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,
Scaligar
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