Dear Editor:

I got dibs on the gorgeous little lass who just moved into space #50. I never thought I'd say this about anyone, but she's actually hotter than Maudine.

My trunk and back seat are full of cans I just emptied out of Dot's yard. I'm taking them cans to the recycle place right now, to get enough money for a extra-huge box of Russell Stover candies and cigarettes and a dozen red roses with baby's breath and fern fronds mixed in. That's gonna cost me a lot more than all the cans will bring in. But if I come up short, I'll pilfer the balance out of Dot's purse.

I'll walk up to the new lassie's trailer, hat in hand, and ring the doorbell. When she answers, I'll get on bended knee and speak Gaelic to her in a Scottish accent while presenting her with the flowers, candy, and cigarettes. Wish me luck. And don't let Dot find out any of this, if you know what's good for me.

Welcome Wagon Willy
Space #38

Dear Editor:

Finally Willy cleaned up that pile of aluminum cans out back of the trailer. The can pile was starting to overflow into the dirt the cats use for a catbox. I don't think Willy took all them cans to the recycling place, because he ain't showed up with any money. Plus, he asked me for money but I could only give him five bucks.

When I went to get the money out of my purse, it turned out I had 20 bucks less than I thought. That's happened a lot since me and Willy hooked up. I guess I'm thinking about Willy so much, I don't think about how much money I have or don't have in my purse.

Dot the crazy cat lady
Space #8

Dear Editor:

Who the hell is that Willy weirdo?

I just moved here from out of state. I bought a singlewide with an expando from that used trailer lot up the highway and had it delivered to Tinbox Acres. No sooner had my trailer been delivered, when this dipshit in a filthy old firesuit shows up to my doorstep with an armload of crap. Then he rings the doorbell and squats down on one knee. I seen him right out the kitchen window, because I hadn't even had time to hang up the curtains yet.

When I answered the door, the guy said something like, "Greetings, me fair lassie, 'tis I, Willy," in a thick, fake Scottish accent, then proceeded to say something I couldn't understand for shit in the same fake accent, rrrrrrrrolling every R. He tried to kiss my hand, but I snatched it away. Then he tried handing me an armload of crap including a grocery-store-bought bunch of red roses, an economy-sized box of Russell Stover candies, and a carton of Marlboro Light 100s. I'm not even a smoker.

I handed the flowers, cigarettes, and candy back to Willy and told him thanks but no thanks, I'm not interested. He continued exhaling brandy-scented Gaelic at me in a fake Scottish accent until the phone rang. I managed to shoo him off my porch with the phone to my head.

That Willy weirdo creeps me out so bad. I could have sworn I saw his red, sweaty face pressed up against my living room window that first night, before I got the drapes hung.

New chick Belinda Jameson
Space #50

HOME