A letter from Roscoe

To celebrate the ten day anniversary of "My Mule" I have included a recent correspondence from Roscoe to a young admirer. It seem Roscoe knows about everything and dabbles in all sorts of business's. Why just recently he brokered a deal selling a bunch of empty beer bottles to someone in North Carolina, the transaction required 3 middle men. My point, nothing is simple with Roscoe, ask a question be prepared for a tale. But if you are looking for something the dudes better than ebay, he can find you anything and if not maybe some empty beer bottles will work.



Oh Wonderful Cait,

Please pardon my slow reply, sorry. I've looked briefly at that folk art section and I'll check on it again. I'm a very bad impulse purchaser. I get grabby in check-out lines. Batteries and tictacs my plunder. . . Oh, that Milk Duddy goodness. eBay tempts me with the same allure. I wear an aluminum foil hat to avoid financial ruin.

I once owned a velvet Elvis. Remember Cait, I live in the outback and work in lands even more wondrous. My velvet Elvis hung proudly, high in our work shop, an angelic protector watching over us as we toiled. The bust of HIS likeness stood four feet tall and two and some wide. The head pillowed upon black velvet framed in magenta, white and gold. Magnificence defined.

The owner's son, whose sense of humor was not sharpened by wit but rather by the misfortune of others, ordered the destruction of the tapestry. He claimed "The shop is no place for crap like that". The Eyes of the king followed him, the reason for his unnerving. He laughed as he struck the portrait and threw it into a cabinet.

One night, a dark and rainy night, kind harted thieves crossed the rain mirrored streets into the building. They nabbed the woven masterpiece and stole across the plains of Indiana, streaking toward liberation. Now in the far reaches of southwest Boone County resides a man whose admiration for Elvis has no equal. Exhausted from the adventure they found themselves huddled under the incandescent glow of his porch light. A feeble knock at the door.

A moment, a clack of the latch, slight in stature a man stood giant against the gray-violet hue of a television, his eyes reflective glass. Through the hiss of rain the box sang of "Blue Hawaii". In the porch light amber a porkchopped, sideburn cascaded to his jaw and brushed the high collar of a button down shirt. A burglar mumbled and handed him the cloth. He replied in a uniquely familiar tone "Thank you ladies and gentleman. Thank you very much." and as he turned to the shadows and closed the door, the air whispered from a twinkling rhinestone frock.

It is said that our pirates stood for a moment to contemplate and you could see a twinkle on their faces. Droplets of rain or tears of pride and satisfaction, I'm not certain.

Cait, that's the way I heard the story. It's based, albeit loosely, on fact. I did have a velvet Elvis. The boss' son didn't like it hanging in the shop and ordered it taken down. There is a guy named Les who now has a velvet Elvis. Above all, the first three letters in Elvis are E - L - V and everybody knows that elves are magic. Remember, I live in the outback and work in lands even more wondrous.

Roscoe