* * * * *
Rochester, New York
September 25
Dear Joe:
I have it! It is done! In spite of the alcohol, in spite of Blgftury's
niggling criticism, I have succeeded. I now have developed a form
of mold, somewhat similar to the antibiotics of this world, that,
transmitted to the human organism, will cause a disease whose end will
be swift and fatal.
First the brain will dissolve and then the body will fall apart.
Nothing in this world can stop the spread of it once it is loose.
Absolutely nothing.
We must use care. Stock in as much gin as you are able. I will bring
with me all that I can. Meanwhile I must return to my original place of
birth into this world of horrors. There I will secure the gateway, a
large mirror, the vibrational point at which we shall meet and slowly
climb the frequency scale to emerge into our own beautiful, now secure
world. You and I together, Joe, conquerors, liberators.
You say you eat little and drink as much as you can. The same with
me. Even in this revolting world I am a sad sight. My not-world senses
falter. This is the last letter. Tomorrow I come with the gateway. When
the gin is gone, we will plant the mold in the hotel where you live.
In only a single gleeb it will begin to work. The men of this queer
world will be no more. But we can't say we didn't have some fun, can
we, Joe?
And just let Blgftury make one crack. Just one xyzprlt. I'll have
hgutry before the ghjdksla!