Dear Editor:

Does anyone know where Willy keeps the key to his handcuffs? I'm sick and tired of looking at all the porn wallpapering that weirdo's bathroom and I really wanna go home now. Plus, I can't reach the toilet paper.

Wanda from the dive bar

Dear Editor:

Hey, does anyone know where BT went? He gave me some dynamite shit to try out a while back, and I ended up passed out under my trailer for weeks, babbling incoherently. Somehow I got dragged out and I just came to on the couch. I hear tell I woulda died right there under my trailer if this chick I've been boning hadn't nursed me back to health. I need to get hold of that BT dude. I ain't NEVER done meth like that in my whole life, and I want some more.

Carl Bailey, lab rat to the meth cooks
Space #1

Dear Editor:

We're throwing a pitch to bail Jane out of jail. Make your contributions care of Jack, Dick, and/or Holmes in space #45. Every little bit helps. Thanks a bunch!

Arleen and Lurleen from the dive bar

Dear Editor:

Wow, we just got formally introduced to the sweetest man in the whole trailer park. Of course, we're talking about Fatty Daddy in space #88. We live way up in space #40 and hadn't ventured that far down the driveway until now. But once we did, wowie kazowie, there was this guy who ran out of his trailer and offered us lemonade and iced tea and he even offered to roast some marshmallows on a fork over his stove for us. Unlike the simians we have met thus far in this trailer park, Fatty Daddy is a real gentleman. It sure is nice to be treated like a lady for a change. And the flowers he brings us brightens and perfumes our trailer.

Pearline and Earline
Moments before a catfight over Fatty Daddy erupted on the kitchen floor in space #40

Dear Editor:

Man, I think those twins up in #40 just might have the hots for me.

Fatty Daddy
Grinning like a Cheshire cat in space #88

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