LOST ANN LANDERS LETTER NUMBER TWO
 
DEAR ANN LANDERS: Say a word or two on behalf of us wives of [government
nostril inspectors/ licensed sausage casing repairmen/ wet blasters]. We
have had to endure the old stereotype that our husbands are [dirtballs/
reptiles/ ingenious wax replicas]. I was out to lunch the other day with
some [girlfriends/ Roman Catholic cardinals/ Zulu warriors] and one of
them made a cheap and heartless joke about my husband's [breath/ DNA/
nose bag]. My husband works hard for a dollar, and he is real close to
getting one. Also, it is not my fault he married me. How about it, Ann?
                                                    -PRICKLY IN PRESCOTT
 
 
LOST ANN LANDERS LETTER NUMBER THREE
 
DEAR ANN LANDERS: I am a young, attractive, pleasant man who has a nice
job and is perfectly normal in every way, except there is some kind of
lemur growing right out of my stomach and I am engaged to marry a
174-year-old woman from a dwarf star and I can't fall asleep at night
until a dump truck has dumped at least 380 pounds of loose feldspar--
the chunks being no smaller than one and a half inches per facet-- onto
my prone body. So settle an argument between me and my invisible condor
Jim Ed: in Australian-rules football, how many wattles must there be
before a murmansk is called? Is it different in the Olympics?
                                      -NORMAL (PERFECTLY) IN BOBO, N.M.