Letter from America

Occasionally I am contacted by what I would affectionately call 'admirers'. Some write to me seeking pearls of wisdom; others enquire about the status of overdue electricity bill payments. In either case, I reply honestly that I can be of no assistance but hope that the signed photograph enclosed is some consolation. I reproduce below a recent communique from the Americas:

Walter,

This past weekend I played a new sport called Ultimate Frisbee in beautiful Allentown, PA. A very short man with devastatingly blue eyes and a penchant for the drink was there, playing for a lesser team. As was a lovely Chinese woman with a penis, playing for a team from New York City (New York, indeed). I participated with a team from the Washington, DC metropolitan area called The Anacostia All-Stars. Anacostia is the name of the roughest area of our fair Capitol: where the African-American's live. I am not particularly enthusiastic about this team name. Who calls themselves the 'All-stars' anyway? Its somewhat akin to my college Frisbeedisc team calling itself "Darkhorse" when we were ranked second in the country for most of the year. I've encouraged the formation of a working group to address the naming issue, and have suggested renaming ourselves after the sixth best soccer team in the Botswana Premier League ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Botswana_Meat_Commission_FC).

Anywho! The squad played like every other team I've played on recently, that is, like they had never practiced together. Though this one had actually never practiced together. We gave Slow White a run for their money. Then they decided to beat us, and did. For better, or for worse I was the fastest man on the field for most of the tournament. Rumour was that one of the Collegiate teams in attendance had a young burner, but we did not have the pleasure. I find this most encouraging personally, but a rather discouraging statement on the status of Mixed Ultimate. I am not fast, though I can forgive reality for making the mistake. Its only one letter off, after all.

My response:

Herr Boomfelt,

Very drole, sir, very drole. A chap at boarding school, who was both lauded and bullied for being called Giles Spotson-Prattspanley, used to say that surprises often came out of the blue, which strikes me as the kind of conceptual thinking that even the most elementary of brains would have mastered before it was out of diapers, metaphorically speaking. Nevertheless, if "Spottie" (rest in peace) had in fact left all or part of his grey matter in diapers it would have made all the more sense. As it was, he was squished under a bus like a grape when he looked left instead of right crossing a busy avenue in Paris. His noggin took a direct hit and the autopsy, despite being conclusive as to the time (and unsurprisingly cause) of death, was curiously vague about the remains of the contents of his skull, which were no where to be found, either at the scene of his untimely demise or anywhere thereafter. The point being that a leopard may change her spots, by which I mean medication but her bark is worse.

Than her overbite.

I wish you success and God speed in your flying plate-related endeavours.

heart-felt booms,
Waiter!
(there is a fly in my soup)