Friday, June the 18th, 2004
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Dear Uncle Dan : My friend says anchovies are fished from the Dead Sea by Italians and are an Offence unto God. Should I stop ordering anchovies with my pizzas?
Yours in all simplicity, Glyn Webster
Dear Glyn : In order to answer your question with precision and clarity, I will need to know more about this “friend” of yours. I need to know their name, full postal address (including postcode or zip code or whatever system you use in New Zealand), telephone number, email address, bird count and the name of their regular dentist. I need a list of their hats, chalk, and tatty things, and the date of their graduation from the Collegeiate Institute of Brusque Snarling Ecclesiastical Phantoms. How many fob pockets have they filled with sand, and where did the sand come from? Were they in Chappaquiddick on that fateful night? Why is there a big stain on the map of Java pinned up next to the sideboard, and of what wood is the sideboard made? How many cows lumber about in their barnyard? Is there something monstrous and crude about the average burlap sack? Quite frankly I am appalled that you expect me to reply to this anchovy business in the absence of such background information, so appalled, indeed, that my hair has become frazzled and my collection of postage stamps which once gave me such delight now seems to me a puny, curdled thing fit only for that big dustbin over there beyond yon lone, stark, lightning-blasted sycamore on the edge of the muddiest field in all Christendom. Get a grip.
Yours fuming, Uncle Dan