Dear The Mannequin Menage Model Folk


Although I was not myself an infant at the time, I too experienced a similar experience to your good statuette settlement selves some years ago when I travelled to England's fair capital and witnessed piles of bones come to life before my very eyes within a publicly funded arena. In my case, however, it was not London Town's Natural History Museum but Shepherds Bush's BBC TV Centre and the animated fossil in question was not that of a Diplodocus but presumably queasy Cunard Line traveller Seasick Steve, who was just rousing from a brief nap in Hospitality before his appearance on Later.... With Jools Holland.


Never, however The Replica Race Model Folk, have I been bought a plastic dinosaur with whom, presumably unlike Was Not Was, I have walked and taken everywhere. Although by no means your fault, The Dummy Dynasty Model Folk, the unsavoury imagery associated with your taking the synthetic Jurassic reptile to bed has just put me off my dinner, reminding me as it does of a recent episode of Channel 5's ''Holiday Love Rats Exposed'', featuring a youthful Cypriot fisherman who had amorously subjected himself to an Octogenerian widow (also terrifying of tooth, or in this case, denture, and claw), who had not long undergone extensive cosmetic surgery, for financial gain.


Although I am sorry to hear that the pliant compound ancient herbivore eventually fell foul of your labrador, I would ask that you do not think badly of the mauling hound; better that the shrunken souvenir shop simulacrum be savaged now than its jagged nose or tail catch one unawares, piercing a pyjama bottoms pocket and compromising your pride and joy in the event that you turn awkwardly in your slumbers. You may have then unfortunately literally experienced the tagline of Mr. Spielberg's third Prehistoric Theme Park installment: ''Chaos Reigns''.


Yours

 

 

Derek Philpott (and Son)

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