January 5th
Dear Dewey, Chewey, Huey and Mr. Tsuwey (or however you spell your name):
This is to inform you that your client is a psycho-neurotic, back-stabbing little bit of fluff with no morals, who hangs out with musickians who cannot count beyond four, five on a good day with a decent drummer.
Speaking of, I cannot believe this woman of decidedly plebian taste found nothing to admire in the percussion section of the London Philharmonic, not to mention that touch spéciale of Babatunde, guaranteed master of the call of the groin (i.e., grinding pelvis). I thought for certain she wouldn't be able to resist Baba's djembe, hippoheavipous lap dancer that she is!
When you communicate with your client, tell her I was lying about her rear not being too broad. Be sure not to forget to tell her that. She will come out of hiding, spitting and clawing like the cat devil she is.
Determined to cut off her head,
Edward Beastly
