.
.
The Keystones, who live way out west where it hardly ever rains, sent
this one about a letter from a redneck mother to her daughter...

Dearest Daughter,

I'm writing this slow because I know you can't read fast. We don't live
where we did when you left home. Your dad read in the newspaper that
most accidents happen within 20 miles of your home, so we moved.

I won't be able to send you the address because the last West Virginia
family that lived here took the house numbers when they moved so they
wouldn't have to change their address.

This place is really nice. It even has a washing machine. I'm not too sure
about it. I put a load of clothes in and pulled the chain. We haven't seen
them since.

The weather isn't bad here. It only rained twice last week; the first time for
three days and the second time for four days.

About that coat you wanted me to send; your Uncle Billy Bob said it would
be too heavy to send in the mail with the buttons on, so we cut them off and
put them in the pockets.

Bubba locked his keys in the car yesterday. We were really worried and hot
because it took him two hours to get me and your father out.

Your sister had a baby this morning, but I haven't found out what it is yet so
I don't know if you are an aunt or uncle. The baby looks just like your brother.

Uncle Bobby Ray fell into a whiskey vat last week. Some men tried to pull
him out but he fought them off and drowned.

We had him cremated, he burned for three days.

Three of your friends went off a bridge in a pickup truck. Butch was driving.
He rolled down the window and swam to safety. Your other two friends were
in the back. They drowned because they couldn't get the tailgate down.

There isn't much more news at this time. Nothing much out of the normal
has happened.

Your Favorite Aunt,
Mom
.

.
.