Gaston Dilmoore: An Open Letter to Everyone Named Steve

April 14, 2006

Dear Steve,

By now you've received the packages, and I can say with confidence that you'll be tickled when you pry open the blue can. It's got mints. Further, I wish to thank you, Steve, on behalf of the expedition for all your warm-hearted letters of well wishing. It's people like you, Steve, that make this business of charting the crags of southeastern Vermont all the more enjoyable.

Very well, Steve, now that we've had that, I wish to offer some pertinent advisory counsel. First off, If you're spelling your name with "ph," (ie: Stephan) you're just off. I can't very well call you Steve if you use a ph in you name, can I? Right, let's pull along, shall we? No more with this silly insistence on spelling preference.

You are Steve. A Steven. It is derived from Steven of Shagalot, who rode from Leeds to Edinburgh with a sack of beef under his coat, trumpeting loudly on his bugle in order to complete a dare put upon him by the Bishop of Newcastle, who made the now famous statement, "Steve, you'll never, ever ride from Leeds to Edinburgh with a sack of beef under your coat, trumpeting loudly on your bugle."

So, you see, Stephan is right out. Unless of course you're related to Randy. His mum named his brother Stephan, and even he insists upon Steve. The tragedy is that he is a true Stephan.

Now, if you're tolerating a Stephan who goes by Steve, you MUST intervene. This may be done using chloroform and a rag. Barring chloroform, you can use turpentine. The object is to creep up behind any Stephans calling themselves Steve and cover their mouth and nose with the soaked rag — just like on TVs Charlie's Angels — where Farrah Faucet would be lurking through a darkened hallway, and a mysterious set of hands would cover her mouth and nose with a chloroform-soaked rag, causing her to feint just before they broke for commercials.

That must be the fate of all Stephans calling themselves a Steve. God speed, Steve,


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