Dear Fisherman Fleet: Bob's strongest feelings have to do with digital media and the greater digital invasion that plagues our time. First of all, Bob wants to make clear that CDs and downloaded music files are NOT REAL. Vinyl is the only legitimate medium for recorded music. And TAPE is the only real recording medium. This is the issue on which Bob wishes to make his stand. Some call him old fashioned. Some say he is out of touch. Some tell him to grow up.
Let's see what they about you when you declare "Remember when films were real? Remember the days when we went to the movies and they showed a film . . . on a projector!?" Appreciate real films while you can, because like real records, along with every other legitimate analog medium, they will soon be a thing of the past. Now is the time for action, before it's too late! If Uncle Bob does not stand up in support of what is REAL, then who will?

On the topics you mentioned, Bob will suffer the company of individuals with facial hair, including a member of circus devils, but he does not condone it. And he has no stance on the peter pan. But he is compelled to raise his hand of flesh and bone against this digital invasion.

Dear Luke: After careful consideration and study, we have concluded that your question is misinformed. Circus devils is not a force for good OR evil, any more than you are when you dream, draw a picture, write a story, or make poo. But if you are intent on judging, then you are free to deem us musical warlocks bent on the twisting of your mind and soul. In fact we wish to do no such thing, but we can be whatever you like, Jeff. That's the beauty of free thinking. It means you are always free to be wrong. From our side of things, we are just some guys from Ohio who think its fun to make up songs. There is no intention attached beyond self-enchantment. If you wish to go deeper, then consider that we are busy filtering material through our imaginations and using that material to create reflections of the world around us in the form of songs. If these reflections seem disturbing (hence your suggestion that circus devils may be a force for something other than good), then consider that our world itself is disturbing.

Who is responsible for circus devils? We cannot answer that because we don't know. If you must lay the blame somewhere, then it probably rests with the universe. It's likely that the universe intended circus devils, the same way it intended Love and serpents.

Dear Luke: We don't understand your question. After the poor reception of our album FIVE, we decided it was time to bring circus devils to the people. So I says to Bob, "Hey, let's make a record for the PEOPLE. Let's give 'em a tune they can whistle." So Bob says "Fvck yeah." Well, we did our best to make a record that everyone will enjoy, including a girl of your tender age. We don't wish to cause any hardship or pain.

Dear Serpiente: You're welcome. But circus devils is a "glass half full" type of band. We see cultural stagnation as a great environment to work in. Reams of bad music give us the fire to keep making records. I ask you, El Serpiente, is it possible to be happy as an artist living in an age when culture is dictated by businessmen? For us it is very possible, because we have the good fortune to remember a time when culture was more of an organic thing, grown from the ground up. Think of England in the sixties. "The ground" in this case is the ground of the imagination. Our memory affords us the perspective to recognize the hordes of musical acts pushed by the industry today as disposable nothings and bad examples and nothing more. All around us are bad examples of what NOT to do and how NOT to be. Laugh at the terrible parade, my friend. Don't cry. Be thankful that you remember a different time. The youngsters are not so fortunate, so try to give the sucklings some nourishment instead of a plate full of your bitter dregs.

Dear Eagle Welt: This performance warrants no excitement. I submit that the fame of manufactured performers is a reflection of the audience's dim wits and hunger for confection. Britney and her makers are not to blame. It is the people's fault for paying attention in the first place. In the end, time will forget the disposable performers and all their songs. So why not move things along and forget them now? Let today be the day that you forget, and open up a space in your mind for some artistic expression remembered by the ages. Yes, I'm talking about CIRCUS DEVILS.

Dear Captain Smut: A circus devils record is like ayahuasca. It causes nausea at first, but once you get used to it, it's a pretty good trip. The trouble is, most people don't want to take the trip. They don't want adventure in their music any more than they want adventure in their kellogs breakfast flakes. So there's no need for us to be phased by the opinions of critics. They are looking for comfort and a petting hand just like every other baby in the world. To learn to like circus devils, they would need to listen to the songs more than once. Maybe thirty-six times. How many critics are going to do that? For that matter, how many casual music listeners are going to do that? To those critics and music fans who have put their personal comfort aside, we offer our thanks.

Dear Eagle Sore: Your question was a really good question, but we already addressed it. Now please step down and allow others to take a turn.

Dear Edith: Look here lady. You have our permission! Please make us dolls with the heads of old men. In some foreign places old men are considered wise and are looked upon as trusted figures in the community. We know this is a crazy idea, but we want the children to see us this way. The children will want to set the dolls up by their beds and have us watch over them as they sleep.

Dear Larry: We are still known as the old guys that rock. And when our bodies are thawed in the year 2704, we will be known as "the old guys that rock." Captain Beyond is a famous rock group that would not allow circus devils to play with them. However, we did open for two Captain Beyond cover bands. One was called "The Evil Men," and the other was "Myopic Void." The lead singer of the Evil Men liked us so much that he converted his band into a circus devils cover band. But they killed each other before their first performance.

Dear Mr. Von Serpico: We would fight the band Peach Fuzz in self-defense because their music is killing us. We can't get their song "We're Too Young for Love" out of our heads. We are fearful of the possibility that we really like it, but we are not prepared to deal with that right now.

Dear Edgar: Some time ago we were kept as pets by a race of interdimensional beings called the Groons, who live inside solid rock. Music is much richer for these beings, because they hear sound from inside the rock, where the vibrations are more intense. Of all the air-based music they have learned about, circus devils was their favorite. In general, their music is about 700 times better than ours. But we cannot recommend communion with these beings, because they are exactly like humans, only in a solid environment. Their ways are strange to us. We thought they admired us as fans, but they only wanted to keep us as pets. Like humans, they assume the pets they keep love them in return. As we know, pets all over the world are slaves whose spirits have been broken by their captors. Any being who is forced to satisfy the endless emotional needs of another is nothing but a slave. I did not realize this truth until I was made a pet. Today, when I see a human squeezing a little dog and smothering it with kisses, I see a hideous, slobbering demon sucking the soul away from a helpless creature.

Hiya fellas! My pal Chris Devoe and I hope that you don't fight and break up or die, like all the great rock and roll acts. Chris says he likes your records even more than the bible. I would say the same thing, but I don't want to go to the devil. I'm an entertainer too! Maybe we can travel together and play for the heads of Europe and break bread with kings.

Dear Danny: Which one in the picture is writing to us? We pray it's the one seated on the stool.

Dear Aaron: Yes, we did. But not only in the Dells. Visit any derelict funhouse, or any operating funhouse after hours, and you will find us there. Anywhere there are lingering echoes of shrieks of delight mixed with screams of fear, you will find us there. Any time you see a guy dancing to some strange music in his head, we'll be there. When you see primitive people gathered round a fire and dancing, we'll be there too. When you see a child beating out a rhythm, lost in a self-induced trance, we will be there. Look for us in the empty spaces between what is said to be going on.

Dear Little Floyd: Do exactly as I say, and do it as quickly as possible, and in this order. Burn your house down, have your features altered with plastic surgery, change your identity and move to Honduras. These lizard men, or "reptilians" as they are sometimes called, are known for their lavish parties, and they go all out to show the humans a good time. But after the fun is over, the humans are rounded up and the feeding frenzy begins. That's right. You'll be laughing and cavorting one minute, and the next minute you'll be crawling in a deep pool of blood amid the shrieks and screams, searching for your missing leg. There's nothing worse than seeing your own organs and entrails being pulled out and feasted upon while you listen to the screams of your friends and the shrill, high-pitched laughter of these reptile men. I know, because I survived one of these parties! I didn't have my entrails pulled out, but I saw it happen to my friends. Somehow, I managed to escape and found my way to the surface.
Before that terrible night I was an accountant, and a freemason. Now I play in this rock and roll combo. You see how this experience has changed me? Not for the better, Little Floyd, I can tell you that. Sure, those parties are fun while they last, and the lizards have a certain charm, but do you really want to be a living meal for a gang of sleestacks? And these fellas don't even bother to start a fire and cook you up properly. They just grab hold of you and start chomping. Sorry, I got the shakes so I can't type any more.

Dear Steve: As of this moment, we regret to say that there are no plans for a live show. However, the possibility exists that someday circus devils will perform in public. So don't despair.

Dear Mr. Dog: We have taken your message very seriously. But after careful study, we have concluded that your remarks may not have merit. Thanks to the general dull nature of human beings, along with the insidious tyranny of the humdrum, there is a great need for singing groups like the flaming lips. A substantial number of people still exist in this country who hunger for the kind of stimulation that a pet or a friend cannot give. Nor can they get it from the TV (if you can believe that). So they turn to these singing groups.

Consider that Wayne Coyne and his band are filling a void that existed before they came along. Aren't we all created by a void, in some large way? Based on Mr. Coyne's success, he is doing a fine job of filling his void. Regardless of what we think about their music, let's all wish luck to the flaming lips.

Now the reason your remarks may not have merit is because the void that circus devils stands ready to fill is most likely NOT the same void currently being filled by the flaming lips. Therefore, pretending to be in competition with them would be a pathetic exercise on our part. As it stands, the flaming lips have every right to declare "My void is bigger than your void!" I may be wrong, and there may be some overlap, but the label "mass appeal" will probably never be applied to an outfit like circus devils. I know it sounds outrageous, but it's probably true. Nonetheless, many young people are feeling the pain of living without circus devils, and they don't even know it!

When circus devils finds its home in the musical landscape, there we will meet our true enemy. And it won't be some other singing group. It will be an enemy FROM WITHIN. The danger I speak of Mr. Dog is the danger of being sapped of inspiration, and becoming self-conscious. As we all know, self-consciousness spells the end of creativity. It happens to the best of them. It happened to Pink Floyd, the Rolling Stones, David Bowie, Bobby Sherman, Devo, Ammon Duul II, and the list goes on. Some believe it is happening to civilization itself! There are exceptions, like Wire and Scott Walker, and some groups know when to quit while they're ahead, like the Beatles, but most of them shrivel up in the end. Circus devils vows never to succumb to this cancer of the imagination. And to accomplish this goal, we are preparing by having a certain section of our brains cut out. This operation is available only at one small clinic in Portugal, and all three of us have scheduled appointments.

Dear Sean: Thanks to you and others of your ilk, we are now forced to call the 1960's and 70's the golden age of rock and roll. Thank you for providing us with an example of why the golden age of rock can never be retrieved. You may not be aware of this fact because you have no first hand experience of a world where music is anything other than a disposable distraction, but the overlords of consumer culture have taken over the show. And this makes you squeal with delight. Why? Because you are a hamster my friend. . . a gerbil in a cage, waiting for your next food pellet. And when it comes, you believe it's the finest thing in the world, until next week, when you receive your next offering. Where is your hunger for the unknown? Where is your yearning for a sense of magic and mystery? You didn't lose these because you never had them to begin with. The past is full of strange and astonishing discoveries. Why? Because the past is much larger than the present. Much is hidden there, waiting for you. Judging the music of the past based on current standards of production is like judging the quality of the people of times past by the clothes they wore.

Wait, a crybaby old man has more to say. You, Sean, represent the world of the future. A world where people like music, and consume music, but nobody cares about it. A world where nobody left alive considers music their personal mythology. Their religion, even. You may laugh at this, Sean, but there was a time when kids marked their calendars for a new LP release, and felt the butterflies in their stomach when they unwrapped the plastic on the record jacket and then touched the needle to the record for the first time . . . and how they sat for hours in their bedrooms gazing at the album art and reading the lyrics. When a thing becomes available on demand, something is lost. People get lazy and lose a sense of a far horizon. They lose a sense of a frontier, from where new visions arrive. You're right about one thing. One day soon, everyone living who grew up in the musical golden age of the 1960's and 70s will be dead. And so these issues won't matter any more. But I say to the rest of you tender sucklings who may be disturbed by Sean's remarks: Don't despair! Circus Devils is here to make it hurt a little better.

Dear Jovial: We only riled that insect. He will be back for more. Remember, the pen is stronger than the sword as long as the guy holding the sword is not in the same room with the guy holding the pen. And what is the lesson in that? Keep your distance from assholes and insects.

Dear Your War: Men have nipples because God created woman first, and men were modeled after that primary female blueprint. So, in effect, nipples are a design feature that carried over to the male, probably for the sake of consistency. Likewise, the penis is simply an enlarged clitoris with a lengthened shaft. And testicles are temperature-controlled ovaries. The female is the model human, and the male is a modified version, based primarily on his function as a unit of sperm delivery.

Ever since the days of the papyrus scroll, men have controlled the information sphere. Hence their version of the story has been taken as the truth. And hence your confusion about this matter, stemming from the assumption that man was created before woman. Now keep in mind that these facts in no way change the truth. Why? Because he who controls the info-sphere and the media controls the truth. And to ensure that this TRUTH remain unmolested by the meddling of women, men declared long ago that the holy scriptures were in fact written by God himself (a man, of course), and thus not subject to revision. Women tend NOT to go in for this kind of outrageous pretense, which explains why they have had trouble getting ahead in the world. So let that be a lesson to you. Never forget to declare that God is the author of your very thoughts. That way, no one will dare disagree with you. It works for sgt. Disco, and it can work for you too.

Dear Andre: Sgt. Disco here. Your communications have brought tears to my eyes. You and I are now blood brothers. And who would have guessed I would ever call a red russki my brother. As Bobby Sherman once said, The times they are a changing my friend. The Bolshevik is no longer at the gate. The new enemy is the teenager. Yes, ALL teenagers. Not just teenagers from Texas. They must be driven back, shunned and reviled. Remember, you can't trust anyone under twenty.

A member of circus devils here. The band does not agree with the sgt.'s views on the teenagers. We love the teenagers, teeny-boppers and everyone in the jungle juice set. Anyway, the true enemy is in fact some fvckers from the future who are traveling back in time to fvck with us. They think we're funny, and enjoy making hardship for us.

Sgt. Disco here. Don't listen to those circus devil punks. What they don't know is that these teenagers are the same fvckers from the future who are coming back to fvck with us . . . and with themselves! And you can take that literally in some cases. College educated, liberal, urbanite smarty-pants like the members of circus devils never understand just how terrible the human race can be. We are the scum of the earth, my friend! And that includes the Dolly Lama and Dick Springsteen.

Dear Kid Marine: Uncle Bob's origami takes up a big chunk of his day. He doesn't have time for the smokes.

Dear Angela: We are not like the monkees. We don't spend all day with each other clowning around and playing songs. Furthermore, we all live in separate houses. We don't even live in the same town. But you know what? We all live in Ohio. And Ohio is a funny state with a funny name. Silly things happen here all the time. For example, in 2004, president Bush was elected here.

In truth, life around my place is better than a TV show. We have two neighbors who are bachelors in their fifties (Woody Aikers and Les Crandall). They hate each other and fight all the time, which provides us with a great deal of entertainment. Then there is the nice young couple, the Freers, who are expecting a baby. They are perfectly normal, which makes them stand out like sore toes. Then there is our homunculus, who lives with us and keeps us in stitches. Sadly, he must remain caged for his own safety. He's not much bigger than a cat, and we're afraid that if he runs free, he might be killed by the neighbor's pets, or by the neighbors. Okay, okay, he might kill something too.

Dear Sgt. Dingo: You are in for a treat, mate. The song "Love-Hate Relationship With the Human Race" is just chock full of cowbell! But you will have to put this song on continuous play if you want to experience cowbell rapture throughout the day. Sadly, it's the only song on the record that features this magic instrument. I hope this song will give you the solace you require in your hour of need.

Dear Billy: We've no time for sausage or love for animal bits that have been stuffed into a gut sack.

Sgt. Disco here. That's my boy! Sausage from Argentina is my choice. They make a blood sausage that gives me chills just to think about it. In fact I'm dribbling saliva on the keyboard as I type. Keep it coming with more on the sausage topic.

Dear Olympus Mons: You are the first volcano on Mars to declare itself a circus devils fan. We have some regular mountains as fans, and a lake and a hill, so you are in good company.

Plans are being made to broadcast circus devils on various college radio and online stations here in the United States. But on Mars you will have to search the radio dial very carefully. Reception will be sketchy. It's likely that the signal will be drowned out by other, stronger signals containing more culturally rich material, like Peach Fuzz and The Flippies. So I suggest you invite us to Mars. We will be glad to make the trip and play an all request show. All that we ask in return is that you hook us up with some nice martian girls.

Dear Adam: Tim was fired by the sgt. for talking back. One thing the sgt. doesn't abide is sass. After he was fired, Tim made the mistake of declaring the following words: "Hey Colonel Tom, fvck you! I have other fish to fry." This angered the sgt. a great deal.

Since then, tempers have settled, and Tim has re-joined the band and will appear on the 2008 circus devils release, and hopefully on all releases thereafter.

Dear Nan: When Bob cries "It's not me it's the bee," he means exactly what he says. In other words, "It's really the bee, and NOT me."

Dear Johnny: All three members of circus devils along with the sgt. were contacted right away after your important question came in. Here are your answers, and I quote:
Bob: "Fvck M&Ms."
Todd: "Fvck Johnny."
Tim: "Fvck colors."
Sgt. Disco: "At last, a question I can relish. Johnny, you have made me a happy camper on this tuesday afternoon!" (that's all he said before he walked away smiling.)