The following is a letter a redneck mom wrote to her son…. “Dearest Son, I’m writing this slow because I know you can’t read fast. We don’t live where we did when you left. Your dad read in the paper that most accidents happen within 20 miles of home, so we moved. Won’t be able to send you the address as the last Arkansas family that lived here took the numbers with them for their house, so they wouldn’t have to change their address. This place has a washing machine. The first day I put four shirts in it, pulled the chain and haven’t seen them since. It only rained twice this week, three days the first time and four days the second time. The coat you wanted me to send to you, Aunt Sue said it would be a little too heavy to send in the mail with them heavy buttons, so we cut them off and put them in the pockets. We got a bill from the funeral home. It said if we didn’t make the final payment on Grandma’s funeral bill, up she comes. About your sister, she had a baby this morning. I haven’t found out whether it’s a boy or a girl so don’t now if you are an aunt or uncle. Your Uncle John fell in the whiskey vat. Some men tried to get him out, but he fought them off playfully, so he drowned. We cremated him and he burned for three days. Three of your friends went off the bridge in a pickup. One was driving and the other two were in the back. The driver got out. He rolled down the window and swam to safety. The other two drowned. They couldn’t get the tail gate down. Not much more news this time. Nothing much happened. If you don’t get this letter, please let me know and I will send another one. Love, Ma”

Dear Abby: My husband hasn’t worked for the last 14 years. All he does is get dressed in the morning and hop in his fancy car to visit his cronies. I know he`s cheated on me many times with younger women and some girls who could be his granddaughters. He smokes fancy cigars and drinks the most expensive wine and booze day and night. We sleep in separate beds because he`s always telling me my varicose veins and big bottom turn him off. Should I clobber him with my frying pan, or should I leave him, Abby? Your advice would be appreciated ….. Just call me Mad. Dear Mad: You don’t have to take that kind of treatment from any man. I suggest you pack your bags and move out ASAP. Don’t resort to clobbering him with the frying pan, and try to act like a lady. Remember, you’re running for president of the United States, so try acting like it .
Things I trust more than Hillary Clinton …

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