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The Alchemist, v. 1, issue 5, February 1941

Page 23

             I Am Positively Not Robert Bloch!         23

rest on the tide of manuscripts. "No. I'm not Bob Bloch," he mourned. "And I'm not even Hank Kuttner. Hank, you know, is really Shirley Temple. He looks rather cute with his blonde wig, but when he forgets to shave he just cuts his little dolls all to he-"

   He pushed a decapitated body aside none too gently and rummaged around,  finally extracting a bloody arm and knife from under his pants. "I knew I dressed to hurriedly this morning," he clicked. "Now, as to Bob Bloch. He used to writ some pretty good stuff, see? But lately, what's he doin?? Giving us da high hat! He won't write humor no more since his guy Bradbury blew in from the river Stynx. I'd like to get my hands on that Bradbury's neck -- I'd --- I'd."

   "You'd what?" I asked, edging toward the door.

   "I'd strangle him for not being as good as Bloch" growled Bradbury.

   I opened the door and got ready to dash out. I turned to him and smiled gravely, profoundly "You my son, are Bradbury," I told him, and then slammed the door as I ran.

   The last thing I saw, Bradbury was grovelling on the floor with one foot holding down his head and his jaws clamped on his toes, frothing. He vanished under all the rejection slips.

   Just then the present from the S.F.L. went off!! Hallelujah! Bradbury's a bomb!

   Pardon me reader, my valet has just come in. What is it James?

   "There's a gentleman outside named Campbell, sir, and he has a gun."

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I Am Positively Not Robert Bloch! 23 rest on the tide of manuscripts. "No. I'm not Bob Bloch," he mourned. "And I'm not even Hank Kuttner. Hank, you know, is really Shirley Temple. He looks rather cute with his blonde wig, but when he forgets to shave he just cuts his little dolls all to he-" He pushed a decapitated body aside none too gently and rummaged around, finally extracting a bloody arm and knife from under his pants. "I knew I dressed to hurriedly this morning," he clicked. "Now, as to Bob Bloch. He used to writ some pretty good stuff, see? But lately, what's he doin?? Giving us da high hat! He won't write humor no more since his guy Bradbury blew in from the river Stynx. I'd like to get my hands on that Bradbury's neck -- I'd --- I'd." "You'd what?" I asked, edging toward the door. "I'd strangle him for not being as good as Bloch" growled Bradbury. I opened the door and got ready to dash out. I turned to him and smiled gravely, profoundly "You my son, are Bradbury," I told him, and then slammed the door as I ran. The last thing I saw, Bradbury was grovelling on the floor with one foot holding down his head and his jaws clamped on his toes, frothing. He vanished under all the rejection slips. Just then the present from the S.F.L. went off!! Hallelujah! Bradbury's a bomb! Pardon me reader, my valet has just come in. What is it James? "There's a gentleman outside named Campbell, sir, and he has a gun."