An Open Letter to Mrs. Kobritz by Stevie Wayne

I'm sure I hardly need to introduce myself; I'm sorta a big deal. Unless you live under a rock or don't own a radio, you know who I am. If you have somehow not heard my awesome radio show (KAB rocks!) you've certainly seen me riding around Antonio Bay in my wicked convertible! Well, I'm not here to promote myself, but rather to expose a certain oldster who's gotten a free pass in this town as of late. I'm talking of Mrs. Kobritz and her dubious abilities as a babysitter. I've ignored missing under garments, the dilution of my liquor with tap water, and habitual tardiness, but it's high time Mrs. Kobritz be held accountable for her routinely irresponsible behavior. First of all, I realize that the other night there was an out of the ordinary occurrence that had many of our locals running about pell-mell begging for God to intervene. (I'm referring to the zombie-infested fog bank that engulfed the town.) But many of us were still able to do our jobs and even help others when the opportunity arose. I know I did everything I conceivably could to warn all my listeners of the impending danger (off the clock!). And let's face reality folks, the crew of the Elizabeth Dane were only going to kill six of us; it's not like the whole town was going down!

Anyway, I left my son Andy in Mrs Kobritz's care, and where she went, or why my son ended up in a church with a bunch of questionable strangers I may never know. I have tried to contact her several times to inform her that she will not be paid for her services and all of my calls have gone ignored. I know Andy can be a handful, and I admit he's been going overboard with the stomach pounders as of late; but an adult woman does not leave her post! Supernatural calamities come and go. If we all headed for the hills every time a gold coin transformed into a piece of wood then seeped sea water, then caused a cassette tape player to moan about an albatross, then burst into flames, where would we be? How would you like it Kobritz if you needed some gas and the attendant decided to skip off on the job? Do you expect the gas pumps to operate by themselves? I think not. And Mrs. Kobritz, I expect to be reimbursed not only for the window you broke in Andy's room, but also for his bedroom door which needs to be replaced completely. Is it too much to expect to come home to find my house in a similar condition as to the one I left it in? The very least you could have done is clean up the pool of putrid smelling brine you left near the front door! In lieu of a proper nanny-cam, I suggest you watch JOHN CARPENTER's THE FOG to witness this geriatric n'er-do-well in action!