Dear Redneck Son;

I'm writing this letter slow because I know you can't read fast.

We don't live where we did when you left home. Your dad read in
the newspaper that most accidents happen within 20 miles from
your home, so we moved.

I won't be able to send you the address because the last
Arkansas family that lived here took the house numbers when they
moved so that they wouldn't have to change their address.

This place is really nice. It even has a washing machine. I'm
not sure it works so well though: last week I put a load in and
pulled the chain and haven't seen them since.

The weather isn't bad here. It only rained twice last week; the
first time for three days and the second time for four days.

About that coat you wanted me to send you, your Uncle Stanley
said it would be to heavy to send in the mail with the buttons
on, so we cut them off and put them in the pockets.

John locked his keys in the car yesterday. We were really
worried because it took him two hours to get me and your
father out.

Your sister had a baby this morning; but I haven't found out
what it is yet so I don't know if your an aunt or an uncle. The
baby looks just like your brother....

Uncle Ted fell in a whiskey vat last week. Some men tried to
pull him out, but he fought them off playfully and drowned. We
had him cremated and he burned for three days.

Three of your friends went off a bridge in a pick-up truck.
Ralph was driving. He rolled down the window and swam to safety.
Your other two friends were in back. They drowned because they
couldn't get the tailgate down.

There isn't much more news at this time. Nothing much has
happened.

Love, Mom

P.S.  I was going to send you some money but the envelope was
	     already sealed.