HLS Letters

Faithful Readers Aghast

  • July 28, 1990

HLS - The Letters Of Harvey L. Slatin

July 28, 1990

their,
Hey, they’re, Udo!–
there,

SOON TO BE RELEASED! “GORCHYBOFF & ME,” by Thomas Udo, Published by Udobbs Press. Rips away the mask of hypocrisy!

The “inside” story as seen by Publisher Udo on a recent trip! Unemploed KGB agents selling used instruments of torture from pushcarts in Red Square! Employed KGB agents selling government secretsy pushcarts in Nevsky Prospekt! New-style entrepreneurs selling pushcarts to KGB agents! “We all do each other’s washing, Comrade,” explained a sidewalk vendor of soap powder, which on inspection proved to be kitty-litter. Lays bare the rotten core of Soviet Russia today! A “must” read for last-ditch Marxists in our universities!

SOVIET ARMY WATCHES: No insides, but cheap! “Comrade–they give the correct time twice a day. Think of it–the Kremlin clock runs, but it is always wrong! Which do you prefer, military time or political time? These watches can be sold to you only because of perestroika, Comrade. Before that they had to be stolen! Another merit of private enterprise!”

BIG TIM: Don’t back down! Word is out that the judge will be impeached for debasing our heritage! ALL political bosses are called “Big Tim,” and being Irish has nothing to do with it! In Brooklyn alone we had “Big Tim” Pastatucci, ”Big Tim” Rabinowitz, and “Big Tim” Koslowski! In San Francisco the political boss in Chinatown is “Big Tim” Foo Yung! In Tokyo he’s “Biggutimmu” Yamaguchi! In Chelyabinsk, “Timofeyi Bolshoi” Stankovich! White hunters in Kenya report that one of the tribal chiefs is called N’bg N’tm. This honorary title is world-wide! The American People are solidly behind you, and the rest of the world is falling in line (although in France it is “Le Grand Timothée,” because the French are more formal). Tell that rube JP that if he doesn’t get his act together, he’ll end up as a a male meter-maid on Main Street! The American People have had all they can take!

KIND HEARTS AND THREATS AND DEBTS

“Has the postman been, Charles?”

“Matter of fact, I’m reading a letter from that chap Udo.”

“That Welshman, Hugh Doe? They do nothing but organize and
strike! Our electricity will flicker again!”

”Says this ‘Shoiman’ refuses to come over because we might
smite him with an escutcheon.”

“Wherever did he get that preposterous notion?”

“I seem to remember your mentioning it.”

”In jest, Charles. Nothing more.”

“At any rate, Blaugh says he can’t tide me over because the PM has cut the domestic budget to the bone at Downing Street, and she absolutely refuses to fund a cable to that writer chap Snavely Frunn. And now our Brigade-Of-Guards man below stairs has applied for a doorman’s position at The Claridge.”

“Why on earth would anyone work for wages when he has a fine situation with us?”

“Perhaps I can inquire about a doorman’s pay at The Claridge. We can then offer the fellow more.”

“But we haven’t paid him what he’s earning now.”

“Hadn’t thought of that. It might have occurred to him,
too.”

”Charles, we must dine that dreadful woman to forestall any awkward action by the Ministry of Works! I still see no reason why you can’t pretend to be grouse shooting, and go below stairs for one evening. With a false moustache, of course.”

“But I cannot go below stairs whilst our Guards chap’s still here, or he’ll do a bunk. Threatened that before, you’ll remember.”

“Then, I say, let him do it!”

“But he won’t do a bunk without his wages, you see.”

“Blackmail!”

“However, I did have a thought. Do you suppose we might persuade Blaugh to add us to one of the dinners at Downing Street?”

“You mean … if the mountain won’t come to Mohammed, etc.?”

”Along those lines, one might say.”

“But how would we go about persuading Blaugh?” ‘

“Blackmail. You’ll recall he left you to join Labour.

Siren song of the Bolshies, you told me.” .

“Ah. You’ll bring to his attention that the PM has no love for Labour, is that it?”


 

STREET-SMART CHICAGO COLUMNIST SUCKER-PUNCHED
BY PERPETUAL POLITICAL ADOLESCENT

Faithful Readers Aghast

Mike Royko is one of my all—time favorites when he writes about his pal Slats Grobnick, but when he tries to whitewash our former governor, he’s out of his depth. The budget crisis in California is directly traceable to Moonbeam’s “administration,” which did not administer. Example: money voted for highway construction and maintenance was not released by Moonbeam’s transportation queen, Adriana Gianturco, because he and she both advocated bicycles (I’m not making this up; it’s on the record.) They wanted cars left in garages, and commuters bicycling to work (preferably wearing Mao jackets). Today the highways and bridges are falling apart, and what would have cost millions under Moonbeam will now cost billions. Royko lives in Illinois, where he’s insulated from the after-effects of Moonbeam’s “innovative” approach to government-by-whimsy, so he is susceptible to being conned by smooth babble. I enclose a recent column from The Bee, which puts into print everything that the California Democratic Party acknowledges: the guy has the temperament of a vaudeville performer, the motivations of a used-car salesman, a zero span of attention, and no concept of public office except the glamour of position. They don’t want him muddying the waters, but there’s no way to stop him because:

  1. he’s wealthy
  2. he’s a partner in a big law firm
  3. he has a following of equally wealthy airheads who plead that he has “charisma.”
    I thought Royko was a pretty shrewd cat, but he’s acting like a dazzled groupie. He should have discussed this with Slats Grobnick first.

And that’s “thirty” for tonight, sports fans.

Fred C. (“Sore Fingers”) Dobbs

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