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MFS Bulletin, v. 3, issue 6, whole no. 18, February 08, 1943
MFS Bulletin, Vol. 3, Number 6 Page 3
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THE MES HYPOTHESES BEING A COLUMN THAT IS INTENDED TO BE PURELY MFS When Johnny Georgen foned me up the other night to know if I could get the column in by Friday - or was it Saturday? - it can't be Friday, because if it is, it's late already. Anyhow, when Johnny foned me up, he sez to get it in by Saturday-- "And please, Hypo, no cracks at Fortier." Therefore, let me go on record as saying that Fortier need not worry. Requiescat in pace. I will not exhume the spescter. Furthermore, let me say as usual, that its readers may expect the worst from this column. I do this for two reasons. One, because, frankly, I like it. Two, because if there is any spirit left in fandom I'd like to know it, and it's bound to crop up sooner or later in an objection to what I say. As an example of that rare and precious thing, brotherly love, let me point out the friendship of Wlat Liebscher and Brackney. Every night when Manse returns from work, he opens the daily letter from Walt and relaxes to a full page of punch lines. Ditto Walt. The MFS is at present a little bewildered - and who can blame us? Our compound befuddlement is the result of the frequent meetings Gergen has been calling of late (which reminds me, Johnny, if you censor this column, so help me, I'll cut your throat (). For the edification of the rest of you, Johnny, at times objects to my way of putting things - to date this has resulted in a silent war with minor skirmishes only. As I was saying, our meetings have lately been on the repid-fire order. I bumped into Saari on the campus today - and Benson. "Comming to the meeting at Gergn's Sunday?" I asked. "God!" shieked Ollie, "another? I just left the last one the other day!" He collapsed in a showdrift. Bunce threw a glassful of snow in his face. "Poor Boy," sighed a passing coed sympathetically and dropped a nickle into Ollie's famous hat, which was lying upturned on the icy sidewalk. It's little episodes like that that give the tenor of out feelings here in the frozen Northwest. In justice to Gergen, I must say that the last meeting was unsually tough. The seven of us spent most of the evening carmped in a 4 x 4 soundproof (and also airtight) recording chamber, under full equipment (40 below zero clothing, fan and pro mags) at a temperature of 110 dregrees farenheit, making recordings for a distant and unappreciative fandom. I confidently expect a fairly large turnout, however, even though I have no intentions of using my secrect weapon. Said secret weapon
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THE MES HYPOTHESES BEING A COLUMN THAT IS INTENDED TO BE PURELY MFS When Johnny Georgen foned me up the other night to know if I could get the column in by Friday - or was it Saturday? - it can't be Friday, because if it is, it's late already. Anyhow, when Johnny foned me up, he sez to get it in by Saturday-- "And please, Hypo, no cracks at Fortier." Therefore, let me go on record as saying that Fortier need not worry. Requiescat in pace. I will not exhume the spescter. Furthermore, let me say as usual, that its readers may expect the worst from this column. I do this for two reasons. One, because, frankly, I like it. Two, because if there is any spirit left in fandom I'd like to know it, and it's bound to crop up sooner or later in an objection to what I say. As an example of that rare and precious thing, brotherly love, let me point out the friendship of Wlat Liebscher and Brackney. Every night when Manse returns from work, he opens the daily letter from Walt and relaxes to a full page of punch lines. Ditto Walt. The MFS is at present a little bewildered - and who can blame us? Our compound befuddlement is the result of the frequent meetings Gergen has been calling of late (which reminds me, Johnny, if you censor this column, so help me, I'll cut your throat (). For the edification of the rest of you, Johnny, at times objects to my way of putting things - to date this has resulted in a silent war with minor skirmishes only. As I was saying, our meetings have lately been on the repid-fire order. I bumped into Saari on the campus today - and Benson. "Comming to the meeting at Gergn's Sunday?" I asked. "God!" shieked Ollie, "another? I just left the last one the other day!" He collapsed in a showdrift. Bunce threw a glassful of snow in his face. "Poor Boy," sighed a passing coed sympathetically and dropped a nickle into Ollie's famous hat, which was lying upturned on the icy sidewalk. It's little episodes like that that give the tenor of out feelings here in the frozen Northwest. In justice to Gergen, I must say that the last meeting was unsually tough. The seven of us spent most of the evening carmped in a 4 x 4 soundproof (and also airtight) recording chamber, under full equipment (40 below zero clothing, fan and pro mags) at a temperature of 110 dregrees farenheit, making recordings for a distant and unappreciative fandom. I confidently expect a fairly large turnout, however, even though I have no intentions of using my secrect weapon. Said secret weapon
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