Dear Super Fun Patrol,

Well, I finally settled down after being on the run for months. As you’ll remember in my last letter I had to flee my old neighborhood because of some troubles with the police. The various traps I had set for them in my home worked somewhat well. I’m happy to report that one police man lost his left hand. The vat of urine soaked oatmeal did disappoint. I admit I didn’t “refresh” it as often as I should have which left it somewhat solid. According to the local papers officer “Wagner” only got submerged up to his waist.

I do like my new neighborhood but I’ve been having some trouble. In a search for my new mother I was visiting several nursing homes and found the perfect match. “Doris” was just the right size, shape and color. She didn’t have any TV troubles(which drove me crazy with my other mother) and she liked to eat cookies. Things were going well until my sixth visit when one of nurses insisted on seeing some “proof” that I was Doris’s son. I mean, really. Why do people feel like they can get in the way of family? I tried to reason things out with her but she wouldn’t listen.

I was able to bring Doris home a few nights ago but things are pretty rough. Apparently there is some medication she needs which I don’t have. I would have preferred to keep visiting Doris at the nursing home but that darn nurse always got in the way. Whats wrong with people?

Your confused friend,
Gabe Poppi

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