Snowmen

Snowmen are fiendish creatures that rise each and every winter to wreak havoc upon the general public. Their behavior can range boorish at best to outright violent.

The Attack Upon The Manorhouse
The following telegraphic missives dated 27th of December 1899 dispatched by one Mister Nudeador Viking the Third relate the tale of a fairly typical gathering of snowmen.

Can you believe the corpses of no less than three (3) snowmen litter the walks in front of my own manner house? I wired Tammany Hall to inform them of the carcasses upon my walkway and was told a civil servant would arrive between today and New Year's. Am I supposed to sit in my manorhouse and await this civil servant's arrival for the remainder of the year?

The civil servant has not yet arrived and corpses are still strewn rather haphazardly across my walkway.



I am somewhat perturbed at the spelling gaffe committed by my somewhat dunderheaded typist. "Manner house," truly have you no sense Miss H? Though to be honest I am even more perturbed by the inability to edit or post addendums to memos recorded with this service. Which of course I hold Tammany Hall responsible for. Is 10:30 in the morn too early for a delectable hot toddy? Bear in mind I must await the arrival of some Tammany Hall lackey.

Night has fallen and yet the slaughtered wreck of no less than three (3) vile snowman still litter my walkway.

Oh but of course I step out for but a moment to purchase another bottle of brandy and return to find a note upon the door of my manorhouse: "Dear Fellow I stopped by to clear the snowman carcasses but as you were not home I departed. I shall return between Dec. 28 and Jan. 18."

And now the number of slain snowmen upon my walkway has risen to four. A particularly lewd fellow arrived a short while ago. My manservant and I armed with stout clubs summarily dispatched the fellow to Hel's waiting arms. Tammany Hall! Please clear my walkway!



Tammany Hall, kindly disregard my request for a street sweep and instead dispatch the constabulary posthaste. A number of uncouth snowmen have begun to assemble upon my lawn and are engaging in a most violent assault upon my property.

My neighbor, Mister Carnegie has wired me to inform me that he too is inundated with vile snowmen and seeks my assistance. I fear our entire neighborhood has been besieged by these fiends! Tammany Hall! By Odin above send assistance! We have armed ourselves with torches and cudgels, but the snow fiends are too numerous! Ye gods! What was that?

Lydia, come away from that window my dear! The snowmen have begun pulling up paving stones and hurling them at my manorhouse! Good god is that gunfire? It seems that someone has descended upon the snowmen from behind armed with pistols and sabers! I can scarcely believe the fighting that has erupted in my front garden. The snowmen are being assailed by ruffians armed with pistols.



Lydia and I have armed ourselves with rapiers and torches and are going to join in the fray. If I do not return within the hour please wire William S. Preston, Esquire to execute my will.

Though I, myself, am somewhat bloodied and in desperate need of a stiff drink, after rather fierce fighting the snowmen have been expelled. The ruffians mentioned earlier to-night were a group of Irish revelers perhaps more besotted than the snowmen they battled. Together with the lords and captains of industry of this neighborhood, including Mister Wayne dress in garb like a flittermouse, we were able to expel the vile fiends. My parlor is now filled with wounded Irishmen drinking freely of my best cask of whiskey. And my darling Lydia! I have not seen a woman fight more ferociously since I grappled with Cynthia Lauper alongside Roderick Toombs in '83.

Reports of carnage from all boroughs fill the early edition of the major news-papers. In Brooklyn, yard-dogs did their part most expertly. Urchins in the Bronx fought against their frozen foemen defiantly! While we have seemingly beaten these vile foes back, the casualties upon the citizens of New York are astronomical.



I asked Mister Wayne about his flittermouse garb and was told by him that n'ere-do-wells and snowmen are a superstitious and cowardly lot. While I cannot speak for the validity of that statement, seeing Mister Wayne emerge from the shadows clad in such garb gave me a fright...

After a light breakfast of a toast-sandwich and wine I walked the streets of my neighborhood. The carnage that litters our thoroughfares is nigh unspeakable. And where are the street sweeps from Tammany Hall? A most poignant question.

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