The Fox Trapper – Letter 9

To the family of Mr. Wilbur Popbottom,

My name is Arthur Sleevington and I am the Sheriff of Charleston, West Virginia. I am writing to inform you of the where-abouts of one Wilbur Popbottom and it may come as quite a shock to you so please, before you read on, have a seat. If you are already seated, you may like to lie down, but I understand if this is a bit excessive.

We’ve burned Mr. Popbottom at the stake. It seemed the only correct punishment for such a heinous, heinous crime.

You see, in the words of Mr. Popbottom, he felt that it would be some pumpkins to sneak into the houses of innocent townsfolk and stab them repeatedly while they sleep. He did this on 9 separate occasions, and after the ninth instance we found him in a nearby barn, passed out next to a blood-drenched knife and a small cage containing a field mouse. We carried Wilbur to the jail, locked him in shackles and force-fed him bread until he had the energy to speak. We believe that he went mad due to malnutrition, judging by the deep, dark circles under his eyes and his extreme frailty.

Wilbur, on the other hand, told me a very different story. During his questioning, he informed me that the mouse that was accompanying him politely requested that he stab the next person he meets. I assume the rodent asked this for enjoyment’s-sake, which is all the more sickening. Wilbur later told us that as the days went on, the mouse, or Claudio is he insisted on calling it, began to get more pushy in its requests and at one point threatened to “not give him help with his shaft” if he did not kill somebody soon. He did not elaborate on what “shaft help” entails, but I fear it is something so horrifyingly perverse that I dare not write it.

And so, with the full admission of the murderer and town morale being quite low after a brutal winter (and the murders), the town board unanimously decided to burn Mr. Popbottom at the stake. For good measure we burned the mouse at a small stake. It was rather amusing, actually. We used a small pile of twigs and some twine to tie the mouse up. But I digress.

The local paper has dubbed the past few weeks “The Winter of Wilbur.” It is rather catchy, don’t you agree?

I would tell you that I’m sorry for your loss but, let’s be honest, I’m not. I’m actually quite relieved that no one is killing the people in my town anymore.

Arthur Sleevington, Sheriff of Charleston

The Fox Trapper – Letter 8


Oh, amorous babe o’ mine, I am in love with this “artist’s lifestyle” which I am currently leading. The paper is asking me to deliver to them a cartoon thrice weekly, which means that in order to heed your advice and be drunk all the time (so that my art may excel into realms which it can not whilst sober), I have been on an overload of creation and ingestion.

I can not wait for you and Claudio (the mouse, not my brother) to come home to Windsor. Although, my dear, know that I am not the same Eliza as I was before you left. This Eliza is in high demand, and you must get accustomed to my frequent indulgences, alcoholic mood swings, lash-outs from a creative block in ideas, bottle smashes, and vomits. Of course, my love will still be there for you, albeit a bit hungover.

In order to get you used to our new lifestyle, I have included my schedule:

Sunday, Monday, Thursday – Drink from Dawn until Dusk in order to create a vivid Cartoon.
Tuesday – Drink in the morning. Attend The Meeting of Ladies for the Creation of a New World (going to Adeline’s place to indulge in alcohol and occasionally illicit drugs).
Saturday – Spend the day with Wilbur, the love of my life…while CORNED!
Wednesday – An entire day of rest and slumber whilst I recuperate.

As you can see, I have scheduled us for Saturdays. You always said those were your favorite days since the wildlife seemed more awake and easier to talk to. I have not forgotten you, my love.

In fact, if these cartoons allow us enough financial stability to wed, and live harmoniously together, I plan on having such a lavish estate with a beastly amount of acreage so that you may commune with the wildlife.

Also, our estate will have a “Drinking Room” which locks from the outside, so that my alcohol-induced states of extreme violence and swearing will not interfere with our love!

See, Wilbur, I have got it all figured out. Now I just need you to get your sweet rump back home to Windsor!

As for your letter, I am glad you left that worthless camp full of fox murderers and doctors who wouldn’t know how to diagnose Adult Onset St. Vitus Dance if a medical book on diagnostics was right in front of their pathetic noses! My fury for these men is at least triple the previously highest fury this world has ever seen! My rage makes wars seem like baths, and I wish I could slaughter them all and drain their blood into my morning cup of Scotch.

That being said, please be careful on your long and arduous journey back home. My lips will be well-wetted by whisky and awaiting the lovers lock that is your lips pressed against mine. Once you arrive, I do believe the whole world will hear how loud I will passionately shout your name. I had begun a practice of practicing this shouting; however, I was told by local law enforcement to cease under the penalty of being “hauled to the Looney Bin.” I held back my desire to murder those men who dare think they could tell me what to do all for you, my love. Making love to you, Wilbur, on top of a pile of the blood and corpses of our enemies is the thought that lately has been getting me through the day. First on the list to murder are these so-called officers of the law which I speak of. Next will be the doctors and men on your fox adventure. I do not have a third yet, but lately I am very easy to agitate and fantasize about murder, so I am sure it will not be long.

Be safe, Wilbie! I love you so much, and I anxiously await your reply.


P.S. I have included a copy of my latest cartoon published in the paper. Your love for animals inspired me!

The Fox Trapper – Letter 7

To my oft-inebriated love Eliza,

Claudio and I have made the decision – we’re escaping this horrid encampment. I can tell from miniature companions squeals and shakes that he is trying to tell me that something terrible is going to happen to me. I fear the men have grown tired of me and my “antics,” as the captain has called them. One evening about a week ago one of the men caught me yelling “BEWARE! BEWAAAAARE!!” off into the forest and they now believe I’ve gone mad. The camp medic has diagnosed me with an adult case of St Vitus Dance and they have quarantined me to my own personal tent. What fools, the only disease I have is my amorous feelings towards my furry friends. That and my recurring case of Crimpers Pelvis.

I must say, my dear, that I am extremely impressed by the enormous amount of progress you have made in your art. Dare I say it, maybe you should be inebriated ALL the time! The results are in plain sight, you perform much better under the influence. Alas, if only MY expedition had left for the wilderness to get Corned, I would not be in the sad state I am in now. Even being permitted to get corned would help ease the pain of being kept in this stuffy tent.

Claudio and I plan on leaving the encampment tonight under the cover of darkness. I shall send this letter and then prepare for the long journey through the woods. Eliza, it will be a long, arduous journey, and I am fearful of what evils await me on this trail. However, the thought of returning to your arms back home in Windsor is my last glimmer of hope. Embracing you with all my might while enjoying the scent of a large breakfast as well as a bit of licorice emanating from your golden locks. Pressing my lips against yours and becoming slightly inebriated from the whiskey on your breath. Seeing your brother over your shoulder giving me the subtlest of winks. This is what I travel for. THIS IS WHAT I LONG FOR!

If you wish to reply, I shall be headed towards Charleston, West Virginia and will check the post office upon my arrival. Please Eliza, pray for my whiskered ally and I.

Until I am wrapped in your arms once more,


The Fox Trapper – Letter 6

To my Wonderfully Wondrous Wildly Waggish Witty Wilbur,

Dearest! Perhaps it is the large pull I just took from my newly acquired and constantly nearby flask talking, but firstly, I am going to discuss me. I am proud of myself! The papers loved my satirical cartoon, and printed it in their well-respected pages. I have attached the page containing my cartoon so that you can continue to be proud of me. Now who will call me “Eggy Eliza,” or “Tooth n’ Holes”??? The answer, Wilbur, is NO ONE.


As you will be able to tell once examining, I worked long and hard on this. The drawing deals with my favorite subject of late: alcohol. I used your absence in the wilderness as an inspiration. Honestly, Wilbur, I did plan on making the cartoon a biting satire of man’s need to control the world around him. I was hoping to include pro-fox messages, but the aged whisky got the best of me when it came to writing.

Now, I know what you will ask, Wilbur, and yes, I was corned when I wrote this. Inebriation is such a wonderful muse. The Girls and I are working on a drunken masterpiece: we will drink until lavishly corned, then start drawing and writing. So far, the work contains a mustachioed gent with biceps in place of facial hair.

Onward to whatever it is you wrote. What was it again? Let me look. Oh! Yes. That Claudio mouse of yours is some pumpkins. He is a very impressive fellow. Regardless of your failing health, lack of nourishment and interest in the undertaking, and the hazing you receive from your men, I do believe you should bring Claudio back with you. I will leave out some bread and brandy (my breakfast these past few days).

Because I yearn to make things right, I had showed The Girls the paragraph in your last letter relating to your not-creepy friendship with my brother. Adeline may yet again need her love seat reupholstered. There was much laughter, to the point of urination. Also, a few of us vomited. But, to be fair to you, I assure you it was merely from our partaking in much Vodka and then finding wild mushrooms to eat.

You had mentioned running away, and I believe think you should do this! Nothing fires up my blood more than the thought of seeing you come up on the horizon of these Windsor lands, taking you in my arms, and then over to a bedroom so that we may fornicate.

Excuse my boldness, but I’ve learned not to hold things back anymore. Either that, or I partook in too much opium yesterday when Beatrice brought me to a secret den.

Right, by the way, do NOT tell anyone of that secret opium den! It would be a shame if I were once again forced to live in a world not softened by drug usage.

I will keep my eyes on the horizon and wait for you, my love. Oh, and I showed Claudio your letter, and he wanted me to tell you that he misses your firm hands placed lovingly around his shaft, and that he wants you to come back to Windsor soon so that you two may continue driving the hole.

Please keep me informed of your health, and the possibility of you escaping back to Windsor. I shall be waiting here for you with one arm outstretched to the limits (I need the other to imbibe).

With a love so powerful it makes the very government of our beloved country look like a tea party,


The Fox Trapper – Letter 5

To my foreverfully astonishingly gorgeous Eliza,

There’s a hole in my heart that goes all the way to Savannah, Georgia. It was merely a pin-prick the early morning I bid you goodbye and left Windsor, but it has now grown to the size of Ol’ Mr. Sleepinberg’s cesspit. This void can be filled by one person and only one person, and that person is you, Eliza. All I would need to fill it is one smile from your mostly-still-intact set of teeth. I’m none too sure how long I can continue on this horrible venture, my body has grown weak from lack of proper nutrition and each day we travel further West in search of more foxes. I’m not sure how long I can stay up so late in order to save my furry friends, I fear very much for their safety.

My sole companion, Claudio, is the one thing here that keeps me sane. I’ve taught him another new trick! Whenever I poke him with what I like to call the “trick stick” and ask him “Who is the strongest, cleverest and handsomest beast in all the land?”, Claudio screams like a Harpy and bounces off the walls of his cage. What I believe he is saying is “ME! ME, YOU DAMNED VILE SCUM! I AM CLAUDIO, THE MIGHTIEST BEAST OF THEM ALL!!!” Mice are such fascinating creatures.

Eliza my dear, I’m sure what you meant to explain to your companions was that your brother Claudio was assisting me in my attempt to learn the sport of golfing. So yes, my hands were certainly on your brothers shaft, as were his own, as he pressed his thick muscular body against my back and demonstrated how to “put ones hips into it.” I’m sorry, but I do not understand people’s fascination with mine and your brother’s relationship. That is just how men who have great amounts of respect for each other act. Please explain this to your ladies so as to not have them think that Claudio and I have ever intentionally felt each others sweet caress.

My Crimpers Pelvis is still very much enflamed and the blood to urine ratio is beginning to lean more towards the blood side. I just do not trust any man here enough to have them tickle my feet for 16 minutes. I suppose I will just hope to urinate all the evil spirits out of my body, which requires a great deal of extra pushing, but I can tell there is significantly more blood leaving my body, so there is still hope.

Eliza, the thought of running away from camp has crossed my mind a number of times. If only I knew the wilderness better, I would leave now and be back in your arms within a matter of months. Alas, I am doomed to sit, wait, and complain until the time has come to return home. If only the captain allowed me to imbibe in our supply of alcohol like you do so frequently. I’m told it is for “men only,” but nowhere on the barrel do I see that label nor would it matter if that label did exist. Sometimes I just do not understand these men I must work with.

Rest assured though, my dear, that when I return I shall wed the hell out of you. I readily anticipate your reply, tell your brother that I long for his arms the width of tree trunks wrapped around me while he assists me in gripping the shaft correctly.

The golf club shaft.

With all of my unbridled love,

Your Wilbur

The Fox Trapper – Letter 4

To my handsome Wilbur,

Oh, what pains it has caused me that the gentlemen in your camp produced a violent response to my artwork! Never would I have imagined that a drawing of you strangling a fox with your bare hands would result in the lesions on your face you had mentioned. And while I hope no one was depraved enough to cause you the pain in your genitals you mentioned, I must admit I do hope it is that temporary problem over a potentially more serious issue with your bladder.

I am sure you remember that the last time you had trouble urinating, Dr. Binglebittin had diagnosed you with Crimpers Pelvis. Oh, how you loathed standing on your hands for 16 minutes whilst I tickled your feet; however, “the cure must be administered” he said. Perhaps one of your men could help you with this? Try to befriend at least one fellow, if not for anything but to get him to tickle your feet while you stand on your hands.

Regarding the correlation you find betwixt my brother and your pet mouse, I must say that when I read your letter to Adeline whilst imbibing heavily with her fine aged Scotch, she inquired as to whether you and Claudio ever had a physical relationship. I attempted to explain how the physicality of your relationship extends only to friendly sporting events, but due to my inebriation I blurted out “Wilbur’s hands are on my brother’s shaft. That’s all!” Everyone laughed, but I do not think I helped your case. I then vomited.

Even though I had vomited prior to reading your portion of the letter which began “Do not tell anyone of this,” I still feel a sense of remorse for having read the portion of your letter before that. I know you probably intended on this letter being private, but it seems that the spirits give me a mind of my own. I know the doctors have mentioned this is dangerous for a woman to have, but, Wilbur, I must say that I feel strong…POWERFUL even. And, Wilbur…I enjoy this!

When I partake in alcohol, it is as if I am walking in a calming wooded lot, except the trees have been replaced by your biceps. I feel safe, secure, and aroused. My cheeks feel flushed as if I am ridden with fever, but instead I am ridden with giggles. I assume these memories would last a life time, if they were not destroyed every evening by the very alcohol that produced them.

Regardless, I shall not tell anyone that you have been trying to warn the foxes of the impending danger. I know you believe very strongly that you can commune with animals. I try very hard to defend you whenever non-believers call us “loony.” I hope that your journey produces one solid case of this commune that we can hoist above our heads in a stone-like defense against those who question us.

I have made another piece of artwork. I hope this one helps keep your spirits high, and it may, perhaps, help you gain the trust of the foxes; although if the last drawing did not please the men in your crew, I would not show them this. I attempted to show the foxes that you understand their beauty and know how to make them happy by adding shooting stars and a rainbow chasing a happy pot-o-gold.

Speaking of which, I have great news! These alcoholic retreats to Adeline’s estate have paid off in more than just hedonistic pleasure for me: Beatrice has used some of her connections to get a cartoon of mine published in the daily newspaper! Wilbur, I am enthralled. I am currently working on my piece. I will submit it to you, my love, as well, since I know you love my artwork.

I know you worry that my heavy drinking as of late may cause my downfall, and while I can assure you that I only use alcohol both to calm my intense loneliness and make me feel like a stronger person, I can not tell you with certainty that I will stop: especially so if I become well known in the papers. People will expect me to enjoy a drink with them.

I will end my letter now and wish you the best, Wilbur. Know I love you. And, know that even though I love you, I will not tell my brother to keep both himself and his “bristling muscles” strong for you. I am worried that you are already writing letters telling him this. However, if it is any consolation, I have begun daydreaming heavily about you coming back home to wed me. “Eliza Popbottom.” The name alone makes me swoon!

Forever with all my love from my love-filled heart,


The Fox Trapper – Letter 3

To my loveliest Eliza,

I’d like to thank you dearly for your beautiful artwork, it has certainly brightened my mood. I tried to use it in order to gain some respect in the camp, but again I received nothing but a violent response. I displayed the picture to one of the younger gentlemen and declared, “Here! Now you see the great power and regalness of Mr. Wilbur Popbottom! I DEMAND RESPECT!” The following moments are all a blur to me now but I awoke with a number of lesions on my face and a difficulty urinating for the next couple of days. The boy may be only 13 years old, but I swear he is built like a ox-bear hybrid beast.

Eliza my dear, I am certainly not obsessed with your brother, Claudio. I certainly respect his hard-working nature, friendliness, great physical strength, firm handshake, shining smile, Sapphire blue eyes, and chiseled jaw line. However, there is a mutual respect there because Claudio truly appreciates my virtuosic harping abilities. My pet mouse merely reminds me a bit of your brother, with his unending curiosity and ability to melt my heart at one glance. Claudio (my mouse) has now learned a new trick in which he screams like a Harpy and bounces off the walls of his cage when he is hungry. I call it “The Banshee Shakes” and it is truly adorable.

Do not tell anyone of this, but I’ve taken to walking into the woods very late at night and searching for the foxes by myself. When I see one I warn it of the impending danger of the humans who are after their fluffy coats. They seem to take notice of my warnings because when I attempt to give them a “truce” handshake, they run away. I suppose they are too concerned with their lives to partake in the formalities, so I do not take offense.

Eliza, I know you are a smart woman so I am yet to be worried, but please heed my advice about indulging in spirits. You know what they say about alcohol: It’s been the cause of death for all of my grandparents, 2 of my sisters and a myriad of aunts and uncles. So, you know, be careful. It could even lead to you telling many an embarrassing story, such as the plum pudding one. You know I still have a limp from that incident.

I miss you Eliza, with all of my heart. Stay strong, for your man shall be home before you know it. Also, if you feel so inclined, tell Claudio to stay strong (which will be easy for him thanks to his bristling muscles), for his dear friend Wilbur will be home before he knows it.

With all my loving heart,