Dearest Emily,
It is my hope that this letter finds you well. Enclosed, please find a photograph of the gents and I which we intend to employ as a means of promotion. I felt to strike a pose with the canyon as a backdrop would convey the serious nature of the group. As you will no doubt decipher, it was necessary for me to clamber as near to the photographic machine as possible so that I might be right and properly recognized as the leader of our ensemble. Would that you could have seen the faces of Misters Fontaine and Ernst as I posed recumbent at the front of the group. The envy was palpable to such a degree that I stifled a guffaw for fear such a disturbance might send me headlong into the abyss.
In two days time, I hope to meet in Falls Church with a gentleman who wishes to procure for us an agreement which will enable us to commit our songs to phonograph. If such a dream were to come true, my darling, I can assure you our wealth would be equal to that of John Jacob Astor himself such would be the demand for our recordings.
Pray that the arrangement comes to pass.
Yours,
Horace
From the collection of Vomelet
October 22nd, 2007 at 3:22 pm
P.S. Truth be told, we believe that our ensemble plays with such vigor and cacophony so as to remove the facial features of those who bear witness to our performance.
October 22nd, 2007 at 3:23 pm
*pure*
*gold*
October 22nd, 2007 at 3:24 pm
Bonus points have been awarded for use of the word “clamber”.
October 22nd, 2007 at 4:17 pm
Dearest Horace,
Blessings to the joyous news of the possible procurement in Falls Church. I feel such joy, as if I was hand delivered into Abraham Bosom by the sweet lord himself.
Though with such feelings of jubilation, I feel twinges of exerable
October 22nd, 2007 at 4:30 pm
my stars!
EXECRABLE worry. Falls Church, though a town grand in virtue is three days wagon train away.
Though I know that the beating in your chest is mine and mine alone, I do not know of the temptations that may await in Falls Church. Goody Applegate has made cruel musings about the lack of a shepherd for the flock in Falls Church and also making assumptions that the town has beeen seized by the red claw of Satan himself.
Though I know that, you, my dear Horace, my chaste Horace, have all of the virtue of the baby Jesus in your soul, my worry is for the cocksure whores of Falls Church.
How I would perish at the thought of the baleful, brazen hussys, dancing to the sweet, consecrated hymns delivered by my sweet Horace, in attempt to lure you into moral peril!
Please, Horace, my angelic beloved………In the face of Lucifer, though masked with scarlet lips, smelling sweet and un-corsetted, please remember your darling, devoted Emily, and resist the devil’s temptation.
Long last, until you are in my arms……..
Emily.
October 22nd, 2007 at 5:28 pm
Dearest Ooragh,
Ok, I’ll stop.
October 22nd, 2007 at 5:28 pm
This goes with that
October 22nd, 2007 at 6:14 pm
My Darling Emily,
It is with much haste that I write and dispatch this post. For I am procuring from the local indians some of the finest bison skins, with which I will refurbish my percussion. Our time traveling between engagements on the frontier has proven to be quite difficult. My only solace on the long passages between settlements is reminiscing on your beauty and waiting for the day I can return with my fortune and provide for you a proper homestead, upon which we shall rear our children.
A fortnight ago, we sought the services of a photographer in Chatanooga whereby we posed, in rather long sequences, for images which were transferred, lithographically, onto rough parchment. We then spent the day, hammer and brads in hand, affixing them onto nearby fenceposts, hoping to attract the attention of the well-to-do seeking an evening’s entertainment. All the while, our vocalist made himself scarce, as he is want to do when there is work to be done. Humorously, whilst in one of our poses, Jean Fontaine and I matched knowing glances, as he peer over the side of the precipice, as to how easy it would be to rid ourselves, and the world for that matter, of him. Instead, I held fast to my chapeau and found a simple joy in the thought alone.
It pains me so to lend accompaniment to that dastardly charlatan, Horace. If it were not for his acquaintance of a most important gentleman in Virginia, we most certainly would have relieved him of his duties, sending him back to his hollow in Tennessee on the back of a pack mule.
As you desire, I shant even hint of our involvement to him for fear that he may besmirch you in some public forum, though I must admit that my angst toward him has nearly brought he and me to fisticuffs on several occasions.
Your beloved,
Friedrich Ernst
October 22nd, 2007 at 7:44 pm
Dear Horace,
I hope this letter finds you well. We have wonderful news. Our scientists have created eye ink for your next photo. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to make the formula in black, but we hope the brown will suffice. We have also made great strides in our quill production.
Expect our product by the spring. Best of luck!
Sincerely,
Beatrice Mayballene
October 22nd, 2007 at 8:55 pm
Dearest Emily,
There’s a totally sweet Guitar Center in Falls Church.
Peace,
Horace
October 22nd, 2007 at 10:00 pm
My Cherished Emily;
Please forgive the condition of my handwriting. I am filled with such a rage! I fear I cannot contain it, and this struggle has unsteadied my hand. How I wish you were here at this moment, for merely casting my eyes upon your radiant countenance would quell the fury that threatens to transform me into a devil.
The source of my anger is this group of cretins - I can no longer call them “gents” - with whom I have allied myself. How could I have been so foolish as to cast my in lot with such a cadre of imbeciles? Upon looking closer at the images in which I had made such effort convey the magnitude of our musical capabilities, I have discovered that the entire brass section was holding their instruments backwards!!
When I confronted them with this outrage, how did they respond? They broke forth with great peals of laughter, guffawing as though they were drunken sailors at a burlesque show! Then one of them, through tears of mirth, exclaimed “What would it matter? With a head as large as yours standing before the band, the audience wouldn’t hear us anyway!”
Those ungrateful amateurs! O, Emily, how could they mock me so? They fail to understand my pain! It is I who carried this thankless ensemble to the brink of greatness. By the glory of the charisma that God has so graciously bestowed upon me, I have drawn the attention of those who would throw contracts at our feet, begging to give us anything we demand in exchange for an evening of rapturous sound (by virtue of my voice, of course). But no, through their childish antics and complete lack of professional sensitivities, they threaten to make us a laughing stock, a display of vessels for vaginal cleansing (forgive me, darling, but my anger compels me to vulgarity)!!
What am I to do? Must I, with all seriousness, finally quit?
My dearest, from the depths of despair I eagerly await your reply.
Horace
October 22nd, 2007 at 10:15 pm
Dear Everybody,
Stop trying to test your chops against OG. You suck and it’s boring.
I await your silence with great anticipation,
The Universe
October 23rd, 2007 at 8:02 am
Jaysus, I didn’t mean to create a monster!
October 23rd, 2007 at 9:32 am
Great props to Breathing Air. That one was concise and funny.
October 23rd, 2007 at 10:28 am
W
T
F
Scranus?
Please don’t burn a mule in the sandbox. I don’t think anyone is trying out-duel, out-quip, out-funnay OG. Its just a fun little meme and people are running with it.
P.S. I can send you a pound of fresh Sumatra coffee to cheer you up.
October 23rd, 2007 at 10:43 am
Just bein’ bitchy…sorry ’bout that. Actually, it’s pretty good stuff.
I’ll take the coffee though…