Dear Mister Ed

D’you ever have times when it feels like yer ice fishin’ in a gold fish bowl? If you dont step lite, somethinks gonna get busted and it cud be you?

That’s kinda how its been round here of late. Evrywheres I turn I run into some body thats grumpy as an old gristly sow.

Dont try tellin’ me its Disordered Season Afflickshun, thats so common in places like the Youcon where there ain’t but two seasons, one dark and one lite.

Theres ownly two seasons down here too. Wet and not so wet. But you dont hear of folks gettin’ DSA from havin’ rust in there joints or moss growin’ off there head.

The first one to go all ornerry was Unkle Walt. I told you how he was layed up from somethink he took in at New Years that did’nt sit so good with his gout.

You probly dont recall that old movie pichur, The Feller What Come to Dinner? Its about this old coot named Harridan Whiteside that busts his leg en-root to a dinner party. He winds up in a wheely chair makin’ life a perfeckt misry fer all and sundray.

Wellsir, thats how its been round here. Walts been parked in his Lay-Zee chair near onto a month, barkin’ out orders like a drill sarjint and cussin’ like a parrott if a body so much as opens the window a crack.

And if that was’nt bad enuff, Crazy Maisy is livin’ here now too. Seems Eva invited her to move in and help with the cookin’ and cleanin’, if she’d promise to stay sober and not pester me.

The good news is shes been off the booze since Chrismass, so I ain’t livin’ in constant fear. The bad news is bein’ off the booze has gave ‘er the disposishun of a wolvereen bytimes.

Diplomattickal as I am, I dass’nt say boo to Walt in his push-back chair or Maisy on her water-wagon, unlest I want the histry books sayin’ it was on accounta me the third world war broke out.

That leaves Eva.

Now normally, shes kinda normal. Keeps herself busy, but dont get all in a lather over things she cant change.

But these Olympical Games in Vancoover have sent ‘er rite round the twist, let me tell you.

It started last week when she painted up a bunch of posters to protest when the torch come by.

Then she found out it all ready came and went a few months back, whilst she was plannin’ her big nupshal event. By golly, she was some fit to be tied.

“Why wud I wanta see it anyways?” she says “its nothin’ but a flickin’ Bick on stairoids. What burns me is how govamints bust the bank fer somethink like this but dont do bo-diddlee-sqwash fer folks that reelly need it.”

Bein’ the diplomattickal sort, I dont say nothin’. But I get the feelin’ things cud get worse afore they get worse.

Keep you posted.

Yer pal,

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