Classy

Dear Suhs and Ladies of the Grand Court in Greater Hamptonsonfordshireborough Upon Newcastle,

Wiggidy-wot?

As you can see by my handwriting, and my choice of ink, I am not accustomed to being treated in the manner so accosted by The Society. I do not appreciate the repugnant event that occurred on Friday last, and I desire and demand an apology. Not only that, but I believe that a reimbursement is in order for the staining of my hand-woven loafers. I can scarcely believe that the entire Society would bother placing a smoldering pouch of canine excrement on my portico, but I can only assume that it was for a malicious consequence.

Furthermore, the Society has not paid me for the damage to my pet feline, Megatron. Why you denuded her, I shall never know, however I wouldst like to be compensated just the same. It is unfortunate that The Society has sunk so low, and that these mischievous happenings require all one hundred fifty of you in attendance.

Even furthermore, I would appreciate it if the Society would stop calling the Pizza Bungalow and delivering twelve large anchovies to my door every hour. It is probably quite a nuisance for them, as are your prank calls to my home. When I hear you say "then you had best catch it" the civilized demeanour with which I associate myself nearly vanishes in a puff of indignation!

In addition, I can tell that you are a "fan" of the toilet tissue industry. I plan to order my butler to dislodge said tissue from my Cornish Game Tree tomorrow the next. I believe the Society has fallen far since I resigned my post as Vice President of Secretarial Affairs.

I must leave now, to do what we rich people do every year at this time: participate in a murder mystery game at a large and drafty mansion, after which I shall attend to my favourite television programme and listen to Beethoven in a tub filled with fine French wine whilst sipping Chinese White Tea, milled from the finest adjective. My butler Larry and the maids all thank The Society for not pestering me further.

Thank you for your kind attention,

Lord Sir Napoleon Classy the Third, Esquire, M.D., Phd.,

Fourth Rank In The Queen's Royal Navy

Assistant Manager at Burger Monarchy

Supreme Diplomat to New York

Inheritor of the Dreamcast Fortune

Vice Assistant Chancellor to the King of Spain

Second Rank in the Queen's Royal Air Force

President In Charge of Secretarial Affairs

Dear Sirs and Ladies of the Grand Society of Personages in Greater Hamptonsonfordshireborough Upon Newcastle,

Harrumph and Snoggleberries!

Mayhaps you have recently received to your person a letter from my "owner", Reginald Classy, who has kindly instructed you to stop terrorizing me? I would like to send a letter affirming this, dictated to my assistant Larry the Butler. Do not be alarmed, I can speak many languages: not just English.

A few corrections are in order. I am not, as Reginald described me, a "she", and I am also disgusted with my name. I believe that these two letters in combination should strike you as quite persuasive as to our design. I must leave now, hoping to not be denuded again, to do what we rich cats do every year at this time: participate in a murder mystery game at a large and drafty kennel, after which I shall attend to my favourite television programme and listen to Chopin in a tub filled with fine French cat treats whilst sipping Indian Milk, milled from the finest cow.

Thank you for your kind attention,

Lord Sir Mittens the Second, Esquire, M.D.

Third Rank In The Queen's Royal Navy

Shift Supervisor at Burger Monarchy

Supreme Diplomat to New Jersey

Inheritor of the Cattigan Fortune

Vice Assistant Chancellor to the King of Portugal

Dear Sirs and Ladies of the Grand Society of Personages in Greater Hamptonsonfordshireborough Upon Newcastle,

Can ya spare a poppins and fo'thpence?

Hello sirs, I am Lord Sir Reginald's and Lord Sir Mittens' assistant Butch. I wish to reiterate what has already been sent by my masters, and would ask The Society to not pester us further with your canine-esque fecal material, whatnot, rubbish, and/or poppycock.

A few corrections are in order. I am not, as Lord Reginald and Lord Mittens said, "Larry", and, like Lord Mittens, I am also disgusted with my name. I believe that these three letters in combination should strike you as quite persuasive as to our design. I must leave now, to do what we rich butlers do every year at this time: kill someone in a murder mystery game at a large and drafty mansion, after which I shall attend to my favourite television programme and listen to the soundtrack of High School Musical in a tub filled with fine French Wahtah™ whilst sipping Indian Coke, milled from the finest bottling plants.

Thank you for your kind attention,

Lord Butch the First, Esquire.

Sixth Rank In The Queen's Royal Navy

Assistant Shift Supervisor at Burger Monarchy

Supreme Diplomat to Alabama