Sir Hilary Edmund was climbing in the Himalayas.
He wasn’t seeking to climb Mount Everest.
Loads of people had already done that.
He was in search of the Abominable Snowman- that strange creature of Nepalese and Tibetan folklore- the creature called the Yeti.
Sir Hilary Edmund had spent his life searching for monsters and strange beasts.
He had spent time in northern Washington state and southern British Columbia searching for the Sasquatch.
He had spent time in Scotland searching for the Loch Ness monster.
And he had spent time in Hollywood searching for Paris Hilton’s singing voice.
But alas! It had all come to nought.
But this time it was different- he felt. This time he felt that he would come face to face with the Abominable Snowman.
Edmund turned the corner of the mountain trail…
… and there was the abominable snowman…
“Good God,” Edmund exclaimed.
The buttons on the snowman sort of resembled eyes kinda, the carrot on the snowman sort of resembled a nose kinda, and the black felt etching below the nose sort of resembled a mouth kinda, the corn cobs sticking out of the side of the head sort of resembled ears kinda, and the black top hat on the top of his head sort of resembled a black top hat kinda. The scarf tied around the neck of the snowman had colours that were sort of a cross between expressionism and cubism. At the feet of the snowman lay a Campbelll’s soup can personally autographed by Andy Warhol.
Sir Hilary Edmund’s Nepalese guide translated the inscription below the snowman into English for Edmund, “This snowman was made in 1965 by students of the New York School of Modern Art
and has stood perfectly preserved in these temperatures ever since.”
Sir Hilary Edmund trudged back down the mountain again.
He had some idea of how Clementine Churchill must have felt when a modern art sculptor unveiled a bust he had done of her husband Sir Winston Churchill.
Winnie himself had humourously and accurately quipped at the time, “A most remarkable example of… modern… art.”
Clementine wasn’t so forgiving.
After Winston’s death, she ordered the sculpture destroyed.
How sad for the future of good taste in art, Sir Hilary Edmund reflected, that this world’s most abominable snowman hadn’t had a wife.
The End.
Dracul Van Helsing