Email from an Old Friend

Hello Fandimentals,

The Powers-That-Be – I’m always suspicious of their motives – are trying to coax me back on another western tour, this time even further than before…all the way to an island! To Vitrocia, Brotish Curlumpia where I have been promised an exclusive three-afternoon engagement at the If-You-Knew-Where-You-Were-This-Is-Where-You’d-Be Nursing Home in uptown snowy Vitrocia. The summer weather is so unpredictable there – one minute it’s sleet, the next minute it’s brimstone. WTF? Makes me rollick.

Elsewise, the other snag is the “Home” won’t let me do the big finale to my Leslie Gore tribute when I set my blond swoopy wig on fire during You Don’t Own Me because the sprinkler system might drown some residents.

But…

Ida Wipes and her band, the Pure and Cleans (formerly the Mop and Glos until the lawsuit), have offered to back me up if I resurrect my one-man show where I play both Tom Jones and Jim Morrison comparing erections while they croon their hits condensed into 30 second sound bites and lip synced intentionally poorly as a left-handed compliment to the artists and their bulbous contributions to Public Hard-ons Throughout History. I haven’t found a venue in Van or anywhere in the BC, not even Whistler, that will touch it. Awww, go ahead, touch it. It’s fake anyways, touch it!

My third and final, at this time, option is the all-new, “completely-tasteless” as the poster says, Frank Sinatra GHB’d, Roofed Over by the Date Rape Drug. It’s really only one song but I won’t tell you which one, it would spoil the surprise, in fact, the whole show. Imagine how Frank might sound after he’d been hit hard on the side of the head three times with a forty-pound mallet. Disoriented, right? And then some…beyond entertainment, in fact. At my test shows in the rear basement of the Pembina Highway Winky Will Feel You Up (a new nationwide franchise where you can be anonymously molested in darkness for sixty bucks and up), audience hooting and Bic-lit napkin throwing indicated I needed to make substantial changes to the show, starting with Birch, the fluffer. “Can Frank be less like a zombie sometimes?” was the most asked question. So…I’m working up something completely different, all hush hush for now but you’ll be the first to know when “the bird takes flight.”

What else? I’ve been shitting rubies lately.

Gotta fly.

Shirty

Read Shirty’s next email.

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