Transcribe
Translate
MFS Bulletin, v. 3, issue 4, whole no. 16, January 25, 1943
MFS Bulletin, Vol, 3 Number 4 Page 3
More information
digital collection
archival collection guide
transcription tips
every time a guy mentions the post-war period, some damn Marx student squats down and starts belating about how the world is due for a crack-up, and how his devoted group are going to rule a world state." ((After all, aren't they entitled to their own opinions, Joe? - jlg)) I say, sezzi, that if the majority of youse bums and even some of youse jerks latch on, we'll really go into this thin [sic] full-force. Joe made a fair start in the anniversary issue of VoM, both the illiterari of Shangri-La and hte illiterari of other colyums made a few rebuttals, and all that, so it looks like interest ahead, even though not too much accomplishment at the initial outset. THE LAD WHO CRIED HAWK: EVERYTHING'S FAKE I was in the throes of composition Saturday night, in the middle of stealing some Gohn thunder to pep up a dulling column, when my imaginary secretary (a versatile fan-tasia of mind, who also runs the mimeo, this column, and to the corner for rum) informed me that 3 nightmares in the form of Tarfans with Hollywood haircuts wanted to see me. "They're probably just some more of my fans who want to fawn over me, or some of my fawns who want to fan over me," I sighed impersonating a wk columnist impersonating Don Ameche impersonating a columnist, "frisk 'em for concealed weapons, show 'em in, and keep the machine gun on 'em." The three hangovers of a bad dream from the night before, who, incidentally, would make a fine merger with the Andrews Sisters, a trio I swing and sweat with, walked into my elbow-bending office-- a sort of damp joint-- and one of them, obviously the one who could speak English, stepped forward and addressed me. "We have come for an apology for that slanderous column you wrote yesterday," he said. "Be more explicit," I snarled in my Art Cohn snarl. "I can't find a needle in a haystack. According to my attorney, I slandered 98 fans and libeled 32 others yesterday-- two under par for the course." Unfortunately, at this juncture I cannot comment on the University of California and its football coach, as follows: "If and when Cal ties the can on Allison, it may hire Gentleman Errol Flynn. He, unlike Stubbs, seems to have a system." I called to the three jacks, "And you want an apology for this," I growled. "Go back and tell Flynn he's lucky I let him off so easily. After all, as Doc Horowitz always sez, to Errol is human, to forgive is divine." SOMETHING NEW HAS BEEN ADDED! Anyway, after these visions of a hashish needle had disappeared, I got to thinking. That Odd Tales at the instigation of Julie Unger and Dam'n Knight was a pretty stellar affair. Except that it turned into a falling star. While the entire hoax gave fandom a lift for the interim, the final downfall was more than any normal turn of events would have lent. However, to Errol, etc, so all is forgiven. Come back home, boys. Nevertheless, with the departure of Evans, this makes a double blow, and one which may well prove the blasting point of the NFFF. How-
Saving...
prev
next
every time a guy mentions the post-war period, some damn Marx student squats down and starts belating about how the world is due for a crack-up, and how his devoted group are going to rule a world state." ((After all, aren't they entitled to their own opinions, Joe? - jlg)) I say, sezzi, that if the majority of youse bums and even some of youse jerks latch on, we'll really go into this thin [sic] full-force. Joe made a fair start in the anniversary issue of VoM, both the illiterari of Shangri-La and hte illiterari of other colyums made a few rebuttals, and all that, so it looks like interest ahead, even though not too much accomplishment at the initial outset. THE LAD WHO CRIED HAWK: EVERYTHING'S FAKE I was in the throes of composition Saturday night, in the middle of stealing some Gohn thunder to pep up a dulling column, when my imaginary secretary (a versatile fan-tasia of mind, who also runs the mimeo, this column, and to the corner for rum) informed me that 3 nightmares in the form of Tarfans with Hollywood haircuts wanted to see me. "They're probably just some more of my fans who want to fawn over me, or some of my fawns who want to fan over me," I sighed impersonating a wk columnist impersonating Don Ameche impersonating a columnist, "frisk 'em for concealed weapons, show 'em in, and keep the machine gun on 'em." The three hangovers of a bad dream from the night before, who, incidentally, would make a fine merger with the Andrews Sisters, a trio I swing and sweat with, walked into my elbow-bending office-- a sort of damp joint-- and one of them, obviously the one who could speak English, stepped forward and addressed me. "We have come for an apology for that slanderous column you wrote yesterday," he said. "Be more explicit," I snarled in my Art Cohn snarl. "I can't find a needle in a haystack. According to my attorney, I slandered 98 fans and libeled 32 others yesterday-- two under par for the course." Unfortunately, at this juncture I cannot comment on the University of California and its football coach, as follows: "If and when Cal ties the can on Allison, it may hire Gentleman Errol Flynn. He, unlike Stubbs, seems to have a system." I called to the three jacks, "And you want an apology for this," I growled. "Go back and tell Flynn he's lucky I let him off so easily. After all, as Doc Horowitz always sez, to Errol is human, to forgive is divine." SOMETHING NEW HAS BEEN ADDED! Anyway, after these visions of a hashish needle had disappeared, I got to thinking. That Odd Tales at the instigation of Julie Unger and Dam'n Knight was a pretty stellar affair. Except that it turned into a falling star. While the entire hoax gave fandom a lift for the interim, the final downfall was more than any normal turn of events would have lent. However, to Errol, etc, so all is forgiven. Come back home, boys. Nevertheless, with the departure of Evans, this makes a double blow, and one which may well prove the blasting point of the NFFF. How-
Hevelin Fanzines
sidebar
