Letter to the Programming Director

To Whom It May Concern,

I remember a time when a man could watch a movie. During commercials, that man could be soothed by a commercial that would try to sell the movie-watching man a Compact Disc (which is a medium used for recording and listening to digital music) created by another man playing a woodwind instrument. That sweet woodwind was a flute; a PAN flute, if you will (Will you? Oh, you know I will!) Zamfir, where have you gone? Your woody uttering’s were like salve on a wound; like a cool breeze on a hot summer’s day; like chocolate cake in a fat man’s bloated belly. The quieting nature of your wavering notes could bring an entire nation to its knees in awed reverence of your beautiful songs. Every song on that Compact Disc (CD, as the kids say) could be called “Shhhh!” and no one would question you. Even now, I’m trying to make less noise with my typing fingers in tribute to the beautiful music you once made and sold commercially on channel 11 during the Sunday Movie Matinee; and what better channel? There are 11 angels in heaven, as there are 11 reeds in a pan flute! The comparisons are never ending! (EDITORS NOTE: References to pan-flute structure and composition are purely fantastical.)

Zamfir, come back to us. The world needs a bard; a player of flutes. A panner of…pans. Channel 11 is a dark wasteland of hellish inadequacy and nightmare landscapes. (EDITORS NOTE: Writer was fired from Channel 11 due to a sexual harassment lawsuit (pending)). The “CD music” sold there now is nothing more than plastic bits of crap, imprinted with the muttered ramblings of disturbed teenagers and whored-up tramps looking to make a quick buck (EDITORS NOTE: Writer was fired from Channel 11 due to a sexual harassment lawsuit (pending)). Please shine your light on us once again, Zamfir, I implore you. From the depths of my own personal hell, I implore you. Take your pan flute and tap us all on the head in turn, and make us whole again. Only you can pull the earth from its current path of impending doom; you and your delightfully reedy notes of hope, optimism and longing.

If not you, Zamfir, who?

If not now, Zamfir the wise, when?

Zammy! Zammy!

Sincerely,
A concerned citizen of “Planet Zam”

(EDITORS NOTE: Writer is currently in custody and undergoing psychiatric evaluation. Zamfir could not be reached for comment)