Dear Mister Ed

I’m startin’ to think its true what they say about rich folks not bein’ like you and me.

Not like me anyways, since I ain’t a hot shot overpayed newspaper edditer and all.

It all come out the other nite at dinner, when I told The Widdow about all the money I won off of Dimond Tooth Gert.

“O Rodney,” she says, “thats no way to make yer way in life. Gamblin’ is jest a tax on bein’ stooped. I make more’n that evry day and don’t pay taxes at all.”

When I ast how she done it, she told me about somethink called day tradin’ and thats why shes on the phone so much.

Well after thinkin’ on it some, I cant say as how I see much of a diffrence betwixt a cassino and the stalk market.

But The Widdow has a lot more of the do-ray-me, so she must be smarter’n me. So I mite have a go at it once I figger out all the nick names they use fer the companys.

I’ll take ‘er slow at first. Maybe start off with that Nortell thing thats on the news so much.

Unkle Walt don’t pay no nevermind to me nor The Widdow when it comes to money. He keeps his in a box under the bed and still has the first dime he ever made.

“It dont grow, but it dont go,” is how he puts it.

So Darrol, you was wonderin’ why Walt calls her The Widdow and she calls him The Skipper.

Well thats the names they used when they was first courtin’ on the interweb. Thats how The Widdow wants to keep it untill she knows Walts intenshuns fer sure.

“Theres a lot of mashers out there,” she says. “At my age a gal cant be too carefull, espeshully if shes got a bit of cash layed by.”

Not that she minds spendin’ it.

She payed over five millyun fer the house and pool alone, and Lord knows how much more fer that big boat that jest sits around most of the time.

Now shes took a noshun to bring in a crew and get some fanssy yard work done.

“I want somethin’ kinda like the Butchered Gardens,” she say, “But maybe not so big.”

Last week she took I and Walt unawares when she flew in a feller all the way from Ittaly to meshure us up from top to tale.

Here it comes, I thot. The Black Widdow is fittin’ us up fer caskits and we wont never see PEI again.

But it was’nt like that at all. Seems shes havin’ a few folks from the main land over fer a party and she wants us both to have some new duds.

“By the way Rodney, I had Bruce burn those smelly old overhauls. I hope you dont mind,” she says.

Now thats what I call nervy. Good thing she don’t know I got three more pares stashed away.

Yer pal,

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