Letters to Sloucher.org (with apologies to Russell Palmer and Monty Python).

(one of these is real. can you guees which one? – Q)

*Dear Sir/Madam/Chimera

I recently re-arranged myself into the spacetemporal vortex called Crookesmoor. I am from the planet Callufrax 9 and whilst getting re-acquainted with the way you Earthlings live your shiny little lives, I keep getting inquired by this lady with a bag, asking me for heptagon shaped disc valued at 2 tens of a centime monetary unit.

What can a peaceful, disitegrating wielding Callufraxian like me do ? I presently declare to her that I do come in peace to observe your taxa of dangerous orange animals, like Cheryl Cole.

Thanks

Tim

Dear Tim

We currently advice that you throw any disc shaped things lacquered with copper. They are big, massive and apparently, this specimen you have observed can feed for decades with a simple ounce of the stuff.

*Ahoy, Sloucher team

We are new band of sassy people with glockenspiels, keyboards and the occasional shouting match. We’ve been called the new “Arcade Fire” by the NME, we’ve been played in 3 radio stations (all owned by our bassist’s dad, tee hee), our genre-bending abilities make us sound like Led Zeppelin daisychaining with a microKorg while Cheryl Cole has sex with Win Butler and their brood played with a more Metal inclined Abbey Road era Beatles.

We’re currently on a tour of every joint that sell Pabst blue ribbon with an ironically placed slice of lime.

Please don’t come to our shows. We hate you.

Thanks

Tallahassee Theo and the Fires of Mount Doom.

Dear Tallahassee

Sorry for not texting back :(

PS: where should i send the payola back? You still in Borstal?

*Dear Sloucher.org

You pile of wankers, I’ve yet to see one review of the ostentatious “Neighborhood” by Arcade Fire. Your focus on providers of twee, alt americana and childish music is just a constant reminder of how you think of yourselves as “the little site that could” instead of focusing on a band with something to say.

May a thousand NME fans troll you, you shit-gobblers.

Xxx

Dear Xxx

Mum?

*Dear Orestes and human slaves

I love your site, it’s teh funniezzz… I haf a q for Orestes, even if he/she/it died, but you guys have a ouija lolz!

anywayzzz, I was wif my m8s at corp last nite (lol i kno) n gots dis 4 shot and irn bruu 4 2 quid. I had a few moar l8rs n now me noggin’ iz teh sux….

Help me, lurvey plush cow

Vicky x

Dear Vicky x

We used our free ouija (from the Last Harbour’s Volo album, how’s that for a useful album? :D) and contacted Orestes. His/Her/Its response was:

“lulllllzzzzz vickz de deetzzzz, CORP AGAIN? FAIL! Gets yoself a whole lime, a pinch o’salt n a pint glass (u nicked 1 from bung n bears, poshy tart!). Squish the lime joos, add as much as salt as u can hold between thumb and index and add half water, half fizzy water and drink”

We approve of this hangover recipe. We also half-translated the second part of the message as it was peppered with KILL KILL KILL subliminals and the recipe for some rather tasty nachos.

*Dear Quinto

The test came positive.

Yours truly.

That “bird in top shop dross” as you charmingly described me on Facebook.

Dear slag who won’t have the courtesy of a #FF or an RT on Twitter.

Boots is having 2 for 1 in antiseptic creams. Works wonders.

Love

Quinto.

PS: go back into the kitchen and make a sandwich.

Quinto.