April 10th, 2007

Salvete, dear readers!

It is with wearisome hand that I write this editorial, as an ounce of the world’s most expensive and fine-crafted piece of nougat and chocolate is served me on the ivory cutlery from adolescent elephants by my dearest butler Tacito. You see, I feel that I have let you down. No, don’t argue with me, I know that you are quite upset, but I feel that I must forcefully instruct you in the manners of social standings. I understand that you have eagerly waited to embrace my kind and thoughtful words with your scrawny and malnourished arms, even though you cannot understand their meaning. But the lives of the nobility are much different than yours, and I cannot for a second mistreat the trust of more important individuals than yourself just to see to it that you are ‘entertained’. I will not go into details, but let us just say that you are not worth the coal that you can lift.

This issue, Roderick Popplestone’s Trained Slave Monkeys for Educational Beatings, is by far the proudest achievement ever made by the Popplepress staff. A central theme is contrast: emo poems in spring time, idiocy in a magazine made by intellectuals. Also, due to our healthy relationship with Hardy’s Shaving Equipments, Ltd., we can offer an attached, free of charge, razor blade with every sold issue. We aim to please, as always, though mostly just ourselves.

But before you bounce yourselves into an escapade of shaving cuts and emotive poetry, please, take a moment to think of how you yourself can contribute to the mighty force that is Roderick Popplestone. So be it that it may only be monetary aids (even though there is obviously no lack of economical funds, I do say), but all contributions are welcome, especially those of literary character. My editors and I may act in a fairly elitist manner (which derives, of course, from our good families, our high level educations and our superior social skills), but that should not dishearten you! Your works are the blood that flows through the strong and caring heart, this sturdy, beating muscle, guarded by my robust and masculine body with Adamesque ribs and Samsonian chest hair.

And remember, it is always a better idea to go to a swindler than a real doctor, as any swindler is cheaper, more charming and most often a lot faster than anyone I’ve ever met with a medical degree. Also, they have shinier diplomas.

Yours superiorly ,