Back to The Humor and Life, in Particular Home Page
|
|---|
|
Dear Mom: Hello! From the big city! How are things back home? Is Dad still calling you by other womens' names? How are your Yo-Yo lessons coming? Have you tried using string? Is uncle Mort finally over his little problem or does he still hang out at the SPC on Saturday nights? I'm enclosing money for twelve sets of dentures so you can all go to Bingo together. Well, I've got to tell you--these big city folks sure are a friendly piece a work. I was walking down the street the other day when a whole herd of young fellas gathered all around me and started complimenting my jacket. They all seemed so excited to see me. I wonder how they knew I was from out of town? Could it have been the platform shoes? Anyhow, it seems the fellas got a little carried away, meeting a stranger and all. I don't remember much after the first few minutes but I still can't figure out how that hammer mark wound up between my eyes. When I came to it was a little confusing. I guess the boys wanted a few momentos of their meeting me. Let's see--they got my jacket, my boots, my wallet, my ring, my watch, my pants, my partial plate and 12 gold fillings. I looked down and saw two little old ladies trying to untie my shorts. They didn't seem to mind though. They just kept smiling and one of them started singing 'Some Enchanted Evening'. The new job is going just fine here although the money's not too good. Being a stand-up comic in a soup kitchen has always been a secret dream of mine but working for tips has its drawbacks. Could you tell me how to get tobacco juice spit stains out of my hair? Anyway, my part-time job keeps me in Kraft Dinner and bus tokens. I got hired as a professional sparring partner with a local boxing gym...thank God the ad said, "No Experience Necessary." Lucky or what? It's saved me a fortune already. The owners let me sleep at the club so I don't have to rent an apartment. Just before closing time, they always put me up against a heavyweight with an attitude problem. Usually don't wake up till next morning. They even let me do some extra work. Their punching bag split last month and ever since they just tie me to the rafters and let the boys wail away on me. Sort of reminds me of the Legion back home. Anyhow, I got to go. My date's at the door. You gotta meet her. Six-foot-five, 280 pounds and her name is Bob. Must be short for Roberta. The strange thing is she shaves more often than I do and she never sits down to pee. Tonight's really special--Bob is planning to tell me this "like, really big" secret of hers. Don't you just love surprises? Bye for now! © 1997, Fred Desjardins About the author: Age: 45 Status: Remarried Children: 2 Sex: Occasionally I've been a professional freelancer for almost 12 years although most of those years it did not make up a lion's share of the income. I've done managerial work, government and private teaching positions but I now am a full-time freelancer. I write, primarily, humor but the money in this business is so hard to come by that it's essential to be eclectic, assuming of course that you've made the reasoned decision that eating is a good thing. I did a lot of work in radio, mostly writing funny commercials and I was editor of the infamous national magazine, "Canadian Crime & Justice" which was featured as a sight gag on Roseanne a few years ago. Only Americans get the joke because we don't know how we're perceived but it was the joke equivalent of the stereotype of a Swedish boxer. You just know that the Swedish ad companies are paying big bucks to put ads on the soles of this guy's shoes. Education: B.A. (Psychology), Master's of Education (Curriculum Development)--A perfect educational recipe for life-long underemployment. I'm a member of the Periodical Writers Association of Canada--a, somewhat august organization up here (In the sense that it was started by some of the finest writers in the country and continues to have many fine writers. The problem is that a lot of these incredibly creative and talented people are forced to write corporate end-of-year statements and similar technical work to make a decent living. Writers are treated with very little respect in the publishing community and my group is trying to change that and with it, the money that comes with more respect. End of Sermon Oh yeah, and, I'm like, Canadian, eh? So I drink a lotta beer. I mean, my bladder is the strongest muscle in my body. And you don't have to worry that we think you're taking us over or anything because everyone knows it anyway. Just let us keep our name and our bad football and the world's worst national anthem. Way ta go, eh? Beauty!
©Margie Culbertson
|
