Transcribe
Translate
Amateur Correspondent, v. 2, issue 2, September-October 1937
Page 12
More information
digital collection
archival collection guide
transcription tips
WHAT EVERY YOUNG GHOUL SHOULD KNOW by Professor Robert Bloch-head Former Tutor to the President of the United Cigar Stores [under a B/W image of a black bearded man with an extended arm] THE PROFESSOR ON MARCH 12th, F. Orlin Tremendous disappeared. He was the editor of Flabby Stories, so it might have been for the best. Still, it was strange. The following morning marked the unaccountable vanishing of Leo Margulouse, editor of Monstrous Yarns, and Hugo Tahellenback, pilot of Asinine Tales. Immediately the fantasy world became greatly excited, although it must be admitted that nobody else gave a particular damn. When, on March 14th, several others editors disappeared, the world was agog. Farnsworth Wrong, editor of Worried Tales, and Mort Weisenheimer, of the staff of Awful and Putrid, were both missing. Even Corwin F. Stinky, infant editor of the fan magazine, The Chorus-pondent (now combined with Pleurisy), had vanished. To make a long story worse, and all seriousness aside, every fantasy editor in the country was gone. They were not at home, nor at the office, nor in a turkish bath. Searchers turned away from the morgue, disappointed. It was a nine-days'-wonder in the world of pulp magazines. Then new editors were appointed for the fantasy books by a group of competent alienists, and the old were gradually and gratefully forgotten. But meanwhile the six errant editors were still alive and---like all editors---kicking. But where were they? Guess. No---that's wrong; and beside, it isn't nice. Guess again. No. Give up? I thought so, you dumb cluck. They were on the moon. How did they get there? I sent them there. Yes, I. Heh heh heh heh! As I write these lines I am gloating. Burp! Hm-m-m. Maybe I'm bloating. Anyhow, I sent them. My motive? Revenge. The month before, I submitted a story to Farnsworth Wrong entitled A Journey to the Moon by Canoe and Whiffleboard. He rejected it as impossible. Mr. Stinky even had the nerve to declare that "a trip to the moon is impossible and you know it." Such crust---and in sciencefiction, too! When I received my last rejection slip I saw red. It was a blue slip, so I went to the oculist. He prescribed glasses. So I went into a tavern and had several. It was there that my idea was born. I would get revenge! A trip to the moon impossible, eh? And they rejected my masterpuss---my fifty-three word story, over which I had sweated so many months!...It's about time you took a bath, Bloch-head....Who said that?...The money from my story was going to send me through Harvard! I guess I went mad, for---I kidnapped the editors. Wrong was the first. I caught him with a butterfly net. Then I sprinkled salt on the tails of Margulouse and Tahellenback. Under the name of Albert 12
Saving...
prev
next
WHAT EVERY YOUNG GHOUL SHOULD KNOW by Professor Robert Bloch-head Former Tutor to the President of the United Cigar Stores [under a B/W image of a black bearded man with an extended arm] THE PROFESSOR ON MARCH 12th, F. Orlin Tremendous disappeared. He was the editor of Flabby Stories, so it might have been for the best. Still, it was strange. The following morning marked the unaccountable vanishing of Leo Margulouse, editor of Monstrous Yarns, and Hugo Tahellenback, pilot of Asinine Tales. Immediately the fantasy world became greatly excited, although it must be admitted that nobody else gave a particular damn. When, on March 14th, several others editors disappeared, the world was agog. Farnsworth Wrong, editor of Worried Tales, and Mort Weisenheimer, of the staff of Awful and Putrid, were both missing. Even Corwin F. Stinky, infant editor of the fan magazine, The Chorus-pondent (now combined with Pleurisy), had vanished. To make a long story worse, and all seriousness aside, every fantasy editor in the country was gone. They were not at home, nor at the office, nor in a turkish bath. Searchers turned away from the morgue, disappointed. It was a nine-days'-wonder in the world of pulp magazines. Then new editors were appointed for the fantasy books by a group of competent alienists, and the old were gradually and gratefully forgotten. But meanwhile the six errant editors were still alive and---like all editors---kicking. But where were they? Guess. No---that's wrong; and beside, it isn't nice. Guess again. No. Give up? I thought so, you dumb cluck. They were on the moon. How did they get there? I sent them there. Yes, I. Heh heh heh heh! As I write these lines I am gloating. Burp! Hm-m-m. Maybe I'm bloating. Anyhow, I sent them. My motive? Revenge. The month before, I submitted a story to Farnsworth Wrong entitled A Journey to the Moon by Canoe and Whiffleboard. He rejected it as impossible. Mr. Stinky even had the nerve to declare that "a trip to the moon is impossible and you know it." Such crust---and in sciencefiction, too! When I received my last rejection slip I saw red. It was a blue slip, so I went to the oculist. He prescribed glasses. So I went into a tavern and had several. It was there that my idea was born. I would get revenge! A trip to the moon impossible, eh? And they rejected my masterpuss---my fifty-three word story, over which I had sweated so many months!...It's about time you took a bath, Bloch-head....Who said that?...The money from my story was going to send me through Harvard! I guess I went mad, for---I kidnapped the editors. Wrong was the first. I caught him with a butterfly net. Then I sprinkled salt on the tails of Margulouse and Tahellenback. Under the name of Albert 12
Hevelin Fanzines
sidebar
