Dear Mister Ed

If things was bad before, its got even worst in the sleep deppartment this week.

The birds is now chirpin’ and burpin’ near non-stop and my eyebulbs can scarce tell nite from noon. Short of stickin’ my head under the piller, there don’t seem to be any ways to get a full nite in the Land of Nod.

O well, its ownly a few more days till we start the long slide back into 24-7 of dark and cold. Ain’t that a cheery note?

But theres good news, too.

I was over to Wilferd’s place a cupple more times to play Texxas Fold-em on the interweb. By golly, did’nt I jest clean up both times? I dass’nt tell you how much I made, but it was a bundle.

Wilferd says I got a nachural talent, even if I don’t know what the heck I’m doin’. But Merna calls it kinda spooky. Says I must be the seventh son of a sonofagun or somethink.

Of coarse bein’ play money, it don’t mean sqwat. Still and all, its kinda fun to be rich, even if its all pretend.

Looks like I’m off fer an other exsellent advenchur this week end, Darrol.

I was next door fer dinner on Sunday, and Wilferd says why don’t we all pack up and go see the solstiss at Keeno City, where he useta work in the mines?

Now I can’t recall ever seein’ a solstiss before, and I surely never been to Keeno, but you know I ain’t one to sniff at tryin’ somethink new.

The plans was goin’ a pace untill young Moon found out she cudn’t use her cellulite fone the hole time we was away.

Wellsir, that done it fer Moon. All the wild horses of Arraby cud’nt drag her up there now.

Merna says she ain’t about to leave a 16-year-old on her own all weekend, so why don’t the menfolks go and she’ll stay home and keep an eye on my garden and feed the chickins whilst we’re gone.

So thats how its gonna be. The reel solstiss don’t show up untill the small hours of Sunday, but Wilferd says we shud head up on Fryday.

He says that way we won’t get all tangled up with folks from near and far all chasin’ each other down the Silver Trail in the Mayo Midnite Madness.

Seems like I and Wilferd and Danny are destinned to spend the week end doin’ what Merna calls male bondage.

Near as I can figger, it has to do with sittin’ around on top of a mountain, eatin’ beans and weenies and talkin’ a lot of men stuff whilst the sun goes down and comes up. Mite even be a sip of spruce beer involved.

Oh, one other thing. Don’t tell Wilferd, but I ownly ever slept outdoors one time before. That was some years back, when I somehow nodded off whilst walkin’ home from a kitchen party.

But thats a hole nother story.

Yer pal


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