From: email@lordwhimsy.com
Subject: recherche du bunnymen perdu
Date: June 29, 2006 2:11:14 PM EDT
To: tips@philebrity.com

How cruel you are, Philebrity‚Äîto at last take your pound of flesh from my Bagginsian frame when most I need it. This week of all weeeks, mad as a red lemon for six days with a 104 degree fever, and you couldn’t spare me the You Know What. No–you had to stick in that jailhouse shiv with “Echo and the Bunnymen” emblazoned on it’s handle. I cry “bitch!”

Echo and the Bunnymen! Vorpal blade of wistfulness! Echo and the Bunnymen! Totemic wellspring of our nautical bay-rat youths, when the first strains of “Going Up” on the cassette deck as you barreled down a pitch black county road sent chills up your neck as you kept vigil in your peripheral eye for the Jersey Devil Himself among the bare trees that scratched at your headlights’ beams as they whipped by.

Health and hairlines regaled one in song in those days, and Echo’s exalting, glory boy anthems roused many a clunkily-shod, misfit clan to the moonlit seas. Like a tweed tortoise, it bore us on its great shell through those bleak, nocturnal North Atlantic winters until the pulchridudinous herds of clean, nectar-thighed daughters from Philly’s ruling classes once again grazed the boardwalks and shoals near our ramshackle bayside homes. Oh, salubrious days of striped shirts, jiggery and drink! Oh, pineapple-shaped haircuts and cuffed pants of yore! Oh, exclamation points!

Now go. Go in my name. Tell them…tell them the rallying cries of those old-young-men still echo out beyond the sandmen and lastdays of your garish metropolis. We are the vessels, imperfect and cracked though we may now be. We, the crab pots of song, still remember. It’s still heaven out here.

W

Sometimes we love Lord Whimsy so much, it literally hurts. Fear not, Dear Lord: We shall carry your torch all through the night.
Lord Whimsy: Mammal Of Paradise

This entry was posted on Thursday, June 29th, 2006 at 3:43 pm.