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Letters to the Editor (Feb. 2020)


Dear Mr. VENT

I am hoping this letter (email) reaches you in time. I’m pretty confident it will though as I am pretty sure you just slap this trash heap you call a magazine together the night before it goes to print. I implore you sir, if there is any shred of decency within you whatsoever. Please do not stoop to the level to which you have demonstrated your ability to stoop time and time again with your “Dead To Me” column. Specifically, any you might be planning regarding the death of Kobe Bryant. No not because Kobe was a legend but rather because I don’t think I could manage to sit through a whole column of your childlike attempt at morbid humor by restating and regurgitating the tweets and half-baked premises of a bunch of alt comedians you follow. So please just don’t. For once, don’t jump on whatever trending topic you think might get a few extra clicks on the slideshow of your magazine.

Thank you,

Guy Who Isn’t Sure Why He Keeps Reading This Thing

Dear Editor:  Can you please help me with my adult children?  I work two jobs just to make ends meet and I clean houses on the side.  I put breakfast, lunch and dinner out for the kids faithfully and get their laundry washed and folded every week but they still can’t find a job.  The poor dears.  My son, he’s 28, really loves video games and is a great player.  I just don’t understand why someone wouldn’t hire him.  Don’t they pay people to play games in China?  My daughter is a very talented singer/actress/dancer.  Her agent comes by nearly every night, he is so enthusiastic about her career.  All they need is a little break.  If you have any ideas on how I can help them, I’d love to hear it.  Thanks!  — Mama Bear.

Dear Editor:  I have had enough of my identical cousin’s 50 year old ass becoming the new ‘30 year old ass’.  My 50 year old ass sags, okay?  It’s called gravity.  Just because her butt defies it doesn’t mean the rest of us can.  She paid someone I’m sure.  I don’t know if there is a gravity czar or commission or what but she paid someone. She has the money.  Don’t be fooled by all that Jenny from the block stuff.  She was 10 the last time she was on a block.  No ass. No boobs. Just attitude.  Maybe some gum. And another thing.  What is with the hair? Those are extensions people!  Her hair doesn’t just magically pop out of her head like that! And those costume “changes”…sure.  She has people to pull them off.   If we all had the sort of people she has, every woman in America would be dangling silver fringe off their asses too.  –Not-such-an-identical-cousin-Annie Lopez, aka A-LO, aka Ass Low.

My Very Dearest Vent,  I, Magic Underwear Milton, must confess something.  It was not a great sacrifice to vote against my party.  I am not a martyr.  My dog, on the other hand, is owed.  Quite naturally Seamus is a democrat.  Even before “the incident” we shall not speak of, he had a liberal bent.  He enjoys disciplining me.  I must admit I find the collars stimulating but even with magic underwear they chaff.  However, gingers are never to be trusted.  Irish setters even less so.  One never knows how the crop shall fall, so to speak.  While Ann and I feel no shame in our continued devotion to Seamus and all of his charities, we are concerned.  Whether it is feeding homeless dogs or poop scooping the dog park, Ann and I are proud, proud servants to the canine class.  We even enlist the children and grandchildren.  No poop is too sticky or smelly or smeared to be left behind.  Unscooped.  From the fields of waving wheat to ocean shores bright with foam, may Kolob bless us all with the Heavenly Father’s presence. Amen.  Ever truly yours, your dear friend and faithful reader, Mitt. p.s. I have got to get my hands on some very special stain remover.  Magic underwear isn’t as miraculous as the manufacturer claims.  Ann tries, God love her, but I sweat and well, the water here is a bit different than it was at home. If you have any source, any connection, please, I beg you, share them.  If we don’t get from vanilla to pristine white soon there will be talk. 

Fellow Patriot —

Please tell the little snowflakes that dance around my driveway that when I mow the lawn with Loretta it has nothing to do with them. Loretta is for sport.  For fun.  I don’t need much protection in my own front yard.  Especially from the little snowflakes!

I was all decked out last Saturday, MAGA hat (of course), beautiful new red shirt with Trump/Pence 2020 across the front, just happy go lucky me singing and dancin’ and mowin’.  And what do ya know but a whole little tribe of snowflakes comes marching down my street.  Probably one of them damn soccer moms.  A Karen, I’m sure.  Well this Karen and her brats and her best friend Susan think they are gonna make me feel bad or something stupid like that.  They got their little signs that say things like, “No children in cages” or “Not my president” and other disrespectful nonsense. So I just stand there watching them for a minute then I smile.  Tip my hat and go back to mowing.  They melt in about a minute or two and give up and go home.  Next time, I get out the target and Loretta and I do a little practice.  Give them a show.  Watch those little snowflakes crap their pants, real fast.  

And that Ain’t’ Just Whistlin’ Dixie — Lieutenant Colonel Sanders (Ret.)