Date: Tue, 29 Sep 1998
From: Natalie Jacobs


>The Great Quail, as he is now known, has created life similarly on many continents and >incontinence, as he is known for his Quailspew far and wide. Many people who like him or don't >were actually offwardly sprung by him.

This is true. In my case, a small glitch in the operating system caused a disorder of the optical muscles known as congenital strabismus: i.e. I was born cross-eyed. (I have pictures to prove this.) When I was brought home from the hospital, twenty-six years ago, I caught a glimpse of Nixon making a campaign speech on TV, distorted due to my eye disorder into a creature of even greater horror and hideousness. "FTHAGN CTHULHU!" I screamed in utter anguish. "IA IA MILHOUSE!" But nobody understood me, since I had no teeth.

Naturally, I subconsciously blamed the Quail for this vision of evil, as well I might. Even though the strabismus was eventually surgically corrected, a deep and abiding horror of the Grateful Dead had already been implanted in my infant brain. The neural short-circuiting resulting from my vision of Nyarlothemilhouse was what gave me the ability to shape
tin-foil in myriad forms: but at what cost?

I thank you all for your birthday wishes, and I am especially grateful for the naked mole-rats that Dolph sent (who are, as everyone knows, animal representatives of the Friends of Feg), but I fear it may be too late for me.


p.s. The spontaneous appearance of quail mandalas on Mr. Lang's site doesn't surprise me; it appears to be a computer version of a skin disease known as cortunix bullosis, in which blisters in the shape of quails appear all over the body. It's usually caused by listening to too much prog rock.
Fegs, beware!

Finally, I know why.
And when.
In this unfathomable existence, I did not realize the Quail factor behind it all.
Thanks you, dear friends, for explaining why I always felt aliens had dropped me in Los Angeles sometimes in the late 50s. Now I know that the future sent me to the past, or vice versa, and I am part of a conspiracy so vast I can only hope to glimpse a minion or two. And wht a feg is now has meaning beyond my own pitiful Hitchcockian musings.
I also now understand why I know more about writers than musicians and more about filmakers than writers.
I understand my preference for whacky tabacky at an early age.
I understand the obsessive reading of Joyce's "Ulyssess" and Pynchon's "Gravities Rainbow".
I understand my compulsion to start using a mac in '84 and still be faithful...
It was all planned.
Does this mean I have to become a web designer now?

Be Seeing You,
- carrie -