Letter From Home

So anyways,

Your Aunt Nancy has finally decided to marry that loser she’s been shacking up with for years. Apparently, he finally found a job and now they can afford that wedding she’s been dreaming of. He’s going to be doing quality control at the urinal cake factory. I hope they don’t plan to have it on League Night at the Bowl-O-Mat.

Your cousin Jimmy, the one with the droopy ear, he’s back in Juvie Hall again. This time, he got caught breaking into the Dairy Queen. At 2AM they found him in the back parking lot. He was sitting by himself at a picnic table eating a whole box of Dilly Bars. Of course, he was stoned out of his mind. What can you do? Next time, he’ll be going to jail.

Remember the Jepsons from over on Hillside? Her stepson from his first marriage was selling crystal meth at their tag sale. Can you imagine? That’s what you get for marrying a hillbilly from Westside. So, there they were, selling all the usual crap right there in their driveway, and this zipperhead is sitting at his own table, selling Pez dispensers with meth in them. I mean, she should have wondered why all these derelicts kept showing up and walking right by her carefully laid out used clothes, 45s, and collectible McDonalds glasses. Next thing they know, a police car pulls into the driveway and the kid takes off. They caught him a couple of blocks away. He had tried to jump over a chain link fence, but the crotch of his pants was so low he couldn’t make it over. They found him upside-down with only his feet still in the pants that were still stuck on the top of the fence. He had knocked himself out.

When you get back, I’ve found the perfect girl for you. She’s your age and she’s got a great personality. She works at Dunkin Donuts and her name is either Sue or Marie. I’ve seen her with both nametags. I told her what you’re like and she’s very eager to meet you. She’s appears to be very strong. Her uniform is relatively coffee stain-free and she always wears a very colorful bow in her hair that matches her fingernails. Also, she always tosses me a munchkin when her supervisor isn’t looking. Let me know if I can give her your address so she can write you.

I don’t know if you heard this, but Mr. Reynolds died. You remember him. He was the guy who played chess with your Uncle Lou in the park. Massive coronary. Apparently, heart trouble runs in his family. Too bad. He left his entire fortune to a stripper at Lollipops named Jazzy Katt. Uncle Lou is piiiisssssed!

A new store opened up downtown in the space that used to be the Canadian Restaurant. Some idiot thought it would be a good idea to open a boutique that sells loincloths. It’s called Loins and Groins. Just what this town needs; fruitcakes walking down the street dressed like Tarzan.

The 4th of July fireworks display almost went off without a hitch. They couldn’t hold it in Sean Hannity Park because of the foul smells coming out of the sinkhole so they shot them off in the parking lot behind St. Bejesus. It was going alright until the grand finale. A tiny miscalculation by the jokers in charge of lighting them off set the steeple on fire. Father Cziedwylskdgzmy is holding a Nozki and Kielbasa fundraiser, but that won’t be enough for a new steeple.

Luckily, they’re having a music festival this summer in town. Inexplicably, they’re calling it Sheet Metal. It’s mostly heavy metal cover bands. Some of the proceeds will go to St. Bejesus. Korn On the Kob, Godspank, and Slip Not are headlining. They also have a bunch of new bands I’ve never heard of but you may have. The flyer lists Satan’s Minyons, Tynkle, The Dry Heeves, Nucular Fission, Reapercussions, The Deemons, The Deamons, The Deimons, Igor and the Humps, Rectle Abyss, and The Gnawd. Should be a good show, but I doubt I’ll make it. It’ll probably be filled with unemployed, loincloth-wearing, dope smoking hippies.

If you get a chance, say a prayer for my cousin, Skully. He just lost his dog after a long illness. The dog’s actual name was the symbol €, but he called him Teddy, short for Teddy Dog. Don’t ask me. I don’t understand dog people. Anyway, Skully’s wife left him last year and now losing Teddy might push him over the edge. It’s too bad Skully is such a loathsome, arrogant son of a bitch. He wouldn’t be lonely, twisted, bitter, and alone.

We’re having a heat wave here. If you spend more than 5 minutes outside, the sweat from every one of your pores somehow channels down your back, funneling directly into your asscrack. I’ve never seen so many sweat bras in my life. It’s like swimming in a turkey fryer up in here.

Did you see the season finale of Ghost Detectors? They did a segment on the old Maison Mansion up on Route 4 where that serial killer lived. Four paranormal investigators spent the night inside with all sorts of sophisticated scientific equipment. There was one part where they had a séance and a weird disembodied voice said what sounded like, “Boo”. They all freaked. In another part, they caught a ghost on a thermal camera. One of the investigators was just standing still, trying to record EVPs with his back to the camera, when a strange light appeared right behind his ass and spread until it disappeared into the air. It was also accompanied by a weird satanic stench. It was pretty spooky. They caught a couple of other weird voices on tape. They said they caught the sound of a little girl crying, but to me it sounded more like a cell phone ringing. The mayor is going to try and make the place into a tourist attraction. I guess they’ll make tee shirts and everything. Good luck. I’m not setting foot in that place.

I saw Danny Velour, the morning show DJ on WNUM, buying pants in Men’s Warehouse the other day. He was acting like a diva, demanding the wardrobe consultant re-measure him because there was no way he was a 36. “I’m a 32, dammit!” he says. So they give him a size 32 and he goes and tries them on. He comes back out after 10 minutes and everyone’s laughing at him because his gut is hanging over the belt and it looks like he’s turning blue. He can barely walk. He’s obviously in a lot of pain and he tries to undo the button on top. But the pants are too tight. Now, I feel sorry for the sales guy. He’s kneels down and starts working and working at it, but Danny can’t inhale enough to give him the room to unbutton the pants. Two more workers come up and try to help him. The three of them are all grabbing and pulling away. He’s practically dancing, like he has to go the bathroom and screaming, “Get them off! Get them off! What is wrong with you assholes?” This third guy runs up with a big pair of scissors, making Velour shriek like a little girl. The other two guys tackle him and hold him down while the third guy slides the scissors inside the waistband and starts to saw away. Now, I’m laughing because he deserves to get his manhood altered. Finally, the material gives way and everyone scrambles to get away from him. He stands up and the pants fall down. The guy is naked from the waist down. No one says anything. You could hear a pin drop. What does Velour do? He takes this defiant pose, points at the pants, and says, “I am not paying for those.” They called the cops on him.

We had some excitement last week when a chambermaid at Motel 6 held a press conference, announcing she was involved in a relationship with Donald Trump, Jr. It’s not clear how or where she met him since he’s never been anywhere near here, ever. She didn’t exactly say much herself. Her representative/agent Ronald “Silky” Pianowicz did most of the talking. He described their relationship as "torrid" and “intensely sexitive”. There wasn’t much national coverage, but the Advertiser ran an expose on the situation. Her name is Chantelier DiFlower. She looks like she’s in her mid 30’s with a blonde dye job. Do you know her?

I know this will interest you. There’s an art exhibit at the library this week by a local artist named Alex Hammerswanger. It’s an interesting mélange of styles combining the bold aggression of the 1890’s Amsterdam Devolutionists with the Pico de Gallo Movement of post-WWII Spain. He works primarily in oils, but he also has a few works on display that look and smell like indistinct and random smears of poop. His choice of subjects is very interesting too. Among the more traditional and actually recognizable ones are a good half-dozen multi-colored unicorns, two self-portraits, an Elvis riding a polar bear, a collapsed and rotten jack-o-lantern, a landscape scene depicting hundreds of souls writhing and suffering terribly in eternal torment, and a butterfly. It’s running through November.

The head scientist in charge down at the Sleep Center was arrested last week. He was running some kind of test on the effects of ambient heat on the human sleep cycle. There was an ad in the Advertiser for females 18-25 willing to be part of a research project. According to the research assistant, they were subjected to various conditions including being covered by different numbers of blankets, sharing a bed with multiple other subjects, and increasing the room temperature “until they got sweaty”. This went on for a couple of months. There had been a lot of complaints from the subjects about the placement of the sensors on their body and the fact they often woke up wearing different pajamas than the ones they fell asleep in. Apparently, the police got involved when one of the women reported she woke up in the middle of the night to feel the doctor leaning over her bed, singing “White Wedding” by Billy Idol into her ear. We’ll see how it plays out. It’s amazing what some people will do for $250.

Well, that about sums it up. I hope this letter finds you well. Let me know what you think about Sue/Marie. As good ole Dickie Betts says, Keep on keepin’ on.

Your Pal,

Mark