August Newsletter.

The Proprietor in a moment of calm repose

Dear Friends,

This August hiatus period finds us, as usual, ensconced in a cute little chalet, scurrying this way and that, attempting to focus on the things at hand, and leave the other stuff in the hands of 'the Big Guy Upstairs'. 

It apparently wasn't for nothing that I liquidated several of my severest critics and just in the nick of time. Who was to say when the problems brought on by the collapse of the Council of Four, their fractious in-fighting, the death threats, cattle mutilations etc. would finally have come to a head, go over the line, end up in court, displace eastern Oregon grazing rights and so on were it not for the sincere ministrations of someone very dark and ambiguously intentioned? 

You have my word that I shall know no rest, take no guff and brook no rejoinders from the sorry-assed bunch of malcontents who keep driving by and spitting on my mailbox. (You know who you are, or do you?)

A certain bastard of my acquaintance is, even as I write this, plotting to ensure my total and complete destruction at the hands of a winsome young lass named Jerome Buckwald. 

Mayoral Assistant Moxie Banterwath

I know my time is near, but, for a reason I'm not at liberty to discuss, I've thrown my cares to the winds and decided to seek solace in the arms of Mayoral Assistant Moxie Banterwath. She's a busty babe with loads of class, a cute smile and a ready quip. One day a couple of weeks ago, Moxie called me and asked what time it was. I thought this must be some kind of a joke, but I tried to play along. I said, "One o'clock?". She said, "No, stupid!" and hung up. I was beside myself with rage, uncertainty, despair, boredom, fear, infantilism, despondency and sexual excitation.

I soon learned that this was not to be, so now I will join the Communist Party and work for the violent overthrow of the US Gov't. Can you help?

Yours in Christ,

The Proprietor