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You think - you've- got problems? Here's a REAL ha
Dear Sirs:
I just received your super heated letter in regards to the
bill I owe you. You thought it should have been paid long
ago and couldn't understand why it hadn't been.
In 1959 I bought a new mill on the installment plan. In
1960 I bought an ox cart, a timber cart, two ponies, a
breech loading shotgun, a wine tester, a twenty-five
dollar Colt revolver and two fine razor back hogs - - all
on the time installment plan.
In 1961 the saw mill burned down, one of the ponies died
and I loaned the other one to a dirty son-of-a-bitch who
starved it to death. Then I joined the church. In 1962 my
father died and my brother was lynched for horse stealing.
A railroader knocked up my only daughter and I had to pay
the doctor $81.00 to keep the little bastard from becoming
a relative of mine.
In 1969 my son got the mumps and they went down on him. The
doctor had to castrate him to save his life. Later I went
fishing and the boat overturned. I lost the biggest damn fish
I ever saw and two of my sons drowned, neither being the one
who had been castrated.
In 1970 my wife ran off with a loony redneck and left me with
a set of twins as a souvenier. So married the hired girl to
keep expenses down, but I had trouble getting her to come. I
went to see a doctor and he advised me to create a diversion
about the time she was ready to come. That night I took my
shotgun to bed with me. When I thought it was time for her to
come, I stuck the shotgun out the window and fired. My wife
shit the bed, I ruptured myself and I killed the best damn
colt I ever had.
In 1971 I got burned up and took to drinking. I didn't stop
until all I had left was a Waterbury watch and kidney touble.
Then for some time all I did was piss and wind my watch.
The next year I tried again. I bought a manure spreader, a
Deering binder and a threshing machine - - all on the time
installment plan. Along came a cyclone and blew everthing
into the next county. My wife caught the clapp from a traveling
salesman, my boy wiped his ass with a corncob that had rat
poison on it and some bastard nutted my prize bull.
Now at present, if it cost a nickel to shit, I'd have to vomit.
Trying to get money from me would be harder than trying to butter
a humming birds ass with a red-hot poker or shoving spaghetti up
a wildcats ass with a knitting needle.
Yet you say you can cause me trouble. Brother you're wecome to try.
Yours truly,
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