Book Two Letter Fifty-Two

Dear Smok,

If this parchment smells vaguely of pine sol and brimstone detergent to you, it certainly should, as I had to sneak this letter out of the prison with the laundry run. Also, you’d better eat the courier pigeon that it came with as I had to transfer a hefty sum to its hoard account for its pains. I don’t like loose ends for reasons you’ll find out soon.

             For the moment I am still imprisoned with your confounded uncle Scaligar the serpen7tyu6yu68jhh78ych7gurh7846wuj nvjhsethbt4hi!!E@#%%$GBrhyhvrh. Hmmm, subtle venting of spleen is a lost art.

            The cell conditions would have been bad enough without my brother extenuating it to the depths of hellfire. We are fed twice a day, though many of the guards were sparsely educated and usually mix up on the number of meals, often calculating in negatives. But this is the very least of my adversities as I have trained my body to survive the very peaks of bodily maltreatment I ate the mold Smok, MOLD!

            Interior decorating is also sadly lacking. I am allowed a small mound of pennies to sleep on, a Damsel-In-Distress Humane Huggie with Real Life Blood-Curdling Scream^TM, and a small mineshaft in the north-east corner for bathroom purposes.

            As fi the cell wasn’t small enough, I must split it with your uncle Scaligar, forcing me to wake up to his awful bedroom habits. He has 75.5 ways to scratch himself with his tail while sleep talking about some of his worst date nights.

            I shall only briefly stop on his personal hygiene, or B.B.O. as I like to call it, Berry Berry Offul.

            We have gotten into several fights lately over many disputes, my attempts at slipping air-fresheners under his sleeping mound, him taking too long on the mineshaft, and the very worst, his attempts at including me in games of tic-tac-toe.

            I must admit, I have gotten rather emotional about my incarceration, having never been imprisoned before double negative Trubodox and I’ve got the records to show ieeeeeeeet moving on.

            However, I have overcome my softer nature and have cooked up a brilliant plan, unfortunately involving Scaligar, but fortunately involving explosions.

            I cannot outline it to you now for fear of interception of my courier pigeon (remember, eat him! He knows too much), merely remember this day as the day you received a pongy letter from a great strategic genius who you are fortunate enough to share genes with.

            Bye for now Smok, this letter is as long as the undershirt it’s getting tucked into, so I’d better finish up.

            Your genius uncle,

            Trubodox the Scarlet       

P.S. No doubt Scaligar has asserted channels of communications through his KP attachments, so I will allow him to tell the tale of our escape, as by the time his letter will have reached you, we’ll be on the run.

P.P.S. and I’ll take it up from there.

P.P.P.S. Getting a longer shirt, there’re a few more things I need to write.

P.P.P.P.S. Medium, Large or Blimp?

P.P.P.P.P.S. Never mind, this quill's ru  i g dry, and Scaligar ne ds to u e the min  sh ft.