Happy Mardi Gras, Ye Mongoloids!

And: Who's Going To Fight For Ukraine?; Angels Of Light, Aliens Of Light

Happy Mardi Gras from Ignatius Reilly and me to all the Mongoloids, sodomites, dignified Moors, Lucky Dog sellers, wine-cake nibblers, daiquiri sippers, parrot-having strippers, communiss, Levy Pants workers, assorted Minkoffs, sundry knaves who suffer a total lack of contact with reality, and all our fellow south Louisiana crackpots celebrating this high holy day!

For those who observe, let us have a ritual reading of Ignatius Reilly’s imprecatory letter to Mr. I. Abelman, on behalf of his employer, Gus Levy:

Abelman’s Dry Goods

Kansas City, Missouri

USA

Mr. I. Abelman, Mongoloid, Esq.:

We have received via post your absurd comments about our trousers, the comments revealing, as they did, your total lack of contact with reality. Were you more aware, you would know or realize by now that the offending trousers were dispatched to you with our full knowledge that they were inadequate so far as length was concerned.

“Why? Why?” you are in your incomprehensible babble, unable to assimilate stimulating concepts of commerce into your retarded and blighted worldview.

The trousers were sent to you (1) as a means of testing your initiative (A clever, wide-awake business concern should be able to make three-quarter length trousers a by-word of masculine fashion. Your advertising and merchandising programs are obviously faulty.) and (2) as a means of testing your ability to meet the standards requisite in a distributor of our quality product. (Our loyal and dependable outlets can vend any trouser bearing the Levy label no matter how abominable their design and construction. You are apparently a faithless people.)

We do not wish to be bothered in the future by such tedious complaints. Please confine your correspondence to orders only. We are a busy and dynamic organization whose mission needless effrontery and harassment can only hinder. If you molest us again, sir, you may feel the sting of the lash across your pitiful shoulders.

Yours in anger,

Gus Levy, Pres.

You’re welcome. See you and the Zulu King later on at Rampart and Dumaine, at least in my expatriated imagination.