To the editors:

I suppose the best way for me to respond to Terry Brennan’s most recent ramblings about my work (Fourth Annual Chance Dance Fest at Link’s Hall review; August 20) would be to make a dance. Lord knows I consider exacting my revenge with this option three or four times a year now. But why waste precious time, energy, and money choreographing the story of a frustrated critic who yearns desperately for an original, creative thought while sitting idly on a bus whose brakes are about to fail. Making dances is difficult enough without having to dwell on the stench of an unsavory subject.

I could also respond by just running over Mr. Brennan with a bus. While this might be the most efficient way of venting my emotions, it’d be a bitch trying to outrun the police, and no doubt I would eventually tire of choreographing for fellow inmates.

Thus, here I am faced with the option of having to write a response. But what do I say? My medium is dance, not words. Obviously I should leave the holy writ to the critics, be a good little reader, and obsess in silence over my new mantra “funny as hell and completely empty.” In the future, you can be assured that I will leave the “self-consciously bad writing” up to you.

Sheldon B. Smith

aka Radon Daughters