Cindy Adams shares some reader mail, fan and otherwise

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A column once got you into a Broadway show. Now no Broadway show. It once got you a table in a restaurant. Now no restaurant. Now it gets you cranky letters, some of which begin “Dear Stupid …”

Marie from Florida: “Ethel Merman once sang ‘Tomorrow will be brighter than the good old days.’’ That did not happen, but the Merman story is on computer. You should get it and watch it.” (I think she means “Hello, Dolly!”)

Georgia from Pennsylvania: “I’ve been in Philly 81 years. It has a history of voter intimidation. When Romney ran for president, 59 Philly precincts reported zero votes for him. That’s impossible.”

Dale from Manhattan: “You are over for me. How could you say Biden hasn’t faced tragedies. Don’t you judge the feelings of loss. Everyone suffers in their own way.” (Me: No mention of Joe’s other son.)

Patricia from New Jersey: “Your column is always enjoyable. It’s the first page I go to. I think you might enjoy yourself if you’d venture out to our home. Your housekeeper and driver are also welcome.”

Susan in Manhattan: “I feel like I know you. Your stories are amazing. I am a fan. Your stories are great. I am not nuts.”

Unsigned: “You have compliments for the 300-pound orangetang [sic] who was in the White House. No wonder a woman hasn’t won the presidency. It’s because of writers like you!”

Doris in The Bronx. “Go f–k yourself. Everyone knows that scumbag p—y-grabber had ties to Russia. He’ll end up peeing in his pants.” (This valentine’s from a blue-lined composition notebook.)

Takes all kinds

Richard from Rye Brook: “Ken Cuccinelli, Susan Lucci and Scaramucci should open an Italian restaurant and call it Cooch, Looch and Mooch.”

Unsigned: “We did not like your friend. What the hell do you know? You’re an old broad who sounds like him. Upgrade your 20-year-ago photo so we can see what you really look like.”No name: “You really are loosing [sic] it. Can’t believe they still let you work at the NYP. All the good ones are dead so that’s why.”

My dear readers

Sydelle from NYC: “You’re a main reason I read The Post. But in Utica they had an item about a famous couple divorcing. You didn’t have that. Why’s a Utica paper know something you don’t?”

Shauneen from NYC: “I read your housekeeper makes goat curry. In Montego, I had that from a florid faced Brit who barked nasty to everyone and was Trevor Howard’s brother. No wonder he was always angry. Movie star brother and he’s slinging hash in sweltering heat.”

Jay from Florida sent a Trump talking valentine card and said it’s available on Amazon.

Garnered praise from some

Patrick from Brooklyn: “I’ve been reading you for so long I feel we’re old friends. You produce the most entertaining column in New York.”

Marion from Brooklyn: “You wrote a wonderful column about self-centered people who put poison in their bodies. I thank you for that. Although, truth be told, I don’t read you often.”

Margaret from Suffern: “Please keep writing. We lovelovelove you. Your [sic] the only one who tells the truth. I’m surprised they let you.”

Rocio from Manhattan: “I often read you. Fortunately, you are still there. It may be the last one in existence. Keep it up.”

Francine from I can’t read where: “God bless You. I read you every day. I love your patriotism and love for New York, which is becoming a hellhole. And love your witty comments about jerks like J.Lo and A-Rod.”

Julie from Jersey: “Just want to say how much I like reading you. Thank you for telling it like it is.”

Those bitching about Rosie, Fonda, Streisand, Obama, Verizon, fotog Bert Stern, politics, a bank rip-off and ones calling me bad names I haven’t printed. My dog’s pouring over them.

Only in New York, kids, only in New York.

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