Letters from Smitty: A Stern Plea


Dear Mr. Sutherland,

I hope this letter finds you well.  I understand that you are a busy man and I wouldn’t dare take more of your time than is absolutely necessary.  As of the writing of this letter I believe you are the man responsible for affairs concerning public nuisances for my jurisdiction and the eradication of said nuisances.  You may remember me from my letter writing campaign that I mounted in 2008, when it had been audaciously proposed that our town of Sheridan, WY host some sort of Farmer’s Market on the corner of Smith and North Jefferson near Whitney Commons Park.  My letter campaign, though intense, was unfortunately ineffective.  Apparently, the Obama administration now requires letters to be post-marked or “stamped” as I understand it.  However, despite the interference of big government, I was still successful in blocking the event from occurring anyway.

As you know, Article 5. 2. 3. of the Wyoming Constitution states that all citizens are legally allowed to brandish unconventional weapons in public settings when staging protests.  As the Framers of our state constitution intended, I was able to scare off the basket weavers and organic, granola types from infringing on the long held belief of Sheridan residents that commerce and industry is to be purveyed by a few chosen overlords (you may call them Barons), instead of this locally-sourced, sustainable Democratic abomination that seems to be en vogue currently.

Early in the morning, I, along with my roommate “Smitty”, stood guard at the park with water balloons filled with piping hot McCafe coffee from McDonald’s at the ready.  We had strategically placed signs around the park that read “Go Home to your Homes!” which we felt was a clear message to the apple-pushers and amateur, unregulated cucumber-growers that would certainly attempt to infect the area later in the day.

The first shot was not fired by us.  Around eleven o’clock, a straw-hatted woman (some Mennonite or Carnival Barker) aggressively attempted to set up a card table on top of which she would sell locally-grown fruit preserves.  It is not something I publicize often, but I have deep, binding ties to the Smuckers family and their eponymous jelly company.  I have asked them to make grave sacrifices for me in the past, so I was more than willing to stand up for their market share in this situation.  I threw my first balloon at the woman.  Although, being that it was much, much later in the day, our scorching bags of java had cooled to a pleasant temperature.  The damage done by the exploding balloon was less medical in nature and more fabric/stain related.  No doubt I was an unexpected hero to the infamous Sheridan dry-cleaning cartel that day (not the first time).  Nevertheless, our message was loud and clear and the market activities dispersed quickly.

Now Donald, the point of the backstory is to familiarize yourself with the tactics I am capable of if I do not get my way when I have a grievance to air.  Therefore, I will only say this one time:  I insist that you turn down the volume on my shower radio.  It is far too loud and I don’t care for the station that it is playing presently.  I have tried all non-governmental options to remedy this issue and have been met with nothing but incompetence and bureaucracy at each turn.  Since I got the shower radio out of your trash can, Mr. Sutherland, I don’t believe there is anyone else who can be held responsible.

I have enclosed the address to my loft apartment near the bustling market district of Sheridan, WY.  Please stop all movie and voice-over projects and place this on the top of your priority list.  The shower radio can be located in the bathroom and is, of course, underneath a large stack of dried wood near the toilet.

I would appreciate a response within the next thirteen minutes.


Alan Gibbons

For a Historical Context: Here, Here, Here, Here, Here and Here

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