I’ve Had Just About Enough of These Hippies and their Sex Magazines
By Fingers Rolly
Man on the Street
File photo
I swear to the Lord Christ, I’ve had just about enough of these fucking hippies and their god damn sex magazines.
You walk into the drugstore. There’s Fat Sam with his apron. You look at the magazine rack. Nothing but god damn hippie sex magazines.
“Why you carry this degenerate shit?” I asked once. Fat Sam looked at me kind of funny. I didn’t press it.
Then I went over to the post office. A whole wall full of god damn hippie sex magazines. It’s unbelievable. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on. I get home to my trailer in that lousy whore of a desert and there’s the Evening News. Guess what’s inside? A god damn hippie sex magazine.
I scream at the desert often.
The Lankville Daily News would like to apologize for the preceding article. Mr. Rolly was assigned an article on the wetlands of Lankville County.
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CURIOUS LETTERS
Gentlemen,
My name is Fletcher M. Gregory, Jr. and I am 85 years old. I have long been an admirer of your Fluffy Marshes-Mallows; indeed, my man-servant Mr. Swift and I enjoy it atop our sundaes three or four days per week! However, as time has passed, I have noticed that your product becomes more and more difficult to locate in the grocery center and that other, obviously inferior products are now being allotted primer space. Now, this could be the work of the disgraceful he-she that manages my local grocery center (IT'S name is "Steve") but I have had other associates who have expressed similar concerns.
Therefore, I was hoping you could provide me with information on how you intend to rectify this matter as I am fearful that your fine product will eventually disappear forever from the shelves of my local grocery center-cum Sodom.
Yours faithfully,
Fletcher M. Gregory, Lankville
LETTER SACK