Where the hell is Marvin (my personal robot assistant)? Tubey? What the hell… is everyone out for a freaking curry? Right, right… I’ll just open the mail bag, then. High time too – a few more pounds and it will collapse into a black hole, and that would be the end of everything.
Okay, okay – I exaggerate. No need to worry. Got a couple of missives to open here. Let’s start with something that bears domestic franking….
Dear Big Green,
Hate to seem like a prick, but where the hell is that album you’ve been yakking about these past five years?
– Furlin McGreevey, Basinstock, Idaho
Hi, Furlin. Thanks for writing. And no worries – you’re not a prick. (If you were, you’d work for our record label.) Fact is, I sympathize with you totally. I’ve gotten so sick of waiting for Big Green to release their next 
album, I’ve thought about resigning as head of their fan club. (Didn’t have the heart to do it, damn it.) Fact is, we’re running out of excuses… so it looks like we’re ready to release that sucker after all.
Here’s another letter, from Amanda B. Freakowitz of Toronto…
Dear Big Green ,
Whaaaa-aaat??
Best,
Amanda
You heard right, Amanda…. that’s exactly what I said. Our long-awaited sophomore (or sophomoric) album is ready for release, bar the packaging, replicating, frisbee-tossing, etc. Tentatively titled “International House,” it contains 16 tracks of new material from yours truly and will soon be available at a pawn shop… I mean, record store near you. (And perhaps more than one pawn shop as well. It’s time I got my shoes back. These corns are killing me.)
Here’s one more letter, this from sMyrzGlorp FhZhyzllnyk of the Crab Nebula…
gyRmanTiall, Big Green….
Tuaoo dlAT,k lsdjTlbmok b-Yulandros itsat Megaphone delplehzrnyk funBanoldmental rzaphhhhuyllll.
vootie,
sMyrzGlorp
Thanks, sMyrzGlorp. Sure, the mp3s will be available online. Probably all the same places 2000 Years To Christmas can be found, but I’ll definitely keep you posted. Sounds like a bad cold you’ve got there. Better get some rest. And tell uTlksjnorbiar I said vootie.
Okay – got to run. I can hear the boys returning from the curry palace, the aroma of mutter paneer wafting up the staircase. Save a little for me, tubey – there’s a good chap.
