I could rave from one end of the week to the other about how fabulous the July issue of TEEN WORLD was! Those Monkee stories giving “200 Hot Secrets!” Do you believe that I’d belive [sic] there were 2,000? Fab! Great! Super! Spectac! Marv! Sublime! A groove-and-a-half! Micky Dolenz happens to be my personal favorite Monkee, but I do like them all. And your stories on them—wheee! Thanks so such [sic], TW. You’re the greatest!
Kathy G., La Mesa, Calif.
Why don’t you throw yourself into a flaming lava pit—and take your smelly magazine with you?! As fas as I’m concerned, TEEN WORLD is ick, double-ick and triple-ick! My vote for quadruple-ick goes to those four foolish, frivolous, finky globs called The Monkees! They can’t sing, they can’t act, they, can’t even talk English! They’re no-talent idiots who only want to get as much money from poor, unsuspecting teens as they possibly can! I wouldn’t give a tarnished penny to see one of their concerts or read a word about them in your worthless magazine! I have an idea for you—why don’t you flush yourself down the drain—and take The Monkees with you! The water, I suspect, would do them a lot of good!
Adele n, New York, N.Y.
Short ’n sweet
This is just a quick note to let you know that I read your July TEEN WORLD from cover to cover twice—without stopping! My favorite story was “Davy—‘These Things Worry Me’!” and I also adored the giant-sized pin-up of Mike and the funny Group Soup! I love TW almost as much as I love my cream-colored raincoat!
Patsy E., Lincoln, Neb.
EDITOR’S NOTE: And we love our readers almost as much as we love our typewriter-cleaning brushes!
Could you please print this poem dedicated to Mark Lindsay? When he reads it, all my joy in writing it will be fulfilled. Thank you.
Twenty-three years ago a baby was born.
He was called neither Joe, Sam, nor Capricorn.
The town of his birth was in Oregon State,
And the ninth of March was the auspicious date.
He had little hair or perhaps was bald,
And around his room he constantly crawled.
He came from a home that was small and poor;
At the age of fifteen, he wanted more.
Thus, he made a decision to run away,
And did not return to this very day.
While working in a bakery,
He finally decided what he wanted to be.
He found the group called Raiders band,
And decided to give them a helping hand.
Paul said to Mark, “If you can play the sax
And the guitar and learn other knacks,
We would love to have you join our gang,
Along with the invincible Fang.”
Mark pretty soon learned these tricks,
And in no time recorded “Kicks.”
To be unusual he grew a ponytail,
And pretty soon received tons of fan mail.
He was so famous that he could never go out
Without security people hanging about.
He never had time to call his own
Or a time when he could be alone.
In spite of his fame, he’s down to earth;
He hasn’t changed much since the time of his birth.
He’ll be tops in my book for years to come,
When I see him perform, I always turn numb.
So Mark, my dear, if you’re reading this,
Keep in mind I want to give you a kiss.
Joni S., Long Beach, Calif.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Once again, we’re inspired to try a poem of our own!
Our readers love a million men…
The Monkees, The Raiders, The Hermits and then
There are Beatles and Stones, The Spoonful, Beach Boys…
The list is unending—they all give you joys!
We welcome your letters, comments and tips
’Cause we think our readers are certainly hip!
You saved my life! I’ve been planning to get Davy Jones a birthday present (even though his B-day isn’t till Dec.) but I couldn’t think of what to get. After reading “Davy’s Most Personal Facts” in the July issue of TEEN WORLD, I’ve got a few great ideas! Not only that, but I even know what size to make my purchases in!
Donna K., Camden, N.J.