It is obscene to have to wait months for a retort to one of my insults! You have had enough time to ponder upon your doings. No apology can quell the fiery rage that burns deep in the trigone of my bladder. You have left me, here, without but a thought as to how badly your silence may affect me. Oh how cruel a world you live in. How ironic that my victory may come round to bite me in the proverbial buttock.
With a melted heart I sit here on my throne; but triumphant I am not. So I reach out and with some warm, recycled air wish you congratulations on your promotion to rector. May it be the thorn in your side that drives you insane. The very thorn that may bring you back to me.
Dear Professor, I am, forever yours,
Toby (and Mephy)
With a melted heart I sit here on my throne; but triumphant I am not. So I reach out and with some warm, recycled air wish you congratulations on your promotion to rector. May it be the thorn in your side that drives you insane. The very thorn that may bring you back to me.
Dear Professor, I am, forever yours,
Toby (and Mephy)
This missive proves what has been perambulating through my grey, and some of my scarlet, matter for the past several lunar cycles. There is more to the relationship between the Professor and Toby than simple mutual, platonic hatred. To make matters more interesting Toby has dragged in Mephy hinting at a possible sado-masochistic 'menage a trois.' (Apologies for the lack of accents.) If papayas and overripe mangoes come into the picture, as I expect them to, in the not so particularly near future, then my darkest and some of chiaroscuro prophesies would be fulfilled. I would feel Mephy (pun intended) would agree.
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