Thursday, February 09, 2012

Ravings of the Debauched!

This curiously strange correspondence sailed through the ether and hit the parched shore of my inbox yesterday.  It seems it would have been better written on parchment with blood-red ink, and delivered by a desiccated, old Raven tap, tap, tapping at my cellar door....


Dear Jimmy Mule
I think you are a fine human being, despite your grim, hideous, frightening, ghastly, monstrous, demonic, awe-inspiring, Jacob Marleyesque, wraith-like visage (unsettling as it is) with which you cheerfully greet the world as only a Laughing Madman could, or would even dare to.

Sincerely, and with the Deepest Sympathy, I remain your loyal servant and, I pray, your friend (despite all of our deformities),
MDB 


Dear Mr. Mule-Skinner,
I like my scar.  It is my friend.  Goes with me wherever I go.  Please tread lightly around my scar! I have earned it.  Yes, it is a badge, a sign, a mark, sort of like the mark of Cain, but in this case, let's call it the Mark of Jimmy Mule.

I appreciate your kind words, your greviously sweet terms of endearment, but, I beg to differ Mr. Skinner, I am NOT in any way, shape or form a fine human being.  Human yes... being yes... but let's leave the simpering "fine-ness" of being to the blushing ladies, and the little dainty ones...

Yes, of course we are friends, kindred souls, and humbled, and shackled servants who recognize each other.  We both see a fellow DEFORMED NOBLEMAN!

We must stick together Mr. Skinner.  We are a dying breed.  Lonely, wraith-like phantoms, who can disappear at the lighting of a match.  POOF!

Jimmy Mule