To the editors of Mudville:
Just the other day I came across your website and I wanted to let you know I hate
baseball.
Sincerely,
John Ashcroft
Not Darth Vader
Washington, D.C.
Dear Mudville:
Well, I got to thumbing through your magazine the other day during another dull
meeting with my staff, and I got to thinking that maybe you're a bit unfair in
beating up on Bud Selig the way you do. See, I got to know the old codger while
I was running the show in Texas (the team, not the state!), and he wasn't so bad.
Sure, he never picked up the tab at lunch--and he always had to have dessert,
so it was pricey--but he was nice to the dogs, and the kids, and never had a bad
word to say to anyone's face.
That's just the kind of guy I am, I guess--a healer, not a hurter. That didn't
come out quite like I wanted it to, but most everyone's used to that by now. Why
don't you just make up with old Buddy, and just sit back and enjoy yourself. I
know I always liked to do it that way.
Your pal,
George W. Bush
To the editors of Mudville Magazine:
You call yourself a magazine. Last thing I remember, a magazine had pictures and
paper and those little perfume inserts that always made my hands stink something
good. But my son's showing me your spot on the computer set, and I say phooey.
Why, it's like that TV show, "60 Minutes". A newsmagazine. What a pile
of rabbit crap. Small and insignificant. TV's TV and the Computer's a computer.
You ain't no magazine.
One thing: I couldn't take you into the crapper. Oh, my boy thinks he's smart
saying "if you had a laptop!" Laptop my aunt's bunion. No way in hell
am setting a machine on my lap while my bottom's dangling six inches above water.
You want me to fry to death?
Still angry,
Hiram Golightly
President
New York Stock Exchange
To the editors of Mudville Magazine:
On the subject of contracting the Angels:
You made it seem like the only thing that mattered to contraction was the fact
that a team should be exciting and should be connected to their community. Well,
mister, I think you're wrong. The Angels rule!
For starters, there's not much to do out here in Southern California, unless you
count hangin' out at the mall or driving to Disneyland for the umfuckinteenth
time is fun. Christ almighty, The Angels have been as cool as The Brady Bunch
back in the day! Yeah, I suppose it's not "deep" or even "great",
and yeah, the team's always kind of sucked except in the late 70's and that time
they blew it in 86, but so what? You get rid of a car just because it sucks? No,
you give it to your cousin, who's too dumb to know a good car from a death trap,
but who loves it anyway. The Angels are like that--a 1984 Ford Taurus.
Stop picking on the Angels. And the Expos for that matter. Expos is a cool name,
even if I don't know what it means. Sort of like Oreos.
Rock on Angels!
Sincerely,
Ron Ignobliamus
San Diablo, CA
To Mudville:
I'm sitting here in my basement, trying to figure out the details of this Expos
game, what with the announcer yammering on in French. It's dark up here, way up
in Northern Quebec. I've got this basement apartment, see, really nothing but
a concrete square beneath some lady I work for. And I got nothin' but Expos. What
else is there to do?
You say their fans don't care but that's not true, I care. Enough to buy one of
those tapes on French so I can try and figure out what the hell's going on. Good
thing you're in English or I might just go crazy. My landlady, she barely speaks
our common tongue, and sometimes I think she thinks I'm crazy for the way I love
baseball. She doesn't even know what it is.
So I think you're kind of mean for forgetting there are those of us who still
like the Expos even though we don't really go to the games or even know what an
Expo is. Where I'm from they used to have a Small Motor and Snowmobile Expo, but
I can't figure out what that has to do with baseball. Try and help me keep them
around, would you? I'll even send you some of the colorful lichen I got growing
instead of a lawn.
Thanks, man.
Bertrand du la Milquetoast
Sacre du Printemps, Quebec
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