Mizz Prince writes:
> As much as we wish not to alarm you, Dr. Hamilton, we need to remind you
> that on the day VileBoris saw you, he also gathered
... the word you are no doubt +attempting+ to enunciate is "garnered", but
I'm broad-minded and forgiving and will let it pass.
> your scent. It was, after all, a very warm fall day in Raynes Park.
[God, I forgot that -- the Evil Creature +does+ have my scent! Now
where's that Emergency Bottle of Eau De Cologne?]
> Further, VileBoris has proven himself an uncannily skilled
> catflap-enterer. You do have a mail slot in your front door, don't you?
Not to insist on the well-known linguistic ineptitude of Our Transatlantic
Cousins, in the Real World the rectangular hoodjiekapivit found in many if
not all of British Doors is known as a "letterbox" (plural: "letterboxes").
+Not+ 'matelots' or 'maisonettes' or any other deformed pronunciation
thereof.
These are +not+ the same as "cat-flaps" [ask Martie] (which are larger and
squarer and do not come as a standard fitting [thank the Ever Living!] on
PVC doors such as mine).
Many talents, mostly evil, I am prepared to grant to VB, but the ability to
teleport is not, in my admittedly-limited experience, one. Are you sure you
aren't confusing him with Oliver?
(I am, of course, in the purest interests of scholarship, prepared to defer
in this area to The Zimmerframe Abuser From Hell, who has a larger
acquaintance with the Said Creature.)
But if Vile Boris can teleport, and along with his other
all-too-considerable devious skills counts telekinesis and translocation in
his repertoire, I might as well give up now, cut my throat at once
over the sink, and save him the trouble. (No flowers at my funeral please.
Donations to the National Secular Society.)
> more Regrets, etc etc,
At least wear a black veil at my funeral, and try to drop a well-judged (if
insincere) tear.
> Constable Joodles
>
> PS: VileBoris says: "Parcels, shmarcels!"
Tell the schmuck from me to go fricassee his family jewels.
> PPS: VileBoris has also asked us to convey to you his interest in
> high-grade beef mince. Interpret this as you wish, Dr. Hamilton; we are
> merely servants of the Queen and her subjects (cats included).
OK, OK, I'm off down to Tesco already. Sure he wouldn't prefer ground lamb?
An Humble Servant of the King of Shadows.
[Come to think of it, I wonder how VB would cope with those panthers?
Could I call in a favour?
Nah, don't even think of it, Robin -- gods are kittle cattle.]
|