Dear Mister Ed

Darroll, theres a roomer goin’ round that some womman is camped out fer a few weeks in yer big stuffy Mister Ed chair.

The same roomer has it that you and some other womman is off gallyvantin’ about like you was on a hunnymoon or some such.

I personly dont put a lot of store in such talk, but even Youcon roomers can have a smidjin of truth bytimes.

If what I herd tell is true, then my hats off to the both of you.

Seein’ as how I been a batchelor all my life, there aint that much I can offer in the way of free advise thats worth what you pay fer it.

In case you allready fergot what a batchelor is, thats what they call a feller with the good scents not to make life a missery fer any one womman in partickular.

But I can pass on somethink I herd a while back about the seckret to a long and happy marryed life: a new groom sweeps clean.

Then he does the dishes, and folds the lawndry and never fergets to put the seat down on the you-know-what.

Pay heed to all that, my son, and my bet is yer gonna come up smilin’.

As fer my gang of missfits, we all made ‘er back safe from our trip to the Inferior. Not a minnit too soon, I tell you.

The wethers been so good of late my vegtables had a nother four inches onto them.

Of coarse the weeds had even more, so I been indulated with chores since we got back.

That probly dont matter much to you, seein’ as how the Youcons been gettin’ two-dijit wether fer some time now, and enuff rain to hose it all down when you need to.

Besides, in the Youcon a feller dont have to work so steady to keep the weeds in line, on accounta he can always take a brake and come back at it after midnite.

I truely do miss that Midnite Sun, speshully now that I’m gettin’ on and dont reely need the same dose of sleep that I useta.

Mind you, I still like to have a bit of a nap after lunch like the Mexxicans, but thats jest to make sure I got the energy fer all them warshroom trips in the middle of the nite.

Golly, I plum fergot to tell you our wee fambly got a tad bigger and noisyer last week.

Comin’ back from the Stampeed, Eva says shes got a nother birthday surprize fer Unkle Walt.

So we head fer this puppy place near Vancoover. Sure enuff, shes went and ordered a little yapper to keep Walt company whilst hes propped in the LayZee chair with his nittin’ sticks.

Cant tell its petagree, but it looks like a cross betwixt a Yorkshyer terrorist and a string mop.

Eva calls it Ceaser but I nick named it Brute-us, seein’ as how its kinda nasty and short.

Yer pal,

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