A fragment from a previously unknown correspondent:
"I was walking near the corner of Mulberry & Shields in Fort Collins, Colorado, one rainy summer day when it completely dawned on me that the whole concept of 'genre' was a total scam designed to divide, not unite, music lovers. I was staying with this completely easy chick who lived down on Birch & was flunking out of Colorado State, mainly because she had never finished high school & hadn't therefore been accepted into college, but luckily I wasn't visiting her because of her intellectual properties, if you know what I mean & I think you do. But that day I was not to get to bust my nut.
I don't know if you know much about Fort Collins. Everyone agrees it's a shithole, but it's so much less than that. It's barely fifty miles south of Cheyenne, Wyoming, on I-25, which is where the good lord's bloody urine goes when it dies. I can't tell you how that colors a city, even a city with as little color as Fort Collins. But really, I kid Fort Collins. It hasn't been around for all that long. It's been making its own beer, which I appreciate. But I was there not as a tourist, but because I was forced out of Cheyenne. In Cheyenne, I had been asking around about Cheney.
Cheney! How that blowhole haunts my waking sleep! My long-anticipated expose of his Iraq-child-skull-fucking & his ability to fry fish with his spit was so close to being finished! Denise, the randy young coed whom I would never again bed, had rescued me from a Cheyenne diner/taxidermist's called The Artificial Heart, a favorite of the so-called vice president, & home to truly disgusting meals served on trays made from dead animals. My notoriety was such that only my mother knew me, & she never really knew me, because she never cared. But from my first question - 'So, has Dick Cheney stuck his cock in any of these dead warthogs or what?' - I could sense the hostility. Asking for a second cup of coffee has never been so hard.
Denise says I called her with a rambling text message. I just remember one gigantic waitress trying to poke my eye out with a stuffed eagle's outstretched wing. By the time the police arrived, I was able to excuse myself to wash my hands & slip out the back door. A chase ensued, but the wall of fire that separates Colorado from Wyoming proved protection for me & Denise, since people from Wyoming haven't yet discovered fire & aren't sure what it is. They think it's scary. They run away.
We made love, Denise, Colorado & I, that night, & the next day, as I made my way back from Colorado's apartment to get to Denise's, I was stopped short by none other than the so-called vice president's lesbian daughter. She looked more like Anderson Cooper than I had previously thought, but there was no mistaking her Cheneyness. She beckoned me to come & she promised me she would tell all. How could I refuse?
First, though, I will send this missive out to you. I will discover the truth, & it shall set me free & make me not a little bit of money. Just, if you don't hear from me, tell my mother to call the police or the FBI or something, will you? Thanks!"
