Ty Ter lye Receives Fan Mail!

This letter came to me the other day—in a red envelope.

I immediately thought it was a friendly notice from my bosses back at the IRS. Thank goodness I was wrong.

It turned out to be from a guy named Francis Demented, otherwise known as Frankly Crazy.

I don’t get a hell of a lot of mail because the USPS has designated the street next to my mailbox as an overflow container. All the neighbors have gotten tired of dodging cars in order to retrieve my mail which has been left in the street in order to be run over, rained upon and blown away. And I am unable to get the mailman fired. It’s bureaucracy at its worst.

So what did Crazy Frank have to say?

“We have started a local discussion group to analyze and debate the meaning and hidden truths in your Ty Ter Lye articles, which, to say the least, are unique. Actually, we have had some beer brawls as a result of these debates. Do you start trouble everywhere? All the time?

“No matter, I just wanted you to know that if we don’t get your articles to fight over, we would get bored to death out here in the boonies.

“You might like to know that Harry Hassenfeffer in our discussion group always takes the article home. In fact, he re-reads them in his outhouse. I’m not certain what he does with it after that, but I don’t think I want to know.

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Reply: “Thanks, Frankie. In turn, I want you to know that I will save your letter and double frame it with the letter I am expecting from the chair of the Nobel Literature Awards Committee. You know, the letter asking me to come and dress up like a penguin to receive my gold medal along with the Peace Prize recipient—the illustrious, unshaven and uncouth President of Iran.

Another letter came in as well. It was sealed with a bold pink lipstick kiss and smelled like the perfume that ladies dab in secret places.

Anyway, the picture showed

I opened this one at home, in bed. I was not disappointed. There was a picture inside that raised the room temperature several degrees. It was autographed by Delilah donned in a snug golf outfit, posed ready to swing at a ball. It read: “Sure wish you were here to give me a one on one lesson --err, golf lesson. I looked at the return address, but it was blurred, so I don’t know where to go…Delilah, maybe you better come see me. We’ll find a private place for your lesson. Okay?

—See you later……Ty ter Lye.