Why are you being so stingy?”, Sobakevich demanded. “It’s cheap at the price. A rogue would cheat you, sell you some worthless rubbish instead of souls, but mine are as juicy as ripe nuts, all picked—they are all either craftsmen or sturdy peasants.” Dead Souls – Gogol
Whenever I get a submission from Bento, no matter how outre or even obscene the content, he always signs off with, “Should you have any queries, or wish to discuss the matter further, please do not hesitate to contact the undersigned.” Which I think is lovely. Yes, I definitely do wish to discuss further the idea that Rockingham should have a crime fighting (or should that be crime retardant) penguin. There is no subject I would be more eager to discuss further with the undersigned. I assume Oscar will be undertaking Colin Barnett’s new bong confiscation project Bento?
Gogol wrote Dead Souls as the work that would redeem Mother Russia. Who is to write Rockingham’s Dead Souls? Tim fucking Winton? Who is to be Rockingham’s Chichikov? Mark fucking McGowan? The most remarkable thing is that if you substituted Rockingham for backwater Russia, the novel makes even more sense. The second most remarkable thing is that I’m not even drunk while preparing this!
Russia! Russia! Rockingham! Rockingham! I see you now, from my wondrous, beautiful past I behold you! How wretched, dispersed, and uncomfortable everything is about you…
Oscar is dead by now, right Bento?