Dear Mommy Judge Heckler,
I am aware of your order for me to appear in your courtroom on June 28th to explain why my ample ass shouldn’t be thrown in jail because you obviously don’t know what a courtroom is, which is pretty sad if you ask me. Don’t they teach that at judge school? The instant case will be the eighth suit I’ve lost in a row, and even I know that HOTEL ROOM AM NOT COURTROOM, COURTROOM AM COURTROOM. This is all a simple misunderstanding on your part.
As much as I would like to explain this to you in person, I regret to inform you that my car went back to Jesus yesterday. It was only 18 years old. Only the good die young, I guess. I suspect the cause of death of was driving from Wisconsin to Iowa to South Carolina after I told you that my stage LJI Parkinson’s disease made it almost impossible to get to the fridge without dying. Oh, and I think Hoge’s vexation had something to do with it.
Since this is all a simple misunderstanding on your part, I have every confidence that you can clear it up on your own.
Say hi to that lying sack of shit for me.
Anyhoo, gotta run. This 87 year old transvestite with the broken teeth and fluorescent hair isn’t going to make love to herself, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.
William M. Schmalfeldt,
(I forgot which fake address I gave you on the fifth)
Myrtle Beach, South Carolina .