Dear Editor:

Why is that contraption sitting in dirt lot next to my market? I don't know who put it there, but I have suspicion Tinbox Acres is behind it. Another thing, what the Hell is all the noises outside? Since I am owner, operator, and sole employee, I no can leave cash register and go outside when something happen out there. All I know is, I hear a SPLAT against cinderblock exterior wall. Also I hear something go PLOP on roof. This always happen when I see crowd standing out front. One more thing. Quit calling my store Quick-E-Mart! It is not Quick-E-Mart. It is Boozapalooza. If you hicks read sign on front of store, you'd know that.

Hung Phuc
Owner of the Quick-E-Mart up the road

Dear Editor:

Wow, I thought I was making real money when Jose the Mariachi guy was my parking-lot business partner. But that's peanuts compared to what I'm making by launching Jingo onto the roof of the Quick-E-Mart. I'm not talking George Washingtons and Abraham Lincolns, neither. With Jingo the Incredible Circus Midget, people are handing us Andrew Jacksons and Ulysses S. Grants left and right. One guy even gave us a Ben Franklin. Life is good.

Eddie
Living Large in Space #62

Dear Editor:

Oh, what a relief it is to have that racketmaking knucklefuck next door locked in a jail cell where he can't get to that Skilsaw of his. I haven't had to take a single nerve pill since the cops finally hauled his flat little butt out of the trailer park. I hope he gets the chair.

Virginia Beadle
Space #17

Dear Editor:

Hey man, can someone come and visit me here at the County Jail? It's not that I'm lonely. There's all kinds of guys trying to get all friendly with me in here. I just need someone to keester some crank in for me. DJ won't do it, but BT will, I'm sure. Just tell him I'm really jonesing BAD. Thanks.  I owe you guys one.

Rudy Bonaparte
Space #19

Dear Editor:

Rudy actually called me collect from jail and begged me to front him some meth! That ain't the worst of it. That Napoleonic little shit actually asked me to shove it up my ass and smuggle it into the County Jail. Of all the nerve! He ought to know I got WAY more class than THAT.

DJ the Dope Dealer
Space #41

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