Well, folks, Hank here – Hank Pickens, again. Just wanted y’all to know it’s time for this lonesome cowpoke astronaut to head out on that starshine highway. Now you might reckon (since I’m an imaginary character, etcetera) that I ain’t got no feelins. That ain’t so. I’m plumb sad to be leaving this here blogville. Lower’n a turkey’s butt on Thursdays. Sure will miss y’all.

But I got fatter chickens to pluck. My pard Loney’s got connections with that Tom Howe feller who says he found him another failed writer. Not as big as failure as him, o’course, but still. Name’s William Saunders from down by On the Blob gulch, past Cyberville Holler. Guess they’re cookin up some kinda wild word shindig and I’m invited.

Says he’s gonna call it The Cosmic Cowadventures of Hank Pickens and Liam Kilgore, and you’ll be able to track it down ‘bout where that other wacky word game is, but first he’s gotta talk to his pal the computer wrangler to fix it up on its own page and all, don’t you know?

Ye see, what they do is get a couple o’ them writerfolk – you seen the type, most generally the kind o’ gent what ain’t got much ‘ceptin imagination and a smile – and cut ‘em loose with a couple of imaginary characters like me and Mr. Liam, and we start scribblin’ letters back and forth, with no idear what’s coming up next. Now I ain’t no great fist with a pen, myself, but I’m hopin that Howe tinhorn will give me a hand with that if need be.

Anyways, y’all take care now, ye hear? Hang on to your scalps and all. Take good care o’ your grannies, too, since grannies is what makes this poor ol’ benighted world of ours keep spinnin.

Your hootin’ hollerin’ imaginary cowboy astronaut and international fella of mystery,

Hank