Dear Jughead:

     As you may know, I never tooj (make that k) no typin' lessons.  The typing machine had not been invented;  we were busy perfecting the wheel.  Skip  a space, por favor.  In case the sun blows up, causing a power failure, this would be lost to Humanity and Primatology.  (Lower case, please).  By the way, I ate a beef creature this evening. Tom cooked him/her/it.  The li'l creature had a right to live;  we share the planet.
This epistle reeks and stinks. That is the fault of THC.
     Who said I wanted a new paragraph?  Tom did.  He seems to think that the lower primates can type better than I.  Tom has a prehensile tail.  Now you type merrily for ever after.  Today is the first day of the rest of your life.