All work and no play...

My sister just emailed me the following letter I composed at my grandmother's house whilst testing her electric typewriter. It makes more sense than many of my more recent blog posts---

"Dear Sirs:

Why do you torment me with your bills and strong arm men? I am a sensitive individual. I cannot abide such mean and worldly pursuits.

If you must persist in this cowardly persecution, I may be forced to pay you in old fish heads and used lightbulbs. We neither of us want that to happen, do we?

Please do not send that man named "Roscoe" again. He is a frightening, beastly man. I cannot understand why you would employ such riff-raff. I had thought you were more verflavian than that.

Also, I wonder if you would mind returning my dog you repossessed on Friday. he is quite nice, and I am afriad of what Roscoe may do to him. The dog's name is "Baskin Robbins" but he will respond to "TCBY" as well. DO NOT FEED HIM MONKEY WRENCHES! This is a Bad Idea. I did it once, but it was an accident. He is really too small to properly digest such things. Use smaller hardware if you must.

Thank you for your kind attention, and remember to smell the buttercups as they are loving caresses by the light of the moon in June with a spoon in your buffoon.

You will not find me at my previous address, so don't bother."

---You might not think it as funny as I do...