Before artificial intelligence takes over this column (mainly because it works cheaper), I’ll reprint the letters I received.
Those who start with “Dear Fool” and suggest what I can do with myself, I will avoid – despite immense gratitude for their novel suggestions.
Deep thinker Eugene printed two separate notes on lined composition paper May 13 and 15, ripped from a notebook.
Using his unsharpened pencil, he wrote: “Great that you’ve turned your attention to Chris Christie. Thank you very much.”
Marion from New Jersey: “Thanks for sharing, but I don’t always agree.”
Norman’s typed 8 x 10 pages of the Declaration of Independence informed me: “New York’s final draft was signed on July 9, days later, as they awaited Britain’s reconciliation.”
May Normie know all that’s going on in England for tea.
White Plains’ “Linda” ends with “Kiss Mike Goodwin for me.”
So good luck Mike.
A belated Easter note: “Read aloud. Keep it up. I’m from Jersey. I like Trump!”
The logo on the designer greeting card read: “Printed in China”.
The neatly typed letter from Central Park Bunny said she was sending me puns.
She forgot to put some in the envelope.
A Manhattan postcard handwritten in ink invited me to a theater recital.
The excitement that got me excited was her PS that read, “Refreshments from Zabar’s.”
A double pager – who remained hidden for a long time because of the required confidentiality – tells of her relative, who has since died and who made “a lot of money”.
Famous for “photographing famous actresses”, he was a “slime…”. . . sexual pervert” and that I should beware of him.
Look, I’m a big bookworm in prisons too.
Like one in Cumberland, Md. I find it beats out words normally written on the restroom walls, like “For a good time, call Kitty.”
This writer who got jailed for something he didn’t do – like wiping his fingerprints off the safe – is now out but hasn’t written since.
Must be he found kitty.
Another, an inmate at a Collins, New York, correctional facility who was also unjustly behind bars for not only not being able to make ends meet but not even using his credit cards, commended me, “God bless you as much as he can , because you serve meaningful things.”
About Raquel Welch doing PR in Philly: “People around us were whispering, ‘My wife is prettier.'” . . “My date is beautiful compared to her.”People want celebrities to look good and not look like a poor soul or a brown mouse in a homemade dress.”
Joe on Perry Street: “After the death of Prince Philip I sent a condolence card to Queen Elizabeth – and received a note of thanks in return from the Queen.
Your opinion of Meghan Markle is perfect!”
Lois from Jersey loves my “writings” and asks, “Did Kamala’s affairs get her where she is?”
(Please. Even Kamala doesn’t know where she is.)
A Piscataway psychic predicts Harris in the White House.
Also: “Earthquakes, volcanic eruptions plus 7 years of reduced sunlight.”
Better darkness than Kamala.
A New Rochelle man’s six-pager criticizes all religions, saying, “Politicians are corrupt, we need new people, so let’s exploit immigrants until they wake up.”
Big smell of ink
A long, long letter urinates heavily on AOC.
Not a word about me.
No indication whether the author reads what I say or not.
Not a word about me, about me or how to deal with me.
Apparently the IQ of my fan mail ranges from A to B.
And it’s all because of the New York Post, kids, only because of the New York Post.