After reading your latest essay, Number One Ram's Fan, I have a question or two for you. Can you imagine being struck in the middle of your eyes with a tar tool, how about cranking up a riding lawn mower inside of your trailer, how about imagining showing up at a neighborhood girl's house, only for her to tell you she was " just kiddin' " when she accepted a date with you, or imagine stepping a a big pile of goat feces right before the minister pronounces you man and wife with a chick you met in Kingsport, Tennessee one night in a roadside Gin Joint. Add all these misadventures slash misfortunes up , then multiply times ten, and that's how astonished slash amazed I was when reading that you're not the childhood hero I had mistaken thought. I appreciate your honesty, Sir, and it's difficult to believe that I was so foolishly mistaken of your identity. Again, my apologies.