Dead Letter Office

Dear Crazy Lady No. 1,

Thank you for finally giving me something to work with. Yes, I will transfer you, with all due speed and more joy than I thought my heart could hold, to the Cardinal's office. Maybe he, this holy and righteous man with far more power than I, will be able to address your concerns. I hope that he can return to you the apparently numerous babies stolen from your body in the night by the Pope; babies that were then, as you say, sold in Canada. It is indeed a tragedy that such things have occurred to you. Especially heart wrenching are the tales of the many hardships suffered by these stolen babies of yours, hardships that you have recounted to me at length and in detail on several previous occasions. As you have pointed out more than once, these were your babies, brought into your womb through some process involving televised basketball games that I don't quite understand, and they were yours to sell, not ours. I'm sure the Cardinal will hasten to right these wrongs, particularly after he hears your impassioned farewell of motherfuckersgoodBYE!

Go with God,
North of Normal

Dear Boss,

I am not an egg.

Neither am I produce, nor some kind of perishable dairy product. I do not need to be kept at a constant temperature of forty degrees. I will not spoil. I promise. My sell-by date is years off and I am fully pasteurized.

So please, for the love of God and the knees I can't actually feel anymore, could we turn the air conditioning down?

Thanks,
North

Dear Weirdo Guy,

I'm no expert, but trust me on this: Your little brother is not possessed by demons. He's a thirteen-year-old boy, and from what I understand, they all act like that. Also, you pushed him out a window. I don't care if it was only a three-foot-off-the-ground trailer window, you pushed him out of it, and therefore I think it's not exactly a sign that the devil's afoot when he comes back in threatening to kick your ass.

Yeesh,
North

Dear Protesters,

Terribly sorry that your parish is being closed. It's got a long history, and I'm sure this is disappointing. However, you've got twenty families in the parish books and your pastor had to call the Archdiocese to ask for a $25,000 bridge loan to make through to your closing mass. ON SUNDAY. I'm sure you mean well, but there are more of you stomping around with signs outside the chancery this afternoon than there have been in the pews in a year of Sundays. Also, hot dogs? You are protesting with a weenie roast? I don't get it. Go home. Or better yet, go to Our Lady of Angels. It's right down the street and it's got the same priest you've been sharing with three other parishes for the past decade.

Hot dogs?
North