Day 13

08.32 Horrible Horrible Horrible heartburn
Subject: Urgent Linguistic Matters

Dearest Darling Forsythia,


I woke from the most hideous cauchemar to the realisation that, hélas, we have not been as circumspect as is warranted by our incipient state of grace. Regards Chlamydeous® (The Grand Duchy of, etc., etc.) and to the divinely inspired DuDu™, surely we must taken certain precautions, lest undesirable and nauseas influences run rampant among the wrong sort. I am, at the moment, limiting my focus to one particular trend, but it can be used to eradicate the unwanted in other areas, as well.

1. DuDu™ shall contain no words which might, under any circumstance, sound like Amurkin and/or or English-inflected French.
2. The use of Hip-Hop idioms should be encouraged by the Chlamydean Academy of Lettres, particularly when said usage is monitored by florally noisome members of the Académie Française.
3. No linguistic influences from countries in the Amurkuz not referred to as Latin America shall be entertained, and all letters written in Amurkun and Amurkun politic-speak or management-speak shall be returned unopened, accompanied by a rude note.
4. The Grand Duchy of Noble and Pleasant and Completely Perfect Aspect known and celebrated as the Divine Chlamydeous® shall at all times repel overtures for diplomatic relations from peoples I find to be toxic, and our reasons for such action may be kept confidential (under the governmental laws regulating affairs of national interest and security). We shall, of course, be polite yet unbending in our resolve. If any rebuffed nations persist or make whiny and truculent speeches or are represented by anyone who thinks they control man’s destiny, we shall resort to nastiness, offensiveness and bile. If that does not work, we shall ask for more money.
5. Those indulging in foreign relations with reality television shows should be subject to unfortunate ridicule and mysterious occurrences, unless the money paid upfront is suitably irresistible.
6. Subjects of The Grand Duchy of Noble, Heroic and Pleasant and Completely Perfect Aspect known and celebrated as the Divine Chlamydeous® shall be encouraged to talk through their noses.
7. Relics of saints of interesting habits, when and if accepted by the Grand Sanctificator, Purificator and Patriarch of The Grand Duchy of Noble and Pleasant and Completely Perfect Aspect known and celebrated as the Divine Chlamydeous®, the Most Esteemed and Troubled Conserves du Jour®, simultaneous director of marketing and talent agent, shall be expressly banned from speaking in bad accents, even in the middle of the night. As a precaution, all newly approved saints shall henceforth change their names to something vaguely French sounding and enrol in night school classes in Basic and Medieval DuDu©.

There is much to consider and so little time. To that end, should you be in the least bit unclear as to our purposes, as well as to anything whatsoever pertaining to your truncheon, I recommend you consult Bernard Darwin’s definitive history of the world, The Bishop of South-East Equatorial Mesopotamia. Answers to all of your personal dilemmas lie within. I promise you. - HWISGAAOMRIU®
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11.40 Requiring Mouthwash, please
Subject: Possible Alarm Bells

Dearest Darling Forsythia,


There are rumours circulating on the web concerning our director of marketing and certain advertisements that may or may not have been placed in her name in the media. What I’m thinking is this: should we have allowed her to hire a secretary when she complained of being overworked, and would we have been wiser to employ a plonker? It is my feeling that she has too much time on her hands and is, therefore, taking up an interest in politics. Please communicate with her, after which you might communicate with me. Communicate with yourself while you are at it, as your continued silence is blistering my wadge. – HWISGAAOMRIU® (Laurent, in case you’ve forgotten who I am).

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13.16 Suffering from acute happiness
Subject: Hoibl Boibl Toyel Unt Moyel

Dearest Darling Forsythia,


I am not altogether certain what you were asking in your most recent email, but, for the record, no, I do not personally know more about the inner workings of a mohel than I care to remember, and no, I do not plan on having a son. If I did have a son, he would be denied that joyful experience, as well. As far as my own circumstance is concerned, yes, I have had have numerous offers, but being the killjoy that I am, I declined. I would like to point out, just in case you decided on transforming your life and becoming a better person, that the question you may or may not have asked was cruel and unusual. Were you, perchance, trying to get even with me for one of my truisms?

As regards the supposed benefits on moheldom, I feel you’ve been listening a bit too earnestly to your experts from the other side of the toilsome pond. Given that they know better in every respect and have the only opinion worth listening to on every imaginable topic, I am probably wasting my breath. However, if God, in whom you seem to believe, delivered man with a cute little wrapper, which one opens with the same gleeful expectation as one does a special present, what availeth experts to deny us that pleasure? I have been uncircumcised my entire life. I know how to keep myself clean and I assure you my sex life is splendid, or at least it was until I was devoured by my computer. Enough on the subject, lest I be forced to vent my wroth in unreasonable excrements.

Would you believe there has been yet more flack from the Vatican concerning the canonisation of our beloved SOG? They simply refuse to listen, which makes me think their entire hierarchy is comprised solely of narrow-minded old men who never have any fun. Everything is obstacles, obstacles, obstacles! This morning, I finally said to them (and I quote), “Nu,” I said, “I offer a saint and blessed miracle worker. All you do it whine. You never promise nothing. All you say is, ‘Well, if she was at least baptised we would be more than happy for her to receive holy communion and extreme suction’.”

I ask you, what sort of answer is that? I tell you, we will not capitulate! What I’m thinking now is, why am I not thinking higher? Why are we settling for less? If we want to get anywhere, we’ve got to go for the number one job. Pope! We have our beloved SOG declared Pope! From there, it’s a guaranteed fast track to Sainthood. The way I see it, is they might just be sneaky enough to claim that the job is already taken. You know how they are, but they won’t be ready for is a rapid response. We’ll put her name forward as Pope of a small branch office! A small pope. Pipette. Pipette Ruchl. Miraculous Pipette Ruchl™ Immaculata™ Ultimata™, patroness of laundries, mechanical engineers and media consultants®. According to my advisers, with such an astute manoeuvre, we would immediately cover all known infallibility angels in one fell swoop. Not to mention the better-known unknowns. It is my belief that we should direct our director of marketing and soon-to-be Permanent Under-Secretary of Pipettual Affairs, Bigotry and Torture Pursuevent to appoint a blue-ribbon commission to sanction and promulgate immaculate, ultimate and infallible utterances.

It is fairly ominous that our beloved SOG, The Pipette of Destiny®, has yet to issue her infallible epistle relating to your immaculate, semi-immaculate or possibly fallen status. The world awaits. The matter is obviously tormenting her, otherwise, why should she procrastinate? Is she, perchance, remembering dearest Lucrezcia Borgia? She, too, was daughter to a pope (though, it is true, not one so divinely elevated as ours) but, it is to be remembered, she did quite well out of it in the end. Or at least fairly well. Almost up to the end. Mind you, her reputation, much like yours, did come in for a battering. And in spite of all her efforts, she was reviled, obscenely reviled. Beloved eventually, of course, that much goes without saying. Intensely beloved by her people. And, lest we forget, she did have her portrait painted a number of times, and by actually painters.

So you see, all in not lost. The important thing is never to lose hope.

For my part, I am continuing a compilation of a list of miracles, both the obvious ones and a few attractive examples from baser chavs I’ve read about on the web. Let’s face it, they won’t be needing them, not where they’re going (I realise this is not a topic for your tender sensibilities, but delicacy is as delicacy does and most of them are not very nice people and will be thankfully forgotten the instant their ticket is punched). My problem is with the Office of the Devil’s Avocado. He apparently got his appendage caught in his zipper that morning and wasn’t thinking clearly (which begs the question, what was he doing with it at the time and why was he doing it?). In any case, he claimed not to have been particularly impressed with my list of miracles. Not to put too fine a point on it, he was more than a little rude. I fear they can be picky, picky, picky at the best of times, but with a torn foreskin, they are downright savage. Awful people. Is it any wonder no one important has ever heard of them and their tourist numbers are down? I hear from my sources that there is a desperately top-secret document in circulation containing fallacious and highly scandalous allegations concerning our beloved SOG, the reverend pipette. If this is true, then it is a sign of our imminent victory.

A word of warning. If our director of marketing is to be seen chanting her mantra in public venues such as Essex Espresso Bars, especially the fashionistas’ choice du jour, Chavs ‘R’ Burberristic, she must refrain from immodesty. According to the guidelines, she must wear a snood at all times and weep inconsolably. I fear she has not been reading her employment agreement and is, therefore, forgetful when it comes to the state of her perfection, not to mention her purpose on earth. - HWISGAAOMRIU®
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15.20 Time for tea and unguents
Subject: Your fashion sense

Dearest Darling Forsythia,



Yes Forsythia, I can ‘see’ you in purple lippy, but, to be candid, I’m not altogether sure why you feel it suits you. And while we’re on the subject, please exercise caution when it comes to your new gold and ruby broach. It is, I understand, in the shape of a squirrel picking his nuts. What were you thinking? All sorts of images come to mind, none of them pleasant. Could it be that you, having no nuts to pick, are displaying unfortunate tendencies? How about Whatisname’s nuts? Won’t he share them with you? How about planting a couple of walnut trees around the property, or perhaps a peanut or two. I realise the latter does not really qualify, what with being a rhizome and all, and I also admit that saying will you lick my rhizomes lacks a certain je ne c’est qua, but life among the unfortunately classes must entail certain compromises.

It has occurred to me that you might hang a print of Squirrel Nutkin on your bathroom wall. Would that help with your therapy?

Did you really ask me if the pope goes to the toilet, or was it the other way around? Were you, perhaps, beebling on about something else entirely? I’m never quite sure about your letters, especially since they are so few and far between, and so soutenue. Don’t you love me anymore? - HWISGAAOMRIU®

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19.19 Thanks for the anchovy souillure

Subject: Further infallibility

Dearest Darling Forsythia,


Such torment I have been under, you would not believe. The architect of the pipettal palace and skating rink telephoned with questions regarding The Chamber of Lost Dreams™. OY OY OY, such theological questions he raised! I told him he was fortunate to have chosen me as his chosen consultant, even though, in so doing, he has ripped out my heart. But never mind. We must suffer and endure.

As much as it pains me to admit it, it does stand to reason that her beloved holiness, the pipette, would not and will not be requiring, at any time, a sacred receptacle, for her own use. Theologically speaking, to therefore include one in The Chamber of Lost Dreams™ might be construed as being both an insult to her spotlessness and a great stain upon her holy unction. However, I put it to you. Supposing her brother-in-law should come to visit. Given that she shares a measure of the selfsame holy and sacred blood and smegma, would it be equally as demeaning to provide him with a bucket? How about if it’s painted green and gold and placed behind a rococo screen? Or should we admit that he is perpetually smitten with the bloody flux and foul odour and has been since childhood, and would possibly be relieved at our considering his sensibilities and providing him a sacred receptacle (2nd class, with a plastic liner and cardboard bottom scraper), discretely disguised as a potted palm? On the other hand, mightn’t his fragrant used of a sacred receptacle, even a demoted one, imply a certain vile laxitude and worldliness in a member of the immediate family? Again, is it demeaning to our beloved SOG to so much as think of flatulence and a member of her illustrious line in the same month? Please help me, for I’m drowning in reasonable discourse and political certainty.

There is, as usual, another circumstance offering opportunities for corruption and degradation, this time concerning the First Degree Relics of our Beloved SOG! This is of the greatest interest of the Holy Dee, as well, or at least it would be if only I could persuade them to answer their phones. Nail parings and hair from AlmostSantaRuchl of the Levantine’s™ plug hole are not going to satisfy the fanatical hoi polloi forever. To appease them, perhaps we should lease an assassin to subtly remove bits and pieces from the pipette when she’s not looking? Nothing too obvious, of course. Sloughed skin, vocal nodes, her heart. Stuff like that.

Sorry for the somewhat scattered tone of this letter. It has been a highly disruptive day, the details of which I shall inform you at a less incontinent moment. My enfeebled mind is charging about simultaneously in a hundred trillion different directions, even without the benefit of caffeine, and I’m dying of boredom. - HWISGAAOMRIU®

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21.02 Following an abysmal, scorched rectum rissole
Subject: Sweet Music

Dearest Darling Forsythia,



Such a ghastly, horrid and excruciating few days, I can’t tell you! I got my nose caught in the disk drive, and if Mr. Death hadn’t been so incompetent he would have got me free and without a fight. However, to my credit, I thought I would try dumping a massive amount number of files into ‘trash’, and then emptying that into the great beyond. As a result, here I am, practically as good as new and, considering the circumstances, not smelling any the worse for wear. To be honest, my nose is horribly mangled, but better that than the alternatives.

In my down time, I have been mulling over the various jingles and musical leitmotifs we shall be requiring for Bagel-in-theBare® and its subsidiaries and franchises, and after giving it a considerable amount of thought and consulting two or three focus groups, I have reached the conclusions that the vocal stylings of Puchel and the Catarrhs may not be what we had in mind. I know you love them madly and paid for their first abortions, but what can I say? Sorry. Think again.

I am also more than a little upset over the most recent blueprints for Ancient-Crete-in- the-Bare-Bagel-World®. We agreed that the entire island should be cleared, levelled and redesigned into a more liveably spectacular environment. Lest you’ve forgotten, as it was, it was all so puny and, dusty and, well, old in the way of the furniture one finds in charity shops and car boot sales. Our altogether more inspiring Ancient Bagel Oracle™ was, in itself, a milestone of architectural genius, unequalled in this or any other time. However, didn’t we decide that the rubble left behind, supposedly ‘authentic’ but recently disproved by our team of management experts and political analysts, should not be left behind for future generations of pseudo archaeologists from Harvard to find? If ancient rubbish is left simply lying about, then anyone with fingers on the end of their hands can take them home, or to wherever it is they choose to spend their lives. We cannot, I repeat cannot, allow anyone to examine and question our Official Bagel History of Crete, Birthplace of Miraculous Ruchl™ Immaculata™ Ultimata™ of the Drains™, Most Inviolate Pipette of The World™ and Patroness of Unclean Thoughts™. If the relics and detritus are examined by the uninitiated, the first thing you know, the Greek Government will try unsuccessfully to exert dodgy claims on the island by using their bought and paid-for ‘experts’ to refute our exacting scholarship. Next thing you know, they’ll be demanding that their supposed ‘sovereign’ rights be respected. Never mind that our director of marketing and ulterior solutions went to all that trouble of taking that big box of unmarked five euro notes to the fat man in the bar behind the Acropolis Bar and Genuine Lap Dancers, in return for a five thousand year lease. It’s unbelievable how some people will do anything to renege on an agreement. After they’ve taken the money! Unbefuckinglievable!

It is my personal and professional opinion that the CFO should under the circumstances approve her expense account! Demanding to be reimbursed for condoms! Doesn’t she recall those treasured and inspired sentiments, “Every Little Sperm Is Sacred,” proclaimed so very long ago by the saintly Python Brothers of the Blessed Circumcision? Has she not kept these very words to her breath and bowels? In any event, that which she sacrificed to Demetri Lozynge in the anti-chamber, was sacrificed for Country and Bagel-in-the-Bare® and for our Miraculous Ruchl™ Immaculata™ Ultimata™, Glorious and Perpetual Pipette™, Saint of Saints and Beloved Inspiration to Us All™. It is, however, moot. Since consolidation and the elimination of effective personnel, our director of marketing is also, between the hours of three and four in the afternoon, the chief financial officer. As such, it would be a conflict of interest for her to approve her own expense account. If she continues to be difficult and unethical she should be killed, though not humanely.

You are advised to keep the Elgin Marbles in mind. Didn’t the Greeks get it all wrong then? They couldn’t even get the name right! Elgin Marbles? Weren’t no such thing and never was. Elgin Marples, that’s what they were, a tableau vivant inspired by Blessed Agatha of Christie on the Crossicles (of sainted memory). If I’m correct, and I usually am, wasn’t the Blessed Agatha as English as Brussels sprouts? Well, she was, and that’s a fact. And if she was English and inspired the Elgin Marples, how on earth could they be Greek? Intolerable blasphemy, that’s what I call it, and those that perpetuated it are supposed to be our allies! Hang ‘em up by the bollocks and blow it up my nose!

You see how distraught I am? I cannot even remember I’ve forgotten to get up tomorrow morning and you expect me to learn the zither. Aren’t you content that, after so many years and so much hatred and cross words, I’ve been able to solve the mystery of the Elgin Marples? I can’t tell you how satisfied it feels to put things right, and I won’t either, because you are not a very nice person.

Where was I? Ah, yes, your suggestion that we might include an Ancient Rubble Corner in our master plan. Absolutely out of the question. Besides which, I do believe you have already requisitioned the marbly bits and pieces for your new villa in Lanzarote, where they are bound to look lovely among the geraniums and complement your gnome collection.

How are your new hedges? Are they entirely pleasing? - HWISGAAOMRIU®
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23.45 Craving a parsnip douche
Subject: A Subsequent Thought

Dearest Darling Forsythia,



Has it occurred to you, as it has to me, that substantial savings might be made simply by recreating the Glories of Ancient Crete® as a virtual reality experience? Naturally, we needn’t tell anyone, because in my experience, our employees wouldn’t know the difference between fantasy and reality if their mothers’ lives depended upon it. As for the average punter, they’ll happily go along with anything as long as it’s written up in the tabloids and they don’t have to associate with foreigners. We’ll be rich! There’s no telling the miraculous apparitions our accounts department will create! Your idea to develop software for virtual Blessed Holy Water Ever Clean Money Laundering Systems® has, indeed, opened up a whole new world of possibilities. What could we have accomplished were it not for Virtual Neither Here Nor There™ Accountancy Management® and Auditors In Our Pockets®? Think of all the money we’ll save! - HWISGAAOMRIU®

PS. After considering your options and buying a new frock, please forget you were born and destroy this memorandum.

PPS. Leave a note to Miraculous Ruchl™ to let her know about your forthcoming immolation. As your mother, she deserves to know what your holiday plans are. You know how she worries about you.
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