Mastering the English Language

Dear God-Bless-Your-Soul,

You know, I've never really been a religious person, seeing as that I am immediately condemned to Hell for what we do at this school. But I would like to let you know that I hope God blesses you once he has chosen you as the one to receive this letter. Because he has chosen you, he has cursed you. That sounds like a contradiction, I know. Because the fact that God has even thought of you, that should be a prize in itself. But really, this letter will cause you nothing but confusion.

I have nothing better to do, you know, than to write a stupid little letter to a person who does not exist in my mind. Yes, you do not exist. Whomever is holding this letter...you, my friend (hah! After I have declared that you do not exist in my world, I can fairly use funny endearments like "my friend"), are terminally unlucky. Because, if you have not figured it out yet in your small brain (*Note: Chart of Brain Size Levels: Slytherins- Merlin-like Genius, Ravenclaw: Smarter than Merlin-like Genius [because we all know that those damn Ravenous buggers are smarter than everyone in the entire blasted school], Hufflepuff: Pray-To-the-God-That-Has-Condemned-Me-to-Hell Stupid, Gryffindor: sub-microscopically moronic), I am a raving lunatic.

That's a lie.

I'm particularly sane. Well, a bit.

No. I know I'm sane. Which is why I am doing this. Because I am creative, smart, and ingenious. I am a hybrid of houses; A Slythclaw. Not that I belong to either of these houses, Mister/Miss/I-Really-Hope-You're-Not-A-Misses Whoever-You-May-Be, because I wouldn't want you to think I am prejudiced or anything.

I would like you to know that we are nearing the end of this letter. You may think that I have only come up to the first topic, but you are wrong. We are very close to the end. But honestly...I just wanted something crazy to do. Because I'm sane and all of that.

As a lovely retreat to the end of this letter, I write that I hope that I have altered your life in some way. Maybe, as my owl descended upon your wretched soul, you were about to leap off a cliff into impending doom, but in a moment of God-given (I really need to stop this God-mocking thing) grace, you have been saved by my owl. Maybe you were off to kiss some bloke/bint who you could've ended up marrying and having too many children and ending up the miserable housewife/husband.

Or maybe it would be a terrible happening. Maybe I'd like it better that way. Maybe I wouldn't like anything at all. Maybe I just want to get some bloody attention.

With my sincerest condolences,

Keats

Dear Master of English and Grecian Urns,

I halted your owl. I do not feel like apologizing for this. In fact, I can only hope that the awful creature comes down with an intestinal infection from eating my apple. I say this only because your owl is directly related to you, Mr. Keats. I only want to propose that you meet the same fate by dying severely at the age of 25 via tuberculosis.

Unsigned.

Dear Unsigned,

Why would you wish me to die via tuberculosis? I don't even know what tuberculosis is. I don't even know who Keats is. I know he's a poet. And I thought it sounded interesting.

If I have offended you, I will not apologize. I am not the sort to grovel.

I am, however, surprised that you responded. Please do not do so again.

Indifferently sincere,

Sincerely Indifferent.

P.S. - Why would you wish death upon an owl.

___________________

Dear S.I.,

So much for being a Merlin-like Genius. Keats could double-time Merlin if he could. Poets have a more banal existence. To me, that is more genius.

Look tuberculosis up. It's not the most pleasant way to go.

You cannot tell a person to not respond and not expect them to respond. In fact, I know that you wanted me to directly respond to your intelligence-lacking prose because you asked me a question in the end.

And I never said I would wish death upon an animal. But I do agree that to anyone who is prejudice should be punished severely. Perhaps by watching the distress of their pet.

Although, I do hope your owl is okay. She (who is infact a she?) is a very well mannered owl. I hope she never has to come upon the dangers of meeting my owl. You on the other hand...

Unsigned

____________________________

Unsigned,

I did not ask a question. If I remember correctly, I did not end my "P.S." with a question mark. Therefore it was not a question. Stupid bint.

I did in fact look up tuberculosis. And in the process, I have refused your sympathies for my owl.

I hope your owl...dies.

Keats

___________________________

Keats,

Let me list all of what I think you are so far:

1. Prejudice.

2. Arrogant.

3. Self-Conscious

4. A Eunuch

5. Not Keats

6. A Hypocrite

7. A Bag of Muggle Over-Processed Meat

8. A Pillock

9. Mean

1-3, you can think about this yourself.

4- I have come to the conclusion that you are male, sexually-frustrated, and very...unable.

5. Duh.

6. How dare you criticize me for discriminating against your bird, then turn around and wish my own bird deceased! You are cruel, merciless, and I have reason to think...a leader of a torturing clan of frustrated eunuchs.

7. Starts with a B, for some reason has a G in it and is positively disgusting. I hope you smell like this for four months, eight days and twenty-two hours.

8. Uh. Yeah. I'm a bint. You're a pillock. You prick.

9. Keats was not a mean person. You do not deserve the name.

Listly.

___________________________

Congratulations on getting creative enough to find a new name. But I am completely disregarding the fact that I should address you because your name isn't even a word.

EUNUCH? Where in Twitty Twit of the Twit Named Barbara did you get EUNUCH ? Are you off your rocker? I am a very un

And eunuchs aren't frustrated you half-brained, list-making, puddle head. There's nothing there to get frustrated.