Dear Editor:

It wasn't THAT difficult for someone big as me to smash down that barbed wire and get myself a peep into the party trailer. The menfolk lied when they said women are taboo at bachelor parties. There was some slut straddling Pop Feral on a Lazy-Boy recliner when I looked in.

Marshal and Carl was giving CPR to either Jingo the midget or his midget buddy from the mall. And Tod was laying on his back, looking out the window not so much AT me as THROUGH me, completely shitfaced, and I think he was foaming at the mouth. What a way for grooms to behave the night before their quadruple wedding! So I made me a beeline for Willy's trailer and tore me off one last hunk of that foot-long of his.

Beulah Feral
Space #68



Dear Editor:

You can all laugh at me for marrying a homeless drunk. All my Tod did was drink himself incoherent and pass out at the bachelor party. Beulah told us Pop Feral cheated on her the night before our weddings, and Marshal and Carl snuffed a dwarf.

Dot the crazy cat lady
Space #8



Dear Editor:

I just realized something. Mine and Darrell's ma went and married that dude that me and Eddie's been using as a lab rat to test each new batch of meth we cook. No shit. Ma's new husband escaped from the nuthatch, right? First name is Carl? Oh, fuck. My stepdad -- lab rat to the meth cooks.

Arliss Feral
Freaking out in space #62



Dear Editor:

Aaaaaaaaagh. I can't believe Maudine went and married Marshal Arvin. The woman I love more than any other on this planet is now inaccessible. FOREVER. I was so depressed, I couldn't even drag myself to the bachelor party. All I could do is sit in my trailer and cry.

Then big Beulah showed up and I boinked her. Then Beulah left and I sat there in my trailer and got hammered and bawled my eyes out over Maudine some more.  

Welcome Wagon Willy
Drinking Maudine goodbye in space #38



Dear Editor:

I can't believe you assholes killed Hermie. Not only was he my friend, he was my coworker. Now that he's dead, my workload will double. You have no idea how hard a mall elf's job truly is. Imagine dealing with a big fat drunk in a Santa suit and a bunch of whiny kids all day. One of us would take Santa duty and the other would take kid duty. Now I'm in charge of both.

I'm not even pissed about how you chose to dispose of my buddy.  Hermie's eulogy basically consisted of Pastor Pasqual mumbling some bullshit about God taking Hermie home. Then we launched Hermie's limp, elf-uniformed body over the duckpond and onto Buzzards Trailertopia with the catapult. What I found insulting was right before we dropped that washing-machine counterweight onto the catapult and launched Hermie into the sky, Maddog hollered, "Hey, God! Hermie's coming home! Catch!"  Don't think I didn't hear you all giggling after Maddog hollered that.

Jingo the retired circus midget
Space #99

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