Every morning at WBM HQ we receive a brief complaint from the postman who has grown tired of hefting the myriad bags of fan mail up the eight hundred and twenty two steps to our offices. Apparently his doctor has told him he's developing severe scoliosis. "Well," we tell him. "It's not our fault our fans bloody love us so much, is it? Come in for a currant bun and a natter and we'll see if we can't sort this out." And he always comes in for a currant bun and a natter and we get it all sorted out and he then goes home for lunch with the wife, who is never pleased because he's filled up on currant buns and natters. As it happens, she recently filed for divorce, citing his "unhealthy devotion to the tallest sketch group* on the scene" in her petition.
But enough about the lives of non-existent postmen and so to the story. A few days ago we received a very interesting letter from an anonymous sender that we want to share with y'all so that we might be able to identify said sender. The letter went as follows:
"Dear WBM
I find you really lovely and wondered if I could join your gang? Here are some facts about my life.
1) I punch myself in the mouth consistently for more than an hour every night. It keeps my lips full and red, and it's a really good workout into the bargain. A lot of people find it a little bit odd, but when I give them my classic Freeze Face they usually see the sense in my actions. It normally takes a day of non-stop staring until they get it. I follow them, just staring the whole time, ignoring my work commitments and basic human needs such as eating and making toilet, because making a point is my number 1 priority in life.
2) I shave weasels. This is a pastime more than anything else. For me, the main thrill is to be found in catching them. Every week I dress myself as a weasel and hide in the rushes. My costume was given to me by my father, who was also a very keen weaseler. This costume is my secret weapon. I wait, sometimes for hours, until a weasel comes my way, and then BHAM! I trap it between my hands. For a minute they don't mind this embrace because they think they're getting a nice cuddle. But then they smell all the ketchup on my hands from the waffle sandwiches I like to eat for breakfast and you can actually see the realisation on their little faces - I mean, what self-respecting weasel would eat ketchup for fucks sake?
I place the weasels into tennis ball tubes that have been carefully adapted to allow oxygen in and carbon dioxide out. Basically I drilled a series of small holes into the lids. I drilled the holes in smiley face shapes, so the weasels know I pose no threat.
When it comes to the actual shaving, I use a Gilette Fusion Pro-glide razor. Often I'll shave a pattern into the weasel's back, usually a secret symbol of my own devising. The main secret is, these symbols mean nothing.
3) One of the most poignant things I ever saw was my arch-nemesis reaching into a cupboard to retrieve a teabag. I realised in that moment she was just like me, because we both have the ability to reach.
Please contact me if you want me to be in your gang.
Love, Your Biggest Fan xxx"
Unfortunately there were no contact details. So if this sounds like you or someone you know, please contact us on Facebook or Twitter (@wevebecomemango).
*Unofficial fact from the WBM archives.
