A Letter to the Editor of the Blankville Journal

You mail me a cheap form letter, a letter scattered far and wide like the autumn leaves. You have the gall to ask me when I'm worried about the mortgage and the holly-hocks and my blood pressure, to sit down and dictate a personal note acknowledging your form letter. Any advertising man whose guilty of perpetrating such drivel as you sent me has something wrong with his medulla oblongata. What you need is a quart of iodine in your thyroid gland. P.S., the enclosed reprint from the Blankville Journal will be of interest to you, and you may want to broadcast it over your station.