Dear Sir,
I am a reader of your electronic magazine and applaud the way it saves paper. It doesn't save electricity, like paper magazines do, but I guess there's a cost-benefit analysis lying in wait for us all with the Great Accountant In The Sky one of these days.
So, without further ado (what does "ado" mean, then? it's always bugged me, it has, and, while we're on, what does "bugged" mean as well?), without further ado, as I say, let me proceed to the main subject of my missive (I know what "missive" means, by the way, it means a written letter or message, before you ask).
(Just another thought: if I'd replaced the "v" with an "l" in "missive", I'd have written "missile", which might have rung some alarm bells - though, of course, you can't replace the "v" with an "l" in "missive" because there's no "l" in "missive", but you know what I mean, I trust: if we kept qualifying everything in this matter nothing would ever be done and society would collapse. I won't go on to explore the "massive" or "misgive" variants, for fear of losing my audience, if I have an audience.)
So, to my main subject. Neil Young. Isn't he a simply dreadful, shaggy old behemoth? Not the late, former Manchester City player, I hasten to add, but the cantankerous, miserable old rock guitarist and so-called songwriter. He has about as much personality as a dyspeptic water buffalo.
Why do I mention this? Well, my elder brother, Nostromo (who'd have Joseph Conrad-obsessed parents, eh? I'm just glad they didn't call me "Heart of Darkness") has recently been convicted of being a serial killer, and locked up in Broadmoor, and so it has been incumbent upon me to go through his effects and belongings.
Now whilst I was engaged on this onerous task, I came across this terrible Neil Young LP called "Zuma". I played some of it. I might as well have spent half an hour gouging out my own eyeballs.
The worst track is one that goes on for ever called "Cortez The Killer". This is a load of old hippy waffle about how the Spanish under Hernan Cortes caused the fall of the Aztec Empire under Moctezuma II ("Montezuma" to you and me). It makes Cortes (spelled wrongly!) out to be a murderer and the Aztecs out to be a load of flower children dancing about in their paradise.
Excuse me: this is the civilisation that practiced human sacrifice and ritual cannibalism isn't it? What a tragedy that they got wiped out then! Boo hoo.
Nowadays Mexican stuff is everywhere - fahitas, wrestling, and there's even a footballer playing for Manchester United. Would we have all that if the Aztecs under old Montezuma were still cutting children up and eating each other? I think not.
It's typical of Nostromo that he should have stuff like this. He was always a bit odd. It was when he didn't get onto Jim'll Fix It that he started really going off the rails.
But who could blame Jimmy Savile? Nobody wants to see a 12 year old boy eat Michael Parkinson's ears on prime time television.
It's a funny old world.
Yours,
Typhoon Smith,
Hull
Dear Sir,
perhaps some of your readers can help me, or at least support me in my quest.
It concerns the Prime Minister, David Cameron. You see, I am increasingly convinced that Mr Cameron would look a lot better if he were hollowed out and inflated like a big balloon.
The Cameron balloon could then be floated above London. It could carry various advertising slogans, or publicity messages for the Government. I am sure things could be done with neon.
Wouldn't this be a majestic sight for the Olympics (if we still have this Government then)? People would flock to London as they did for the Great Exhibition of 1851.
I am sure that - instead of being considered an earth-bound windbag as he is now - Mr Cameron would be elevated to the status of a "celestial object: a truly transcendental human airship to be proud of".
I anyone is interested in this, there are lots more ideas about how to enhance our politicians on my website http://zendasvisionaryvisions.co.uk. I have lots of exciting ideas about what to do with Boris Johnson's head, how to rebuild Ed Milliband in plasticine, and using Ken Clarke as a limitless supply of cooking fat.
I do hope that your readers will be enthused and happy to join me. Together we can bring new hues to the political pallette.
Yours sincerely,
Zenda Obeliske,
Dartmoor.
