Your column last week entitled Obituaries was a tad too long for my tastes. In fact, a couple of us were discussing it and it seemed as if it took up a good half of the newsletter. In the future, we’d appreciate it if you could keep the obituaries down to one or two. Also, it seemed a bit depressing. Perhaps you could throw in a joke or two to lighten the mood in the next issue.
Harold Dingley, Row 2, Lot 8, Parkington Circle
Could you please post the names and telephone numbers of all the eligible men who reside in this trailer park? I’m not getting any younger and it’s hard to get out there in my walker and make friends. It would be much easier for me if I knew exactly which trailers to hang out in front of in hopes of striking up a conversation. Of course, all I really have to do is follow that tramp Gertie Halloway around. She can smell a widower a mile away.
Yours in Christ,
Ida Mae MacNabb
I told you I would kill you if you put that picture in the newsletter of me climbing through my dining room window after accidentally locking myself out last month. ha ha. Although I must admit, now that I see myself in print, I don’t look half bad in that leopard-print thong. ha ha. And now Ernest Greebly, the widower from across the street has the hots for me. So, it’s all good, girlfriend. LOL. By the way, my 79th birthday is on Saturday, and I’d like to reserve the party house from 7 to 9 p.m. Let me know if that’s kosher.
Can you do something about that creepy Harry Leechman who lives over on Sun Valley Lane? He keeps showing up at the pool in that ratty orange bathing suit that is so old the elastic is worn out around the legs and just droops down (the suit). It’s getting so we can’t do our morning aquarobics without Harry’s balls staring us in the face.
Grossed Out Granny on Governor’s Place
P.S. Sorry to leave you with those visuals.