Hello to you, and please don't worry. I'm just fine
considering I can't breathe or eat. The important thing is
that you are doing well, thousands of miles away from your
ailing mother.
I've sent along my last ten dollars in this card, which I hope
you'll spend on my Grandchildren. Lord knows their mother
never buys them anything nice. They look so thin in their
pictures, poor babies. But then, I guess you two do save a lot
of money shopping for their clothes at the Salvation Army
surplus stores and all.
Thank you so much for the flowers, dear boy. I put them in
the freezer so they'll stay fresh for my grave. Which
reminds me -- we buried Grandma last week. I know she died
years ago, but I got to yearning for a good funeral, so Aunt
Viola and I dug her up and had the services all over again. I
would have invited you, but I know that woman you live with
would never let you come. Why, I bet she's never even
watched that videotape of my hemorrhoid surgery, has she?
Well son, it's time for me to crawl off to bed now. I broke
my cane beating off a gang of muggers last week, but don't
you worry about me. I'm also getting used to the cold since
they turned my heat off and actually kind-of grateful since
the frost on my bed numbs my constant pain. Now don't you
even think about sending any more money, because I know you
need it for those expensive family vacations you take every
year; as well as all those designer clothes your gold-digger
demands you buy her.
Give my love to my darling Grandbabies and my regards to
whatever-her-name-is -- the one who stole you screaming and
kicking from a loving home, and dragged you up to that God
forsaken lawless Sodom she calls a state.
