I Say Hello To Jerry

Dear Jerry Mac [Yellow Crayons Graphic Designs Shop; Fayetteville, NC]:

Good day, Sir! It has been a while since we have exchanged missives. Unbeknownst to you, I was in Yellow Crayons in Fayetteville on July 12th. You were not in the shop when I asked for you, but I bought five shirts, most of them of the “Fear the Wood! Respect the Pecker!” shirts. I told your business associate that I was the guy who came up with the slogan that is now heard around the world, and he looked at me like I was stark raving mad, so I did not pursue much conversation with him. 

Perhaps July 12th was your day off. Perhaps you were having a long lunch. I did wonder if perhaps you went for a ride, just never came back, and was living in the basement of a lobster pound in Bar Harbor, Maine, answering to no one other than the breeze gently ruffling your hair. I also wondered if you were in the Fayetteville jail after getting in an old fashioned throw down in the Tap House over the poor service you received there. Alas, we were two ships passing in the night, but have no fear, I developed strong feelings for Fayetteville and plan on returning soon.

As for the shirts, they are awesome, and your company should complement itself on a job well done. The Woodpeckers’ management was unofficially very pleased with the design and execution because deep down they are outlaws trapped in a corporate facade. Now that I have returned to Southern California from my extensive travels, I can assure you the shirts are a smash hit our here, and probably will be all my friends and family’s Christmas list. There ain’t no Santa Claus, but there is Fed Ex. 

I will let you go because I just upgraded my iPhone, so now I have to r-sign into all my apps to turn my life to what it was this afternoon. Sometimes this is a hard life; but I have broad shoulders and will move forward because there is no going back — unless you leave your keys on the bar. Thanks again for everything.

Your friend in baseball,


PS: Sometimes I think of Tweeter. Sometimes I think of Jan. Sometimes I think of nothing but the 30-50 feral hogs running through my yard.

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