Can you please give Mr. Cole [Smithey] some toilet paper so he doesn’t keep using the pages of the Maui Time to wipe his ass? It is amazing to me how someone who obviously loathes something as much as Mr. Cole did [with] Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire also found it so interesting that he remembered every detail (“Conspiracy of Dunces,” March 23, 2006).
Now while I have no personal investment in whether Mr. Cole likes a movie or not, it is personally assaulting to have to wade through paragraph after paragraph of what can only be described as verbal diarrhea.
Perhaps I am being overly critical of Mr. Cole. Perhaps he is crippled in some way and can’t help himself. Or perhaps he is so full of shit that that is all he can produce?????
-Anonymous, via fax
Hi my name is Samantha West Gruys and this man Trevor Jones is my grandpa (“The Shantyman,” Mar. 16, 2006). I really appreciate you putting him on the newspaper or whatever you want to call it. So thank you over and over a thousand times over for doing this for grandpa.
-Samantha West Gruys, via email
DON’T JUDGE A GIRL BY HER GRAPHIC
Holoholo Girl: You really don’t look like your graphic (“Friday Night,” Mar. 16, 2006)? I am saddened and disappointed. You exist in my head and online, and now I find out you are not really you. How online can it get, where the reality is not what is portrayed?
I have to tell you, from here in Washington D.C., YOU are the only reason I check the Maui Time Weekly. I look forward to your adventures and confessions, pinning them to your picture, and all is well. Now I will have to come up with some other visualization of my MTW goddess. The new visual will no doubt include feet of clay, but don’t fret, I still adore you.
-Bill, via email
Samantha Campos responds:
Dearest Bill, oh how your words cut! But I have a confession to make–I actually do look exactly like the graphic. I just said that I didn’t in order to deter the undesirables, certainly not meaning YOU, Bill! In fact, often after I’ve a read a book, rode my bicycle to the bar or held a bottle of bubbling booze and a martini glass, strange men will approach and say, “Holoholo Girl, you’re everything I’ve always wanted! Marry me!!!” But then I have to adjust my pigtails and turn my oversized head to my friends, Betty and Veronica, and roll my Disney-ethnic eyes. Really, it’s uncanny how accurate the artist was, given he had never seen me before he designed the graphic. Still, I can’t help but think that if he had produced an image more akin to real folk, I could at last be taken as a serious journalist. You know, like Brenda Starr or something.