http://www.thehillsarealive.com.au/how.php
Dear Farmer,
It is with huge and unmitigated regret that I must inform you of a universally confounding and immutable injustice that has come to my attention. My good and true friend Simon Ward has procured a festival pass on my behalf; an undertaking to which I will forever be indebted. However, through no fault of his own Mr Ward, in his efforts to affect the same favour toward another that also considers him true and good, has found himself in a pickle.
On this harrowing day, the last day for initiating the festivals passable few, Mr Ward made haste t'ward the only porthole he knows where ones passability may be sanctioned, the notorious "Intertubes Cafe!". It's here that Simon found himself in the pickle. You should know dear Farmer that in explaining Simon's being in the pickle I will also explain the significance of the pickle. The pickle, in which Simon found himself, owes it's existence and significance to a dedicated bowlegged pigeon smoking farmer residing in the district of the afore mentioned cafe.This farmer found himself standing outside this same cafe oblivious to the ensuing pickle. Simon in such haste as to surround himself in roady dust and improbabilities, came flying round a country corner at a rate of miles well in excess of ludicrous. Heading head long for a pickle he could not know he would find himself in. Simon flapped in altruistic fury so blinded by will and intention that he would never see a dedicated bowlegged pigeon smoking farmers farmer standing by his trailored tractor, not surprisingly, thinking about a pickle.
The farmer, startled ever so mildy by the improbability of an altruistic ante-masochistic flapping tasweigan screaming toward a pickle, realised quickly that by flapping his arms a man might never take off and therefore not clear a trailered tractor blocking his way to the Intertube Cafe. The farmer, never one to let a man get into a pickle and hoping to avoid his own pickle ran bowlegged into the path of our Mr Ward and of course our Mr Ward, not wanting to injure a dedicated bowlegged pigeon smoking farmers farmer by way of collision attempted to swerve away from our dedicated farmer. Now by swerving to miss a dedicated bowlegged farmers farmer smoking a pigeon one might expect the extent of ones pickle had been reached. However, in the process of swerving and contemplating the bowness of the legs of a dedicated pigeon smoking farmers farmer, Mr Wards probability became entangled so quantumly that his flapping actually lifted him off the ground. So high was he that the dedicated bowlegged pigeon smoking farmers farmer thought he might clear the trailored tractor that, it is becoming clear, is the source of the pickle.
It's a well known fact in the district of the Intertube Cafe that once quantumly airborne one mustn't contemplate ones airborness, which of course Mr Ward could not have known. So, of course in his not knowing and while directly above the trailored tractor Simon contemplated. And of course immediately lost his airborness directly over the trailor of the trailored tractor into a ginormous pickle! The ginormous pickle being the farmers pride and joy, not to mention his source of notoriety in the district in which he lived.
Being so important a pickle the farmer put out his pigeon with his big toe and called the local sheriff. The sheriff, a diligent man, arrested our Mr Ward for illegally being in a pickle and had him incarcerated. Therein dear Farmer lies the injustice of which is the basis of my plea. My plea to your sense of reason that in spite of his utmost efforts to secure a festival pass for his friend Simon could not get to a place in which to order one online in time.
If you might find it in your heart to release a single pass into my keeping I promise to stay well out of any pickles you may have.
Yours sincerely,
James Roy.
