FOC Dorothy "Hayseed" Hayes sez: "For the past week, Javier and I have enjoyed the company of Drew's mom, Becky Lee Abbott...er, Buchanan...uh, Ralston...no, wait...Um, I don't know. Anyway, it's been fun having Becky Lee around since she's such a fabulous cook. (I didn't know 'fried' was one of the food groups, but she swears it is.) And nobody sings in the shower like Becky Lee. But I guess that's to be expected, since she's a famous country singer down in Nashville. It's also nice having her around since Mare and Unca Carlo are currently off on a goodwill mission, bringing clean drinking water (lime Perrier) to underprivileged youth in the Parisian slums. Well, that's what they said they were doing, but I couldn't hear them for all the cabaret music in the background. And since Becky Lee is paying us rent while she's here, we're not losing any money on Roger's room. He's really packing them in at the MOMA in New York ever since he was installed as part of their 'Modern Images in Mummification' exhibition. Who knew a body cast represented the postmodern cynicism towards ancient history? Hmmm...Whatever. As Becky Lee says, I reckon I'd best git a move-on and answer this here lil' ole lonely e-mail, which came from a fellow Southerner. Yee-haw."
Dear Dorothy:
The South will rise again and when the writers need a plot, so will I...
Howdy there, sweetpea! This here's Luna Moody Holden a-checkin' in from The Great Bee-yond. I usually only git back on down to Llanview when folks like my pore ole ex-husband, Max, gits himself into some ole fixin's he jus' cain't git out of -- like a possum what's done got caught in some ole boy's headlights on a highway. Yep, whenever Max comes home a-drinkin' with lovin', lyin', cheatin', stealin' and gittin' into some hanky-panky with that ole polecat, Blair, I'm supposed to jus' pop on in and fry up a mess of advice and good feelin's for him. Now I know Tammy Wynette done said a good woman should stand by her man, but since that's dang near impossible, seein' as how I'm, well, deader 'n' a skeeter what's run up on a bug zapper, I don't see why in tarnation I keep gittin' all these calls from The Big 'Un upstairs to materialize in Llanview so's I can tell ole Max what he's a-doin' wrong. I'm tired of it, doggone it all, and Max don't know it, but I can hear him a-prayin' to th' Lord each 'n' ev'ry night that he'll always have bigger hair than I ever did. Honey pie, yew got any good words for me? And yore Mama says that lil' ole Javier you're a-diddlin' 'round with is lower 'n' a snake's belly. I agree, honey, and lemme tell yew -- yew cain't trust no man with purtier hair than yours.
Dear Luna: Okay, so is Mom, like, watching from Up There? I mean, like when Javier and I are...uh...never mind. I think you're right to be fed up with having to come bail Max out of jams but I also feel you shouldn't just give up your trips home. Take time to think about it -- no offense, but it's not like you're in any kind of rush -- and just re-consider re-considering your situation and then take some more time to think about that and...
Hm? Oh, sure, Becky Lee, you can answer Luna's letter.
Dear Luna:
Honey, Dorothy here is a real sweet lil' ole thing, but you 'n' me are women of the world (or, well, in yore case, the netherworld or whatever the heck them preachers are callin' it these days). We done been around the block and we done both been used. Sugar, you take a tip from Miss Becky Lee Abbott, voted Top Female Country Music Vocalist and Graveyard Waitress at Henry Jack's HashHouse in beeyootiful downtown Nashville, exit 35 off Interstate 24: All men, exceptin' my lil' chiggerjigger Drew, who's as darlin' as a lil' baby skunk, are lyin', schemin' rattlesnakes! You let ole Max fend for himself, you hear? Say...He's still got a fair to middlin' piece of change, don't he? If his hair ain't bigger 'n mine, maybe I'll just mosey on down to th' Big L myself and, uh, let him know he won't be partakin' of your services no more. 'Scuse me, honey, I got to
figger out which dress to wear.
FOC Dorothy cranks up the Tammy Wynette and cries a tear in her non-alcoholic beer as a means of bidding us adieu until next time, America: "*sniff* Her...Her rendition of 'Joey' just *sniff* breaks my heart! *sob* I'd...I'd better go now. Kelly's supposed to call me and tell me if she got our Smashing Pumpkins tickets (since she stiffed me on Lilith Fair) and I'm *sniff* waiting for her call. *sniff* Hi, Javier. *sniff* No, I'm not *sniff* crying, I'm just...my eyes are just watery, that's all. It's okay, really. Oh, okay...You can *sniff* kiss it and make it all better. *sob* That's nice...Oh, yes...Ack! Stop! Get off me! My mom is watching! No, I'm not on crack, Javier. What's that? I could be if I wanted to? Hey, wait...That's not sugar in the freezer, is it? Oh, come on -- nobody else keeps it in 'kilos'..."
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Posted to rec.arts.tv.soaps.abc August 4, 1998
FOC Dorothy is Mandi (mandia@earthlink.net
)