Dear Editor, or Whomever It Concerns,
Woe unto Hathian, she has lost her cherished son! Overwrought hyperbole? Perhaps, but rest assured it was with a genuinely and authentically dour feeling of melancholy, disconsolateness, and abject dolefulness that I read about the recent demise of Gein Burgers, which might arguably have been the heart of this fair city – now sadly plucked away like a particularly cruel game of Operation. Did it perhaps buzz the fingers of those who stole our heart? At least one tinfoil-helmeted citizen of Our City of Sweat sincerely hopes so.
It should not astonish you, dear Editor or Whomever It Concerns, to find out that those of our population who reside in rolled-up mattresses beneath the Hangmans Pass Bridge, as I do, on occasion come into contact with victuals of a rather unsavory variety.
Often rumination is the necessary reaction, yet Ipecac remains dreadfully exorbitant to those of us fatuously unfit for general gainful employment, largely due to the unsavory relationship between Big Pharm and the Free Market, which is largely a topic for another letter.
There was a time, however, when an inexpensive alternative was available to the discerning transient about town: I write, of course, no doubt, about Gein Burgers. A single Gein Catfish Burger was more than sufficient to open the gates at both ends, so to speak – saving one from a time-consuming and mentally destructive trip to the local healthcare options. Need I point out that the recent weather strife and now Gein Burgers is further evidence of the building strength of the Blood Moon, but that is undoubtedly a topic for another letter.
yours in times of order and disorder,
Albert Coleslaw Benson
Hangmans Pass Bridge