for fortune cookies.

Truly Yours,


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