World's worst salesman moves to Berkley

Dear Marvelle,

You idiot!

I got your message on my voice mail the first time.  You didn't need to leave six more messages.  By the way, Mister Impatience, voice mail is for names, phone numbers and a short message like, "Please call me back at your earliest convenience". It's not for 15 minute monologues where you tell me everything you're gonna tell me when I call you back.  When you tell me everything you're gonna tell me, then I have to listen to it TWICE. 

You nincompoop!  You Mississippi misfit! 

What in the hell are you doing in California, anyway?  Did you get drunk and get on the wrong bus?  I didn't think you could find your way to Jackson, much less BERKELEY, CALIFORNIA.

And, why have you gone to work for a company named ALTERNATIVE LIFESTYLE LITHO?  You had a fine job selling printing for Leon and Ramona Loudermilk at Printdynomographix in Hot Coffee.

Leon and Ramona took good care of you.  Every week you got a nice check and there was nary a week when you even came close to earning the draw.

Here are my answers to the stupid questions you left on my voice mail.

I don't care how many Hells Angels work in the Alternative Lifestyle Litho pressroom, I'm not lending the company any money to buy paper.  How come they can't get a credit line with the paper merchants like other printing companies?  I don't care if the Hells Angels have a Philadelphia chapter and "may pay me a visit."  Do I look like a bank?  You tell those motorcycle morons to either "pay a call" on a regular bank or go rob a minute market.

Next, NO!  It was not right to deed the family farm to the moonies who work in the Alternative Lifestyle Litho customer service department.  Your daddy worked himself into an early grave chopping cotton pay for that farm.  If you give it to the moonies, where is poor widow mama gonna live?  I don't care that the moonies have taken you in and are showing you the "light" (whatever that means).  By the way, don't ever chant any mantras into my voice mail again. 

And, oh, Marvelle, please, never ever tell me where you've had your body pierced or tatooed again.  It hurts me to think about it.  As you know, no man in my family wears any jewelry beyond a wristwatch and none of us ever willingly punctured our bodies, except for the time my Aunt Cleo put a few stray buckshot pellets in Uncle Roy.  It was a good thing she was a bad shot.

Finally, NO! 

I will not wire you the money to fly home for Christmas. 

I don't care how hungry you are for your mama's turkey, cornbread, collard greens and homemade pecan pie.  You're the one who left a good job and signed on with a bunch of refugees from the Jerry Springer and Jenny Jones Shows. 

So, mister, I guess you'll be eatin' bean curd, sprouts, and that Tofu stuff while the rest of us chow down on real food.  Happy Holidays, Manana Man.