Dear New York Times
Thursday, October 23rd, 2008
Dear New York Times,
My name is Skeeter Bob Alice Hatfield. I am interested in writing for that there paper you got up there in the big city. I like big cities. I’d a sent my job page to you before but I was busy completing our moonshine harvest and then meth season is coming in so I had to take a bit of time eating three squares up at the jail. I’m out on good behavior. And I got me some new shoes from Wal Mart that the warden gave me as a going away prezzie.
I ain’t ever seen a dog fight but I did see two raccoons get intimate out on the farm one time and the only time I’ve ever seen a chicken is when grandpoppa would ring their necks for a country dinner.
Uncle Hubpie has a rebel flag, but when he got married to his first cousin Bertha, she made it into a table cloth with napkins for the wedding. It was purty.
I got seven dogs and they is all named George.
I’d love to come to the Big Apple. I promise to clean my camos and we can set over a cold PBR and talk about journamalism.
The big story here right now is the economy. With all the plants shutting down, all of us rednecks are moving north. I’ll just set my RV up in that big old Park you gots in the middle of the city.
I like toast.
See you soon,
Skeeter
(Editorial note: NYT’s, that the biggest asshat, stupid ad I’ve ever seen. Shame on you. You want stereotypes, you got it.)
