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This is a letter that Mr. RSole Fishtank recieved last week. It's from his uncle who lives in Grandma's Drawers, Newfoundland. 

His name is Mummer Cod.

Dear Nephew,
 
I'm writing slow because you can't read fast. We don't live where we did when you visited. Your aunt read in the paper that most car accidents happen within 20 miles of home so we moved. I can't send you the address because the last newfie family that lived here took the number with them for their next house so wouldn't have to change their address.
 
This new place has a washing machine. The first day I put four shirts in it and pulled the chain. Lard dancin' mackerel, I haven't seen them since.
 
It snowed here only twice last week. Two days the first time and four days the second time.
 
About the coat you wanted me to send you, your aunt said it would be too heavy to send in the mail with the heavy buttons on it, so we cut 'em them off. I put them in the pockets, so you'll get them anyway.
 
We got the bill from the funeral home. It said that if we don't make the last payment on grandma's funeral-up she comes. A little help would be appreciated. 
 
About your sister, she had a baby this morning. I haven't found out whether it's a boy or a girl, so I don't know if you're an aunt or an uncle.
 
Your uncle, Figgy Duff, fell in a whiskey vat. Some men tried to pull him out but he fought them off and drowned. We cremated him and he burned for three days.
 
Aunt Pussy is knitting you some socks. She would have sent them by now, but I told her you grew another foot since I saw you last, so she'll knit another sock.
 
The whole family gives you their love but no money for that bend over religion you're in.
 
All the best,
Uncle and Aunt Cod
 
 
 
 

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