The Collected Letters of a Thin Beef
“I haven’t
collected these letters as some kind of monument to the days of postal
supremacy,” Dr. Font (recently promoted) bristled, shifting in his seat and
taking his time. The host of the talk
show, taken aback by this assertion of devotion to personal methodology,
glanced into the relative shadow of the unfilmed portion of the universe, but
no help was forthcoming from anyone standing there.
“Letter #1,
for those of you familiar with the seminarian’s notation system, is not
actually the first letter, chronologically speaking.”
“Fascinating.”
“Allow me
to read an excerpt.”
“By all
means.”
“‘The
imprecise cliché, found in retail establishments stocked with mass-produced
articles, is contrasted, at least by every protosimian that I know of, with the
exactitude of esoterica cluttering up an antiques market such as your own.’”
“Wow,” now
she was a woman, dressed like an ice cream cone, adorned with that sweetened
morning lasagna coiffure. Her sympathy
was born of the sure awareness that nothing said here and now would amount to
anything more than a pebble, slowly raising the level of the flood to drinking height.
“Just like
one letter after another,” Dr. Font remarked, “Taken as a whole, they present a
means of insight into one of the most beloved movie characters of the last
forty years.”
By all
means.
.
