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P.O. Box Paradise. To the knights Sir Laurel and Sir Hardy

Great friends of my childhood.
Of my maturity and my old age.
I extend to you my serious respects.
Thank you for all I have laughed and will laugh.
With the help of your formidable Italian dubbing, you are for me like pastasciutta (that I greatly revere): without you my life would have been worse.

I am not a cheap laugh. I require talent, many of today’s comedians are squalid and even more squalid are those who laugh at their efforts. But, as always in Art (and in Religion), nothing can be stated as an absolute, nothing (and it’s contrary) is demonstrable. So, who has real value is a relative thing.

These two gentlemen were to me like my mother. They gave me certainties while I remained for that hour in the sparkling darkness of that amniotic, dreamlike cinema. I knew that everything was all right, and I would have wanted to remain always like that, leaving the outside world outside.

What a great house you two built in the construction yard, eating nails.
What a poem that song in New York, at Christmastime, under the snow.

Then you died, one after the other, without my consent nor that of the other children.
That was’t very fair.

It was then that we had to begin growing up.
Such a pity.

Yours sincerely