My dear Smok,
It has come to my attention that the phrase “it has come to my attention that” has come to my attention to be tiring to write. In my next letter, I will employ the use of a different opening line. For old times’ sake, though:
It has come to my attention that you were recently concussed in the Great Bombardment of the year 1938563837927475. I assure you, the newspaper writer was a little out of it when he mistakenly printed that date. I believe he was also concussed, similarly to you. Oh wait! He was and is you! Congratulations, Smok! You have a temporary position at the West Draconian Gazette. Why did you not inform me of this sooner? Your boss, Stagrius of the Flaming Pen, is quite a legend, and happens to be an old friend of mine. When he figured out that my nephew was applying for a job at the Gazette, he informed me.
But seriously, Smok. Why did you not inform any of your uncles? And yes, I may have intercepted your other uncles’ mail to find out if you had told them. But it turned out (if I had hypothetically intercepted mail) that you had not even told Semithino! Why the secrecy? And don’t tell me you got the job because of the female in Management. She’s a bit snooty and way out of your league. I do not say this because
I used to admire her mother but was promptly, both
literally and metaphorically, dumped I wish to impede your social life, but
rather I say this as a veteran in affairs of the heart.
The heart, which is, by the way, a relatively simple thing, as I figured out when improvising CPR procedures on a fallen dragon at the scene of the Great Bombardment of 1938563837927475. Speaking of the Great Bombardment, if you are pursuing a political career, write an article condemning the governments of the known world for not preventing the chaos at the T.E.N.N.I.S. rally. If you are pursuing an author’s life, write an emotional, melodramatic, autobiographical novel about your experience. If not, oh well. I tried to make you famous.
I was there; in fact, I founded the Society for Sprinklers and came up with the idea for Sprinkler Appreciation Day. We had just turned on the sprinklers across the street from the flammable rally, and I was just about to cut a great big ribbon with a pair of huge golden scissors to mark the opening of the Sprinkler Musuem, when chaos ensued. The projectiles being hurled at the rally suddenly began to explode under the influence of the water, and in the resulting panic sixteen dragons were injured; luckily none died.
I have filed a report about the incident and have launched an official investigation as to why T.E.N.N.I.S. was clearly violating international regulations by using the highly dangerous chemical “flammablotamine” on their playing materials, a chemical which is clearly banned from all civilian use by Muddgar’s Treaty of Treddgast. This chemical caused the barren plains of Treddgast to become barren. It destroyed a whole paradise of draconian civilization in a single small skirmish, and here is the T.E.N.N.I.S. organization using it for a sporting event?!
The chief executives of the organization will be prosecuted for this gross violation, and will be fined up to ten thousand gold pieces. They will be lucky not to end up locked in the Prison Isles. And if your uncle Trubodox is not careful, rabid supporter of this sport as he is, he as well will have to pay a major fine and may be sentenced to serve up to six months.
Of course I will not let that happen; as daft as he is, Trubodox is my brother. But he must answer for what he has encouraged. Ratakis has suffered severe injuries. I will not expose Trubodox for planting the dynamite that incapacitated this athlete, nor for bombarding me on my way back to my cave, but if he pulls another stunt like this, I will have harsh words with him; I will remind him both what responsibilities I, as his older brother, hold for his conduct, and what I will do to put him back into line.
-Your gravely disappointed uncle,