Dear Quantum Jump
I recently heard your fictional isolated incognito Texan law enforcer homage ditty and initially took it to be all about that train station with the very long name in Wales.
Upon closer inspection, however, it sadly appears that you are championing a ’very untogether’ rogue vigilante whose Apache Quarters policing methods leave much to be desired and who is not even above drugging his own horse, (not in the traditional sense of performance-enhancing stimulants so that a 100-1 rank outsider may win the 2.15 at Doncaster) by passing a tote - no pun intended - to Silver.
Indeed, not only does does the demented disguised deviant ''catchee baddy'', hack off the top of his head and eat him up for breakfast in a Hannibal Lecter-like act of inexcusable cannibalism rather than take him in for questioning, he then boasts of ''saving a silver bullet'', clearly indicating the economical non-usage of a precious metal projectile to be directly related to the dispatching not of a hapless Native American tribesman but a werewolf
I put it to you portion pounce pop stars that, far from being celebrated, this is a sadistic and deluded and mounted one man posse, who, together his crazed Comanche side-kick, must be stopped at all costs, preferably hunted at a period within which his mask is on back to fronto
Godspeed my friends. Godspeed
It’s upsetting to men of our age to be informed that they have failed in their Life’s Work.
Old gits like us (we have achieved an age named after a sexual position - 69), like you, like Mr. Gurnley who lives in the shed next door and is as proud as a monkey’s armpit to be 88 years old, pee our pants when we come to that derelict Autumn of prostrates and denied possibilities; when we are compelled to face the “Consequences”, the utter nakedness of our failure to communicate.
We have received your letter addressed to “Quantum Jump” our Research Institute - a division of I.M Stoners Secretarial College and Turkish Bath - with respect to our very serious Anthropological study of the cultural climate during the early development of what is now the Western States of Trumpania. Our study drew attention to such critical observations as:
(a) the problems of Law enforcement in the early West, including the economic restrictions on the use of fire arms;
(b) a detailed discussion of organic medical remedies, their usage and effects;
(c) a thorough analysis of the relationship between horseman and horse;
(d) the osmosis effect of language transfer symbolized by Tonto”s use of expressions formed by the early Chinks who built the railways, words such as: ”Catchee" and “Badee”;
(e) the interaction of indigenous peoples and men in costumes;
(f) an illustrative example of the common nature of cannibalism in early western culture - one reflects that these incidents occurred at approximately the same time as the Donner Party’s cannibalism in California. This is what people did before McDonalds took over — it is not a joke, tonk!;
(g) finally, the difficulties faced by “yer actual poofter" while riding the range.
We’re, frankly, astonished that all of this went “over yer ‘ead”, indicated by your using our meticulous research as an object of your derision.
Clearly, we overestimated the intelligence of those to whom our work was exposed. We accept it was a mistake to assume that people like you would understand the subtlety of Rupert’s insertion, and, not only that, but also his incorporation of the longest place name in the world as part of the narrative, thus creating a unique word bridge between ancient cultures: The Maori and the American Indian. No small achievement in 3 verses and a middle bit!
We assumed that anyone in his, or her right mind would immediately understand that we were suggesting a narrative as spoken by Armand and Michaela Dennis, you know: “Vee now wotch zee lion as it licks his balls.” “Look Armand! See the ding dong on zee gorilla.” It appears as though we’ve failed, at least so far as you’re concerned!
Nowadays when “poofters" are “gay”, athletes change sex and the word “Vagina” appears regularly in The Guardian, the serious anthropological issues we explored seem like Mr. Pastry re-runs. But in the days of long hair, and long roaches, when Jimmy Saville could molest anyone he wanted, they were matters of cutting edge interest in the anthropological circles in which we twirled. If it was not for the fact that Mary Warner is coming over to boil a goat later today, we’d probably shoot ourselves.
Yours at a loss,
DAVID MACIVER and RUPERT HINE
P.S Noting your sign off, we’d point out that: (i) there is no God and (ii) in the immortal words of Al Davis, former Manager of the Office of the General Manager of the Oakland Raiders: ”Speed Kills”