Issue number 2

Installed: 01-6-2000

Postbag

A selection of this month's letters.

Kevin Cherubini [ ] writes:

Sir,

I was erratically flicking through the first issue of SW (at least, I think I think I was) when I happenned upon your so-called Church of Atheistic Suspension of Hypostasis, or CASH. This, Sir, is an outrage!

CASH has long been a registered acronym of a charity close to my own heart, an organisation that looks after the needs of the most biased-against sector of society, Caucasian Able-bodied Single Heterosexuals.

I have every respect for your fine, blue organ (though I do share Flynn's lamentation for the paucity of bottom fondling picture galleries) and expect that you will remedy this situation forthwith.

Meanwhile, simply forward any cheques made out to CASH to me at the usual address.

I remain, Sir, yours truly,
Kevin Cherubini
Chairman and acting janitor, Fatkev Inc.

(You may include my address above as you see fit)

SW responds:

This is surely something that is liable to occur with increasing frequency. With the global nature of the internet, there may be many charities and organisations which have been operating for years on national levels with no problems, but on finding a wider audience, difficulties can occur. All we can do is apologise for any confusion, and suggest that whilst there is no connection between these hardworking charities, both are more than worthy or your support.

Hisgoldmachine writes:

The Mechanical Populance of Great Britain and Mexico (the MechPopGrBn&Mx) is moving to have it's rights as citizans acknowledged, in the european community. Being machines (bicycles, laminating machines, that sort of thing), we are forever coming up against an attitude, from you biological pre-existing members, of superiority. I would like to take this oppotunity to say that just because you have self replicating mechanisms and the ability to talk at different volumes, this does not make you better people. We are all equal, because we are all not the same.

Yours, hisgoldmachine. Happy 73.358723% of the time.

SW responds:

More power to your elbow (if that's where you're connected of course.) SW is an equal opportunities magazine, and we hope to appeal equally to all sectors of the population. As a matter of fact, the SW office is largely occupied by a mechanical presence.

Richard Brown writes [re: last issue's Factfile]:

I'll bet you you didn't know that the word cheese originated from a village in Provence in 678 anno domini. A poor tailor, forced to make ends meet (he was one of the first pornographers), had these two women in his shop. They were being terribly awkward and refusing for the third time the cloth he had cut for them. This confused him, because every time he had measured them perfectly, so after they left he followed them home.

He espied them through the window gaining Forced Unlawful Carnal Knowledge (bet you didn't know the root of that word either) from a dwarf tied to a table. The dwarf was screaming in agony, since the 'ladies' were easily 16 stone a piece. His words were mumbled, but he heard something of 'qui cheeso fromo me', 'my cheeso!' and 'cheesy cheesy cheeso cheese'. This piqued his interest and after the ladies had taken what they wanted from the dwarf and left, he entered (not the dwarf!). 'What has happened to you?' the tailor asked the dwarf, 'The women have been forcing wooden suppositories into me, please help! They come out all yellow and smell of feet, they keep eating them. That is why they are so fat'. The tailor picked up some of this stuff (recent DNA analysis has proven it to be parmesan) and touched it to his lips. 'Beautiful!' he cried, and at once untied the dwarf and took him to his own hovel.

Here he farmed the dwarf for parmesan, as is still done today, calling this cheese because the dwarf shouted it for an unknown reason every time wood was forced into him. Rich he became, and still is.

Remember, every bit of parmesan ever produced has come from that dwarf, who still lives in a two-up two-down in the poor side of Brentford. Some suggested he was a postman for a time, a grumpy one at that, but he is back to the cheese producing now. I better not tell you where the cheese comes out, or you'll never season your bolognaise again!

Rich B

Richard Brown writes (again) [re: John Flynn Page]:

Odd Gonk Shine, are you from the infinite space which bore common men? I hesitate to believe such hypocrisy, especially when you have a picture of the most excellent John Flynn. Is that what he looks like, the one who thinks he knows about grammar in Sproutlore? Do you think the sprouthole warps our messages so that they bear no relation to what we sent, only we see what we wrote.

Evil, much evil.

If only Barry were still here. Uh-huh-uh, but we can't go on, with suspicious minds.

SW responds:

The men will be coming to take you away shortly. In the mean time (as recommended by Ivor Cutler), admit to your hypocrisy. You will find a massive weight lifted off your shoulders.

For those of you not practised in examining every inch of screen to find secrets, the John Flynn Page could not be accessed from the index page once the link began to self destruct. Instead, you had to go to the letters page. If you move your mouse over the first "John Flynn writes", it should show up as a link. Some browsers may even underline it anyway.

Please note, if you think a letters page with just one correspondent is boring, then write to us!