Edited Letters to the Editor

4 Dec

Some of the mail we receive doesn’t make it to air, because we’re not a letters show, nor are we a show, nor is there a ‘we’. I don’t know who Sammy is, and I certainly don’t know who Greg is.

_________________

July, 1998

Dear Greg & Guests.

My name is Sammy and I’m 7. I like trains, ice cream, Dateline NBC with Ann Curry, and when mummy stops drinking. If I had one wish in the whole wide world it would be for me to stop making mummy so cross with the kettle cord. That or to meet Ann Curry, on a train.

From Sammy.

___________________________

September 1998

Dear Greg & Guests.

This is Sammy again. Still waiting for that Ann Curry intro. And the train and the mummy stopping tick-tac-toeing my back with a shard of broken tequila bottle and all the rest of it.

From Sammy

_____________________

Later September 1998

Dear Greg & Guests.

Sammy here, ok, I’ll make you a deal. You keep the train ride, and the mum and the drinking and all the rest of it, just give me Ann Curry’s phone number and I’ll sort out the rest. Come on man, Starlight Foundation stiffed me, don’t you to.

From Sammy

________________________

Janurary 1999

Happy New Year, Prince

Dear Greg & Guests.

Well fat lot of fucking good you guys turned out to be. Mummy didn’t stop drinking, the neighbors called child’s services when they found my brothers ear and now I’m stuck in some foster home or some shit with one TV and no cable. No NBC, no Ann Curry, nothing! You lazy cock-nosed bastards. Well, you can kiss my small white seven year old arse, tossers. You have just lost a valuable viewer who in a few decades will purchase his own home with his own TV and just see if I watch repeats of you!

Mother-fucking yours, Sammy.

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