Letter From Milo: Great Thoughts

August 28th, 2019

Once again, I’m up against a deadline and don’t have anything to write about. So, I’m going to fall back on the lazy columnist’s trick of posting letters from readers. I know I’ve been doing this a lot lately, but I’m going to plead extenuating circumstances. I’m not sure if the abuse of alcohol and drugs, plus an epic sex life, qualifies as extenuating circumstances, but that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it. Anyway, here are a few letters from The Third City’s loyal, discerning and genteel readers, followed by my snappy replies.

Letter:

Motherfucker, where’s my money!

Snappy reply:

Oh, shit! Is this Elaine from Elmhurst? Didn’t you get my last email? I told you I’m not sending you any money until the DNA results are confirmed. How did you find me, anyway? Man, I hate Google.

Letter:

Me and the guys here at Burr Oak Cemetery are big fans of your blogging. We thought that the stuff about your recent medical problems was some of your best writing. We especially enjoyed the one you wrote about having your teeth pulled before your heart surgery. It occurred to me that you might be in the market for a dental plate. Here at Burr Oak we have a wide variety of nearly new and gently used dental plates for sale. And they cost a mere fraction of what a brand new dental plate would cost. If you’re interested, call Burr Oak Cemetery and ask for Lennie. We look forward to hearing from you.

Snappy reply:

Damn! I wish you would have contacted me a little earlier. I’ve already been fitted for a dental plate at the Triple A College of Dental Prosthetics & Drywall Academy in Gary, Indiana. But I will mention your offer to several of my toothless friends, who, no doubt, will be deeply appreciative of your kind offer.

Letter:

Hey, bro, this is your brother-in-law, Bill. Your sister has been making my life miserable lately. She’s been accusing me of all sorts of terrible things, including being a drunkard. A couple of days ago she hit me in the head with a frying pan. Good thing I was drunk or it would have hurt like hell. Then, yesterday morning, she bought a subscription to Guns and Ammo and, later that day, she joined Jenny Craig. Plus, I think she’s been sneaking around with the assistant golf pro at the country club. I’m getting a little nervous. What should I do?

Snappy reply:

Dumbass, I warned you when you married her that you were getting in way over your head. My sister is a mean, vengeful, violent, high maintenance bitch. Matter of fact, when I was a young man, still living at home with my family, I had to go to Vietnam just to get away from her and find some piece and quiet. The best advice I can give you is to start defending yourself. Now, I am totally against the abuse of women. The only woman I ever hit was 4th Ward Alice, when we had that savage street fight on Lincoln Avenue back in the ‘70s. I would have whipped her, too if she hadn’t sprayed me with mace and kicked me in the nuts. As I mentioned, I’m against hitting women, but in my sister’s case I might make an exception.

Letter:

I always thought that you were Gary, Indiana’s greatest writer. Now I’m hearing that someone named Monroe Anderson is being touted for that title. There’s been quite a debate on Facebook as to who is actually Gary’s finest scribe. Can you straighten this out for me? I’m confused.

Snappy reply:

Let me set the record straight. Monroe Anderson is a barely literate, no-talent hack. As a writer, he is in the same league as Benny Jay and Big Mike, which is to say they are all bush leaguers. I doubt Monroe is even from Gary. He probably grew up in Muncie or Fort Wayne, or some backwater in southern Indiana. He just says he’s from Gary to improve his social standing. Granted, being Gary’s greatest writer is not the most coveted literary accolade. It’s sort of like being the handsomest of the Three Stooges (although Shemp is, in my opinion, a fine specimen of manhood). Still, the title is all I’ve got and I’m not giving it up without a fight, no matter what they say on Facebook. By the way, what is Facebook?

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