DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Chaos, v. 1, issue 1, January 1945

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Chaos, v. 1, issue 1, January 1945

Page 5

THE FIRST VISITOR IN Y'ARS AND Y'ARS
SO WILLIE WAS sprawled on the couch trying to snake a little shuteye when the telephone--obnoxious instrument-- begins to clang like a fireman's bell. "Hey, Dad," moans Willie, turn the thing off. Throw it in the garbage can. Tell the person to go away. Oo-o-hh. . ."
And Willie's papa answers the damn thing and it turns out to a fella who sex in a soft tone: "Is Bill Watson around?" That meant it was for me, and so i shook my head and staggered out into the hall and said, "Whazzis?"
"This is Elmer. Elmer Pardue. Is this 7 year Willie?"
"F-n-n-ff?"
"This is Perdue. . ."
"Oh! Elmer! Well my god! What brings you to this neck of the woods, etc?"
And the upshoot of the whole things was that Elmer trippod--yes, tripped; you dunno the hills around here--up to the Watson residence. "I'm Elmer," he said extending a hand which practically mashed my own to a messy pulp.
Things were a little strained at first, but then Willis found out that Elmer liked Joyce and Cabell and surrealism and had a sister who painted and we got along fine. When Elmer established his admiration for Bok, nothing further was needed.
We covoured ground fast and furiously. Everything from the Inner Circle and how it puzzled both of us to Dali and his delirious narcotic-dreams in HIDDEN FACES.
Then I mentioned the Psmiths across the Bay and would Elmer care to pay them a visit--just for the helluvit?
We went over on the bus. Banging on the Psmith door, Watson was doubtful as to whether they might be home. Larry was, and she opened the door with the usual half-surprised half-nauseated expression. :This is Elmer," Willie said. "That's Lorraine." "Hello." "Smitty's alseep." "Well, drag him out of bed." "I'll try"
Getwing Smitty out of bed proceed to be easier a task than we thought. First we screamed blood-curdling cries at him, dancing about the room like drunken ballet performers. Then when Smitty just rolled over, saying, "Fer chrissakes, tell 'em to go away. This is not time of the morning to be calling. Blahb." It was eight p.m. He just rolled under the chestvof drawers and went to sleep. Finally we woke him up long enough to caress his ears with a delicate screech. "WATSON'S HERE! THE HOUSE IS ON THE FIRE! THE BABY HAS PNEUMONIA! THAT CAT IS PREGNANT AGAIN! LARRY IS HANGING HERSELF WITH A PIECE OF KITCHEN CORD!" This got him out of bed and he dashed over to look at the cat. "By god, I've got to get her fixed soon," Smith said. This is the fourth time in three weeks, practically."
Then the usual introductions were passed around. Elmer buried himself in Smith's bound excerpts, emitting weird shouts of joy and horror between gasps on a Rum & Maple. God, what some people can smoke.
Finally as with all fan gatherings, the discussion degenerated into the sordid relating of various types of shaggy dog stories, with Willie topping the evning off with the foulest of them all. Lorraine went into hysterics, Elmer went back to his bound excerpts, and Smith went into the bathroom. No sense of humor, at all.
Then Smith, after rambling through the ice-box for awhile, ran across a bottle of beer which Larry had tried unsuccessfully to hide behind a celery stalk. "Beer, beer, beer!" said the Psmith, clutching the bottle to his breast. "Ahh, beer."
That was the last we ever saw of it.
But now Elmer, not knowing any better, is on his wat to LA. We tried to get him a stick around a couple days, but he wouldn't think of it. Damn. Elmer was the type of fellow the Bay Area needs more of.
Anyway, he's become one of [[underscored caret]] favorite fans.  our [[underscore caret]]
Damright. 30

Saving...

THE FIRST VISITOR IN Y'ARS AND Y'ARS SO WILLIE WAS sprawled on the couch trying to snake a little shuteye when the telephone--obnoxious instrument-- begins to clang like a fireman's bell. "Hey, Dad," moans Willie, turn the thing off. Throw it in the garbage can. Tell the person to go away. Oo-o-hh. . ." And Willie's papa answers the damn thing and it turns out to a fella who sex in a soft tone: "Is Bill Watson around?" That meant it was for me, and so i shook my head and staggered out into the hall and said, "Whazzis?" "This is Elmer. Elmer Pardue. Is this 7 year Willie?" "F-n-n-ff?" "This is Perdue. . ." "Oh! Elmer! Well my god! What brings you to this neck of the woods, etc?" And the upshoot of the whole things was that Elmer trippod--yes, tripped; you dunno the hills around here--up to the Watson residence. "I'm Elmer," he said extending a hand which practically mashed my own to a messy pulp. Things were a little strained at first, but then Willis found out that Elmer liked Joyce and Cabell and surrealism and had a sister who painted and we got along fine. When Elmer established his admiration for Bok, nothing further was needed. We covoured ground fast and furiously. Everything from the Inner Circle and how it puzzled both of us to Dali and his delirious narcotic-dreams in HIDDEN FACES. Then I mentioned the Psmiths across the Bay and would Elmer care to pay them a visit--just for the helluvit? We went over on the bus. Banging on the Psmith door, Watson was doubtful as to whether they might be home. Larry was, and she opened the door with the usual half-surprised half-nauseated expression. :This is Elmer," Willie said. "That's Lorraine." "Hello." "Smitty's alseep." "Well, drag him out of bed." "I'll try" Getwing Smitty out of bed proceed to be easier a task than we thought. First we screamed blood-curdling cries at him, dancing about the room like drunken ballet performers. Then when Smitty just rolled over, saying, "Fer chrissakes, tell 'em to go away. This is not time of the morning to be calling. Blahb." It was eight p.m. He just rolled under the chestvof drawers and went to sleep. Finally we woke him up long enough to caress his ears with a delicate screech. "WATSON'S HERE! THE HOUSE IS ON THE FIRE! THE BABY HAS PNEUMONIA! THAT CAT IS PREGNANT AGAIN! LARRY IS HANGING HERSELF WITH A PIECE OF KITCHEN CORD!" This got him out of bed and he dashed over to look at the cat. "By god, I've got to get her fixed soon," Smith said. This is the fourth time in three weeks, practically." Then the usual introductions were passed around. Elmer buried himself in Smith's bound excerpts, emitting weird shouts of joy and horror between gasps on a Rum & Maple. God, what some people can smoke. Finally as with all fan gatherings, the discussion degenerated into the sordid relating of various types of shaggy dog stories, with Willie topping the evning off with the foulest of them all. Lorraine went into hysterics, Elmer went back to his bound excerpts, and Smith went into the bathroom. No sense of humor, at all. Then Smith, after rambling through the ice-box for awhile, ran across a bottle of beer which Larry had tried unsuccessfully to hide behind a celery stalk. "Beer, beer, beer!" said the Psmith, clutching the bottle to his breast. "Ahh, beer." That was the last we ever saw of it. But now Elmer, not knowing any better, is on his wat to LA. We tried to get him a stick around a couple days, but he wouldn't think of it. Damn. Elmer was the type of fellow the Bay Area needs more of. Anyway, he's become one of [[underscored caret]] favorite fans. our [[underscore caret]] Damright. 30