(Ed. Note — for background on this, see Caleb Echterling’s piece over here.)
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Dear Ed Note (if that *is* your real name),
I went to the local bar in Canada to claim your so-called “cold ones” offered in payment for my latest publication. The helpful customs agent at the border gave me directions to the local bar. She even offered to drive me there herself, which was sweet, but she had four tourists to drop off ahead of me, so I declined. After an ass-bruising snowmobile ride, I bellied up to the bar, ready for a cold Molson, or perhaps a selection from one of Canada’s fine independent breweries. Imagine my surprise when the bartender gave me two frozen blobs of meat, compliments of Mr. Ed Note and Twisted Sister Lit Mag.
{*Ed. Note — Make that Ms. Ed Note}
The confusion in my face must have sparked some pity in the bartender, as he explained that the things in front of me were arctic oysters. I’m no expert on molluscs, I told the bartender, but I don’t think there’s any oyster harvesting in the Arctic Ocean. He clarified that arctic oyster is merely a euphemism popular with the locals, and a proper description would be moose balls. Well that sounds like an interesting slice of Canadian culture, I said. Meatballs made from ground moose meat. Might be delicious with a ragu sauce. Not that kind of moose ball, the agreeable fellow behind the bar said.
What the hell was I supposed to do with two moose balls? The bartender’s suggestion that Canadians mostly use them for chucking at their enemies didn’t provide much help. I don’t have any enemies in Canada, and no way am I bringing moose balls back to the States. Then it hit me. I might not have enemies here, but I know a Canadian who has plenty.
The friendly bartender gave me directions to Liz McAdam’s house, and when I showed up with my payment, she pulled out a list of enemies the size of the Manhattan phone book. The process of winnowing down her list to the most deserving recipient took several hours, but we both felt it was worth the effort after delivering two somewhat thawed moose balls through the front window of those lying bastards at the yoga studio.
In conclusion, Mr. Note {*See previous Ed. Note}, thank you for providing me with a once in a lifetime Canadian adventure. However, next time I would prefer not to be paid with moose testicles.
Yours truly,
Caleb Echterling
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(Ed. Note — In compensation for his continued efforts to support our fine publication, Caleb Echterling shall be paid with ten kilos of walrus blubber (very tasty, once well-aged) and a litre and a half of maple syrup. Once Caleb figures out the math conversion to Imperial, he can head on back up. Should be summer by then. Bring your bug spray, British spelling, and hiking shoes.)
(Ed. Note, further amendment — This still kills me, nearly died of laughter. Truly love it. Thanks Caleb 🙂
Caleb Echterling is a man of many talents, cracking the literary world up using the mysterious handle @CalebEchterling. He wishes he could spend all his waking hours playing Q*bert. You can find more of his writing over at www.calebechterling.com — with fine features such as ‘Cheesy Squiddogs’ and a story about a villain who can change American English spellings to British English spellings (which might be a crappy super power, but it sure is funny).
Twisted Sister lit mag 