Saturday, January 25, 2014

Book Two Letter Forty

The letters are back! The Draconian trio are sending their nephew letters anew, and whether or not he will need counseling because of them is yet to be seen. Presenting, the latest Draconian Letter; fresh from the brain and crisp from the key board!



It has come to my attention AAAAAGHmglrgo 6ghgd laaaaawyersss!!!!! That I hate you.

What kind of nephew would set up his beloved uncle up with the Draconian equivalent of a neutron bomb?!! This date you drafted me into was one of the all time worst experiences in all my living years!

So as to illustrate completely my reasons for the box of TNT I have enclosed in this letter, I shall tell the full story in excellent biographic detail.

The night started out rather ominously, after I broke seven mirrors, found words written in cheese sauce on my cave ceiling, and overheard sinister whispering from my closet, I realized the date was going to stink.

I was mistaken, the date went much farther than the term ‘stink’, in fact I hardly think any word other than several that would require censorship permits could begin to describe the tribulation I went through, simply to please my nephew. Are you crying yet? It gets worse…

Well, the hour came nigh, and I marched to my doom, meeting your choice of date, Darwina of the Single Cell Organism, what kind of a date do you call that?! Probably Yovian born, and obsessed with frogs!

Anyway; after our initial clash, we flew swiftly to the allotted restaurant Luggi’s Flaming Pancake and Insurance Deli, a name that should have for warned me to the contents of the evening.

We were met by an usher who showed us our table, attempted to sell life insurance to me; I refused, then he showed us the menu. All this time Darwina was glaring at me, I don’t doubt she didn’t want to be here as much as I did.

After a pulsating pause, we ordered. I, getting the Puant L’Ail Aoulette, and the Cinder Side Up pancake special, and Darwina asking for the Frog Liver in Mustard, with a side dish of Hash & Tadpoles. Her breath was going to smell magnificent, so I retaliated with a side request of Onion Pancakes, marinated in castor oil, infused with ranch dressing and garlic, two could play at this game.

Eager to try out my new found death breath, I inquired at the reason for her name. Bad move. She began railing about her theories on what she called ‘evolve-ution’ or whatever, that Dragons evolved from frogs! Preposterous, as I told her, I was not a frog with wings, neither did my legs taste good.

Again, I blame everything after this point upon you, Smok. Why didn’t you tell me she played Baseball?!! And the speed of her anger?! She flung a flaming pancake into my snout before I knew what was happening!

Well! I was not be outdone, picking eye-holes in my smoldering mask, she and I began a furious food fight, I armed with my wits, and several flammable prunes, and she stocked to the nostrils with squadrons of pancakes that met and flew through the restaurant, liberally platting every surface with the remnants of the pyrotechnic foodstuffs.

Why the deli’s wall paper was inlaid with napalm I shall never know--although I suspect Scaligar was involved--but my swiftly deteriorating date soon was incinerated by the flaming collapse of the restaurant. I blame the government.

And you also, must take most of the blame. You set me up with that mad female, just because she was your date’s sister! I shall never look at a pancake the same way again, I swear; my scales were red once, now..?...

Setting me up with Darwina, Smok, was like flying to the moon in a paper airplane…was like giving an elephant a china… Was like cladding a house with butter AAAAAAAAGH what is the  cursed metaphor?!

I’ll never speak to you again,

Trubodox the Scarlet Brown and Slightly Slimy

P.S. I might write
        P.P.S. No, I won’t!
        P.P.P.S. Yes; I might….
        P.P.P.P.S. NEVER!!
P.P.P.P.P.S Let's consult the Great Ouija Board…

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