Fan (Base)

Sirs,

Though I count myself one of your most loyal reader(s?), I must protest the wayward philosophical bent of recent posts.

Where’s the action?

We, your loyal fan(s?) want, plainly, pussy.

While we are occasionally bemused by imputed “thoughts” The Smee might be having in his cave of shadows (which might not be a bad nickname for The Misters’ “box”), we protest the lack of full-frontal coverage of The Smee’s every move.

Please deliver the goods we, your whiningly passive, over-empowered and indulged audience, feel we richly deserve!

Entitled (but not titled),

     

The Silent (but fiercely vocal) Majority.

Mr. Smitty and the Case of the Missing Misters, Part II: The Misters Have Vamoosed?

All day, a vast eternity stretches across the low and level sands on all sides of The Misters’ “box” (The Smee’s name for their house).

Tumbleweeds. Silence.

A leaf falls (loneliness).

The Smitty silently meditates on his solitude <>

“Ou suis-je? Qui suis-je?”

And, like a French existentialist marooned on a tropical island waiting for Go(y I)d(i)ot(s)...

[Pull the plug! -- ed.]