My dearest, most eloquent and mastering nephew,
It has come to my attention AAAAAHhdh no no no heeeelp rghthefhrgrhi saaaaaaaaack...... The previous debacle of illegible scribbling was due to my excitement after the first line’s writing, as five Draconian lawyers appeared in a truly demonic and sinister fashion with explosions of sulfurous perfume and gaseous concoctions and began pelting me with innumerable objects, including hydrogen cyanide (apparently available from ages three to a thousand at Drakemart), several styrofoam sombreros, and a beached whale, whose origination point I am still contemplating, all the while yelling and cavorting on about some ‘wording copyright’.
However after a short span of time I made to clear to them that I would never again, on my oath as a wood pigeon, write down whatever they were attacking me for. They promptly stopped beating me about the body with their various arsenals and disappeared once more out of the cave in a sibilant explosion of beauty accessories.
Anyway, on to the continuation of my missive.
It has become apparent to my notice that my living space, namely my cave and its surrounding range, has gone slightly to a small cast iron or lead container mainly used to cook various soups and stews, that is to say; to pot.
I have salubriously contracted several work-Dragons to renovate, enervate, and innovate
Trubodox's my estates.
I have come upon the realization that
his my living
space is sadly lacking in modern inter-decorating. Taking it firmly in claw, I
began disposing of several objects both uncouth and overrated.
The priceless wind chimes were to first to go (so 70s), next I defenestrated a choice selection of furniture, jewelry, weapons, and several pieces of ceiling, in fact as I am writing the postage, I am sitting down after a particularly rigorous and most tiresome episode of renovating.
I think my decisions have been made perfectly, such particular use of logic, such excellent wielding of my cerebrums greater faculties, etc,, the fact of the distant wails of despair that my ears documented so often, is beside the point, I also believe that hgerivjklf45jvnfgkndvko89jjgAGERGtjjhgnhnmjhhAAAgyutgnkpoiuytrewqasdghhhrv
I'm back suckers….
I'm back suckers….
I've tossed out that mangy excuse for a throw rug, and reinstated myself into my own AAAAAAAAAAAAGHGHGGGGG what did he do to my wind chimes?! My chandelier!
As this is a G rated letter, I shall not go into the episode of intense displeasure I momentarily sank into. Let my just say that the fire carriage was unnecessary, mayonnaise is a legal projectile, and that the square dance of hate gives you leg cramps.
And anyway, nothing even happened, did it. Of course just a little stray ink.
Your innocent uncle,
Trubodox the Scarlet
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------The letters have begun anew…..three days down, four to go.