912

Gentlemen,

The damnably enterprising Doctor Hoffman is off again on a deadly crusade and leaving me out of the fun.  All because I have to give some insipid lecture at the altar of that fatheaded Margaret Mead, darling of the department chair.  My day will come.  My day will come.

In any event, the too-good Doctor has found through Oswald (grand show) that both layers of the painting are Tates.  Not only that, but it’s all connected to a Harrison Monroe (pull files), an elderly eccentric who sounds like Our Kind of Man.  Is it CDT, himself?  I would tell you, but instead, I have to spread lies and propaganda about the true nature of the Samoans.

Samoans.  Why is it always the Samoans?  We’ll roast their boar in the hearty flames of…

HELLFIRE!

T’d Off Eliot Stokes

 

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