Baboon Rising

I'm certainly not hiding my baldness, dear friend! That much I need to establish, for I have more hair than a minister has hymns. Your nonstop recognition of my highness is always appreciated, however.

Hmmm ... Was that your man? The mailroom here in the castle occasionally triples as courtroom and death chamber. He did more than deliver. He became wrath. The law of power dictates that I understand why he committed the act. He went truly postal. "I just wanted to shoot my gun," he said. A held tribunal. We entered into the analyzable intelligibility of the act in question.

Your man was buried in rain, but it was on a bright and sunny day that we extracted the letters from his bag. I must not have noticed your latest amongst his deenergized shrapnel. Well, we all gain purpose through our work, I suppose. Unfortunately, the aftermath of murder begets another scene, and just yesterday another messenger shot up six of my servants. Another of your own, I don't suppose? Do tell me if there's a connection. I would be pleased to send you the remains of all the casually slaughtered.

Perhaps not the choice of a new generation, but just as frisky. And with a bit of peroxyde to neutralize the disease, the blood'll roll sweetly on the back of your tongue.

Hummingly yours,

Hamlet