While displaying an apparent multitude of similarities, making them virtually indistinguishable to the casual observer, Idaho baking potatoes actually have zero in common and nothing at all to say to each other. Listen for yourself!
I'm addressing this letter to anyone with nerve enough to respond. My question is this -- what kind of crapola are you guys trying to pull anyway? Do you think you're funny and arty and smart?
I'll bet you think you're so cute and clever, but I think you're stupid, and I have a hunch you're ugly to boot. So why don't you just hang this piece of shit rag up to dry before you embarrass yourselves any further with all this chowderheaded drivel.
A Fan (of Good Taste)
Editor's reply: We've seen the error of our ways and have re-evaluated our priorities. Beginning next issue we'll cover such pertinent issues as self-awareness, nutrition, crowd control, dianetics, boatin' and fishin', and urban survival. Thanks for bringing us around.
I read your publication on a regular basis and think you folks are knowledgeable, hip, and more compassionate that you let on, so maybe you can help me with a sort of unique problem.
I work at Burger King part-time, and the most humiliating aspect of the job is the really stupid uniform they make us wear, you know what I mean, the brown, yellow, and orange tunic with matching cap. It's really stupid. Well, the other night my worst nightmare came true.
I came home from work and got the hat off just fine, but no matter what I did I couldn't get out of the tunic! I tried everything, but the damn thing won't budge. I've been in my room two days now out of shame. I know my friends will laugh at me when they hear, but my real problem is this upcoming weekend. I've got this date with a really foxy older girl who takes art classes, and to impress her I told her I work at Bennigan's. If she finds out I work at Burger King I'm screwed. Have you heard of this problem before? It might be funny to you, but I gotta get this thing off. Please help.
Desperate in Lancaster
I'm an 80s kind of guy. I enjoy having deep thoughts, but there's nothing I'd rather do than join my very special friends for an evening of touching, sharing, reaching out, caring, and especially weeping about all the injustice in this topsy-turvy world. I get the feeling you're a lot like me and my friends. Let's communicate.
Bill Donahue, Chicago
Jesus, I got a lot of things to do. A lotta things. You should see. I should be paying my phone bill right now. Right now! Do you hear? I need a haircut. I should catch up on my correspondence. I'm lucky I got any friends left. I always forget my parents' birthdays even. I don't care, and I hate their goddamn dog. You think they help me out when I'm having trouble. No way, man. No way at all. Too busy with their service clubs and their knitting circles. Fucking makes me sick. You think they're busy? Tell me about it. I really got a lot of things to do. Shit, I shouldn't even be writing.
Otis Smith, Terre Haute
I'd use a rag like yours in my birdcage, but my parakeet refuses to shit on it for fear of rectal infection. I mean, it sucks! It really sucks!! You might impress artsy people with your self-consciously clever little ramblings on insignificant matters, but not me. I've always been different. I was a loner even in high school. Some of the kids thought I was weird, but that didn't bother me. I was always smarter. My mother said I used to watch Donohue when I was really small and that I was bored by Sesame Street. So don't try to pull with wool over my eyes with this phony literary dreck, cuase I just won't take it. Go back to working at the car wash where you belong, okay.
Janet Greene, "The Right Wing Joan Baez"
I'm here on Martha's Vineyard, often called "lovely Martha's Vineyard." It's like a dream come true, only dreams don't come true, so cut the shit! No, but seriously, Martha's Vineyard truly is a vineyard, and it really is Martha's. Wise up!
Anyway, things are going relatively well, which means that all my relatives are well. Aunt Shirley sends her love, thanks for asking.
Really liked Expresso Tilt #2. I always thought poetry, fiction, rock 'n' roll, and lawn ornaments would one day be united on the pages of a literary magazine. Why did it take so long for someone to finally do it?
James Gawron, Rio Rancho, NM
Like I was pretty amused when that skinny, four-eyed geek dropped off the latest stack of Expresso Tilts in our mellow mountain community, but like that amusement turned to chagrin pretty damn quick when I detected a certain amount of, shall we say, lack of respect regarding my main man of this or any other year, David Crosby. I can handle it when Rolling Stone, People, or Spin trash poor David, but when a 10th rate piece of newsprint slop from the East Coast shits on the legend, I gotta draw the line. So listen up, peckerheads, and listen up good.
David Crosby has more insight, more compassion, more sensitivity, more talent, and more BALLS in his little finger than your entire staff of poop-shute prowlin', leper lickin', suburb suckin', neo-literary, proto-punk, panty-waist mama's boys have in your entire dickless bodies, and he gets more pussy too. So what I'm saying is, we might be fat, but we can still kick your preppy faggot butts any time we damn well please, and we got firearms too.
I know I speak for Graham too, but he's busy fixin' the Rainbow Warrior right now. And Neil ... Jesus, you might as well be talking to Helen Keller on peyote. But me and David don't take shit from no one, understand? Cross us, and you're dead. Got it? Good.
Stephen Stills, Nederland, CO
How come I never find the fast-foward button on my MTV? It's driving me nuts.
Craig Lucas, Detroit
Hi. My name is Peter Noone. I was famous in the 60s as leader of the group Herman's Hermits, but I'm not reall well known anymore. In fact, my career's kind of on the skids. What I'm wondering is, do you think you could write some sort of article about me? It wouldn't have to be a big one, maybe just one page and one photo. I'm not a bad guy, and I think I made a worthwhile contribution in my day. I'm sure this will really help me out.
Peter Noone, Birmingham, England
AIDS is a disease that threatens us all. Granted, homosexuals deserve nothing less for their crimes against nature (in this respect, the Lord has been just), but us Caucasian women, children, and heterosexuals alike are contracting the dreaded germ. We must do all we can to stem the tide of this curse before we and all our kin are infested, die, or become homosexuals. Therefore, I support legislation that condoms be passed out in prisons.
Let's not kid ourselves: we all know what goes on in prison cells. It's a festering ground for the germ. Going to prison these days is as good as a death sentence. You'll have AIDS within hours. I'd bet my IRA that most of the criminals in jail would like nothing more than to transmute that horrible disease to the clean and wholesome privates of unsuspecting innocents like us.
Let's not just talk about it, let's enforce it. We'll make those faggots wear rubbers, no matter what. (Of course, the prison guards will be responsible for checking.) And if one of those criminals / rapists / queers refuses to wear the glove? Castration! That'll fix his wagon.
(Granted, prophylactics do hinder sensation during sexual activity. I should know. My husband and I have been voluntarily using them to set a germ-free example, and it's not all that bad, especially if you use the kind with the ... oh, never you mind!)
This is a small price to pay for public safety. Then we normal people can rest knowing that the repeat rapist on parole, who is just waiting for the chance to leap through our windows and ravage our clean bodies, is less likely to be an AIDS carrier, and all the diseased in the prisons can do whatever they want. (Lord knows, there's no stopping them.)
I hope your rather questionable publication will support me in this campaign. By the way, Mr. Editor, you do like women, don't you? HOMOPHOBES UNITE!
What's all this I hear about people's nails and hair growing after the person's dead? I'm 65-years-old, and I've been around all my life, and I never heard anything so crazy. I don't care if it is true. You couldn't pay me enough to believe it. Once you're dead, that's it.
Bill Jones, Elkton, MD
I'd like to ascribe to your magazine, but nobody will show me how. So please send my old friend, sample copy. If you don't, I'm sure to tell mom.
Uncircumcisably yours, C.D. Bonzlett, Lunatic at Large
Editor's Reply: Dear C.D. We don't offer perscriptions, but you and your friends can send us $18.95 per year, which is just $18.95 per year more than the newsstand price. Thanks for being you.
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