Letter to Charles Darwin the 11th

Staff note: Early last week we received a handwritten letter addressed to Charles Darwin the 11th. In the same envelope, we uncovered a note requesting that we publish the letter in this newspaper. Notionally, Mr. Joseph does not know the whereabouts of Charles Darwin the 11th, so he has conscripted us as his vehicle.

If you are or are aware of a man called C. Darwin the 11th, please contact us at management@surrealtimes, and we will relay your words.

Letter to Charles Darwin the 11th

By Hank T. Joseph

Dear Mister or presumably Doctor Charles. Your existence is something I’m banking on, considering your Great-to-the-power-of-8 Grandfather’s passing. By the way, I am very sorry about his passing. The 1st was a man of endless wonder and dedication, and I regard him highly for those and other qualities of his. I mean to express my deepest condolences for your loss.

Onward, to the impetus of my writing to you. You! You are the heir to the throne. I come to your castle gates, on my knees, begging your doormen to close their mouths and open their ears. Perhaps you will overhear our bickering and peep your graciousness out the peep hole. Perhaps you will cast a spell on these fellows that will seduce them into not merely permitting my passage but encouraging and catalyzing it by carrying me up the grand circular stairway leading to your study.

I am a short man, Charles, but I have long arms. If you can provide transport, I can reach to the tall trees for you, continuing the work of Darwin the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and et cetera with a level of color and excellence you might be ashamed to be unable to attain by your lonesome. The shadow under your name is a dark one, I imagine, and one that might scare a person like yourself.

But I believe I am uniquely fit to provide you with light, although I unfortunately don’t have eyes.


Born with extraordinarily small eyes — like raisins, I tell you! - I was strongarmed by nature into wearing thick spectacles. These aided me through my young years.

As an adolescent, though, I grew fibrous material from the cubby holes on the sides of my torso just underneath my shoulders. I had terrible headaches also. Were they related? I couldn’t have told you. But a few green sprouts from my pits began it all. Gradually, more sprouts sprouted. But suddenly, the graduality of the growth turned sudden, and forests exploded from under my arms. The force was strong enough to dislocate my shoulders 1000 times over until the day I connected with John Hiemgulf, a sturdy, strong man who cured me of my shoulder pains using his Copyright 2014 Magneto-Transitional Forest-dwarfing Software.

Hiemsgulf does tremendous work, Mr. Darwin. I commend and recommend him whenever a chance to do so arises. In the case that you require relevant services, please direct a cellular phone call to the address (333) 333-3656.

Despite the success of Himsgulf’s treatments when it came to my forest growths, I remained a victim of pressure headaches that I failed to explain until, at my grandmother’s dining room table on thanksgiving, I had a terrible building headache. After a while of this pressure building and building to an unbearable height… just when anything worse would be unbearable, my eyes shot spontaneously out of my face. My spectacles shattered and produced a storm cloud of smoke which eventually cleared to make way for a rainbow overarching our broken-glass-speckled turkey carcass.

My dear brother described the sight to me. He admitted to being terribly confused until, out from the turkey hole emerged two terrified naked midget babies who looked like me and were growing and causing destruction that made my mother huff and puff. The specimens burst through our dining room window and ran to the road. By the time the bus came by, they had grown into young adults and spawned suits, suitcases, and top-hats. One Mississippi.. two Mississippi, and my babies were grown up and gone. And I was without eyes.


That is the anthropology of my eyelessness and long-armedness. Curious, isn’t it? I wonder about your thoughts on the matter.

Regardless, I ought to return to the main road before you get hungry enough to abandon ship.

See Charles, with my condition, I am terribly distractible. But I say this without negative connotation. In fact, in context of the collaboration between us that I propose, I believe my distractibility to be the bread that I bring to our table. Your expertise and diligence, complemented by my figurative wide eyes, could produce great scientific works.

I provide one free sample of my seedlings which I believe are ripe, Mr. Veteran Farmer, for your tending.

Yesterday I was approached by a man with a squeaky voice. He said he was motivated to speak to me by my extraordinarily long arms and extraordinarily short legs, which he said might be the common ground between us that could foundation a friendship. He told me that he had terribly long ears. I told him I was blind. He said he hadn’t known that before approaching me, and that he was sorry.

He said we are both suffering victims of godlessness, and that we ought to confide in each other as acquaintances. I rejected his proposal, citing the fact that my long arms, short legs, and blindness are colorful and not gray.

I wonder of your thoughts on this man. He explained how his ears were so low set, that they extended out from his neck instead of the sides of his face. The cons of this, as he said, include lymph network interference and the amplified sound of one’s own breathing.

I wonder what your thoughts are on the affect on fitness of low-set ears. Get back to me with a formal analysis and I will consider your reply an application for collaboration with yours truly. I consider this letter my application for collaborations with you.

Assuming your analysis in addition to a Maverton Test suggest that a minimum of 1% of your genetic material mirrors that of C. Darwin the 1st, I will happily move into your castle and spend the remainder of my life working as your apprentice.

Hank T. Joseph

P.S. Give my best wishes to the wife and kids, presuming they exist (and presuming you exist).

For more articles by Hank T. Joseph, click here. To establish direct correspondence, email joseph.hank@surrealtimes.net.