Letters From Andrew

Longtime readers of my burning and blistered Cabinet of Booze may recall the fun little segment we liked to call “Letters From Andrew” that used to run regularly around here. They were actually “emails” from my old friend Andrew that I would receive on an irregular basis but always filled with strange insight and illuminating knowledge. Well, Andrew disappeared for a while and I actually wrote to him some time last year to ask of his whereabouts and whether the walrus had finally got to him or not, but was met with no response. My concerns grew, but not a word came to reassure me. Andrew, I feared, had been lost.

Last night, to my great surprise, an email from Andrew appeared in my inbox with the subject titled “Hiatus has been lifted.” The email was so long (easily the longest email ever) that I couldn’t possibly re-print it here, but excerpts will have to do, because there is a lot to catch up on. I could probably do excerpts from this email throughout the next few weeks… So today, on this beautiful Friggin Friday, I present to you, once again, to the delight of hundreds, the return of…Letters From Andrew:


The short of it is I’m back in business. Ready to jam and jam again. So get out the old toast and fire up that toaster, get the hair dryer too. You’ll need the hair dryer to make that much toast. Heat gun ever better. Me no full sentences always. Me see curly haired girl. Me like. Me track. Bright dot on radar. Always in that direction.

So do you think things will turn around 9/12? I’m going to be an election inspector 9/12 and 11/7. I’ve been doing this a while now. It will be different for me this time. I used to do it in a community center with about 10 districts voting there. This time I’ll be at a fire station in a tiny town. Why am I condemned from a big city? It looks like England won’t be testing positive for TB after a while. Goodbye TB. TB & W sitting in a tree…

Beneficial nematoads and diatomaceous earth. Not just regular earth, diatomaceous earth! I love saying that. Say it out loud. Not too fast, it’s over all too soon. If only it took an hour to say.

The coroner just said it was the potato salad at the picnic so he could go home. He didn’t have a clue. Like someone else will find out that he was wrong? That’s why being a coroner is such a great job. It’s up there with weathermen (oh, I’m sorry), weatherpeople. Ooohhh, I was wrong again for the 3rd time this week, what are you going to do fire me [ferocious laughter]?

A strange transaction late at night in an alley in which 3 bowling pins are traded for a bowling ball that’s been sawed in half,


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