Dear White Trash Weekly readers:
	The time has come at lest to expand our writing, and our 
audience.  Henceforth, we will no longer be writing strictly about 
Hillbillies, and the like, we will also include more universal things.   
We have some ideas as to the Christmas Venue, and the following as 
well, as a sort of General note of life.  This is based on a true story,
but any resembelence to anyone you know is strictly coincidental.

Lament of Frank

	I’ve never understood why people stare at me funny as I go down
the street.  It’s not like I have a weird growth on my face.  But truly, 
people just stop and stare at me as I go by.  Yeah, I’m older 
now, and I’m sure thats part of it, but they’ve been doing it all my 
life.
	I know that I am handsome, but at this age, that can’t be all 
that draws them to look, jaws open, at me.  I hate it.  Even my own 
children look away when they stare my way.
	I’ve lived a long hard life, full of pain and joy, as most 
people have.  Although I think that in my life the two were more 
towards the sorrow side than some other people I know.  However, I 
raised good children, and have wonderful grandchildren, so I would say 
that my life is a success.  Yeah, times were rough, and it probably 
shows in the lines of my face.  This doesn’t explain why people are 
staring at me, it’s not like they’ve never seen an old man before.
	So what is it?  Why do they stare at me so?  Why are my 
children so ashamed to walk down the streets with me?  Sure, I smoke, 
I probably smell bad too, but so do most old men.  Yea, I’m a little 
greasy, I’ve worked on cars all my life.  I don’t have the best 
wardrobe, but I’m comfortable.  Isn’t that what’s really important in 
life, being comfortable?  I’m well liked, or I was 10 years ago, so I 
just don’t get it.
	Maybe they don’t like the way I wear my pants.  I hate wearing 
belts, and only lumberjacks wear suspenders with jeans. I've always just 
tucked my shirt into my shorts to avoid embarassment.  I hate slacks.  
If they get dirty, my daughter will scold me the same way my wife used 
to.  Shit, what it is?
	"Ummm, dad?"
	"Yea sis?"
	"We need to get you a belt, or some suspenders"
	"Whatever for dear?"
	"Dad, look down"
	Well, it’s a warm day, but that explains why every one was 
staring at me.  I stopped wearing shorts a long time ago, and now, I 
was witnessing the results.  I think as you get older, the loss of 
your rear end can be trying.  It certainly was to all of the onlookers 
on the street that day.  It shoudn’t have been any great secret 
though.  It’s not a great sigh to see an old man with his pants around 
his ankles, shuffling down the street without any shorts on.  They 
should have turned away at the sight instead of staring.  Kids these 
days.  Oh well, I think I’ll have another cigarette while my daughter 
helps me re-fasten my pants.  Need to eat more, that’s for sure.