April 8th, 1897
Dear M.,
I’m afraid I shan’t be attending the 75th Annual Threshing Bee due to the lack of a reliable matter transporter in my area, and I find the prospect of a nine-day trip for three hours of threshing unappealing.
However, I am looking to rectify the matter transporter situation within the next fortnight.
Until then,
T.
April 17th, 1897
Dear M.,
Perhaps a fortnight was a tad optimistic. As seems to be the case with most mail-order kits, the construction of a teleporter seems to require a second person. To this end, I have been auditioning a veritable slew of assistants.
So far, the applicants have either been petty and backstabbing or alarmingly reverential. While my years with the railroad have made me immune to backstabbing (and given me plenty of handwritten “STAB ME” signs), the tendency of the “alarmingly reverential” hopefuls to display their devotion through insect eating or drunken late night telegrams is very unsettling.
Sincerely,
T.
May 7th, 1897
Dear M.,
Sacre bleu! My alarmingly reverential assistant has absconded with the blueprint for the matter transporter! While the cocktail napkin and writing implement are replaceable, I am concerned that he may attempt to construct “Plan B,” which I had scrawled on the reverse side after a half-dozen absinthe spritzers.
While a majority of “Plan B” consists of stick figures in compromising positions, it also includes a rudimentary “doomsday device.” I had intended to use this “doomsday device” as a vindictive statement to the many critics of my still disassembled teleporter. Not only that, but my cursed French seems to be returning. I had suppressed it early in life (along with my left-handedness) through a combination of prayer and buckwheat. This does not bode well, especially with mon lycée regroupement juste autour du coin.
Au revoir,
T.
May 16th, 1897
M.,
Good news!. My assistant returned around 5 am this morning with the blueprints and a toothy grin full of repentance and insect limbs. I was so grateful for the return of the prints that I completely forgot to have him drawn and quartered.
In addition, I received my long-delayed cruciform device. This integral piece was smuggled out of the Vatican by a well-paid courier who cleverly marked the package “1-1/4-inch Lag Bolts” so as not to draw the attention of customs. Unfortunately, I am still missing the ten (10) 1-1/4″ lag bolts I need. The postal service has told me to expect delays due to a shortage of lag bolts for their own hopper cars. I informed them that this sounded like classic postal service blundering and swiftly mailed an irate letter to my congressman. Hopefully, this will reach him before his term comes to a close (a mere 18 months away).
Hoping this letter finds you well,
T.
June 1st, 1897
Dear M.,
Another setback. I am still missing my crucial lag bolts. I also fear I’ve inadvertently made the situation worse with a stream of profanities directed at our Postmaster General. Informing him that the lag bolts are the only thing stopping me from assembling my transporter and rendering his livelihood unnecessary has brought my mail service to a near halt.
Hoping this letter finds you,
T.
June 20th, 1897
Dear M.,
Success! The lag bolts have arrived!
My assistant and I performed a test run late last night, sending two houseflies through the transporter and delivering them intact 40 feet away in the master bedroom. There seemed to be no physical damage, but upon “arrival,” they flew aimlessly to the nearest window and spent the next several hours motionlessly staring into the darkness.
They are still very much alive, but seem to missing, if not a “soul,” then their very essence of “fly-ness.” Can the ethereal be transported, seeing as it is not “matter?” A troubling question but one which should be answered by my assistant’s teleportation tomorrow evening.
Sincerely,
T.
June 21st, 1897
M.,
A partial success! My assistant made the 40-foot “jump” with no damage to his physical being. Unfortunately, his naively feisty spirit failed to make the trip. Upon emergence, he stared warily at me for a moment before heading to the windowsill to solemnly devour the two motionless flies and stare into the gathering gloom. A worrying development, to be sure.
However, I must try and get some sleep. Should my assistant suddenly return to his boisterous ways, I can expect to be awakened hourly with hisses of “Master!” and enthusiastic bug eating.
Warily,
T.
22 juin 1897
Dear M.,
My assistant is no longer. This afternoon (I overslept) found me greeted by an eerie silence and a badly-worded note stating that he was “off to Europe” indefinitely in an attempt to “find himself.”
I am left to test the transportation device myself. A baffling teletyped error message has appeared, indicating that I must “remove my clothes” before attempting teleportation as the device can apparently only transport “all-organic matter.” Even more baffling is the fact that the device has previously transported one (1) mostly-clothed assistant to the master bedroom and a portion of my laundry to parts unknown (following said assistant’s confusion as to the location of the hamper).
I will run a brief “clothing only” test later today. Should some apparel appear unexpectedly on your threshing floor, please inform me immediately. My name will be written on the waistband of the pants.
Sartorially challenged,
T.
July 5th, 1897
Dear M.,
As I have unsurprisingly received no response concerning my clothing experiment (the postal service is currently engaged in a localized strike, affecting only my mail delivery), I will be attempting to teleport myself to your threshing floor. To increase my chances of a successful teleportation, I will be “traveling” sans clothing.
Don’t be alarmed if I seem “out of sorts” (and “naked”) when I appear. I’m hoping this will be temporary and, once clothed and refreshed, I should be in attendance for the 75th Annual Square Dance and Bachelor Auction. I would imagine the womenfolk in your area might bid a tremendous amount for an underclothed scientist with access to various affronts to God, not to mention la chance de profiter des rapports sexuels très ambidextre.
Until my emergence,
T.
