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DEAR DEE LEPPARD

We get letters. Boy, do we get letters. Every single day, the poor mailman trudges up the rickety back stairway to our perch bearing seven or eight Glad Heavyweight trashbags full of letters that actually glow from the hatred, venom and teenage lust within.

May 2, 1984
RICK JOHNSON

"Scorching Fire, warlike Angel of heaven/Please come to our bedrooms!" —Lori & Jenny Rm. 7609

RICK JOHNSON

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