I am most perturbed. Disturbed and interrupted, you have inconvenienced me. On the third of this month, a good friend heartily recommended your story “three cows and a little goat”, he said it was a literary triumph, a masterpiece and that you showed signs of undoubted genius. Never has such sorrow been caused by such despicable untruth. My friend, my old dear friend lies dead and bleeding for his devotion to you imbecilic tosh. On reading the first line I broke his arm, your punctuation lost him his teeth and your total grammatical insensibility forced me to tie him up and beat him with a spoon. I wept tears of deep sorrow as I carved his ankles with the bread knife from nothing more than common boredom. The dream sequence finally put a bullet in his head, but not before I’d plucked out his eyes with a coat hanger for indulging your use of extended metaphor. Really, and to think I liked your last story.