Goodbye Gertrude

I thought that, before you were mine, the address, which you gave. The goods; it is because they are impossible. So it was said.

Potentially, apart from…

It was all due to the cold mornings of Sundays; It took the sun, It who is increased with the colour of memory, and that Insect put the correct question in the sky. The interior part of my church passes from the timber of oak. It has the white toe of the grave and the person of decisiveness made of marble gel; the marble gel that is finished in the village. I love you in street that is influenced by Noises. OH these noises!   How is it that in the wall that conscientiousness connects me to! The clue is in the table of my fenced brain! The fact: the noises open also from my heart; pour the iron of treatment of rust from the region that is closed! OH these noises! The noises for this Sunday!

Goodbye Gertrude; hello Gregory!

It is, for that sad fact that I imported the virtuous only the morning. Only the impossible imported goods are found. They are potentially only imported since they are regulated. This is a deterrent!  (If it is then it denies that what it is not).

Yours,

Toby

Dear Toby,

I feel that this shall be my last address to you. As to why I cannot say.

Save perhaps this...

It was a cool Sunday morning, the sun rose with a hint of rose and insects were abuzz in the air. As I stepped outside the back oak double-door of my church and into the graveyard, I thought to myself, ''I must see Toby''. I ran past the white tombstones and the porcelain faces of the marble angels, across the village and into your street and then it hit me; the Sound. Oh that Sound! How it grates at the walls of my consciousness! Scratches at the blackboard of my mind! Squeaks open and closed the rust wrought-iron gate of the ante-chamber of my soul! Oh that Sound! And on Sunday!

Goodbye Toby,

I am only sorry that what was was, that what could have been never was, and that what is going to happen might actually happen, for things are as they are (there is no denying that it is).

Yours,

Sadly Yours no-longer,

Gertude.

Oh...

Am I to take it that you have patched things up with Mephisto? I question the wisdom of that decision my dearest toby. Have you forgot the whole carpet-and-bathtub incident? So soon?

As a new recruit to camp-booby I feel I have the authority to condemn her behaviour outright. She possesses none of those virtues pertaining to womanhood, none of that bounciness, none of that giggliness, none of that chattyness, none of that breeziness. I for one can understand her position, for I too find the norms of womanhood like a weight on my breasts. But one must be virtuous! And as for the fur, there I have no excuses!

Affectionately,

Gertrude.

P.S. Yet to give her her due, she does have beautiful fangs.

Dear Professor,

You, of all people, should know well enough not to mention the dimensions of your fleshy compact discs over the interweb! I certainly did not! Now, my beloved Mephisto is baring her beautiful fangs at me. She is, at this very moment, leaping from that wretched matrimonial bar stool. Her mouth is wide open; hungry for my blood. As I type this letter to you, oh Gertrude, my wife's succulent fangs have just punctured my jugular and in an ecstasy I get woozy... and all this due to your grandiloquent reference to your large areeeeeeee..........

TOBY!

I will not have my newly fashioned bosom talked about in public! I overheard someone who had eavesdropped on a conversation Jennifer (that horrible big-calved woman) was having with Helen (that pestilential cow) about you. Apparently you have been telling everyone down there that I have large areolae. I will have you know that no one has ever seen my not-overlarge areolae except my pet goldfish, once and on a particularly tenebrous afternoon.

Hurt,

G.

Dearest Toby,

Your lascivious letter has perplexed me. I am somewhat (40%) incensed that you have banished me from my manhood. However I am more than a little (55%) intrigued and, dare I say it, giggly by your gentle and gentlemanly words. And more over I am even modestly (a precise 25%) inclined to retort with lady-like words.

Lest you think my new bountiful form has addled with my arithmetical skill, I realize that the sum total is somewhat more than your standard 100%. Yet from my rough calculations and after prolonged consideration of the unquestionable and age old medical fact that emotions are housed 'in one's breast', my new and more anteriorly prominent physique can house 20% more emotion - 10% worth in each, lets say, appendage.

Yours blushingly,

Gertrude

x

Dearest Professor,

(Because you are still a Professor aren't you?) From the mountains of Olympus I would swoop down to grasp your bosom out of the fiery pits of Hades. Your new, and more spherical, form sends me into an ecstatic delirium. Your engorged thorax brings delight to the previously baron wasteland of gehenna. It bodes well that you are romped by your very own hormones. 'Tis but a preparation for our next friendly rendezvous.

I am,

Yours in waiting,

Toby

Toby,

I find myself bloated, in pain, thinking of chocolate, crying in spells, tender, irritable, irritating, complaining, moaning, weeping again, thinking of Twilight, engorged thoracically and southernly diminished.

Is this all part of you plan?

Yours,

G

(G for Gertrude)

P.S. Sob, moan and Oh!

Dear Toby,

You have now sunk to depths Hades itself will not accommodate, depths unimaginable by the most perverted mind in the underworld, depths so low as only to be described as very, very low.

How dare you? What gall you must have! And how green! With what nerve you must be endowed with! With what shamelessness you must be filled! Oh! What monstrous hideousness you have outraged me with! What dance you must have triumphed with! What a spectacle you must have made! Oh! How oft I wonder what dress you were wearing when you received the news. And with what shoes? With whom were you? With which language did you hear it? Must you be so insufferable?

Oh! I weep, as I endlessly due now, ravaged by hormones I knew not before.

This battle goes to you. I concede.

Yours,

The newly feminized Prof. G. Montgomary,

Gertrude.

P.S. Oh!

Dear Gertrude

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)

Dear Prof. Montgomary,

Mephy is my wife! She came to you in her dog form carrying a kiwi... the fruit of her very loins! Your insolence knows no bounds. It is an affront to the suN goD and hiS faithful servant nIck!

I leave you to ponder your doings!

Toby

My Syphlitic Friend,

I fear for your sanity. I am afraid that it is more than likely that some wife-borne illness had addled your brain and unhinged your mind.

Let me run you through the events of last Wednesday.

I was at home, tremulously waiting for the doom which was, in turn, waiting for me. I could only sit and imagine with horror the horrors of wife-dom and of pinapple-syrup-dom which were about to visit me horribly. The door bell rang with its typical nautical theme, sung by no other than Michael. I walked, slowly at first, then more slowly toward the end. I turned the gorgon-headed handle of my main-front-door twice removed. There, sitting on the welcome mat (which I had clevely prefixed with 'un' while waiting for your wife), was your dog Mephisto holding a kiwi tween its teeth. A kiwi!

Proposterous!

G.

P.S. I have sent over my wife to have a look at you. As you know she had recently graduated with honours from the University of Zanzibar in Wife-Borne Diseases.

Your Thanks are not needed.

Nor Wanted.

Yours-ish

G.

P.S. I apologise for the fact that I ended and signed the letter twice, it must have been an oversight and it will not happen again.

Yours,

G.

P.S. Bollocks

G.

My dearest Professor,

It is the phoney flight that is the deceit's height. However much I did not want it to end this way; you leave me no choice. I hereby condemn you to a lifetime of living with my wife. Your sentence will be served covered in a fine pineapple syrup. She will have the full authority to fulfil her sordid little heart's desires.

You will become morally alone, physically exhausted and mentally ill.

Your friend,

Toby

xxx

Dear Toby,

I apologise profusely and torrentially for not answering you sooner but the gall and nerve of your letter had me so flabbergasted that I have been comatose for the better part of this week. I believe that you know that I know that you believe that even I am aware that your accusation is unfounded, unfoundable and down right without foundation.

I have several things to add, however I shall confine my response to the shortest, the most Kurt, the most Frank and the most Peter (to mention nothing of the customary musical nature of such replies)

Dear Toby,
Review the facts, before so rashly condemning my acts.
You have known me since the Flight,
(When the Director's son, that knave, that blight;
(Was turned into the order's first Knight
(Oh what a sorry plight!)

You know I have never acted amiss
Even in the time of the Bliss
(When the Director son, that cretin, that clot,
(Was very happily shot
(Yay! and Goodie!).

So is it likely that I have infringed that law most sacred?
Is it likely that I have had a flightless bird butchered (and naked)?
NO.

Look closer and you shall see,
Yes the bird was at birth bereft of flight,
And yes I was indeed there that night,
But before poisoned,
I fixed him to a kite.

Yours (just about)

G.

Dear Greg (If I may),

Aunt Milly notwithstanding, you have shown quite clearly that you are as blind as the proverbial lobotomized chihuahua and I have obviously erred in assuming that you've had insight into your wrongdoings.

I shall, therefore, run you through our my organization's prime rule; which you have blatantly broken:

"An acolyte shall not poison the director's flightless pigeon through the improper administration of low dose Uranium salts"

I was flabbergasted and, may I add, befuddled with your inability to follow such a straightforward rule! Did you think that this act will not be seen as treachery?

Scornfully,

Toby

Dear Toby,

I have had the pleasure of knowing well both your great-aunt Mildred, or Mildy as I called her, and her pearls. It is sad that the proverbial apple has fallen so proverbially far from the proverbial tree.

(Only) Proverbially yours,

G.

Dear Professor,

To share with you some pearls of wisdom brought to you by my great-aunt Mildred: "Quack!"

Toby

Dear Toby,

I have absolutely no idea what deception you or that accursed wife of yours are talking about. And as to what that she can and cannot prove, I would take the words of a sex-crazed, lust-stricken, organ-seeking, vice-bound, groinful dame of 'yours'with a pinch of salt and a splash of soy sauce.

And in any case, it wasn't me.

Disdainfully,

G

Dear Monty,

"His treachery knows no bounds; no limits! The logarithmic curve of his morality defies the very fundamental principles of physics and shows not one asymptote. "

These were the very words that, whilst the the throes of passion, spued out of my wife's mouth. You are ignoble my friend, and it is a shame. No woodpecker in the world may save your soul now.

Yours,

Toby

Dear Toby

It is sad that it has come to this

G.

P.S. I still keep the stuffed woodpecker you once gave my son on the mantelpiece, beside my collection of syphilitic nine-banded armadillos. so highly do I regard it.