notes from above ground seven

Dear Sir, Frieda, Gertie, and I closed the Coughing Dog, the other night, We really had a blast. The happy hour just never seemed to end. We just had fun reminiscing about our good old days when the trout just seemed to leap into the frying pan, and there was a chick in every pot, yum yum. We had a special laugh thinking about our rodeo when you tied little Johnny unto the back of that young bull, and it took off through the woods, and all we ever found were bits of his clothes, and blood stained trees. It seems like nowadays people don’t know how to entertain themselves anymore. It all has to be done for them and then wrapped up in five pieces of plastic and Spoon-fed to them with lots of sugar, with a liberal sprinkling of violence, extravagant special effects and loads of pulsating flesh. Then the whole kit and caboodle is so tightly wrapped up with enticing child proof caps that a lust crazed gorilla couldn’t open. Then it’s all painted up with bright colors and shapes that will seduce and entice a child in such a way that that child will make that lust crazed gorilla look like the queen mother herself at the most elegant tea party. Seems no matter where I start, I always end up talking about something completely different. I read an article in the paper the other day about some lady who killed her husband of sixteen years and in order to dispose of the body she had cut the poor devil up and was charcoaling him. The police caught her as she was barbecuing his forearm. I found myself wondering whether or not she used the spit, what kind of charcoal she used or what type of seasonings. I guess we taste a lot like chicken,yum, yum. That babe at the other end of the bar at the coughing dog sure had a lot of white meat on her bones. ha ha. Keep in touch. Truly Yours,