Dear Sirs:

     I just received your super heated letter in regards to the
     bill I owe you. You thought it should have been paid long
     ago and couldn't understand why it hadn't been.

     In 1959 I bought a new mill on the installment plan. In
     1960 I bought an ox cart, a timber cart, two ponies, a
     breech loading shotgun, a wine tester, a twenty-five
     dollar Colt revolver and two fine razor back hogs - - all
     on the time installment plan.

     In 1961 the saw mill burned down, one of the ponies died
     and I loaned the other one to a dirty son-of-a-bitch who
     starved it to death. Then I joined the church. In 1962 my
     father died and my brother was lynched for horse stealing.
     A railroader knocked up my only daughter and I had to pay
     the doctor $81.00 to keep the little bastard from becoming
     a relative of mine.

     In 1969 my son got the mumps and they went down on him. The
     doctor had to castrate him to save his life. Later I went
     fishing and the boat overturned. I lost the biggest damn fish
     I ever saw and two of my sons drowned, neither being the one
     who had been castrated.

     In 1970 my wife ran off with a loony redneck and left me with
     a set of twins as a souvenier. So married the hired girl to
     keep expenses down, but I had trouble getting her to come. I
     went to see a doctor and he advised me to create a diversion
     about the time she was ready to come. That night I took my
     shotgun to bed with me. When I thought it was time for her to
     come, I stuck the shotgun out the window and fired. My wife
     shit the bed, I ruptured myself and I killed the best damn
     colt I ever had.

     In 1971 I got burned up and took to drinking. I didn't stop
     until all I had left was a Waterbury watch and kidney touble.
     Then for some time all I did was piss and wind my watch.

     The next year I tried again. I bought a manure spreader, a
     Deering binder and a threshing machine - - all on the time
     installment plan. Along came a cyclone and blew everthing
     into the next county. My wife caught the clapp from a traveling
     salesman, my boy wiped his ass with a corncob that had rat
     poison on it and some bastard nutted my prize bull.

     Now at present, if it cost a nickel to shit, I'd have to vomit.
     Trying to get money from me would be harder than trying to butter
     a humming birds ass with a red-hot poker or shoving spaghetti up
     a wildcats ass with a knitting needle.

     Yet you say you can cause me trouble. Brother you're wecome to try.



     Yours truly,