An Apology for Summer, and Its Attendant Blues:

Dearest Friends of the Upper Crustas I write this letter, I sit at my Writing -Table before an open Casement-Window, the room awash in golden Sun-Light, gazing out upon the Lush and Beautiful Land-Scape of... but no, I must not Divulge my Where-Abouts, for were I to do so I should betray the Trust of my Masters the Lord Bendover, Count Bassie, the Duc d'Istortion, and Jackie Kickassis, whom it is my great Honor to serve herewith in the capacity of Secretary, in addition to my several other Duties.

Yes, it is Summer-time; that Season so fervidly celebrated by Poets from Time immemorial. And justly so, for in these brief months the Earth reveals herself in her most gentle Guise, and men of all stations mingle in heedless revelry, as well as in the Past-time of Base-Ball, a Sport which I myself Loath to the point of Nausea. I also have scarce Affection for the Sea-Shore, the Country-Side, as well as the Clothes-Hanger, Tooth-Brush, and Shoe-Horn, all of which implements I must use as pleases Their Lordships, at all hours of the Day and Night-Time.

Much rather would I remain Within-Doors, when my duties permit me some small time for Re-Creation, and watch the Tele-Vision. Then, perhapsand now I indulge in a bit of WistfulnessI should very much like to engage the services of a Repair-Man to see to the Air-Conditioning, and later, perhaps, pay a Visit to a House of Ill-Repute, where I might drown the strange Melancholy that affects me with Strong Drink and fleeting Pleasure.

But no, I jest, for it must never be. Laugh, laugh, Oh mirthful Youth! Laugh, I say, whilst you may still enjoy the Unconstrained and hopeful Prospects of this Life, before it closes around you with the claustrophobic Embrace all too familiar to those who have ever found themselves trapped in a Telephone-Booth, not knowing that the door, counterintuitively, opens inward.

There... I have unwittingly wandered into the Bath-Room, and find myself with a Straight-Razor in my hand, though I have already shaved today.

No, I must return to my quarters, where I see that someone has thrown a hempen rope over a Roof-Beam, and tied in it a Hangman's-Noose. Who could it have been? I grow more Absent-Minded by the minute...

There, a good dose of Laudanum should set things to rights. Why, the bottle is almost empty.

The drapery blows in the warm Wind, I gaze out the window at a scene of such Beauty as to entice the most Despondent spirit. Hmmm. It is a long way down. The slightest gesture, an impulse, an instant, and all would be done. Good thing the windows have been Child-Proofed in accordance with residential lease requirements.

But Ah! I hear my master the Lord Bendover ringing his Hand-Bell, I must go at once and attend to him.

Kind Friends, I know of one cure, and one only, for these Summer-Time Blues: Go see the Upper Crust on Saturday, August 22nd at the Mercury Lounge in New York City. I shall write at greater length another time, until then, I remainYour

Faithful Friend and Correspondent,

Bumbles

Secretary and Manservant to the Upper Crust
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