Transcribe
Translate
Pluto, v. 1, issue 4, September 1940
Page 8
More information
digital collection
archival collection guide
transcription tips
6 PLUTO "THE STORY BEHIND OUR COVER" [continuing from previous page] ned in the desert. One time one small, sneaking Arab tried to steal it from its owner of the moment, and got shot for his pains. Unfortunately, the bullet passed thru the painting also, causing the large ugly blotch you now see in the center, obscuring the nose of the space ship. It is too bad the Arab was shot. Now we shall never see the complete spaceship, and this vessel is unknown to us today. We now enter upon the last phrase of the amazing story. Enter the Indian chief, who was not dying at the time, it being many years ago. The old Indian chief was travelling in the desert for his health, and coming upon some Arabs, was allowed to see the painting. He immediatly became interested, and offered to trade some pyramid blue-prints for it. (A [underline]pyramid[end underline] is a place where pirate doubloons and pieces-of-eight are hidden.) Consumating the deal, and happy that he had obtained the best of the bargain, the old chief sailed immidiately for home. High up on his native plateau the old chief contemplated the canvas, and reflected upon the fact that it would be something to hand down to posterity (posterity are the people who live down below the plateau) if it-contained some little momento of himself. Thereupon he sketched in his own likeness, and so skillfully did he do it that today it appears to be an actual part of the painting itself; none but the most educated and versed in the ancient art can tell that the Indian's portrait was not painted into the picture at the same time as the rest of the scene! And thus we come to the present. As soon as the dying Indian chief was safely unconscious, thanks to the many applications of fire-water, I removed the painting from his wigwam refrigerator, wherein it had been kept for storage, and hourneyed back to the plateau in the dead of night, to avoid the posterior people below. Immidiately wiring the editor of PLUTO that I had unearthed a rare treasure, a painting of the ancients, fit for reroduction on the cover, he at once stopped the presses and held up the publication of this issue until the canvas reached him. Now you see it before your eyes in all its glory I thank you. H.P. Pong THE HORROR THAT HAUNTED MADMAN'S MANOR [handwritten]4[end handwritten] (A PLUTO bokk report by that eminent book reviewer of Fantasy Feuds, Oscar J. Stumble) This book is rather difficult to obtain, due to the fact that it hasn't been written yet. The author (Henry Phineas Panhead, Ph. D., Sc. D., W. P. A., etc.) writes his masterpieces by reading fan magazines until the proper pitch of sadistic nauseation has been obtained, then shambling to the typewriter to write a horror story. When not swinging from chandeliers he can usually be found in some quite, cozy corner, industriously hating himself--an occupation in which he is particularly accomplished. At nights he pants eagerly out into the back yard and bays at the moon until dawn. Huh? The book? oh, it's lousy. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Saving...
prev
next
6 PLUTO "THE STORY BEHIND OUR COVER" [continuing from previous page] ned in the desert. One time one small, sneaking Arab tried to steal it from its owner of the moment, and got shot for his pains. Unfortunately, the bullet passed thru the painting also, causing the large ugly blotch you now see in the center, obscuring the nose of the space ship. It is too bad the Arab was shot. Now we shall never see the complete spaceship, and this vessel is unknown to us today. We now enter upon the last phrase of the amazing story. Enter the Indian chief, who was not dying at the time, it being many years ago. The old Indian chief was travelling in the desert for his health, and coming upon some Arabs, was allowed to see the painting. He immediatly became interested, and offered to trade some pyramid blue-prints for it. (A [underline]pyramid[end underline] is a place where pirate doubloons and pieces-of-eight are hidden.) Consumating the deal, and happy that he had obtained the best of the bargain, the old chief sailed immidiately for home. High up on his native plateau the old chief contemplated the canvas, and reflected upon the fact that it would be something to hand down to posterity (posterity are the people who live down below the plateau) if it-contained some little momento of himself. Thereupon he sketched in his own likeness, and so skillfully did he do it that today it appears to be an actual part of the painting itself; none but the most educated and versed in the ancient art can tell that the Indian's portrait was not painted into the picture at the same time as the rest of the scene! And thus we come to the present. As soon as the dying Indian chief was safely unconscious, thanks to the many applications of fire-water, I removed the painting from his wigwam refrigerator, wherein it had been kept for storage, and hourneyed back to the plateau in the dead of night, to avoid the posterior people below. Immidiately wiring the editor of PLUTO that I had unearthed a rare treasure, a painting of the ancients, fit for reroduction on the cover, he at once stopped the presses and held up the publication of this issue until the canvas reached him. Now you see it before your eyes in all its glory I thank you. H.P. Pong THE HORROR THAT HAUNTED MADMAN'S MANOR [handwritten]4[end handwritten] (A PLUTO bokk report by that eminent book reviewer of Fantasy Feuds, Oscar J. Stumble) This book is rather difficult to obtain, due to the fact that it hasn't been written yet. The author (Henry Phineas Panhead, Ph. D., Sc. D., W. P. A., etc.) writes his masterpieces by reading fan magazines until the proper pitch of sadistic nauseation has been obtained, then shambling to the typewriter to write a horror story. When not swinging from chandeliers he can usually be found in some quite, cozy corner, industriously hating himself--an occupation in which he is particularly accomplished. At nights he pants eagerly out into the back yard and bays at the moon until dawn. Huh? The book? oh, it's lousy. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Hevelin Fanzines
sidebar
