I got my first “fan” letter, and I’m not sure what to think of it, so I’m just putting it out here in its entirety. I think the writer must like my column, but I’m not really sure.

It’s real, isn’t it? At least I think it looks real.

A letter from one of this column’s readers

Dear Steve Hill,

It’s time to dump our parks.

Now, I know that might be tough for you to swallow, like a horse turd on a pretzel roll, but bear with me while I mustard it up to help you get a taste of how I think.

You fellas at the Gazette keep writing things about how wonderful it is to hunt on public land and camp in our state parks and oh how cute that our National Park System made it to 100 years old. Like we’re gonna gather to sing-off key for some geezer who looks like he’s gasping to blow out a forest fire on a green-iced cake while the celebration spreads like a conflagration of sinfulness across our great red, white and blue country. 

But let’s back up.

I’m Lester Robert Peeples. I’m filthy rich because I’m smarter than everybody I know, which is a lot of people. More people than there are stupid tweets responding to the stupid things some of our esteemed politicians say.

And that’s a lot. A stupid lot.

My friends call me Les Rob, but anyone reading this is probably not my friend because they don’t get news from pinko Communist rags like this. Or the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Milwaukee Journal Sintunnel, or the Republican party newsletter, which despite being printed by people who fancy themselves “Republicans” is also a pinko Communist rag because it doesn’t really, truly, wholly and humbly represent the best American thinkers of the day, like my friends and employees.

Especially my employees. You can’t work for me unless you think right.

I once had many thousands of employees. Now I’m retired and have just a couple dozen who write, edit and produce truth for me, although I speak for myself, too.

It is important for you pinkos to understand why I’m right.  So a little background is helpful and necessary, like electroshock therapy was before we got soft and turned everything over to journalists, park rangers and PlayStation salesmen who melt the brains of our youth, sending their potential intellect dribbling down the drain of gobbledygook like so much Donald Trump explanation today for whatever he said yesterday.

Don’t get me wrong.  I like Donald, but he’s not American enough for me. He’s too soft on terrorists, teachers, reporters and crying babies.

He does some good things, like build massive neon-lit gambling establishments on the backs of piker small businessmen who expect to be paid for products they sell him so he can build his casinos and stuff.

Which brings me to my point. If people want neon in our forests, they ought to be able to suck ’em up and do that. Just buy ’em. But parks just get in the way of the American Way, and that’s not the way we oughta be heading. Parks, I mean.

I saw this show the other night called “Buying the Rockies,” which attracted me because that’s what I’d like. Buy the whole thing. I want to own Tennessee because I like the “Grand Ole Opry” and “Tennessee Crimson Tide” and the way their band plays “Rocky Top.”

So there were these folks looking for a retreat in the Utah Rockies – I never knew that is in Tennessee – and visiting a cabin with a huge kitchen, six-burner gourmet stove, media room and plenty of electronic controls in the walls. There was a Jacuzzi and a bathroom with something like six shower stalls. An enormous deck wrapping around the cabin that looked out at the aspen trees and the mountains, all of them waiting to be cut down. 

The trees, too.

But there was a problem.

The “garage” barely took a couple of snowmobiles or all-terrain vehicles. It wasn’t even deep enough to get a car in. You’d have to be a Trump speechwriter to squeeze a normal auto in there enough to fit sideways, much less a Hummer or Abrams M-1 tank.

So the fella didn’t believe they would buy the place. That’s when I got mad and turned the show off. I could tell he was thinking like me – those derned pot-smoking, regulation-passing, improvement-limiting, Hollywood-loving namby-pambys in Atlanta or whatever the capital of Tennessee is were going to keep him from building a garage big enough for the Mormon Tobacco Choir if he wanted.

Probably because some park a thousand miles away needed to protect the Cheez-it Stealing Salamander or some other kind of whale, as if whales should be in our rivers in the first place. How can we get our yachts in the river if salamanders are there?

Parks obstruct our yachts, and therefore our freedom. Let’s eliminate parks and make America great for once.

Respectfully,

Les Rob Peeples