Dear Sir:
I have a very short attention span. I am now sitting at my typewriter and I wonder why. Well, the envelope is stamped and addressed so I may as well send it along to you.
P.S. I'll bet as soon as I drop this into a mailbox, I'll remember what it was I wanted to write about.
Dear Sir:
This is to let you know that after dropping my previous letter into the mailbox I did not recall what I intended to write you about. But I thought of something new, a tip to all my fellow citizens. Soon, the postage rates will rise from 25 to 29 cents. Before it is too late, go out and purchase all the 25 cent stamps you can before the rates go up.
Dear Sir:
There is a squatter living in the basement of my apartment building who I believe shuts off my hot air duct and re-channels it to his own little dumpy corner of a furnace room. I've complained to him about this but he only tells me to wear big sweaters, which I've done. Next, I asked him to kick in a little on my heating bill. He threatened to kill me. I now avoid the basement like a plague.
It's funny just how many unnecessary trips I used to make down there, for laundry, to my storage room, and how we Americans really don't budget our time and energy as well as we should.
Dear Sir:
I rent many videos and watch them one frame at a time. I have a lot of time on my hands, but it has afforded me the opportunity to see the many sides of Ally Sheedy. In my eyes, she is the next Phoebe Cates.
Dear Sir:
It has come to my attention that wine is nothing but very old grape juice. Therefore, I see nothing wrong with drinking very old grape juice for breakfast. Now, if I ate very old eggs, I'd feel nauseous and the bus ride to work would make me sick. But with very old grape juice, I enjoy riding the city bus each morning, oftentimes singing my way past my regular stop. I've been late to work so often that they fired me, but at least I'm eating healthier breakfasts.
Dear Sir:
I want to thank the elderly male pedestrian that careened off my bumper last week for not reporting this incident to the police. You see, I was expecting some pals from my Strat-O-Matic Baseball Board Game League when I discovered I was all out of Fresca. In my haste to get to the grocery store, I ran a few stop signs and hit an old man who was wearing a plaid porkpie hat that reminded me a lot of Bing Crosby.
Upon examination of one week's newspapers, I found nothing about a hit-and-run death, nor any mention of a police manhunt for anyone who fits my description. Thank you, sir, for letting bygones be bygones. My door is always open to you and a cold Fresca with your name on it is always chilling.
Dear Sir:
Now that Operation Desert Storm is over, do I still have to save all my paper clips and staples for the scrap metal drives? (You know, the Boy Scouts in my neighborhood have been S-L-O-W about it.) Also, all those funny characters on sitcoms, like those sitcom neighbors? Wow, what are they on?
Dear Sir:
In 1927, Charles Lindbergh flew across the Atlantic to Paris and was greeted by thousands of cheering well-wishers. Just weeks ago I flew into Paris - on a much larger, more impressive plane than Lindbergh's - and though there were thousands of people milling around the airport, only two were concerned about my arrival, and they only chucked me on the shoulder and made me carry my own bags.
What has happened to people since 1927? I think television is to blame.