Dear Editor:

I swear, I just saw a guy who looks exactly like Skip (only cleaned up better) fraternizing with that scientist from up the University over in the field next door. What's up with that? Skip's a beer-drinkin' construction worker. I just can't picture ANY scientist wanting to hang with HIM, unless they was going to experiment on him or something.

Virginia Beadle
Space #17

Dear Editor:

I better lay off the hooch. I drank myself into the land of the Harpo Marx episode of "I Love Lucy" a couple weeks ago.

I'd just polished off a fifth of Wild Turkey. I thought I was doing good because that fifth lasted all the way from Saturday night to Sunday afternoon. But soon as I sucked the last drop out of that bottle and looked up, I could have swore I saw my mirror image looking back at me across the fence between my back yard and the field next door. I knew it wasn't a real reflection of me because there ain't no mirrors along that fence. Also, my mirror image was dressed different than me. I had on a red plaid flannel shirt, and he had on a blue plaid flannel shirt. Plus, my fly zips and my mirror image's fly had buttons.  

I wonder if it was DTs. Even though I didn't flop and twitch and puke, I'd have to say that seeing myself in the mirror in a field where there ain't no mirror and seeing my mirror image dressed different from me, fly and all, counts as a hallucination. I ain't hallucinating no more. I'm giving up the sauce. I'm just gonna stick with the wacky tabacky from here on out.

Skip Bodell
Space #76

Dear Editor:

My momma used to tell me I had a twin brother when I was born, but she had to sell him for enough money to raise me. I thought that story was just another pile of shit that adults feed to children, like telling kids their eyeballs will freeze that way when they cross their eyes. Or that "roughing up the suspect" will strike their eyes blind and cover their hands with hair. Or that kids today are lucky because they don't have to trudge through 20 miles of sleet and snow to get to the schoolhouse, which was unheated back in the olden days.

I know now that your eyes won't freeze no matter how long or hard you cross 'em. And I don't think I've ever let go of my dick for more than an hour at a stretch, and I ain't been struck blind; don't even need glasses; and my hands don't have hair on 'em, neither, except for a little tuft on each knuckle. I know them stories about crossing your eyes and jerking off and trudging off to school barefoot in the snow for 20 miles is just a bunch of bullshit myths.

But I'm starting to wonder about that twin-brother thing my momma used to tell me about. A few weeks ago I came by to meet with a ape-fossil guy from the University so he could check out a suspected fossil on my property. I was walking along the fenceline between my property and Tinbox Acres, and I swear I saw a guy that looks just like me on the other side of the fence. Well, he looks like I would if I went on a monthlong bender, but he still looked a helluva lot like me anyways. If my momma was telling the truth, then I think that guy might be my long-lost twin brother. Kind of makes me think of that story, "The Doppelganger," by Fyodor Dostoyovsky.

Chuck Bodell
Owner of the field next door

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