A Newsletter, Sort Of

Dear Friends,

What a year this has been!

Aunt Tinglebottom and Fred finally tied the knot.  Get married? No, she tied the knot around his throat, but his neck was so greasy (he works as a mechanic and hasn't taken a shower since 1966), the noose slipped off.  Too bad for her.  The sheriff of Nottingham, Kentucky saw the whole deal and locked her up.  It all worked out OK, though.  She made him a key/lime pie and used the leftover keys to let herself out of jail.

Aunt Cribbage (or is it great-aunt?) has been playing cards for money again.  She had a big loss last month.  She had taken some things with her when she moved out of the circus, among them an elephant. You guessed it, she lost the elephant in a poker game.  Uncle Sahib wasn't happy, and he's been trying to recover the pachyderm ever since.  I hope she never gets so desperate again. She already lost the Bearded Lady to her old friend Min Oxydil.

Uncle Fresno moved to California in April, but he's coming home to Cincinnati for Christmas. Every time the ground shakes out there he gets homesick for his girlfriend Gargantula.  I'm not saying she's large, but when she plays jump-rope with the kids it can be felt in Arkansas.

Cousin Fleamaker has had a new job for awhile as a veterinary assistant. Sales of Raid, Off and tick repellant have tripled since he's been working there.

Second cousin thrice removed  Prego and her husband Dick are expecting children number 18, 19 and 20 any time now.  She says these might have to be the last.  I don't see why.  She's only 52.  I guess Dick is tired of changing diapers.  It's so hard to understand him when he babbles.

Cousin Zelda tells me I need new Christmas traditions, and she's right. It's hard to get my family together for various reasons but I have a plan.  I bought sixteen yards of Velcro and I am using it to upholster the couch in the living room, the toilet seat and the refrigerator.  I bought eighty-seven rolls of duct tape, sixty-nine tubes of superglue and a large sledge hammer.  Just in case somebody tries to escape. . .I mean,  get away, I won't feed my hundred pound dog until New Year's, and I offered to babysit my friend's Rottweiler while they are in Salt Lake City for the annual Gremlin/Pinto races on the Flats.  If that doesn't work I have a back-up plan which involves Prozac. . . .

And finally, don't tell Aunt Wallflower's fourth ex-husband Uncle Feelers you heard from me. He's from Europe, you know.  Those Russian hands and Roman fingers give me the creeps.


Warmest Regards,

MzzRzz